I’ve gushed about Carl Sandburg’s reading style before and here I am again. It’s not so much that I completely get how/why he sees and reads and hears a poem the way he does, just that I’m fascinated with how very definite his vocal take is – odd and strong and whimsical and sinister, all at once, and quite certain about it all every step of his serious-clownish way. I don’t think anyone could do this but Carl Sandburg.
Mr. Attila by Carl Sandburg
(PS Recall that Hiroshima was bombed on 6 August 1945.)