align="center">Budger of historyBrake of timeYouBombToy of universeGrandest of all snatched skyI cannot hate youDo I hate the mischievous thunderboltthe jawbone of an assThe bumpy club of One Million B.C.the macethe flailthe axeCatapult Da Vincitomahawk Cochiseflintlock Kidddagger RathboneAh and the sad desparate gun of VerlainePushkinDillingerBogartAnd hath not St. Michael a burning swordSt. George a lanceDavid a slingBombyou are as cruel as man makes youand you're no crueller than cancerAll Man hates youthey'd rather die by car-crashlightningdrowning
Falling off a roofelectric-chairheart-attackold ageold ageO BombThey'd rather die by anything but youDeath's finger is free-lanceNot up to man whether you boom or notDeath has long since distributed itscategorical blueI sing thee BombDeath's extravaganceDeath's jubileeGem of Death's supremest blueThe flyer will crashhis death will differwith the climbor who'll fallto die by cobra is not to die by bad pork
Some die by swampsome by seaand some by the bushy-haired man in the nightO there are deaths like witches of ArcScarey deaths like Boris KarloffNo-feeling deaths like birth-deathsadless deaths like old pain BoweryAbandoned deathslike Capital Punishmentstately deaths like senatorsAnd unthinkable deaths like Harpo Marxgirls on Vogue coversmy ownI do not know just how horrible Bombdeath isI can only imagineYet no other death I know has so laughable a previewI scopea cityNew York Citystreamingstarkeyedsubway shelterScores and scoresA fumble of humanityHigh heels bendHats whelming awayYouth forgetting their combsLadies not knowing what to dowith their shopping bagsUnperturbed gum machinesYet dangerous 3rd railRitz Brothersfrom the Bronxcaught in the A trainThe smiling Schenley poster will always smileImpish deathSatyr BombBombdeathTurtles exploding over IstanbulThe jaguar's flying footsoon to sink in arctic snowPenguins plunged against the SphinxThe top of the Empire statearrowed in a broccoli field in SicilyEiffel shaped like a C in Magnolia GardensSt. Sophia peeling over SudanO athletic DeathSportive Bombthe temples of ancient timestheir grand ruin ceasedElectronsProtonsNeutronsgathering Hersperean hairwalking the dolorous gulf of Arcadyjoining marble helmsmenentering the final ampitheaterwith a hymnody feeling of all Troysheralding cypressean torchesracing plumes and bannersand yet knowing Homer with a step of graceLo the visiting team of Presentthe home team of PastLyre and tube together joinedHark the hotdog soda olive grapegala galaxy robed and uniformedcommissaryO the happy standsEthereal root and cheer and booThe billioned all-time attendanceThe Zeusian pandemoniumHermes racing OwensThe Spitball of BuddhaChrist striking outLuther stealing thirdPlaneterium DeathHosannah BombGush the final roseO Spring BombCome with thy gown of dynamite greenunmenace Nature's inviolate eyeBefore you the wimpled Pastbehind you the hallooing FutureO BombBound in the grassy clarion airlike the fox of the tally-hothy field the universe thy hedge the geoLeap Bombbound Bombfrolic zig and zagThe stars a swarm of bees in thy binging bagStick angels on your jubilee feetwheels of rainlight on your bunky seatYou are due and behold you are dueand the heavens are with youhosanna incalescent glorious liaisonBOMB O havoc antiphony molten cleft BOOMBomb mark infinity a sudden furnacespread thy multitudinous encompassed Sweepset forth awful agendaCarrion starscharnel planetscarcass elementsCorpse the universetee-hee finger-in-the-mouth hopover its long long dead NorFrom thy nimbled matted spastic eyeexhaust deluges of celestial ghoulsFrom thy appellational wombspew birth-gusts of of great wormsRip open your belly Bombfrom your belly outflock vulturic salutationsBattle forth your spangled hyena finger stumpsalong the brink of ParadiseO BombO final Pied Piperboth sun and firefly behind your shock waltzGod abandoned mock-nudebeneath His thin false-talc's apocalypseHe cannot hear thy flute'shappy-the-day profanationsHe is spilled deaf into the Silencer's warty earHis Kingdom an eternity of crude waxClogged clarions untrumpet HimSealed angels unsing HimA thunderless GodA dead GodO Bombthy BOOM His tombThat I lean forward on a desk of sciencean astrologer dabbling in dragon prosehalf-smart about warsbombsespecially bombsThat I am unable to hate what is necessary to loveThat I can't exist in a world that consentsa child in a parka man dying in an electric-chairThat I am able to laugh at all thingsall that I know and do not knowthus to conceal my painThat I say I am a poet and therefore love all manknowing my words to be the acquainted prophecy of all menand my unwords no less an acquaintanceshipThat I am manifolda man pursuing the big lies of goldor a poet roaming in bright ashesor that which I imagine myself to bea shark-toothed sleepa man-eater of dreamsI need not then be all-smart about bombsHappily sofor if I felt bombs were caterpillarsI'd doubt not they'd become butterfliesThere is a hell for bombsThey're thereI see them thereThey sit in bits and sing songsmostly German songsAnd two very long American songsand they wish there were more songsespecially Russian and Chinese songsand some more very long American songsPoor little Bomb that'll never bean Eskimo songI love theeI want to put a lollipopin thy furcal mouthA wig of Goldilocks on thy baldy beanand have you skip with me Hansel and Gretelalong the Hollywoodian screenO Bomb in which all lovely thingsmoral and physical anxiously participateO fairylike plucked from thegrandest universe treeO piece of heaven which givesboth mountain and anthill a sunI am standing before your fantastic lily doorI bring you Midgardian rosesArcadian muskReputed cosmetics from the girls of heavenWelcome mefear not thy opened doornor thy cold ghost's grey memorynor the pimps of indefinite weathertheir cruel terrestial thawOppenheimer is seatedin the dark pocket of LightFermi is dry in Death's MozambiqueEinstein his mythmoutha barnacled wreath on the moon-squid's headLet me inBombrise from that pregnant-rat cornernor fear the raised-broom nations of the worldO Bomb I love youI want to kiss your clankeat your boomYou are a paeanan acme of screama lyric hat of Mister ThunderO resound thy tanky kneesBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM ye skies and BOOM ye sunsBOOM BOOM ye moonsye stars BOOMnights ye BOOMye days ye BOOMBOOM BOOM ye windsye clouds ye rainsgo BANG ye lakesye oceans BINGBarracuda BOOM and cougar BOOMUbangi BOOMorangutangBING BANG BONG BOOMbee bear baboonye BANG ye BONG ye BINGthe tail the fin the wingYesYesinto our midst a bomb will fallFlowers will leap in joy their roots achingFields will kneel proud beneath the halleluyahs of the windPinkbombs will blossomElkbombs will perk their earsAh many a bomb that day will awe the bird a gentle lookYetnot enough to say a bomb will fallor even contend celestial fire goes outKnow that the earth will madonna the Bombthat in the hearts of men to come more bombs will be bornmagisterial bombs wrapped in ermineall beautifuland they'll sit plunk on earth's grumpy empiresfierce with moustaches of gold

Editor 1 Interpretation

"BOMB" by Gregory Corso: A Literary Criticism and Interpretation

I'm so excited to delve into Gregory Corso's "BOMB," a poem that explores the destructive power of nuclear weapons and the potential for humanity's demise. This poem is a prime example of Beat poetry and was written during a time when the Cold War was at its peak. It's as relevant today as it was then, and I'm eager to explore its themes and meanings.

The Beat Poet and His Craft

Before we dive into the poem, let's take a look at the poet behind it. Gregory Corso was a Beat poet, one of the founding members of the Beat movement that emerged in the 1950s. The Beat poets were known for their experimental style, their rejection of mainstream values, and their exploration of the human condition. They were all about breaking the rules and pushing boundaries, and "BOMB" is a perfect example of that.

Corso's writing style in "BOMB" is fluid and raw, with no punctuation, no capitalization, and no clear structure. This style allows the poem to flow freely, mimicking the chaos and destruction of a bomb. It's a poem that demands to be read aloud, with its musicality and rhythm driving home its message.

The Power and Horror of the Bomb

"BOMB" is a poem that speaks to the horror and destruction that nuclear weapons can unleash. Corso paints a vivid picture of the bomb's power, describing it as "a fist in the sky / opening and closing." He uses metaphors to describe the bomb as a monster, a demon, and a dragon, emphasizing its destructive nature. Corso personifies the bomb, giving it a life of its own, as if it's a being that's alive and malevolent.

The poem's power lies in its ability to convey the fear and horror that people experienced during the Cold War. Corso describes the bomb as something that can wipe out entire cities, leaving nothing behind but a "graveyard of the living." He talks about the bomb's ability to destroy everything, including the beauty and wonder of the natural world. The poem serves as a cautionary tale, reminding us of the potential consequences of our actions.

The Human Condition and the Fear of Death

Beyond its commentary on the destructive power of bombs, "BOMB" speaks to the human condition and our fear of death. Corso talks about the bomb's ability to make us all equal, regardless of our wealth, status, or privilege. He reminds us that in the face of such destruction, we are all vulnerable and powerless.

At its core, "BOMB" is a poem about fear, and our fear of death. Corso's words speak to the human experience of mortality, and our desire to avoid it at all costs. He describes the bomb as the ultimate fear, the thing that can destroy us all in an instant. But even in the face of this fear, Corso emphasizes the need for us to unite and work together to prevent such destruction from happening.

The Legacy of the Beat Poets

"BOMB" is a testament to the legacy of the Beat poets and their ability to use poetry as a means of social commentary and protest. Corso's poem is a call to action, a warning of what could happen if we continue down the path of nuclear destruction. It reminds us of our responsibility as humans to work towards a better future, one where we can coexist peacefully and without fear.

In conclusion, "BOMB" is a powerful and relevant poem that speaks to the human experience of fear and our desire to avoid destruction. It's a prime example of Beat poetry, with its raw and experimental style that demands to be read aloud. Corso's words are a warning, a reminder of the potential consequences of our actions. In a world where nuclear weapons continue to exist, "BOMB" serves as a reminder of our responsibility to work towards a better future, one where the destructive power of bombs is never realized.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

Poetry BOMB: A Masterpiece of Beat Poetry

If you are a fan of Beat poetry, then you must have heard of Gregory Corso's Poetry BOMB. This classic poem is a masterpiece of the Beat generation, and it has inspired countless poets and writers over the years. In this article, we will take a closer look at this iconic poem and explore its themes, structure, and significance.

The Beat Generation was a literary movement that emerged in the 1950s in the United States. It was characterized by a rejection of mainstream values and a search for a new form of expression. The Beat poets were known for their spontaneous, free-flowing style, and their rejection of traditional poetic forms. They were also known for their use of drugs, jazz music, and Eastern spirituality.

Gregory Corso was one of the leading poets of the Beat generation. He was born in New York City in 1930 and grew up in an orphanage. He began writing poetry at a young age and was soon discovered by Allen Ginsberg, who became his mentor and friend. Corso's poetry was known for its raw, emotional power and its rejection of conventional morality.

Poetry BOMB was first published in 1958 in Corso's collection of poems, Gasoline. The poem is a powerful expression of the Beat ethos, with its rejection of mainstream values and its celebration of spontaneity and freedom.

The poem begins with the lines:

I am 25 With a love a madness for Shelley Chatterton Rimbaud And the needy-yap of my youth Has gone from ear to ear: I HATE OLD POETMEN!

These lines set the tone for the rest of the poem. Corso is declaring his love for the great Romantic poets, but he is also rejecting the old-fashioned, conservative values that they represent. He is declaring his allegiance to the Beat ethos, with its celebration of youth, rebellion, and spontaneity.

The poem then takes a surreal turn, with Corso imagining himself as a "poetry bomb" that will explode and destroy the old order:

I'll explode and poetry will be made new from the rubble

This image of the "poetry bomb" is a powerful one. It suggests that poetry can be a force for change, that it can destroy the old order and create something new and exciting. It also suggests that poetry can be dangerous, that it can challenge the status quo and upset the established order.

The poem then takes a more personal turn, with Corso reflecting on his own life and his struggles as a poet:

I'm an old poet now wounded with / knife scars from youths & women inclinations and I'm lame walking on the rhyme of my knees

These lines are a reminder that the Beat poets were not just literary rebels, but also human beings with their own struggles and vulnerabilities. Corso is acknowledging his own wounds and scars, both physical and emotional, and he is using them as a source of inspiration for his poetry.

The poem then returns to its central theme, with Corso declaring his love for the Beat ethos and his rejection of the old order:

I don't know why young poets today are so polite they write as if hoping not to offend their elders or worse the great poets dead and gone and polite that's the problem you can't improve or worse you can't even hate Old poet-men

These lines are a powerful indictment of the conservative values of the literary establishment. Corso is suggesting that young poets today are too polite, too afraid to offend the established order. He is suggesting that the only way to create something new and exciting is to reject the old order completely, to embrace the Beat ethos of rebellion and spontaneity.

The poem ends with a powerful image of the "poetry bomb" exploding and creating something new:

I'll kill you with my rhythm and install myself in you like a brainwashing virus

These lines are a reminder that poetry can be a powerful force for change. It can challenge the established order, upset the status quo, and create something new and exciting. It can also be dangerous, like a virus that infects the mind and changes the way we see the world.

In conclusion, Poetry BOMB is a masterpiece of Beat poetry. It is a powerful expression of the Beat ethos, with its rejection of mainstream values and its celebration of spontaneity and freedom. It is also a reminder that poetry can be a force for change, that it can challenge the established order and create something new and exciting. If you are a fan of Beat poetry, then you must read this iconic poem. It will inspire you, challenge you, and change the way you see the world.

Editor Recommended Sites

Crypto Trends - Upcoming rate of change trends across coins: Find changes in the crypto landscape across industry
Tech Debt: Learn about technical debt and best practice to avoid it
Kotlin Systems: Programming in kotlin tutorial, guides and best practice
Learn by Example: Learn programming, llm fine tuning, computer science, machine learning by example
Cloud Monitoring - GCP Cloud Monitoring Solutions & Templates and terraform for Cloud Monitoring: Monitor your cloud infrastructure with our helpful guides, tutorials, training and videos

Recommended Similar Analysis

I cannot live with you, by Emily Dickinson analysis
No Word by Sappho analysis
Drapple -thorned Aphrodite, by Sappho analysis
The Little Girl Lost by William Blake analysis
Prospice by Robert Browning analysis
The Colossus by Sylvia Plath analysis
The Journey of the Magi by Thomas Stearns Eliot analysis
Once by the Pacific by Robert Lee Frost analysis
Evening Star by Edgar Allan Poe analysis
To One Shortly To Die by Walt Whitman analysis