These are my thoughts on a poem called Howl. It’s a stream of consciousness piece so it’s completely unedited and I change the topic quite abruptly, sometimes. I’m pretty sure you won’t find this blogpost very interesting if you haven’t read the poem, but who knows maybe you will find that it has intrigued you to read the poem, so here goes.
Since last night I am studying this poem called Howl by Allen Ginsberg. I’ve been writing it down even thought it’s huge, becayse I analyze better when I write. It’s a very angry poem, the poet is angry at the world, at the society, because they shun the ‘best minds’ of our generations. According to him, the best minds are the drug addicts and world travellers, not the conventional best minds we would think of, going to Ivy League and going on to become lawyers and doctors. These are the people who are “purgatorized their torsos with dreams, alcohol, waking nightmares and drugs. They even tried to smuggle Marijuana from Mexico to New York city, but got busted. They talk and talk, for seventy hours and they jump off everything: bridges, the Empire State Building, even the moon. The poet seems to have a wild imagination. He says that universities i.e. Out education system, encourages wars. The poet empathizes with the homeless, saying that the night feels like a grandfather to them as they illegally travel on freight trains to the countryside. He says they write epics in the night that turn out to be scribbles in the morning. He addresses this poem to Carl Solomon, a friend at a Psychiatric institution he made when he was caught with drugs and pleaded insanity. It’s a wild poem, that’s for sure. But I like how the best minds of this generation aren’t the ones sitting in a study, or making notes in classes.
There is this one line that I loved:
- A lost batallion of platonic conversationalist jumping down the stoops off fire escapes odd windowsills of Empire State out of the month,
That’s it. Thanks for reading. 🙂