I’ve often heard Howl and The Wasteland paired before, in the smokeless midnight air of alt-coffee urban popups, listening for free as a mumbling hipster reads them aloud, back-to-back, in the same reverent cadence and double bass rhythm and nobody listening to the words…
I don’t like it when English is used badly (or lazily) in ways that – for whatever reason – get accepted into normal everyday usage. It’s good when language grows but too often it’s a case of importing one word, at the price of losing others.
Compare and contrast of the ‘beat’ heavyweights Alan Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac, the former destined to live long and popular, a fine intellectual force on the American scene, the latter doomed to die young and unhappy but undeniably a genius in the global pantheon.
Gothic means many things to different people. It’s a much overused term but, that said, Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte) and Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte) are two of the finest exemplars of the gothic novel – this much is received wisdom – but their evocation of the gothic ideal is as different as the shadow and stone.
Ditty poem written in September 2001, found again recently and given an appropriately obscure title. What do you think?