IC: >I cringe when I read Ginsberg. What am I missing? RP: >Not a thing. That is exactly the right response. Pay no attention to the logician behind the curtain. Ginsberg is God, or he was for a while. If not God, at least a demiurge. It wasn't what he said, it was how he said it -- vomitously. Yes, yes, yes, yes! He puked pure poetry. Ginsberg broke the mold -- again -- like Whitman. I had been brought up to believe that poetry was the purview of those precious New York poets who at the time mostly celebrated their precious, personal little epiphanies about their precious aloneness in precious metaphors, meanwhile all the while the country was going to hell in a McCarthy and John Birch handbasket, etc. And then along came Ginsberg, who stood up in the boat and shouted: Moloch, Moloch, Moloch! God I loved it. You had to be there. Ginsberg as a human being doesn't interest me. Biography almost never does. But I still get a thrill reading "Howl." Mike Geary Memphis