Poetry / Carl Sandburg Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Chicago,
your decay is beautiful
and imminent.

The sky whispers conspiracy to your builders
and your otherwise-unseen care-takers.
It begs them to fling iron up at already-wrangled
monuments, begs their sparks for some pity,
understandably jealous of your lights for outshining it.
When I can’t sleep some nights in the park,
I keep an eye on them for you,
knowing you’ll return the favor.

Chicago,
They say
we’re destroying you.

They’ve gotten inside your spine already
and begun to whisper about infestation.
They don’t understand our relationship.
Chicago, they don’t understand
that a kid’s heart beats everything it touches to submission
so eurythane wheels are less damaging.
They don’t understand that spraypaint is the cold-cream
cleansing your beautiful face.

Chicago,
they don’t understand
us.

They don’t know why your marble drops so solid
like certain beats, why
the air embraces cayenne like family in the summer,
they don’t know why we’re drawn so inexplicably
to your skin.
They don’t understand why photographers dream you, why
poets worship your cold steel in white pages,
or what I’m doing here now,
wandering nearly mad like a prophet through your veins
after midnight, reeling
from the way you make me feel.

Chicago,
all my recent attempts to write
have been similar trips through your streets
and visions of you that haven’t left me
and never will.

Reviews

June 30, 2006

FinnessaWilliams

personal info reviewer stats

No. of Reviews	Overall Quality	Comment Followup
774	63.1% (206 votes)	32.0%

Age	Gender	Location	Last Login
36	F	Twin Lake, MI	October 01

FinnessaWilliams reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

This was a good love poem about a city.  I don’t know if it’s a great love story about a city.  This was not as personal as most love poems are.  It was written very distantly and I couldn’t connect.  I think that is where you missed the mark to me.

I did like this part:

They don’t understand why photographers dream you, why
poets worship your cold steel in white pages,
or what I’m doing here now,
wandering nearly mad like a prophet through your veins
after midnight, reeling
from the way you make me feel.

I felt like you explained your love affair and not anyone else.  It felt much more personal, much more like a lover turned out.

This is a strong poem.  Thanks for sharing.

• add/view comments (3)

June 30, 2006

by HypnoticMnemonic

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No. of Reviews	Overall Quality	Comment Followup
28	100.0% (1 votes)	45.5%

Age	Gender	Location	Last Login
20	F	Lyons, IL	June 17

Thank you for your review. I did point out, however, that the whole “writing a different love poem” goal was a mistake on my part. I was trying to add another goal and added that one by mistake, now I have no clue how to get it off of there.

June 30, 2006

by FinnessaWilliams

personal info reviewer stats

No. of Reviews	Overall Quality	Comment Followup
774	63.1% (206 votes)	32.0%

Age	Gender	Location	Last Login
36	F	Twin Lake, MI	October 01

A love poem shouldn’t appear distant.  That isn’t love.  I don’t think anything that different could be easily done.  I don’t see how distant or disconnected could make for a good love story.

June 30, 2006

by HypnoticMnemonic

personal info reviewer stats

No. of Reviews	Overall Quality	Comment Followup
28	100.0% (1 votes)	45.5%

Age	Gender	Location	Last Login
20	F	Lyons, IL	June 17

It could, but that’s a whole ‘nother poem entirely. What I’m saying was that it was more of an ode than an actual “love” poem and that the goal of “different kind of love poem” was a mistake on my part of the adding of the goal. It wasn’t actually a goal for this piece at all. Which means that the whole “what makes a good love poem” thing is not applicable to this particular poem.

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