Someone writing in the New York Times has seen an echo between the first part of Elizabeth Alexander's inaugral poem and a poem, Passersby, by Carl Sandburg.


The early lines of Alexander’s poem (”Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise.”) echo, whether consciously or not, a poem from Carl Sandburg’s Chicago Poems (1916). I reread it and found it especially apt for this day:
PASSERS-BY

Out of your many faces
Flash memories to me
Now at the day end
Away from the sidewalks
Where your shoe soles traveled
And your voices rose and blent
To form the city’s afternoon roar
Hindering an old silence.

Passers-by,
I remember lean ones among you,
Throats in the clutch of a hope,
Lips written over with strivings,
Mouths that kiss only for love.
Records of great wishes slept with,
Held long
And prayed and toiled for. .
Yes,Written onYour mouths
And your throatsI read them
When you passed by.