Corazon del Hombre/ Sandburg

I found the prose selection I had been looking for! It's very exciting, I quite like it. Of course by some inverse nature this means that casi nadie mas les gusta. Some lines were partially inspired by Carl Sandburg's Always the Young Strangers. In the end though it's really a pretty overt poem, or so I thought when I was writing it. There seems to be one small point that needs clarification. When I refer to the "working-woman" I am indeed referring to a woman of the worlds oldest profession. If that still doesn't clarify it for you ask you parents. I'm purposefully not using the current or more grotesque terminology, because it's unnecessary and not the point. These few lines have no name yet, so I'll just tentatively name it Heart of Man.

Heart of Man

The heart of man is like the Working-Woman, 

Wailing alone in the night,

Struggling to recall those young days of bare feet and hands grasping for the tops of trees.

Striving against some spoiled thing deep within,

But still caught in her own mire.

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Again, I really quite liked this one. Unfortunately, as with some of my other work, I was praised on the writing style, but my concept was heavily criticized. I think it's both appropriate and true but if I didn't then I probably wouldn't have written it.

I would like to take a moment now to promote my favorite poet who I mentioned before, Carl Sandburg. I just recently finished reading his autobiography Always the Young Strangers which was simply amazing. It's very chic these days to be almost anti-American. I find this somewhat ironic because America is one of the few countries where you're allowed to actually stand up for what you think is wrong, and I feel that any major change that people cry out for would invariably take that right away. Even so, even I get into that mood at times, I look to the president and blame him for things far beyond his control, forgetting that he has a huge job that I cannot even begin to fathom. One way or another however, Sandburg has a magical quality that actually makes you proud to be an American. His story of growing up in the late 1800's in Galesburg Illinois makes you remember what America was built for. He speaks with such reverence of the rich conglomeration of cultures that have settled here. He was proud of civil war heroes and worked hard to get by.  I would highly encourage you to read some of his poetry, it will pierce your heart. I'll likely be posting a lot of it in the future, but for now just enjoy this small snippet.  

HAPPINESS

I ASKED the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell
     me what is happiness.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of
     thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though
     I was trying to fool with them
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along
     the Desplaines river
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with
     their women and children and a keg of beer and an
     accordion.