Chicago

Hog Butcher for the World, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler; Stormy, husky, brawling, City of the Big Shoulders: They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys. And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it

A Poem For Myself

I was born in Mississippi; I walked barefooted thru the mud. Born black in Mississippi, Walked barefooted thru the mud. But, when I reached the age of twelve I left that place for good. My daddy chopped cotton And he drank his liquor straight. Said my daddy chopped cotton And he drank his liquor straight.

Beans Taste Fine

Now a friend of mine, way back in Chicago You know, he finally made his pile. Well he got himself a mansion on Butler and Sheff An' he was livin' in the latest style; But I run into him, he was eatin' in a greasy spoon While parkled in front was his big limousine. I said, 'Buddy, you've got so much money How come youre in here, eatin' beans?' An' he said 'After you've been havin' steak for a long time,

Wild Dreams Of A New Beginning

There's a breathless hush on the freeway tonight Beyond the ledges of concrete restaurants fall into dreams with candlelight couples Lost Alexandria still burns in a billion lightbulbs Lives cross lives idling at stoplights Beyond the cloverleaf turnoffs 'Souls eat souls in the general emptiness'

Impossible To Tell

to Robert Hass and in memory of Elliot Gilbert Slow dulcimer, gavotte and bow, in autumn, Bashõ and his friends go out to view the moon; In summer, gasoline rainbow in the gutter, The secret courtesy that courses like ichor Through the old form of the rude, full-scale joke, Impossible to tell in writing. 'Bashõ'

As I Sat Alone By Blue Ontario's Shores

AS I sat alone, by blue Ontario's shore, As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace return'd, and the dead that return no more, A Phantom, gigantic, superb, with stern visage, accosted me; Chant me the poem, it said, that comes from the soul of America- chant me the carol of victory; And strike up the marches of Libertad- marches more powerful yet; And sing me before you go, the song of the throes of Democracy. (Democracy- the destin'd conqueror- yet treacherous lip-smiles

I Like Canadians

By A Foreigner I like Canadians. They are so unlike Americans. They go home at night. Their cigarettes don't smell bad. Their hats fit. They really believe that they won the war. They don't believe in Literature. They think Art has been exaggerated.

For Selma

In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York... In places like Chicago and New York Kids say, In places like London and Paris...

Chicago Poet

I saluted a nobody. I saw him in a looking-glass. He smiled--so did I. He crumpled the skin on his forehead, frowning--so did I. Everything I did he did. I said, "Hello, I know you." And I was a liar to say so. Ah, this. looking-glass man! Liar, fool, dreamer, play-actor,

The Initiate

St. John of the Cross wore dark glasses As he passed me on the street. St. Theresa of Avila, beautiful and grave, Turned her back on me. "Soulmate," they hissed. "It's high time." I was a blind child, a wind-up toy . . . I was one of death's juggling red balls On a certain street corner

Epilogue

O chansons foregoing You were a seven days' wonder. When you came out in the magazines You created considerable stir in Chicago, And now you are stale and worn out, You're a very depleted fashion, A hoop-skirt, a calash, An homely, transient antiquity. Only emotion remains. Your emotions?

Of Him I Love Day And Night

OF him I love day and night, I dream'd I heard he was dead; And I dream'd I went where they had buried him I love--but he was not in that place; And I dream'd I wander'd, searching among burial-places, to find him; And I found that every place was a burial-place; The houses full of life were equally full of death, (this house is now;) The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement, the Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, the Mannahatta, were as full of the dead

A Garden In Chicago

In the mid-city, under an oiled sky, I lay in a garden of such dusky green It seemed the dregs of the imagination. Hedged round by elegant spears of iron fence My face became a moon to absent suns. A low heat beat upon my reading face; There rose no roses in that gritty place But blue-gray lilacs hung their tassels out. Hard zinnias and ugly marigolds And one sweet statue of a child stood by.

Song At Sunset

SPLENDOR of ended day, floating and filling me! Hour prophetic--hour resuming the past! Inflating my throat--you, divine average! You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing. Open mouth of my Soul, uttering gladness, Eyes of my Soul, seeing perfection, Natural life of me, faithfully praising things; Corroborating forever the triumph of things.

Fear Is What Quickens Me

1 Many animals that our fathers killed in America Had quick eyes. They stared about wildly, When the moon went dark. The new moon falls into the freight yards Of cities in the south, But the loss of the moon to the dark hands of Chicago Does not matter to the deer

Nebraska

April doesnt hurt here Like it does in New England The ground Vast and brown Surrounds dry towns Located in the dust Of the coming locust Live for survival, not for 'kicks' Be a bangtail describer, like of shrouded traveler

Changing Of The Seasons

Oh the changing of the seasons it's a pretty thing to see And though I find this balmy weather pleasin' There's the wind come from tomorrow and I hear it callin' me And I'm bound for the changing of the seasons Oh it's blowin' in Chicago and it's snowin' up in Maine And the Islands to the south are warm and sunny And I've got to feel the earth shake and I gotta feel the rain And I've got to know a taste of more than honey So don't ask me where I'm goin' or how long I'm gonna be away

Aner Clute

Over and over they used to ask me, While buying the wine or the beer, In Peoria first, and later in Chicago, Denver, Frisco, New York, wherever I lived, How I happened to lead the life, And what was the start of it. Well, I told them a silk dress, And a promise of marriage from a rich man -- (It was Lucius Atherton). But that was not really it at all.

Visiting A Dead Man On A Summer Day

In flat America, in Chicago, Graceland cemetery on the German North Side. Forty feet of Corinthian candle celebrate Pullman embedded lonely raisin in a cake of concrete. The Potter Palmers float in an island parthenon. Barons of hogfat, railroads and wheat are postmarked with angels and lambs.

Starting From Paumanok

STARTING from fish-shape Paumanok, where I was born, Well-begotten, and rais'd by a perfect mother; After roaming many lands--lover of populous pavements; Dweller in Mannahatta, my city--or on southern savannas; Or a soldier camp'd, or carrying my knapsack and gun--or a miner in California; Or rude in my home in Dakota's woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring;