The Clip of Welles on Herb Shriner reading Carl Sanburg's PRAIRIE is quite interesting, since the complete Sanburg poem is of a rather epic length, and would take about 15 minutes to read.
Welles, as always, takes the liberty of editing it down to fit into this shorter version that would be needed for a TV show, and like the magician he is, makes it appear as if he's reading the poem verbatim from a book!
Likewise, he dosen't just abridge the poem by removing passages in order, but re-orders them into a completely new and concise version of the poem.
It would also appear that Welles must have really enjoyed this poem, as it was written only three years after he was born and also makes reference to Wisconsin, which Welles, of course, includes in the excerpts he reads.
Interesting also is the harmonica opening (of Red River Valley), which evokes images of the landscapes of John Ford's westerns, just as Sandburg's words recall the nostalgia for another age that is so present in Welles own work, especially "The Magnificent Ambersons."
Here is the Welles edited text:
Part 2
http://youtube.com/watch?v=-xWVVim9qfk
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PRAIRIE (1918)
By Carl Sandburg
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I was born on the prairie and the milk of its wheat, the red of its clover, the eyes of its women, gave me a song and a slogan.
Out of prairie-brown grass crossed with a streamer of Indian wigwam smoke—Here I saw a city rise and say to the peoples round world: Listen, I am strong, I know what I want.
A thousand red men cried and went away to new places for corn and women: a million white men came and put up skyscrapers, threw out rails and wires, feelers to the salt sea: now the smokestacks bite the skyline with a stub teeth.
I have loved the prairie as a man with a heart shot full of pain over love.
The Pioneer Limited crossing Wisconsin.
A headlight searches a snowstorm.
The fireman waves his hand to a country school teacher on a bobsled.
The farmer on the seat dangles the reins on the rumps of dapple-gray horses.
The farmer’s daughter with a basket of eggs dreams of a new hat to wear to the county fair.
The threshing crews eating beefsteak, the farmboys driving steers to the railroad cattle pens.
The crowds of people at a Fourth of July basket picnic, listening to a lawyer read the Declaration of Independence, watching the pinwheels and Roman candles at night, the young men and women two by two hunting the byeroads and kissing bridges.
The horses looking over a fence in the frost of late October saying good-morning to the horses hauling wagons of rutabaga to market.
The old zigzag rail fences, the new barb wire.
I have loved the prairie as a man with a heart shot full of pain over love.
I speak of new cities and new people.
I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.
I tell you yesterday is a wind gone down
a sun dropped in the west.
I tell you there is nothing in the world
only an ocean of to-morrows,
a sky of to-morrows.
I am a brother of the cornhuskers who say
at sundown:
To-morrow is a day.