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Sherwood Anderson. (poem)

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From: The American Poetry Review
Date: 19931101
Author:Sandburg, Carl

To write one book in five years or five books on one year, to be the painter and the thing painted, the writer and the written of --where are we, bo? Wait. Get the number of this guy. The barbershop handling is not all nor the tweeds, the cheviot, the Scotch mist, nor the flame orange scarf. On looks he is "bushwah"--(1) And yet--he sleeps under bridges with lonely crazy men; he sits in country jails with icono-clasts and sab cats;(2) he drinks beer with broken-down burleque actresses; he has cried with a heart full of tears for Windy MacPherson's father; he drews pencil sketches of ...

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