On Why Carl Sandburg is Amazing...

Taking a moment to fangirl, my adoration for Carl Sandburg and his works is kind of absolutely and undeniably insane. He is fantastic and his work just makes me go all dead inside. That being said, "Chicago Poet" is one of dozens of pieces I bookmarked in my mother's copy of his complete works--partially because I love the way it reads and partially because I'm still not entirely sure that I know what it means.

"I saluted a nobody. / I saw him in the looking-glass" (1-2).

(Okay, okay yes, maybe the concept is a bit cliche but just hold on...)

Beginning with the commonly-used idea of greeting--personifying, even--the reflection, "Chicago Poet" is more than just a reflection on, well, his reflection (didn't plan that very well, did I?). Stating that as the extent of the work's intention is like saying that the sky exists to be blue--it's a complete lie.

"He crumpled the skin on his forehead, frowning . . . Everything I did he did. / I said, 'Hello, I know you.' / And I was a liar to say so" (4-7).

And here's the thing about that--the narrator is watching his reflection, watching himself move in the mirror and yet feeling so separate from the way he looks. It's more than the distinction between self-view and actual appearance--at the heart of it, Sandburg is telling the story of a man who does not know himself.

But Caroline, isn't that a bit of a stretch?

Not really. People identify with their reflection--they know it's them when they catch sight of their reflection. (Most people don't do a double-take when they see themselves in store-window, simply accepting that it's their own image.) But this man? He sees a "liar, fool, dreamer, play-actor" (9). A man who makes his life being fictional, living in a world that is not his own, that cannot see what is right in front of his face. 

Not a writer, not a king, not a lover, a "soldier, dusty drinker of dust" (10). Prove to me that's a man who knows himself.

(And maybe you could; maybe you could argue that the narrator is just a man that doesn't like what he sees, but that's beside the point.)

The most intriguing part of this, though, is that despite not knowing his reflection--himself, his face, his truth--the narrator is none too blind to the intertwined future he shares with the man in the mirror. "he will go with me" (11) "When everybody else is gone. / He locks his elbow in mine, / I lose all--but not him" (14-16). 

There is no way of escaping the man before him--no way of separating the "liar" (9) from the narrator. There is no method of escape.

And okay, yeah, maybe it's not the happiest of themes--maybe it's a little depressing and morbid, but it's incredibly well crafted, if that counts for anything. The inability to separate who you are from who you want to be is something that most people can relate to, even if they'll never tell you--and Sandburg makes it tangible.

(Expect more, lengthier analysis of his other works later. The Complete Works gives me a lot of material to work off of... ;D)