A great city, a great poem

I’ve never cared much for poetry, unless they’re dirty limericks. I much prefer prose when a person wants to explain their thoughts.

But there is one poem I love — the only one — and it was taught to me as a sophomore at St. Mary’s High School by Sister Bernardine, a Presentation nun and immigrant from Ireland.

This one poem that has made so much sense to me is “Chicago,” the classic free verse composed by Illinois native Carl Sandburg in 1914. It’s just as true today as it was 111 years ago. I had no particular desire to visit the Second City until Sandburg’s verse stirred my wanderlust. In 1968, on my way to college, I made my first visit to the Windy City. I loved it, and realized Sandburg had captured the toddlin’ town’s spirit perfectly.

I’ve been to Chicago many times since that first visit 57 years ago, and it never disappoints. I think I like it so much because it offers everything New York City has, without the chaos.

My most recent visit was a week ago, in the shadow of Trump’s threat to bring federal troops in to take over the city. Chicago’s mayor and Illinois’s governor refuse to bend their knees to Trump’s dictatorial whims. The Cubs rallied to beat the Braves in 10 innings, I had a great time and wasn’t even murdered.

Yeah, it’s a rough and tumble city, always has been. That’s its character, what makes it special and alive and a great American metropolis. It gave us Dick Butkus, Barack Obama and Da Pope. (And Al Capone.) And FBI stats say it’s far less dangerous than Birmingham, Alabama, or Fargo, North Dakota, and 40 other cities across America. Why not send troops to those dens of iniquity instead of Chicago? Politics.

Chicago has overcome bigger challenges than Donald Trump’s ego. It’s the City of Big Shoulders, carrying the Midwest on them ever since Mrs. O’Leary’s cow kicked over the lantern. The city on the lake rose from the ashes bigger and better than ever.

This poem, the best I’ve ever read, explains it all.

Chicago

By Carl Sandburg

Hog Butcher for the World,

Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,

Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;

Stormy, husky, brawling,

City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.

And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.

And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.

And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:

Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.

Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,

Bareheaded,

Shoveling,

Wrecking,

Planning,

Building, breaking, rebuilding,

Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,

Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,

Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,

Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,

Laughing!

Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.