Carl Sandburg

  • Sep. 12th, 2013 at 11:23 PM
beth_shulman: (stock: open book rose)
Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.

Carl Sandburg

  • Jan. 19th, 2013 at 9:46 PM
beth_shulman: (Default)
I'm an idealist. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way.

Carl Sandburg

  • Nov. 26th, 2012 at 11:47 PM
beth_shulman: (Default)
They all want to play Hamlet.
They have not exactly seen their fathers killed
Nor their mothers in a frame-up to kill,
Nor an Ophelia dying with a dust gagging the heart,
Not exactly the spinning circles of singing golden spiders,
Not exactly this have they got at nor the meaning of flowers—O flowers,
flowers slung by a dancing girl—in the saddest play the inkfish,
Shakespeare, ever wrote;
Yet they all want to play Hamlet because it is sad like all actors are sad
and to stand by an open grave with a joker’s skull in the hand and then to
say over slow and say over slow wise, keen, beautiful words masking a
heart that’s breaking, breaking,
This is something that calls and calls to their blood.
They are acting when they talk about it and they know it is acting to be
particular about it and yet: They all want to play Hamlet.

(They All Want To Play Hamlet)

Carl Sandburg

  • Mar. 6th, 2012 at 12:50 AM
beth_shulman: (stock: black and white tree scene)
Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what was seen during a moment.

Carl Sandburg

  • Feb. 5th, 2012 at 9:00 PM
beth_shulman: (Default)
A book is never a masterpiece: it becomes one.

Carl Sandburg

  • Jul. 5th, 2011 at 12:02 AM
beth_shulman: (book: jellicoe road)
Yesterday is done. Tomorrow never comes. Today is here. If you don't know what to do, sit still and listen.

(Incidentals)

Carl Sandburg

  • May. 8th, 2011 at 10:40 PM
beth_shulman: (Default)
Nothing happens unless first we dream.

Carl Sandburg

  • Apr. 13th, 2011 at 12:24 AM
beth_shulman: (Default)
Life is like an onion: you peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep.

Carl Sandburg

  • Dec. 21st, 2010 at 10:46 PM
beth_shulman: (stock: black and white tree scene)
The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

(Fog)

Carl Sandburg

  • Nov. 26th, 2010 at 2:40 PM
beth_shulman: (violin)
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.

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