Pods
Pea pods cling to stems.
Neponset, the village,
Clings to the Burlington Railway main line.
Terrible midnight limiteds roar through,
Hauling sleepers to the Rockies and Sierras.
The earth is slightly shaken,
And Neponset trembles slightly in its sleep.
Carl Sandburg
This is just about the hardest column I’ve ever attempted. Why? Because I love Carl Sandburg’s writing. You talk about a writer’s “voice”? You know, how you can recognize his/her literary style the minute you read it? Well, Sandburg has “voice” in spades! So as I started researching for this column, I got lost in re-reading Carl.
But first, let me go over some facts: As the poster tells you, October 3 is National Poetry Day and the Neponset Historical Society is celebrating it at 10 a.m., Thursday, Oct. 3 in Dr. Bertelsen Park next to their museum in downtown Neponset.
This event will culminate several months’ efforts by the historical society to install a monument for the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet who once lived in Neponset. The Illinois State Historical Society’s markers program is designed to recognize sites of national or statewide significance.
Markers aren’t paid for by taxes, but by sponsors who assume responsibility for documentation, getting permission from the property owner for placement of the marker, submitting a draft of the marker narrative, installing the marker in a professional manner, providing for its long-term maintenance, planning and conducting an appropriate dedication ceremony, and of course, financing the whole project. RWE–Renewable Wind Energy—is paying for this venture from funds it provides for such purposes.
That’s the business end of the project. But now let me tell you about Carl Sandburg in Neponset. The following comes from Sandburg’s autobiography “Ever the Winds of Chance,” an excellent read.
Sandburg was born in Galesburg in 1878 to Swedish immigrant parents. He left school at age 13, and by his early twenties he had worked as a hotel dishwasher, a theater scene-shifter, a barbershop porter, and had served in the Spanish-American War.
He then enrolled in Lombard College and worked to pay for it by selling Underwood Stereopticon “views,” as he called the stereoscopic photographs so popular before movies swept the country. His territory was all of Bureau County. He started his career by riding his bicycle from Galesburg to Neponset, taking a room at the Neponset House hotel (“$3.00 a night, 25 cents per meal, bed, table, washstand with bowl and pitcher, and under the bed, yellow china chamber pot.”)
Pedaling around the farm area selling “views,” Sandburg usually heard, “Well, the crops aren’t lookin’ too good this year,” but ended up taking orders for more photos. He often ate with the families and even stayed the night, paying with a good discount on a few “views.” He said, “Some of the most pleasant dinner hours I have ever had were at the tables where farmer, wife, hired man, children sat up to good food.”
With this background, no wonder Sandburg’s poetry runs the gamut from the muscular, jolting “Chicago”—first line “Hog butcher for the world”—so much for sweetness and light—to soft, sly “Fog”—“The fog come comes/ on little cat feet./ It sits looking /over harbor and city/On silent haunches/and then moves on.”
I love the guy! Once I delve into his poetry, I just can’t stop.
But back to the business at hand: I’ll be back soon to give a shout-out to the Neponset Historical Society for undertaking this project and mention who is doing what for the day. I hope to see you there, and oh, yes, there will be cookies and a tour of the museum.
In the meantime, keep the faith, read some Sandburg, and—hang on!
Your friend, Carol
