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Poems On / About CHICAGO  7/24/2016 1:46:19 AM
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Best Poems About / On CHICAGO
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Evening Song

My song will rest while I rest. I struggle along. I'll get back to the corn and
the open fields. Don't fret, love, I'll come out all right.

Back of Chicago the open fields. Were you ever there—trains coming toward
you out of the West—streaks of light on the long gray plains? Many a
song—aching to sing.

I've got a gray and ragged brother in my breast—that's a fact. Back of
Chicago the open fields—long trains go west too—in the silence. Don't
fret, love. I'll come out all right.
Sherwood Anderson

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Someone From Home

When I was a child we always went to church but only once a year as a family.

My father would rise every Sunday and attend the 6: 30 Mass, then come home and read his Sunday paper, every word of it, section by section, saving the obituaries for last.

My mother would stuff my sister and me into our Sunday best and send us off to the Children’s Mass at 10. It was a short walk to the church and times were different back then. We were children but safe in our little neighborhood of brick bungalows where neighbors kept an eye out for strangers or anyone or anything that looked odd. The south side of Chicago in the Forties and Fifties was blue collar, little villages teeming with immigrants and very peaceful, except for the occasional fight that might break out in a neighborhood bar.

After sending my sister and me off to church, my mother would put the roast in the oven, ask my father to keep an eye on it, and she would go to the 11: 15.

This was our family pattern, even on Christmas and Easter. I recall not one variation.

But there was that one day a year when the four of us as a family went off to church together. And that was on Good Friday when we walked to the church, my sister and I in front, my father and mother right behind us, to attend the Stations of the Cross at 3 p.m. Not a word was said as we walked those few blocks. But I was impressed by this family event because if it was important enough to get us to go to church together, I figured Good Friday must be a pretty important day.

The only other time we went anywhere as a family was an Irish wake. Chicago back then was not only home to the Stockyards filled with cattle, swine and sheep. It was also home to large groups of immigrants. And my father would always want the family to dress up and go to an Irish wake, hoping, as he so often said, to meet “someone from home.”
Donal Mahoney

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Until It Finds A Tree

A bird flies round until it finds a tree;
its spirit doesn’t tell it one is better,
and even when it lands it feels it’s free
to try another, avian jet-setter.

Inspired by Ricardo Muti who told Daniel J. Wakin (“And the Brass Ring Goes to the Chicago Symphony: Riccardo Muti Says Yes, ” NYT, May 6,2008) :

Mr. Muti called the Chicago Symphony “a perfect machine, ” with the versatility to play huge works like Prokofiev’s Symphony No.3 and Scriabin’s “Poem of Ecstasy” or to display the refined delicacy needed for small-scale Schubert.He remained steadfastly unattached after resigning as music director of the Teatro Alla Scala in Milan in 2005 in an operatic kerfuffle. Orchestra musicians and other workers at the theater had turned against him in an internal political wrangle. “I thought it was time for me to be absolutely free, like the birds in the air, ” he said. “Birds go around and they enjoy their happiness, their freedom. But sometimes it can happen they find a tree, and they like to stop on a tree, and they didn’t know about the tree before. It doesn’t mean one tree is better than another tree. It just happens at the right moment in life.”

gershon hepner

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Providential Hope In The Windy City

The streets of chicago
are settled by raindrops in this spring

Each sound surrounded by trumpets
of citizenry on their quest to fortune

Where medicine and teaching are combined
into one and bolstered by magic faith

Where the residual hopes of forgiveness
in the healing power of life can conquer

Sweet chicago rain, surround me now
consume my body in providential hope.
Albrando Lucino

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Poems On / About CHICAGO