Wednesday, January 6, 2021

Blondes Prefer Gentlemen

   


Can you dance like the wind is pushing you?
Can you dance like you are pushing the wind?
Can you dance with slow wooden heels
and then change to bright and singing silver heels?
 
If you ask the two people in the photo at the top of this post, the answer would seem to be "Yes". Such nice feet, such good feet. But whose feet? And not just their feet, either. Look at those arms! To paraphrase Hank Williams Jr, are you ready to rhumba? Or is that a samba? A tango? Waltz, maybe? My guess is generic ballroom. Or generic rock 'n' roll. Whatever it is, that's certainly not Gene Kelly on the right. So who is it?




 Poetry is an Echo, Asking a Shadow to Dance



He would know. That's Carl Sandburg, who spent the first 23 years of his life in the 19th century, but left his mark on the 20th. He worked as a bricklayer, drove (reins, not steering wheel) a milk wagon, heaved coal, worked as a farmhand, assisted a barber, and shined shoes in a hotel, all the while dabbling in radical politics, which eventually netted him a job as a secretary to Milwaukee's left-of-center mayor. Later, he was hired on at a Chicago newspaper, back in the days when you didn't need a journalism degree (and newspapers were still hiring on in the first place), where he reported on city politics, crime, labor issues, and--they had them back then, too--race riots. He also reviewed films, one of the first people to do so in the 1910s. That's how he paid the bills, but in his spare time he wrote poetry. His fourth collection, but first by a mainstream publisher, Chicago Poems,
came out in 1916, and went a very long way towards establishing him as one of the nation's leading poets. As the title suggests, these were poems about the Windy City, but in one of those poems, he arguably came up with a better nickname "The City of the Broad Shoulders". However, Sandburg didn't just limit himself to urban life. 1919 saw the publication of Cornhuskers, which won him a Pulitzer. During the Great Depression, he came out with a book-length poem The People, Yes, a paean to democracy and the resilience of Americans during difficult times. Despite all this verse, Sandburg hadn't forgotten prose. An admirer of Abraham Lincoln (as was another poet, Walt Whitman, whose life overlapped Sandburg's by 14 years), he wrote a six-volume, two-part biography of the Great Emancipator. The Prairie Years was published in 1926, the second, The War Years, in 1939. Despite some criticism that the works were more literary than scholarly, they were immensely popular and The War Years won Sandburg another Pulitzer, this time in History (no doubt jurors had one eye on the situation in Europe when they made their decision. If worse came to worse, Honest Abe might serve as a good role model for a wartime president.) If all that wasn't enough, Sandburg was arguably the first celebrity folk singer, prefiguring both Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger by about a decade-and-a-half. He often brought along a guitar to poetry readings, and in 1927 published The American Songbag, a compilation of folk songs. Keep in mind this was folk music in the original sense of the term. Not newly-written, copyrighted songs called "folk" simply because of the sparse arrangements, but noncopyrighted songs with no known composer to collect the royalties (though since the book was a best-seller that went through several printings, I'm sure Sandburg himself earned a royalty or two, but I wouldn't begrudge him that.)  The aforementioned Seeger saw American Songbag as a landmark that helped spark the folk revival movement of the 1930s (which sometimes gets overshadowed by the more Top 40 one of the '50s and '60s.)  On the 150th anniversary of Lincoln's birth in 1959, Congress met in joint session to hear actor Fredric March read from the Gettysburg Address, after which Sandburg read a few selections from...um...hold on a second...



There's that blonde again. Who is she? Maybe if we can get her to take off those dark glasses.


 That's right, it's Marilyn Monroe. The story goes that the two first met around 1960 when Sandburg was living in Hollywood working as a film consultant (he would have been in his early 80s at the time, so you can't accuse Tinseltown of ageism, at least not back then.) Thinking she was out of town or something, the studio gave him her dressing room to use as a makeshift office, but she turned up anyway. Rather than get pissed, she was delighted to find the iconic poet there, which shouldn't come as a surprise. Once her fame had been firmly secured, Monroe often sought out the company of literary types (in fact, she married one.) For his part, Sandburg liked her immediately, as did most people who crossed paths with her. He was also intrigued by her background. Born illegitimate in an era where that was considered foreboding enough, Marilyn (actually, Norma Jean) was eight when her mother had a mental breakdown. She spent the rest of her life in and out of psychiatric wards, while her daughter, the future sex goddess, spent the rest of her childhood going from one foster home to another, getting molested by two of those foster parents along the way. This was about as proletariat as proletariat can get, something the old lefty poet could appreciate. Sandburg and Monroe met at least twice after that, with the photos to prove it. Pictures of Marilyn in dark glasses were taken in the New York apartment of photographer Len Stickler, where Sandburg was staying as a guest, only informing his host of the movie star's arrival when she actually arrived. Pictures of Marilyn in a scarf were again taken in New York, at the apartment of Henry Weinstein, an East Coast producer of plays looking to become a West Coast producer of movies (in fact, the uncompleted Something's Got to Give, starring Marilyn, was slated to be his first.) The photographer was the highly-regarded Arnold Newman. However, he wasn't known for his snapshots, so he too may have been surprised when she showed up.




Ooh, these look kind of intimate, huh? Well, rest assured, Sandburg was a happily married man, and besides...






...there were people present.







Some calisthenics before breaking out the booze. Unless the booze is what led to the calisthenics.


 Longtime readers know that as a way of keeping this blog as randomly eclectic as possible, I often pin posts to people's birthdays. So, too, today's is Carl Sandburg's. Here's one of his more famous poems. Nothing political, just mere weather reporting:

The fog comes
on little cat's feet

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

I would have compared it to a hippopotamus, but then, I'm not a poet.


Finally, I don't want to leave you with the impression that Carl Sandburg only hung around Hollywood celebrities. Here he is with the then-President of the United States, John F. Kennedy. Say...


...you don't suppose Sandburg introduced them, do you?


18 comments:

  1. Immediately knew Monroe in that first picture, but never would have guessed Sandburg. What a powerful presence even in his 80s.

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    1. We could use another Carl Sandburg, Mitchell.

      In Sandburg's day, poor or working-class whites weren't by default right-wingers as they seem to be today. How things change.

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  2. Wow, so much knowledge gained and an interesting post.

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    1. It may be knowledgeable and interesting, Andrew, but my timing was downright lousy. How am I suppose to compete with an insurrection?

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  3. Hi, Kirk!

    Happy 143rd birthday (in heaven) to three time Pulitzer Prize winning writer and poet Carl Sandburg. If you check the right column of my blog under the picture of Tom Anderson "King of All Media," you will see that Sandburg and I are tied with three Pulitzers each. I suppose he gets the edge because he knew MM. Thanks for summarizing Sandburg's career and posting pics revealing his relationship with the sex bomb actress. Now an old guy myself, I'm certain that Norma Jeane would be drawn to me, especially since I am a world class intellectual. I can picture the two of us having hours of fun playing Twister. I looked it up and learned that when Sandburg and Kennedy posed for that picture together, Marilyn was hiding in Jack's closet.

    Thanks, good buddy, Kirk. Enjoy the rest of your week!

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    1. Shady, I know you said on your own blog you're going to be offline for a while, so you're probably not even reading this. Nevertheless, I make it a point to respond to every comment, as long there is no more than 20 comments total (which has never happened--this blog isn't Going Gently.) So, Shady, thanks for commenting, thanks for the one-liners, and I hope to see here again someday.

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  4. Super post.

    This illustrates a wonderful mix of higher culture and popular culture.

    It has been a long time since I have read Carl Sandburg. I think that I will try to read some of his poetry today.

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    1. Brian, pop culture is high culture's day job.

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  5. "Poetry is an Echo, Asking a Shadow to Dance" -- how wonderfully evocative! I enjoy Sandburg's poetry.

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    1. I have a confession to make, Debra. Because this opens with a photo of Carl and Marilyn dancing, I googled "Sandburg, dance", to see what would come up. One poem began "Can you dance like the wind is pushing you?" That actually was written for a 1959 Gene Kelly TV special, in which Sandburg reads the poem on-camera as Kelly shows off his footwork. The second thing that came up is the poem you mention. In fact, it's the title.

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  6. I enjoy seeing these old photos, moments caught in time! I like Marilyn a lot. Donno Carl, sorry!

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    1. Everyone knows Marilyn, Ananka. You can't go wrong with her. In fact, I have an Andy Warhol print of her looking down at me as I type this.

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  7. I wonder how many times he did "calisthenics" with Marilyn?

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    1. If it's what your implying, Mike, Sandburg would have been the envy of heterosexual octogenarians everywhere, but I believe the relationship was platonic.

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  8. Hi Kirk, With all the events recently, I am doing a little catching up. Sandburg was was only watching the fog when he wrote his little paean, not guiding a ship in that harbor, or driving a car, especially on a winding mountain road, as we once were.

    With more reference to current events, according to Wikipedia, "President Lyndon B. Johnson observed that "Carl Sandburg was more than the voice of America, more than the poet of its strength and genius. He was America." Isn't that what people should be aiming for who genuinely want respect for America?
    --Jim

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    1. Jim, Sandburg wrote the poem in 1916. If he was driving a car at all at the time, it probably would have been a Model T.

      As for LBJ words--um, I better spell out that name as I don't want it to be confused with the former Cavs player--as for Lyndon B. Johnson's words, yes, they're very true, but I doubt if any of those goons who broke into the Capitol ever heard of Sandburg. I also direct you to my response to Mitchell's comment.

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    2. Hi again, That's just as scary a thought, trying to drive or guide animals in a heavy fog, or worse yet on glare ice (even with "winter" horseshoes)!

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    3. That raises an interesting question, Jim. Did they use road salt in the horse-and-buggy era? I can see a certain drawback if they did. The horse might have eaten it!

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