Making It New: 1900–1945 447appeared in 1936. In the biography, Lincoln appears as an embodiment of the
American dream; while, in the poem, Sandburg declares his faith in the democratic
experiment. “The people will live on,” Sandburg insists toward the end of the poem,
“The people is a polychrome, / a spectrum, a prism.” “In the night,” he concludes,
“and overhead,” “a shovel of stars for keeps, the people march! / ‘Where to?
What next?’ ” Using a frequently apocalyptic tone and an incantatory rhythm
and language, Sandburg presents “the people” as an indomitable force, dormant
now but about to assert its rightful supremacy. This is American epic at its most
straightforward: plotless, concentrating more on natural potential than cultural
attainment, and ending on a note of hope. At its center is what Sandburg calls “a
polychrome, / a spectrum and a prism”: a mysterious, multifarious figure who is
at once everybody and nobody in particular – nobody, that is, apart from that
representative of his nation the writer knows best, himself.
“Oh, the great poem has yet to be written ... Jeffersonian democracy as an art is a
thing to be desired.” The words are those of another poet associated with Chicago,
Vachel Lindsay (1879–1931). Like Sandburg, Lindsay was devoted to Abraham
Lincoln: “The prairie-lawyer” he called him, “master of us all.” He was equally
devoted to Andrew Jackson (a man for whom, as he saw it, “Every friend was an
equal”), and to William Jennings Bryan. Bryan, in particular, was a charismatic
figure for him: the Democratic presidential candidate of 1896 who, for a time, made
it seem possible that the farming interests of the West might yet prevail over the
cities and factories of “the dour East.” Lindsay was, in fact, raised in Illinois during
the period of agrarian and populist revolt against the emergent urban–industrial
economy; and it left an indelible mark on him. So, too, did the walking tour of the
United States that he undertook in 1912, without occupation or even prospects.
Out of both experiences grew a determination to create an “American” rhythm,
related to the sounds of galloping herds and shrieking motors, black music and
what he called “vaudevilles” and “circuses.” And out of this, in turn, came poems
like “General William Booth Enters Into Heaven” (1913) (which reveals his
millennialism, his commitment to the social gospel of the underprivileged), “In
Praise of Johnny Appleseed” (1913) (the mythical American hero for whom,
Lindsay suggests, “the real frontier was his sunburnt breast”), and perhaps his most
famous work, “Bryan, Bryan, Bryan, Bryan” (1913). The two collections that brought
Lindsay fame were General William Booth Enters Into Heaven and Other Poems
(1913) and The Congo and Other Poems (1914). The title piece of the second volume
is a celebration of black Americans, and is relatively atypical of Lindsay’s work in its
use of syncopated rhythms. It is, however, otherwise characteristic of all his poetry
in that it is heavily rhetorical, with a proliferation of heavy accents, emphatic rhymes
and verbal melodies, repetition and chanting rhymes. Lindsay’s is really a poetry
meant to be spoken: the later years of Lindsay’s life were devoted to an exhausting
program of public performances, which had as its aim nothing less than what he
termed “an Art Revolution.” “We must make this,” he insisted, “a Republic of Letters”;
and, in order to establish such a republic, he hoped that at least 99 other poets would
follow in his wake. “When I quit,” he said, “I want the 99 to be well started, singing.”GGray_c04.indd 447ray_c 04 .indd 447 8 8/1/2011 7:53:59 AM/ 1 / 2011 7 : 53 : 59 AM