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POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
Carl Sandburg
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Carl Sandburg
Age: 89 †
Born: 1878
Born: January 6
Died: 1967
Died: July 22
Biographer
Historian
Journalist
Musicologist
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Trade Unionist
Writer
Galesburg
Illinois
Carl August Sandburg
Poetry
Lost
Sliver
Frog
Frogs
Belly
Golden
Moon
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The buffaloes are gone. And those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
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I could safely declare, I am an idealist... I believe in everything - I am only looking for proofs.
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Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head.
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Poetry is statement of a series of equations, with numbers and symbols changing like the changes of mirrors, pools, skies, the only never-changing sign being the sign of infinity.
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The greatest certainty in life is death. The greatest uncertainty is the time.
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Poetry is a projection across silence of cadences arranged to break that silence with definite intentions of echoes, syllables, wave lengths.
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Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice and you can look out of the window and see the blue sky - or the answer is wrong and you have to start over and try again and see how it comes out this time.
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I am still studying verbs and the mystery of how they connect nouns. I am more suspicious of adjectives than at any other time in all my born days.
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And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.
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Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.
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Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
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And those who say, I'll try anything once, often try nothing twice, three times, arriving late at the gate of dreams worth dying for.
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Shame is the feeling you have when you agree with the woman who loves you that you are the man she thinks you are.
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A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.
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