Good poems

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545

GRIEG being dead we may speak of him and his art.
Grieg being dead we can talk about whether he was any good or not.
Grieg being with Ibsen, Björnson, Lief Ericson and the rest,
Grieg being dead does not care a hells hoot what we say.

Graceland

© Carl Sandburg

TOMB of a millionaire,
A multi-millionaire, ladies and gentlemen,
Place of the dead where they spend every year
The usury of twenty-five thousand dollars

Good-night

© Carl Sandburg

MANY ways to spell good night.

Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth of July spell it with red wheels and yellow spokes.

Curse of a Rich Polish Peasant on His Sister Who Ran Away With a Wild Man

© Carl Sandburg

FELIKSOWA has gone again from our house and this time for good, I hope.
She and her husband took with them the cow father gave them, and they sold it.
She went like a swine, because she called neither on me, her brother, nor on her father, before leaving for those forests.
That is where she ought to live, with bears, not with men.

Cahoots

© Carl Sandburg

PLAY it across the table.
What if we steal this city blind?
If they want any thing let em nail it down.

Caboose Thoughts

© Carl Sandburg

ITS going to come out all rightdo you know?
The sun, the birds, the grassthey know.
They get alongand well get along.

Band Concert

© Carl Sandburg

BAND concert public square Nebraska city. Flowing and circling dresses, summer-white dresses. Faces, flesh tints flung like sprays of cherry blossoms. And gigglers, God knows, gigglers, rivaling the pony whinnies of the Livery Stable Blues.

Cowboy rags and nigger rags. And boys driving sorrel horses hurl a cornfield laughter at the girls in dresses, summer-white dresses. Amid the cornet staccato and the tuba oompa, gigglers, God knows, gigglers daffy with lifes razzle dazzle.

Aztec

© Carl Sandburg

You came from the Aztecs
With a copper on your fore-arms
Tawnier than a sunset
Saying good-by to an even river.

A. E. F.

© Carl Sandburg

THERE will be a rusty gun on the wall, sweetheart,
The rifle grooves curling with flakes of rust.
A spider will make a silver string nest in the darkest, warmest corner of it.
The trigger and the range-finder, they too will be rusty.

A Teamster's Farewell

© Carl Sandburg

Sobs En Route to a PenitentiaryGOOD-BY now to the streets and the clash of wheels and
locking hubs,
The sun coming on the brass buckles and harness knobs.
The muscles of the horses sliding under their heavy

A Coin

© Carl Sandburg

YOUR western heads here cast on money,
You are the two that fade away together,
Partners in the mist.

Onion Days

© Carl Sandburg

MRS. GABRIELLE GIOVANNITTI comes along Peoria Street
every morning at nine o'clock
With kindling wood piled on top of her head, her eyes
looking straight ahead to find the way for her old feet.

Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind

© Carl Sandburg

The past is a bucket of ashes. 1THE WOMAN named To-morrow
sits with a hairpin in her teeth
and takes her time
and does her hair the way she wants it

Accomplished Facts

© Carl Sandburg

EVERY year Emily Dickinson sent one friend
the first arbutus bud in her garden.

In a last will and testament Andrew Jackson

Mill-Doors

YOU never come back.
I say good-by when I see you going in the doors,
The hopeless open doors that call and wait
And take you then for--how many cents a day?
How many cents for the sleepy eyes and fingers?

Instants

I was one of those who never goes anywhere
without a thermometer,
without a hot-water bottle,
and without an umberella and without a parachute,

We are the time. We are the famous

We are the river and we are that greek
that looks himself into the river. His reflection
changes into the waters of the changing mirror,
into the crystal that changes like the fire.