greatest US poet of the 20th century?

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, angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night.

Vote for Bishop. Also love her letters. Favorite is most likely "Crusoe in England"

Back in the '70s, I listened to a recording of Ginsberg reciting "Howl," and it blew me away. I remember the wonderful drumbeat of the refrain of solidarity with his friend Carl Solomon, who was stuck in the Rockland psychiatric hospital:

"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 . . . "

One line in particular, both tender and funny, has always stuck with me:

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

Listening to a poet recite his own verse can be a revelation, but can sometimes be a disappointment. Earlier this summer, I picked up a CD of T.S. Eliot reciting several of his poems, including "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." "Prufrock" has long had a special place in my heart, and I'd hoped to gain some further insight into the poem by listening to the writer himself. I was disappointed. I had the sense that Eliot, who was by then an old man, no longer cared much about the character or the poem he had created so many years earlier. I can understand that, but was disappointed nonetheless.

Those are good selections. But Ginsberg has always seemed to me kind of a "jazz club" poet caught up in a revolution not even he understood. His verse is so angst-driven and more a facade than a meaningful insight, in my opinion. On the other hand, some of his work can take your breath away, the aforesaid and many others. I'll be honest, though, in that I think his work might just be beyond me. Eliot has always hit a strong beat with me, but maybe his is more accessible, somehow. Who knows. You've prompted me to read Ginsberg again, actually, to see if it means anything ten years later. Appreciated.

I hope the read elicits more for you this time than last. This thread just prompted me to take out my old English Anthologies from college and take a look at some of the poetry again, and it was Ginsberg that really struck me as the most interesting. I completely agree with the angst he demonstrates, but at the same time, when he puts pen to paper, it seems to be his thoughts, exactly how he feels. With some of the other poets mentioned, it seems like they attempted to refine their words, to make them perfect. To me, I just imagine Ginsberg's pen flowing with these thoughts onto his paper. Again, just my personal thoughts and personal interpretation. In addition, I also enjoy E. A. Robinson and came across a line that I think is fantastic

"...hell is more than half of paradise."

For whatever reason, I think that line is just spectacular.

~Natty

More Allen:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZdvM0IB5Sbs

Patti Smith and Jim Carroll are two of my favorites.

Also, great video. Thanks for sharing. I am ashamed to say, but that's the first time I'd seen Ginsberg. Thankfully didn't affect my appreciation for his writing.

Does anyone consider "Rap" poetry?

Denise Levertov. good mention.

Also Robert Duncan.

Arealist wrote:

Does anyone consider "Rap" poetry?

Some do, and I'd like to feel that way, personally. But most of the best rap is still less interesting or thought-provoking or insightful as some mediocre poetry. I'm waiting for a poet who has the charisma to brave the music industry, but I haven't seen one yet. Some have mentioned Dylan (not rap, I know) or even Tupac, but to be as popular as they are, you can't speak about things the way great poets do.

Natural Light wrote:

This thread just prompted me to take out my old English Anthologies from college and take a look at some of the poetry again, and it was Ginsberg that really struck me as the most interesting. I completely agree with the angst he demonstrates, but at the same time, when he puts pen to paper, it seems to be his thoughts, exactly how he feels. With some of the other poets mentioned, it seems like they attempted to refine their words, to make them perfect. To me, I just imagine Ginsberg's pen flowing with these thoughts onto his paper.

I agree that Ginsberg's poetry often looks that way, but that may simply be part of his studied craft. I have a big book written by Ginsberg, called "Howl," that is devoted entirely to that single poem. It includes photocopies of Ginsberg's original typescripts and handwritten revisions, along with copies of the various successive drafts, followed by Ginsberg's annotations to each verse of the successive drafts. Ginsberg's annotations -- for example, a lengthy paragraph discussing his decision to replace the word "mystical" with "hysterical" in the first line of the opening stanza -- suggest that he probably exercised more care and engaged in more editing than might be apparent from the overall feel of the final product. I think that much if not most good writing, whether poetry or prose, looks effortless precisely because so much effort went into its composition. Perhaps that was true of Ginsberg's poetry.

Jack Kerouac and Bob Dylan are the greatest poets the world has ever seen. Why? Because their poems are the best. Stick that in your Norton anthologies.

I admire rap. However the question is would it make sense or connect as deeply without the beats, and other sense provoking devices? Poetry's essence is in the written word. Somehow I doubt that Enmiem's prose would provoke thought for it's childish nature. Although Linkin Park's is more poetic.

I am late to this thread. I beleive that Eliot and Stevens have gapped the field -- everyone else is fighting for third.

My obligatory "who can I think of to show I know lots of poets" pick is Robinson Jeffers. I teach Hurt Hawk in class. I mention him not because he is a giant, but because he is an accomplished and capable poet who is often overlooked.

Randall Jarrell was also a fine poet.

As for Housman, I agree w AvNum. Athlete Dying young is nowhere near his best poem -- "Spring and Fall" is an immensely layered work for its short fifteen lines.

All this talk of Housman has caused me to take my old copy of "A Shropshire Lad" from my bookcase and read a bit. The poem that perhaps best encapsulate Housman's attitude toward poetry (and life) is "Terrance, this is stupid stuff," in which Housman defends (in, I think, a rather good-humored way) his pessimistic verse. It's really very entertaining. I even noticed a foreshadowing of facebook protocol in this couplet:

"And I will friend you, if I may,

In the dark and cloudy day."

(I just checked facebook for A. E. Housman. Apparently, you can "like" him on facebook, but can't "friend" him.)

Avocados Number wrote:

All this talk of Housman has caused me to take my old copy of "A Shropshire Lad" from my bookcase and read a bit. The poem that perhaps best encapsulate Housman's attitude toward poetry (and life) is "Terrance, this is stupid stuff," in which Housman defends (in, I think, a rather good-humored way) his pessimistic verse. It's really very entertaining. I even noticed a foreshadowing of facebook protocol in this couplet:

"And I will friend you, if I may,

In the dark and cloudy day."

(I just checked facebook for A. E. Housman. Apparently, you can "like" him on facebook, but can't "friend" him.)

Can't beat:

"And malt does more than Milton can

To justify God's ways to man."

Also, to the poster that said Stevens and Eliot had gapped the field - I don't think Frost is out yet.

"Oh I have been to Ludlow fair

And left my necktie God knows where,

And carried half-way home, or near,

Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:

Then the world seemed none so bad,

And I myself a sterling lad;

And down in lovely muck I've lain,

Happy till I woke again.

Then I saw the morning sky:

Heigho, the tale was all a lie;

The world, it was the old world yet,

I was I, my things were wet,

And nothing now remained to do

But begin the game anew."

("I was I, my things were wet." I love that line.)

Is this Eliot that wrote this? Genius.

No, it's a passage from "Terrance, this is stupid stuff," by the British poet A. E. Housman. The poem was published in 1896, as part of Housman's collection called "A Shropshire Lad." Edwin Arlington Robinson said that he did not know of any living writer whose work was likely to live longer than that of Housman, and the freshness and clarity of expression in Housman's work remains.