'Howl' by Allen Ginsberg

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For
Carl Solomon


I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through
Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and
lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of
Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo-
tionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless
ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine
until the noise of wheels and children brought
them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's
floated out and sat through the stale beer after
noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack
of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to
pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook-
lyn Bridge,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping
down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills
off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts
and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks
and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days
and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the
Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a
trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic
City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-
ings and migraines of China under junk-with-
drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the
railroad yard wondering where to go, and went,
leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing
through snow toward lonesome farms in grand-
father night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep-
athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in-
stinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis-
ionary indian angels who were visionary indian
angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore
gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla-
homa on the impulse of winter midnight street
light smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston
seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the
brilliant Spaniard to converse about America
and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship
to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving
behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees
and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire
place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the
F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist
eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incom-
prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union
Square weeping and undressing while the sirens
of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed
down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also
wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked
and trembling before the machinery of other
skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight
in policecars for committing no crime but their
own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were
dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu-
scripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly
motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean
love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose
gardens and the grass of public parks and
cemeteries scattering their semen freely to
whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up
with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath
when the blond & naked angel came to pierce
them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate
the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar
the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb
and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but
sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden
threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of
beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can-
dle and fell off the bed, and continued along
the floor and down the hall and ended fainting
on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and
come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling
in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning
but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sun
rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked
in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad
stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these
poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver--joy
to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls
in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with
gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet-
ticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station
solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in
dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and
picked themselves up out of basements hung
over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third
Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy-
ment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on
the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the
East River to open to a room full of steamheat
and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment
cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime
blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall
be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested
the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of
Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their
pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the
bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in
their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned
with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded
by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty
incantations which in the yellow morning were
stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht
& tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable
kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for
an egg,
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 unsuccess-
fully, 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 sinis-
ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the
drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap-
pened and walked away unknown and forgotten
into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley
ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of
the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas-
saic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street,
danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed
phonograph records of nostalgic European
1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and
threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans
in their ears and the blast of colossal steam
whistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying
to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude
watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out
if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had
a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who
came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
watched over Denver & brooded & loned in
Denver and finally went away to find out the
Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying
for each other's salvation and light and breasts,
until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for
impossible criminals with golden heads and the
charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet
blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky
Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys
or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or
Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the
daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp
notism & were left with their insanity & their
hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism
and subsequently presented themselves on the
granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads
and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in-
stantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin
Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho-
therapy occupational therapy pingpong &
amnesia,
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 mad
man 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, rock-
ing and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench
dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night-
mare, 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 fur-
nished room emptied down to the last piece of
mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted
on a wire hanger in 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--
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed
with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use
of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrat-
ing plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space
through images juxtaposed, and trapped the
archangel of the soul between 2 visual images
and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun
and dash of consciousness together jumping
with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna
Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human
prose and stand before you speechless and intel-
ligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet con-
fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm
of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown,
yet putting down here what might be left to say
in time come after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in
the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the
suffering of America's naked mind for love into
an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone
cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered
out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand
years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open
their skulls and ate up their brains and imagi-
nation?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unob
tainable dollars! Children screaming under the
stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men
weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the
loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy
judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the
crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of
sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment!
Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stun-
ned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose
blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers
are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a canni-
bal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking
tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows!
Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long
streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose fac-
tories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose
smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch
whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch
whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch
whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen!
Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream
Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in
Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom
I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch
who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy!
Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch!
Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs!
skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic
industries! spectral nations! invincible mad
houses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pave-
ments, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to
Heaven which exists and is everywhere about
us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies!
gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole
boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions!
gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! De-
spairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides!
Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on
the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the
wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell!
They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving!
carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the
street!

III

Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland
where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland
where you must feel very strange
I'm with you in Rockland
where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland
where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland
where you laugh at this invisible humor
I'm with you in Rockland
where we are great writers on the same dreadful
typewriter
I'm with you in Rockland
where your condition has become serious and
is reported on the radio
I'm with you in Rockland
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit
the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Rockland
where you drink the tea of the breasts of the
spinsters of Utica
I'm with you in Rockland
where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the
harpies of the Bronx
I'm with you in Rockland
where you scream in a straightjacket that you're
losing the game of the actual pingpong of the
abyss
I'm with you in Rockland
where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul
is innocent and immortal it should never die
ungodly in an armed madhouse
I'm with you in Rockland
where fifty more shocks will never return your
soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a
cross in the void
I'm with you in Rockland
where you accuse your doctors of insanity and
plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the
fascist national Golgotha
I'm with you in Rockland
where you will split the heavens of Long Island
and resurrect your living human Jesus from the
superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland
where there are twenty-five-thousand mad com-
rades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland
where we hug and kiss the United States under
our bedsheets the United States that coughs all
night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma
by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the
roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the
hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls col-
lapse O skinny legions run outside O starry
spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is
here O victory forget your underwear we're
free
I'm with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-
journey on the highway across America in tears
to the door of my cottage in the Western night

San Francisco 1955-56

Editor 1 Interpretation

An Ode to Rebellion: A Literary Criticism and Interpretation of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl

Allen Ginsberg’s Howl is one of the most iconic poems of the Beat Generation movement. The poem, which was published in 1956, is a raw, unrestrained, and passionate expression of rebellion against conformity, societal norms, and political oppression. The poem embodies the anarchic spirit of the Beat Generation and serves as a manifesto for those who refuse to accept the restrictive values and beliefs of mainstream American society.

The Historical Context of Howl

To fully understand the significance of Howl, it is important to examine the historical context in which it was written. The 1950s were a time of great social and political upheaval in America. The country was still recovering from the trauma of World War II, and the Cold War was in full swing. McCarthyism was at its height, and the government was cracking down on perceived threats to the American way of life.

In this climate of fear and paranoia, the Beat Generation emerged as a countercultural movement. The Beats rejected the conformist values of mainstream society and sought to create a new, more authentic way of living. They rejected the materialism and consumerism of the post-war era and embraced a bohemian lifestyle that celebrated creativity, individualism, and nonconformity.

The Structure of Howl

Howl is divided into three sections, each of which lays bare the poet’s emotions and experiences. The first section is a lament for the lost souls of the Beat Generation, who have been destroyed by the conformity and materialism of American society. The second section is a frenzied celebration of the countercultural lifestyle of the Beats. The final section is a prayer for the salvation of the poet’s friends and fellow Beats, who have been persecuted and oppressed by society.

The poem is written in free verse, with no discernible rhyme or meter. The language is raw and unfiltered, using slang, profanity, and unconventional syntax to convey the poet’s emotions. The poem is full of vivid imagery, ranging from the grotesque to the sublime, and draws heavily on the poet’s personal experiences.

The Themes of Howl

At its core, Howl is a poem about rebellion. It is a defiant rejection of the values and beliefs of mainstream society, and a celebration of the countercultural lifestyle of the Beats. The poem is full of themes that resonate with the countercultural ethos of the Beat Generation.

One of the most prominent themes of the poem is individualism. The Beats rejected the conformity of mainstream society and sought to create a new way of living that celebrated individuality and creativity. This theme is evident throughout the poem, as the poet celebrates the unique personalities and experiences of his friends and fellow Beats.

Another theme of the poem is sexuality. The Beats rejected the repressive sexual attitudes of mainstream society and celebrated sexuality as a natural and liberating force. This theme is evident in the graphic sexual imagery that permeates the poem, as well as in the poet’s celebration of the sexual freedom of his friends and fellow Beats.

A third theme of the poem is spirituality. The Beats rejected the organized religion of mainstream society and sought to create a new, more personal spirituality. This theme is evident in the poet’s use of religious imagery and his prayer for the salvation of his friends and fellow Beats.

The Style of Howl

The style of Howl is raw, emotional, and unfiltered. The poem is full of slang, profanity, and unconventional syntax, which reflects the countercultural ethos of the Beat Generation. The language is often graphic and shocking, and the imagery is vivid and intense.

The poem also makes use of repetition and refrain to create a sense of urgency and rhythm. The repetition of phrases such as “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness” and “who howled on their knees in the subway” creates a hypnotic effect that draws the reader into the poet’s world.

The Reception of Howl

When Howl was first published in 1956, it caused a sensation. The poem was immediately banned for its graphic sexual imagery and profanity, and the publisher, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, was arrested on obscenity charges. The trial that followed was a landmark case in the history of free speech, and it ultimately resulted in the poem being declared not obscene.

Since its publication, Howl has become an iconic work of American literature. It has inspired countless artists, musicians, and writers, and its influence can be seen in everything from the countercultural movements of the 1960s to the punk rock music of the 1970s.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Allen Ginsberg’s Howl is a powerful and passionate ode to rebellion. The poem embodies the anarchic spirit of the Beat Generation and serves as a manifesto for those who reject the restrictive values and beliefs of mainstream American society. Howl is a work of raw emotion, vivid imagery, and unfiltered language, which reflects the countercultural ethos of the Beats. The poem is a celebration of individualism, sexuality, and spirituality, and it continues to inspire and influence artists and thinkers to this day.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

Howl: A Poem That Shook the World

Allen Ginsberg's Howl is a poem that shook the world. It is a masterpiece of the Beat Generation, a literary movement that emerged in the 1950s and challenged the mainstream culture of America. Howl is a long, complex, and powerful poem that expresses the poet's vision of the world and his critique of the society he lived in. In this article, we will analyze and explain Howl, its themes, its structure, and its impact on American literature and culture.

The Poet and the Poem

Allen Ginsberg was born in 1926 in Newark, New Jersey. He was a poet, a writer, and a political activist. He was one of the leading figures of the Beat Generation, a group of writers and artists who rejected the conformism and materialism of the post-war American society. Ginsberg's poetry was deeply influenced by his personal experiences, his spiritual beliefs, and his political convictions. He was openly gay, and his sexuality was a central theme in his work. He was also a Buddhist, and his interest in Eastern philosophy and spirituality is reflected in his poetry.

Howl was written in 1955, and it was first published in 1956 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti's City Lights Books. The poem was immediately controversial, and it was banned for obscenity. The trial that followed became a landmark case for the freedom of speech in America. Howl became a symbol of the counterculture, and it influenced a whole generation of writers and artists.

The Structure of Howl

Howl is a long poem divided into three parts. The first part is a lamentation, a cry of pain and despair. The second part is a celebration, a hymn to the beauty and the madness of the world. The third part is a prophecy, a vision of the future and a call to action.

The poem is written in free verse, without any regular rhyme or meter. The language is raw, intense, and often obscene. The imagery is vivid and surreal, and the tone is passionate and prophetic. Howl is a poem that demands to be read aloud, to be heard and felt.

The Themes of Howl

Howl is a poem that deals with many themes, but some of the most important are:

• Alienation and Despair: The first part of the poem is a lamentation that expresses the poet's sense of alienation and despair. Ginsberg describes a world that is "destroyed by madness," where "the best minds of his generation" are "destroyed by madness." The poet feels trapped in a society that is "closed to his heart," where "everything is holy except the people." He is searching for a way out, for a way to escape the "darkness" and the "madness" that surrounds him.

• Sexuality and Identity: Ginsberg's sexuality is a central theme in his work, and Howl is no exception. The poet celebrates his homosexuality and his "angelheaded hipsters" who "burned cigarette holes in their arms." He rejects the mainstream culture that condemns him and his friends as "faggots" and "queers." He asserts his identity and his right to love who he wants.

• Madness and Creativity: The second part of the poem is a celebration of the madness and the creativity of the world. Ginsberg describes a world that is "mad" and "holy," where "the imagination is holy." He celebrates the poets, the artists, and the musicians who are "crazy enough to be in love with life." He sees madness as a source of creativity and inspiration.

• Politics and Society: Ginsberg was a political activist, and his poetry reflects his social and political concerns. Howl is a critique of the American society of the 1950s, a society that is "controlled by radio" and "driven by a million motors." The poet denounces the conformity, the consumerism, and the militarism of his time. He calls for a revolution, a "new vision" that will "change the world."

The Impact of Howl

Howl had a profound impact on American literature and culture. It was a manifesto of the counterculture, a challenge to the mainstream culture of America. It inspired a whole generation of writers and artists, and it influenced the development of the Beat Generation, the hippie movement, and the anti-war movement.

Howl was also a landmark case for the freedom of speech in America. The trial that followed the publication of the poem became a symbol of the struggle for artistic and political freedom. The judge who ruled in favor of the poem declared that "Howl" had "redeeming social importance" and that it was protected by the First Amendment.

Conclusion

Howl is a poem that shook the world. It is a masterpiece of the Beat Generation, a powerful expression of the poet's vision of the world and his critique of the society he lived in. Howl is a poem that deals with many themes, including alienation, sexuality, madness, creativity, politics, and society. It is a poem that demands to be read aloud, to be heard and felt. Howl is a poem that inspired a whole generation of writers and artists, and it became a symbol of the counterculture and the struggle for artistic and political freedom. Howl is a poem that will continue to resonate with readers for generations to come.

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