This collection of poetry has the power to liberate your gay soul.

I liked this - in spite of my lifelong lack of understanding of modern poetry. Is it ok to consider 1956 "modern"?

"who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally *****, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger on the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time—"

Does it get any better than that?

Perhaps it was fate that brought me to this random hotel room in San Francisco, that happened to have a copy of Howl on the bedside table, in lieu of a Bible. And it was definitely fate that compelled to read this collection of poetry out loud, despite being tired and droopy eyed from the airplane that surely lives off passengers' livelihoods. I am glad that fate let me meet this collection of poetry and I am ashamed that I have not known this until now.

As a foreigner with very slim knowledge of US history, the 50's culture is a giant mystery. In fact, as a Korean, the entire 50's for us is defined by one thing: the Korean War. What is this strange Beatnik culture you Yanks speak of? What made it so appealing to the youth of that era, and why is San Francisco and Berkeley so proud to flaunt this history? I did read in history texts and viewed the photographs, but they all were merely exotic tidbits that were soon forgotten, like a fake rhino horn bought on a Texas safari trip.

But now, I think I finally GET it. Yes, I get it, and this is why poetry is surely the best medium of communication us humans have out there. And I think I really understand what this aspect of San Francisco is all about. I feel what that era would have felt and what people nowadays do feel and why they are compelled to move in this direction.

Out of curiosity though, why did this infection end up pretty endemic to the Bay Area and maybe parts of New York? How come whenever us foreigners learn about American literature, it is predominantly from Southern authors who travelled to New York, talking about the days along the Mississippi? Or is it because I currently live in Louisiana that I am exposed to more of this that I do not know? Were San Franciscans exposed to Howl at such as early age it shaped their view of the world?

Us humans are so diverse in our micro-cultures and so rapid in our adaptive evolution. This is why I love to travel. I wish I would get a chance to live in San Francisco to experience this first hand sometime.

Tot el que sigui beatgeneration mho menjo!! Un plaer comm sempre llegir sobre allò que ens desespera i que de igual manera ens fa seguir. Quina manera més maca i concreta darribar a la sensibilitat. Gràcies Lidi per apropar-me al pensament del Jess Mariano☺️☺️☺️

I'm on a Beat experiment, of sorts, so bear with me. I'd read Howl a while back, but mostly because my then boyfriend was obsessed with Allen Ginsberg. He was prone to, er, herbaceous recreation, if you catch my drift. We were in a long distance relationship, and asking me to read vaguely psychedelic and experimental poems was his idea of foreplay. So I read Howl, I liked it. I didn't really care much about it beyond that, because I hadn't really wanted to read it then. I read Howl again after I read On the Road, and I actually, genuinely liked it. Which begs the question, why o why is Kerouac is considered the best of the Beats. Between this and the half of Naked Lunch I've read, I not only find Ginsberg and Burroughs smarter and more pleasant, but also less verbose and self-absorbed. My unadulterated hatred for Kerouac apart, I do have more to say about this collection. Full RTC.

The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction

the weight,
the weight we carry,
is love.

Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
constructs
a miracle,
in imagination
anguishes
till born
in human--
looks out of the heart
burning with purity--
for the burden of life
is love,

but we carry the weight
wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
at last,
must rest in the arms
of love.

Howl and Other Poems by Allen Ginsberg

There are two great poems in this short book of poetry. One is of course ‘Howl’ and the other is ‘America’.

They are both protest poems. Political rants about America’s duplicity and a litany of injustices that had occurred and were still occurring. Common people and historical figures railroaded.

The drug scene figures prominently in Howl, which is the much more primal of the two poems. In America the message is a direct challenge to the political system. What is so great about America’s version of ‘democracy’? Why does America hurt people?

4.5 stars. In the context of our woke generation, it is much easier to understand where Ginsburg is coming from in his disdain for the police and authority. The poetry itself is not the most beautiful but it is thought provoking.

When I was in college in the 1980’s there was, among the general populace of America and even amongst academic elites, a stronger anti-communism view and conformist attitude than there is today. I don’t remember Ginsberg’s works or views being terribly popular or even discussing him in my lit classes although everyone knew who he was.

I felt high reading these.

“my words piled up, my texts, my manuscripts, my loves.”

It's been a fair few years since I read this, decided on a re-read because I'm going to read The Poetry and Politics of Allen Ginsberg soon, so thought it was best to have a refresh.

I read Howl and then listened to the main himself performing it, best way to do it. Everytime time he says "eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio" it gives me goosebumps.

One thing I noticed this time is that his poetry still angers people, still getting thumb downs on YouTube. What a guy!

I knew Allen in person and had a good chat with him on a topic of mutual interest, Ezra Pound. Imagine America's most famous poet asking ME questions on the life and death of Uncle Ez.
HOWL is the "Communist Manifesto" of the Beat generation (and yes, Allen was once upon a time a Communist) and required reading for all who refuse to live in an America dominated by "Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartment buildings!"

Many say that this is nothing more than an overrated, incomprehensible bunch of words about sex, alcohol and drugs. And they are right. But poetry is not about words, it's about the feeling they are capable of evoke. And Howl evoke a lot of feelings, at least for me. The eternal search of the meaning of life, the conflicted relation between the fear and mystification of death, the wonders and terrors of growing old.

n  n    “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, [...]
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality.”n  n

If you want to change the world but don't know how, if you want to leave your mark but fear you can't, if you are afraid of waking up one day with your dreams and ideals long forgotten and trapped in the mundane routine of the world. Then, you can relate with this "overrated, incomprehensible bunch of words about sex, alcohol and drugs", and that's all that matters.

n  n    “We're not our skin of grime, we're not our dread bleak dusty imageless locomotive, we're all beautiful golden sunflowers inside,
we're blessed by our own seed & golden hairy naked accomplishment- bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset.” n  n

n  Leído para el reto 12 months-12 classic: Julio.n