A Visit With
Carl Sandburg
At Connemara Farm, during' the last
few months of the poet's long' life.
By WILLIAM A. SUTTON
A visit to the North Carolina home
of Carl Sandburg, one of America's
great poets of this century, left over¬
whelming impressions of the way he
was loved and cared for after a mar¬
riage (June 15. 1908) of nearly 60
years.
I had read that Sandburg, at 89,
walked only seldom and then just
around the house; thus it was hard to
guess whether he would be visible or
would receive anyone.
My appointment was for 1 : 30 on the
afternoon of Wednesday. March 25,
1967. The door was answered by Mrs.
Sandburg, who has been described as
being a "beautiful woman of grace and
simplicity" at the time of her marriage.
She moved quietly and vigorously and
belied her eighty-some years and cer¬
tainly still had both grace and sim¬
plicity.
She greeted us (my wife and son.
Bob. accompanied me) pleasantly and
called her daughter, who led us into
her study, a room next to her father's
sitting room, where he evidently spent
most of his time, reading and watching
television and doubtless watching the
numerous birds at the feeder outside
the large window.
During the next two hours the poet
could be heard occasionally, as could
the television. After a time, Mrs. Sand¬
burg surprised us by coming in and of¬
fering us all a glass of orange juice.
Earlier she had come in and said "Dad"
was not feeling very comfortable that
afternoon.
Considerably after the orange juice
and when the consultative matters were
concluded, Mrs. Sandburg surprised us
again by coming in and saying that
Mr. Sandburg had had some rest and
was now feeling rather good. Did we
want to step in and meet him?
Yes!
As we filed into the commodious
but crowded room, we found the poet
seated in a comfortable chair, in front
of a large window, next to a table,
and about eight feet away from a tele¬
vision set placed in his immediate line
of vision. As we entered. Mrs. Sand¬
burg turned the set off.
Directly in front of him was a has¬
sock with various books and papers on
it. including his collected poems and his
latest book. Honey and Sail. (As we
were about to Icas'e. he held this book
up and said, without explanation. "The
name on the back |thc spine which he
held toward us) is Honey and Salt." It
seemed he was reminding us of his
acceptance of both the sweet and sour
of life.)
He had on a blue plaid shirt, open at
the throat, and blue trousers. He
had a red plaid robe over his knees
and slippers on his feet. Very long
hair was loosely - controlled by a green
eyeshade. He wore rather thick glasses.
His sight and hearing were obviously
good, and his handshake was firm and
warm. Wc learned his neck size was
16. and his frame was quite large. He
remained seated during the time we
were with him.
The poet, in the later stages of a long
William A. Sutton, is the author of
"The Road to Winesburg" and Pro¬
fessor of English at Ball State Uni¬
versity, Muncie, Indiana.
Sondburg wot on accomplished folklorist, ond
foils around Flo» Rock hod omplc opportunity to
hcor him ploy his git-tor. — (Photo by June
Glenn. I
life, seemed to have come to terms
with whatever infirmities he had to
endure. His mind was still active,
though it seemed he had not the
strength for the creative effort which
made him famous. He evidently slept
while we were consulting with his
daughter. Mrs. Sutton looked back
through the doorway after we had left
the room and were chatting for a few
moments with his daughters. He ap¬
peared to have fallen asleep.
The daughter wc were visiting. Mar¬
garet. was devoting her time to work¬
ing with his voluminous papers and
the queries and problems of research¬
ers. A second daughter, whom we met
briefly, Janet, seemed to be in charge
of the famous herd of Sandburg goats.
We did not get to ask her about them;
wc did ask Margaret how many there
were, and she said, in a way which in¬
dicated that was not her department,
that it was hard to tell at any one time.
Connemara Farm, as the poet's
home was known, covers 24 1 acres of
hilly land. The house, approached by
an extremely winding road up a
heavily-wooded hill, was nearly ob¬
scured from the road. It was rather a
mansion than a house, the original part
having been built for the Secretary of
the Treasury for the Confederate
States. We saw only four rather huge
rooms on the second floor. Margaret
Sandburg told us the house had been
fortified during the Civil War, a firing
THE STATE, MAY 1973
