With titles like "Flower, Fist, and Bestial Wail," "Erections, Ejaculations, Exhibitions, and General Tales of Ordinary Madness," and "Notes of a Dirty Old Man," Charles Bukowski's work is still the stuff that teenage poet-boys read on the bus. Bukowski is a movement-less poet: not a Beat or a Confes
Language in Harryette Mullen's poetry is like a loop of sound-bytes edited by an imp of the anti-establishment. Threads of African American vernacular meet Spanish idiom, only to emerge as speech from the mouth of a white Gen-Xer. The result is a constantly shifting notion of linguistic identity.
Arthur Rimbaud made his way through language like some crazed channeler of unseen forces. As a Symbolist poet, Rimbaud scrambled the senses and his prose, forging a synesthetic wash of words sustained by their own momentum and internal sense. There is no clear form (he did not write sonnets); there's
Berryman is a character of literary history who was a mix of eccentricity, emotional instability, and revelatory genius. And his persona was all of his own creating: for example, this native Oklahoman insisted on speaking in a fabricated British accent, usually in the higher registers of his voice.