[5] Chicago

        Hog Butcher for the World,
        Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
        Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
        Stormy, husky, brawling,
        City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
        have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
        luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
        is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
        kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
        faces of women and children I have seen the marks
        of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
        sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
        and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
        so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on
        job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the
        little soft cities;

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning
        as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
                Bareheaded,
                Shoveling,
                Wrecking,
                Planning,
                Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with
        white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young
        man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has
        never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
        and under his ribs the heart of the people,
                Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of
        Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog
        Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with
        Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

    -- Carl Sandburg

from 'the chicago poems', published 1916.

this poem was submitted as an entry for a poetry competition organized
by the chicago town hall in 1910; it won first prize, and sandburg's
career as a poet had begun.

i like it for its rhythm and energy. the contrast with european poetry
of the same period is remarkable. this is a poem that breathes fire.

sandburg's poetic style is an excellent example of the vigorous american
tradition of free verse, starting with whitman and moving on through
ginsberg and dylan. forceful poems like 'chicago' were like a breath of
fresh air to pound and eliot (the architects of the poetic revolution of
the 1920s), inspiring them to break the shackles of victorian prosody
and cut through the insipidity of the georgians with their own distinct
voice.

thomas.

From: "Chitra, Publishing Division, LAICO" <chitra@>

Hi thomas,
Good to hear you can use some of that stuff.
Here are two more if you like.

1. Chicago    - Carl Sandburg

Unabashed,exuberant verse spilling over with the Whitmanesque sentiment of
'I celebrate myself'- only here the 'self'' is Chicago. Sandburg's Chicago
that will not deign to disguise her vices or be shamed into silence by her
coarseness. The 'Hog Butcher' part hurt his more genteel readers some, but
it was near impossible to remain totally disapproving in the face of such
irresistible buoyancy.Here is working-class America glamorized by the flash
of white teeth in a dirt-grimed face. Sandburg was one of those poets who
effected a clean break with traditional rhythmical forms. By unexpected
turns this man shouts, sings- or just speaks. He writes into the beginnings
of modern industrialism a brave,laughing,reckless kind of Beauty that I find
difficult to ignore.

2. The Cool Web    - Robert Graves

I think it's that phrase- 'the cool web'- that drew me to this poem. It's so
suggestive of something fragile,clinging and inescapable. That a poet would
choose such an image to represent language is kind of intriguing. Subtly
seems to imply that poetry too is a safety valve, yet another means of
distancing oneself from any intensity of emotion.I like the economy with
which he conjures up in succession the searing heat of day, the disturbing
scent of the rose,the black vise of night-time fears, and the taste of death
that comes with the soldiers.There's the hopelessness of the no-win
situation here.You've either the icy indifference of 'sea-green' murkiness,
or the plunge into death-bound insanity.
                 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I don't quite know how this guest poems thing works, so if I'm supposed to
stop pestering you with submissions some time just holler Whoa-or something.
Am I enjoying your fare?
I thrive on it.

Looking forward to the next Hundred,
Pavithra

From: David Coulthart <pepermil@>

Our Book Club (>over 10 years old now, Princeton area) is doing a
session on poetry next month.  "Chicago" is one that I am sharing as a
favorite.  In comments on your site, you contrast Sandburg's style with
that of European poets of the time.  Since I am not knowledgeable in
this area, could you suggest a good example that I could share alongside
Sandburg?

EEN 

pepermil@