Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

121. Mist Forms 1/27/2014
122. Repetitions 1/27/2014
123. Blizzard Notes 1/27/2014
124. Jabberers 1/27/2014
125. Thin Strips 1/27/2014
126. Winter Milk 1/27/2014
127. White Hands 1/27/2014
128. Timber Wings 1/27/2014
129. Goldwing Moth 1/27/2014
130. Garden Wireless 1/27/2014
131. Testament 1/27/2014
132. California City Landscape 1/27/2014
133. The Skyscraper Loves Night 1/27/2014
134. Gargoyle 1/27/2014
135. New Farm Tractor 1/27/2014
136. Caboose Thoughts 1/21/2014
137. Falltime 1/27/2014
138. Far Rockaway Night Till Morning 1/27/2014
139. Galoots 1/27/2014
140. Curse Of A Rich Polish Peasant On His Sister Who Ran Away With A Wild Man 1/27/2014
141. How Much? 1/27/2014
142. Singing **** 1/27/2014
143. Drumnotes 1/27/2014
144. My People 1/27/2014
145. Knucks 1/27/2014
146. Girl In A Cage 1/27/2014
147. Silver Wind 1/27/2014
148. Hemlock And Cedar 1/27/2014
149. Peach Blossoms 1/27/2014
150. Humming Bird Woman 1/27/2014
151. The Four Brothers 1/27/2014
152. Purple Martins 1/27/2014
153. Offering And Rebuff 1/27/2014
154. White Ash 1/27/2014
155. Circles Of Doors 1/27/2014
156. Pencils 1/27/2014
157. Long Guns 1/27/2014
158. Haze 1/27/2014
159. North Atlantic 1/21/2014
160. Smoke And Steel 1/21/2014

Comments about Carl Sandburg

  • Malkisedik Yahya (9/6/2008 12:01:00 PM)

    i love sandburg's works, especially that use the wor 'moon'..wish me luck b'coz i wanna write my undergraduate thesis about the meaning of sandburg's works that use the word 'moon'...

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  • Rosa Jamali (6/1/2008 2:39:00 PM)

    I think postmodern poetry owes Sandburg, as he was the first to describe machinery life, he expanded the range of words in poetry & he tried to add some new concepts, we have to reread Sandburg to go forward...

  • A. Michael Sears (2/13/2006 8:19:00 PM)

    What can I say? Carl Sandburg is truly a master. His ability to celebrate the beauty and greatness in all things common, is unmatched. And since the publication of 'Chicago Poems' in 1916, the voice of modern poetry has never been the same.

Best Poem of Carl Sandburg

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Read the full of Fog

Noon Hour

She sits in the dust at the walls
And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
Changing her sweat for the day's pay.

Now the noon hour has come,
And she leans with her bare arms
On the window-sill over the river,

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