Because you can never get too much Carl. #Sandburgforpresident

The Wilderness
Listen to the poet reading this in 1954.
“There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot’s hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
Thank you for posting this – Sandburg was one of my first poetic loves at the age of 9 – of course there is so much more to glean in one’s 50’s, ha ha.
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Reblogged this on Ellenbest24 and commented:
A wonderful gem, listening to this rich rounded voice takes the listener up close.
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This is wonderfully rich hauntingly so. His voice is reminiscent of Richard Burton or Anthony Hopkins. I will re blog. Thank you so much😇
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And did I mention that, Christ on a crutch, I love this pome…? I didn’t? Well, I do.
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He wrote a blue million things, and I’m still finding new things daily. It’s a shame he’s not taught or remembered enough now.
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If there’s a heaven, Sandburg and Whitman arm wrestle there every morning at nine o’clock sharp.
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