Sherwood Anderson’s poem addresses a strange, hoarse singer rising over Chicago—half man, half bird, with wings scorched by factory fires. The speaker does not pretend this voice is pretty. Its cries are harsh and dark, but they matter because they have lifted out of the city’s roar and point toward something like real song. Behind the grimy city lie flat, orderly cornfields, and the speaker sees new beauty in them, imagining future singers who will come after this rough forerunner has fallen dead on a coal heap. The mood is solemn and almost worshipful. By the end, the speaker kneels as if in prayer, unable to forget the black bird against the smoke-blackened sky, still struggling to recover a faint, long-forgotten purity of song.
Song to New Song — Summary
Over my city Chicago a singer arises to sing. I greet thee, hoarse and terrible singer, half man, half bird, strong, winged one. I see you float in cold bleak winds, Your wings burned by the fires of furnaces, In all your cries so little that is beautiful, Only the fact that you have risen out of the din and roar to float and wait and point the way to song.
Back of your grim city, singer, the long flat fields. Corn that stands up in orderly rows, full of purpose. As you float and wait, uttering your hoarse cries I see new beauties in the standing corn, And dream of singers yet to come, When you and your rude kind, choked by the fury of your furnaces, Have fallen dead upon this coal heap here.
Kneeling in prayer I shall forget you not, grim singer, Black bird, black against your black smoke-laden sky, Uttering your hoarse and terrible cries, The while you do strive to catch and understand The faint and long forgotten quality of song, By never sweeter singers to be sung.