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Carl Sandburg 1878-1967. Steven Kowolenko. " I'm an idealist. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way. ". Born to Swedish parents in Galesburg, Illinois - 1878 Milkman and porter at the Union Hotel barbershop Bricklayer and farm laborer in Kansas
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Carl Sandburg 1878-1967 Steven Kowolenko
"I'm an idealist. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way." • Born to Swedish parents in Galesburg, Illinois - 1878 • Milkman and porter at the Union Hotel barbershop • Bricklayer and farm laborer in Kansas • Hotel servant in Denver, coal heaver in Omaha • 3 Pulitzer prizes: 2 for poetry, 1 for his biography of Abraham Lincoln "indubitably an American in every pulse-beat" -H. L. Mencken • The Carl Sandburg High School was named for him in 1954. Years later he returned without an ID, and, being mistaken for a hobo, was thrown out. • The embarrassed principal held an assembly for him when he returned with ID
"To be a good loser is to learn how to win" • Felt European fairy tales were inappropriate for the US • Wrote Rootabaga Stories • Desired American fairy tales for his daughters
Known as one of the first American folk singers • accompanied himself on solo guitar at poetry recitals and lectures http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdFt7WogBcU I ride an old Paint, I'm leadin' old Dan I'm goin' to Montana just to throw the houlihan They feed in the coulees, they water in the draw Their tails are all matted, their backs are all raw Ride around, little dogies, ride around them slow For they're fiery and snuffy and rarin' to go Old Bill Jones had two daughters and a song One went to Denver, the other went wrong His wife, she died in a poolroom fight But still he keeps singing from morning to night Ride around, little dogies, ride around them slow For they're fiery and snuffy and rarin' to go When I die, take my saddle from the wall And put it on my pony and lead him from his stall Tie my bones to his back, turn our faces to the west And we'll ride the prairies that we love the best Ride around, little dogies, ride around them slow For they're fiery and snuffy and rarin' to go -I Ride an Old Paint - Woody Gutherie
A Coin Your western heads here cast on money, You are the two that fade away together, Partners in the mist. Lunging buffalo shoulder, Lean Indian face, We who come after where you are gone Salute your forms on the new nickel. You are To us: The past. Runners On the prairie: Good-by.
Fog http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gTZb5HWFGIs THE fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
A Fence Now the stone house on the lake front is finished and the workmen are beginning the fence. The palings are made of iron bars with steel points that can stab the life out of any man who falls on them. As a fence, it is a masterpiece, and will shut off the rabble and all vagabonds and hungry men and all wandering children looking for a place to play. Passing through the bars and over the steel points will go nothing except Death and the Rain and To-morrow.