Ann Fox Chandonnet A Postcard from Sandburg’s Cellar

A Postcard from Sandburg’s Cellar

ann fox chandonnet

(Flat Rock, North Carolina)

Rabelais in red boards, Whitman in green, Hugo in ten-cent paper covers. Here they stand on shelves . . . —“Interior,” “Leather Leggings,” in Carl Sandburg’s Cornhuskers (1918)

Cool. Peaceful down here: peaceful as a dog dreaming on a barn floor. Quiet: no distractions from dusty wind whisking miles of corn tassels. Visitors can scarcely move among these stacks— stories in towers right to the rafters. Sidling past the furnace, you need to hunch your shoulders.

I’m moving in tomorrow. All I need is a chaise, a good lamp, a pork chop sandwich and a wedge of gooseberry pie. (Even in Illinois now, gooseberries are rare as hen’s teeth.)

In the towers perch endless stories—murders of hungry crows. The towers, the stacks of books take the shape of zigzag rail fence, Of the caboose of the Limited Of Chicago skyscrapers Of a bayonet covered with rust Of chimneys, of steel mills Of blue streamers of wigwam smoke Of axe handles, rakes, raised fingers Of haystacks Of bristling, gleaming spear-handles

The shapes of things forgotten are here: Monosyllables Pain over love Hearts blood Babylonian tablets The sinister tower of Childe Roland Wagons on the prairie on dark nights A hat on a horse Shenandoah A moonrise over the timberline.

There are no bars across the way. The best time to be here rifling the stacks is when sleet pounds the 8-foot windows in the study. There is no end to the plan and the clue.

I’m moving in tomorrow, that’s Thursday. Send me a letter. (Doesn’t need to be long.) We have high majestic fooling going on down here. We have red hot rivets and girders, hunger and glory. We have old longing and new reckoning. Pronunciamentos. Did I mention raised fingers? Strawberry sodas? Crowbars. Rabelais in red covers— stories on stories, songs on songs. Duck under that water pipe!

Join me? Abe and Nancy are here, Karnak and Canopus. Say yes!