Whitman sounded his "barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world" in joy, in celebration of himself and of the life he contained. Ginsberg's Howl is the euology of a generation--a lament and a call to arms all in one.
My yowl is neither. It's not meek, but its assertiveness is born of desperation rather than celebration or indignation.
Is this challenge over yet?
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