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From the Publisher: The prophetic poem that launched a generation when it was first published in 1965 is here presented in a commemorative fortieth Anniversary Edition. When the book arrived from its British printers, it was seized almost immediately by U.S. Customs, and shortly thereafter the San Francisco police arrested its publisher and editor, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, together with City Lights Bookstore manager Shigeyoshi Murao. The two of them were charged with disseminating obscene literature, and the case went to trial in the municipal court of Judge Clayton Horn. A parade of distinguished literary and academic witnesses persuaded the judge that the title poem was indeed not obscene and that it had "redeeming social significance." Thus was Howl and Other Poems freed to become the single most influential poetic work of the post World War II era.… (more)
User reviews
Poetry is actually the art form that straddles the line between literature and music, and no one embodied that fusion more
As an aural experience, 'Howl' is one of the greatest musical pieces I've ever known. Reading it silently on the page is like skimming a musical score without hearing it played.
If the poem leaves you mystified, you've failed to feel it. Certainly, a knowledge of the Beats and the US in the 1950s deepens appreciation. But it's not a work of the head.
Allen Ginsberg - a crazed prophet of his time. As with all art, you don't need to agree with the artist to appreciate his creation. And for that extra frisson - do what I did, and buy it from City Lights in San Francisco.
Also included in this book are America (which is one of my all-time favorites, especially as read aloud by Ginsberg) and A Supermarket in California (in which Ginsberg follows Walt Whitman through a modern American establishment). Ginsberg was a huge Whitman fan, imitating his style quite often.
Even if you don't end up liking any of the poems in this book, it's still worth reading. Ginsberg is one of those poets that helps you figure out things about yourself.
I can see the cultural Importance (yes, capital I) of Howl, but that doesn't mean it did much for me. It reads as a long list of all the
The other pieces in this collection were a little better--I even almost liked Transcription of Organ Music. The non-Howl poems were slightly brighter, more hopeful, and lacked the dark, cooler-than-thou, subterranean coffeehouse vibe.
Hey, I said I don't like beat poetry.
No more needs to be said. One poem that defined the fifties and sixties for many, including myself.
I read the book in one day, and even though I tried to read slowly and get in tune with the language, I found it hard. The book brought up people I didnt know and social ideas I dont know the history of.
I didnt really enjoy this book, but I know it's because I know nothing of all the history behind it. I'd love to read up a bit more on all the subjects this book covers so that I can read it again in 5 or 10 years and read it with a better understanding.
and all my cool friends who are so brilliant here's some
literary references so you know
and disenfranchised
and we take drugs and wander about and dammit we're
iconoclasts and therefore don't have to write lines
that actually sound good or end poems before we
our positions or anything because reading a poem should
feel like being stuck at bus stop with *that* dude
and so we Howl our dissatisfaction well at least as much
as you can even after you become a classic.
"and the gray Sunflower poised against the sunset, crackly bleak
and dusty with the smut and smog and smoke of olden
locomotives in its eye-
corolla of bleary spikes pushed down and broken like a battered
crown, seeds
mouth of sunny air, sunrays obliterated on its hairy head
like a dried wire spiderweb,
leaves stuck out like arms out of the stem, gestures from the
sawdust root, broke pieces of plaster fallen out of the black
twigs, a dead fly in its ear,
Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul,
I loved you then!...
How many flies bussed round you innocent of your grim, while
you cursed the heavens of the railroad and your flower soul?
Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower?...
-We're not our skin of grime, we're not our dread bleak dusty
imageless locomotive, we're all beautiful gold sunflowers
inside, we're blessed by our own seed & golden hairy naked
accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sun-
flowers in the sunset,..."
I can't even sit back from this poem and call it beautiful or wise because they're just too simplistic. They merit something akin to soul-soaked, edible...