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Carl Sandburg, his wife, and two daughters had their ashes buried under "Remembrance Rock", the 5-foot granite boulder whose name was the source for the novel's title, [4] in the backyard of Sandburg's birthplace and boyhood home.
Carl August Sandburg (January 6, 1878 – July 22, 1967) was an American poet, biographer, journalist, and editor. He won three Pulitzer Prizes: two for his poetry and one for his biography of Abraham Lincoln.
Chicago Poems established Sandburg as a major figure in contemporary literature. [5] Chicago Poems , and its follow-up volumes of verse, Cornhuskers (1918) and Smoke and Steel (1920) represent Sandburg's attempts to found an American version of social realism, writing expansive verse in praise of American agriculture and industry.
"Chicago" is a poem by Carl Sandburg about the city of Chicago that became his adopted home. It first appeared in Poetry , March 1914, the first of nine poems collectively titled "Chicago Poems". It was republished in 1916 in Sandburg's first mainstream collection of poems, also titled Chicago Poems .
Ezra Pound's review of the Spoon River poems begins: "At last! At last America has discovered a poet." [5] Carl Sandburg's review is similarly glowing: "Once in a while a man comes along who writes a book that has his own heart-beats in it. The people whose faces look out from the pages of the book are the people of life itself, each trait of ...
I am astounded at the completely inadequate discussion of CS' poetry under "Works." The only full-length book mentioned is a collection of children's poems so minor in the poet's oeuvre that some scholars don't even include it - where works of major influence like Chicago Poems and The People, Yes! are not even mentioned.
Cover of the first edition (1922) of what is sometimes called Book One; illustrated by Maud and Miska Petersham. Rootabaga Stories (1922) is a children's book of interrelated short stories by Carl Sandburg. The whimsical, sometimes melancholy stories, which often use nonsense language, [1] were originally created for his own daughters.
Poetry’s unnat’ral; no man ever talked poetry ‘cept a beadle on boxin’ day, or Warren’s blackin’ or Rowland’s oil, or some o’ them low fellows; never you let yourself down to talk poetry, my boy. ”