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Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.
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
Fire
Sunsets
People
Sensuous
Mystic
Purple
Sunset
Smoke
Pansies
Mathematics
Waffles
Poetry
Stacks
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The simple dignity of a child drinking a bowl of milk embodies the fascination of an ancient rite.
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The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.
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Tongues wrangled dark at a man. He buttoned his overcoat and stood alone. In a snowstorm, red hollyberries, thoughts, he stood alone.
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I had taken a course in Ethics. I read a thick textbook, heard the class discussions and came out of it saying I hadn't learned a thing I didn't know before about morals and what is right or wrong in human conduct.
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Poetry is the cipher key to the five mystic wishes packed in a hollow silver bullet fed to a flying fish.
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Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
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Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
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To work hard, to live hard, to die hard, and then go to hell after all would be too damned hard.
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An ambition is a little creeper that creeps and creeps in your heart night and day, singing a little song, Come and find me, come and find me.
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Yesterday and tomorrow cross and mix on the skyline. The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets, one waits.
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Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
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Never will a time come when the most marvelous recent invention is as marvelous as a newborn child.
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Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches.
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The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time
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Poetry is the harnessing of the paradox of earth cradling life and then entombing it.
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In democracy both a deep reverence and a sense of the comic are requisite.
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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
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Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
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Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.
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I remember in my early 20s when I felt I couldn't live past 30. I was learning how to write. I had a lot of hard work ahead of me.
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