LITTLE
MAGAZINES OF THE BEAT ERA
JIM BURNS
I think the first thing I need to do is offer a definition of what I
see as the Beat Era. It’s a period in my mind that stretches from
roughly 1957 to roughly 1963. This isn’t to suggest that the Beat
writers, or at least some of them, weren’t active before and after
those years. But what I’m looking at is the spread of little
magazines in that period. It can be argued that 1963 is something if
an arbitrary cut-off point and that certain magazines carried on
post-1963 and a few continued to maintain what might be called the
spirit of the Beats. But Seymour Krim thought that by 1963 the
movement had “splintered and broken up”. For what it’s worth that’s
my own impression of the Beat literary movement. What many people
like to think of as The Sixties, with its emphasis on social
protest, rock music, flower power, the hippies, etc. truly got under
way around 1963. Underground
newspapers and the like began to partially replace little
magazines. I think we can see this in the way that a key publication
such as Evergreen Review
began to change. Not only in its format but also in its contents.
I’ll look a little closer at that later.
It’s necessary to go back beyond 1957 to understand why what
happened with little magazines late in the 1950s, and into the early
Sixties, seems in retrospect quite unusual. There have always been
little magazines, of course, printing new and old poets and prose
writers. And certain periods, such as the 1920a, gave them a
prominence because they published writers who later became famous.
If you look at the magazines published in Paris, such as
This Quarter. Transatlantic
Review, transition, Broom, and a few others, their importance
becomes evident. And during the 1930s there were more than a few
magazines which represented the social and political inclinations of
the time. There is a book called
The Red Decade by Eugene
Lyons, originally published in 1941, which, in part, purports to
give the lowdown on communist cultural activity in the USA in the
1930s, and mentions magazines like
Anvil, Left, Left Front, Left
Review, The Partisan, Blast, Dynamo, Leftward…..well, I think
the titles alone give an indication of where, as the saying goes,
they were coming from.
Obviously, I’m dealing primarily with little magazines in the
United States. But it may be
relevant to mention in passing that the 1940s saw a surprising rise
in the number of little magazines published in Britain between 1940 and 1950. There
were literally dozens of them, some like
Horizon and
Penguin New Writing
well-known, others (Modern Reading, Now, Kingdom
Come, to name a few) less so. What many of them represented was
the democratic spirit of the time, and they published a wide variety
of writers. What they indicate on the whole is that experimental
literature was not of premium concern. Poets and prose writers
produced a literature that was often about the day-to-day concerns
of people caught up in often extreme wartime situations. It’s
significant that, as things returned to a kind of normality in the
lat-1940s most of these magazines closed down. People had other
more-pressing concerns about families, jobs, housing. There was less
time for reading and writing.
But let me move on to the 1950s and a talk that Saul Bellow’s
friend, Isaac Rosenfeld, himself a novelist, short-story writer, and
critic, gave at the
University
of Chicago in
1956. It was later reprinted in
The Chicago Review Anthology,
and was entitled ”On
the Role of the Writer and the Little Magazine”.
It’s a fascinating piece from the point of view of literary
history and Rosenfeld has some interesting things to say about the
role of the writer in society, the idea and function of an
avant-garde, and such matters. But what concerns me here are
comments he made about the existence and purpose of little
magazines. He was concerned to point out that the rise of the
affluent society, and the ways in which writers once seen as
avant-garde were now quickly absorbed into the mainstream and
available in cheap, attractively-produced paperbacks, had, in his
view, destroyed the old idea of an avant-garde. It no longer existed
in its original sense. And he pointed to a rise in so-called little
magazines published by commercial companies.
One of the best-known was New
World Writing, a quarterly paperback published between 1952 and
1960. There was another called
Discovery which lasted
for 6 issues in the early-1950s. Both were backed by major
publishers. Rosenfeld mentions
Perspectives, which had
funding from a large foundation. It is worth pointing out that early
indications of the arrival of some Beat writers could be seen in New World
Writing, where Kerouac’s “Jazz of the Beat Generation” and
Kenneth Rexroth’s influential essay, “Disengagement: the Art of the
Beat Generation” were published.
Discovery, had
contributions from John Clellon Holmes.
New Directions, founded
in 1936, gave space to writers outside the conventional or
established institutions. But as Rosenfeld said, none of these, and
others, such as Partisan
Review and Dissent,
were what he would think of as true little magazines.
And there were, of course, the magazines with university
backing, such as the Kenyon
Review, the Sewanee
Review, and others. Rosenfeld gave his talk to the staff of the
Chicago Review, a
magazine which had a role to play when the Beats started to appear
in print. But let me quote him on the subject of little magazines
which had secure financial support:
“The little magazines at one time were part of the image of garret
poverty and obscurity. Now they survive, but survive with a certain
opulence that threatens to crush them. Surely the specific idea of
the little magazine, just as the specific idea of the avant-garde,
gets lost in such a translation. And that idea was that of a small
but vigorous and very vital, active, and conscious group which knew
fairly well the sort of thing it stood for even if it had no
specific programme and whether or not it had any political
allegiance”.
Rosenfeld died in 1956 so we can’t know what he would have thought
of the resurgence of little magazine activity that became evident in
the late-1950s. There had been magazines which focused on publishing
offbeat material. Cid Corman’s
Origin, started in 1951,
might be a good example. And Gilbert Sorrentino’s
Neon kicked off in 1956.
There was also the seventh and final issue of
Black Mountain Review
from the famous Black
Mountain
College
in 1957. The Beats and related writers – Kerouac, Ginsberg,
Burroughs, Snyder, Whalen, and McClure – all made an appearance.
They were also all in the famous second issue of
Evergreen Review, the San Francisco issue, which in some ways gave a
misleading impression of the Beat movement largely originating on
the West Coast. And Evergreen
Review, though it regularly published Beat writers in its first
thirty issues, was not primarily a Beat magazine. It featured a
variety of writers from what might be termed the non-establishment
literary world. As I remarked earlier, its format and contents
altered as the 60s progressed and it picked up on pop music,
flower-power, hippies, student protest, pornography, and sensation.
The journalist Bruce Cook perhaps summed up the post-1963 issues of
Evergreen Review when he
remarked: “Accretions of bile and hostility seem to have swollen it
so that it now almost resembles the ponderous monoliths of American
life that are attacked with such monotonous regularity in its
pages”.
The publication and resultant court case surrounding Ginsberg’s
Howl, published by City
Lights Books in San
Francisco, and the publication of Kerouac’s
On the Road, more or less
launched what can be described as the publicised period of Beat
activity. They were in the news and popular misconceptions of what
they represented quickly developed. But at the same time there were
those who were genuinely interested in the literary aspects of the
movement. Irving Rosenthal was, in 1958, editor of the
Chicago Review and in the
Spring and Summer issues for 1958 had used material by, among
others, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg, Kerouac, Philip Lamantia,
Robert Duncan, Burroughs, and Philip Whalen. It all looks quite
innocuous, but in 1958 it came to the attention of a journalist on a
Chicago newspaper who questioned whether the university authorities
were aware of what was being published in the magazine. The result
was that Rosenthal was told that he couldn’t use work by Burroughs,
Kerouac, and the distinctly non-Beat Edward Dahlberg in his next
issue. He and several others linked to the magazine promptly
resigned and started an independent publication called
Big Table, the first
issue of which used the banned material from the
Chicago Review and
promptly fell foul of the
Chicago
postal authorities. The magazine carried on for four more issues
(Paul Carroll took over from issue 2), but like so many little
magazines was eventually defeated by financial and distribution
problems. But it had, in its short lifetime, published not only the
usual suspects from the Beats, but also Robert Creeley, Norman
Mailer, John Ashbery, and Frank O’Hara. Of particular interest was
the fourth issue, devoted to the New American Poets, which offered a
variety of poets, including James Wright and Denise Levertov
alongside Creeley, Ginsberg, Paul Blackburn, and Harold Norse.
If I can interject a brief personal note, I subscribed to
Big Table, Evergreen Review,
and The Outsider and
can’t forget how exciting and stimulating it was to receive these
magazines. I didn’t necessarily like everything in them – John
Ashbery and Charles Olson were two poets I could never really relate
to – but I read everything just to see what was happening in
America.
It might be worth mentioning that the
Chicago Review/Big Table
affair was duplicated in Edinburgh in 1959 when Alex Neish imported
work by Burroughs. Corso, Kerouac, Ginsberg, and others for an issue
of Jabberwock, the
magazine of the University Renaissance Society. Objections were
raised and he resigned as editor and started
Sidewalk and published
Burroughs, Creeley, Michael Rumaker, and more. He was attacked for
calling the magazine Sidewalk
and not Pavement, or even
Plainstaines, and the
Glasgow Evening Times ran
a feature headed “Along the Sidewalk to the Gutter”.
I don’t think there was ever a genuine Beat literary movement in
Britain, as opposed to people playing at being
beatniks, but there were editors and poets picking up on what the
Beats, New York Poets, Black Mountain Poets, San Francisco poets and
others were doing. Mike Horovitz’s
New Departures in its
early issues between 1959 and 1962 mixed American and British
writers, and the two issues of Tom Raworth’s
Outburst in 1961 and 1963
had a distinctly American focus. Perhaps the one British poet most
likely to be placed under a Beat banner would be Dave Cunliffe,
whose magazine Poetmeat
inclined in that direction. I think a few other publications deserve
to be mentioned in the context of making connections with American
writers. Satis, edited by
Matthew Mead and Michael Rutherford from
Newcastle, was probably the first magazine in
Britain
to publish work by Charles Bukowski. And Gael Turnbull’s
Migrant spotlighted
Creeley, Ed Dorn, and others.
The black poet, Leroi Jones, as he was known then, started
Yugen in 1958, with the
first issue using some of his associates from the
Greenwich Village
scene of the time. I doubt that the names of Tom Postell, Ed James,
and Ernest Kean will mean much these days, other than to collectors
of bohemian ephemera, of which I’m happily one. But once the
magazine got into its stride it picked up on the work of most of the
leading Beats, as well as New York poets like Frank O‘Hara and
Gilbert Sorrentino. Jones was married to Hettie Cohen in those days,
and though she’s doesn’t get any credit for it in his autobiography
she did contribute to the work of getting out a little magazine. The
same can be said for Diane di Prima, an interesting poet in her own
right, who was probably the driving force (even if Leroi Jones is
shown as co-editor on early issues)
behind The Floating
Bear, a mimeographed newsletter which in its 37 issues packed in
a wide range of new and known poets.
In an interview with Di Prima she recalled that 250 copies of the
first issue were mimeographed and it was distributed to “painters,
poets, dancers….mostly from
New York”. 250 copies seems to have been an
adequate number when venturing into the uncertainties of little
magazine publishing, especially if funds are low and distribution
has to be done on a personal basis. I recall duplicating just 200
copies of Move, a
magazine I decided to start in 1964.
The Floating Bear may
have been mimeographed and distributed without the benefits of large
distributing agencies, but to look down the index in the 1973
reprint of all the 37 issues is to read a roll-call of the
non-establishment poets of the period concerned. They wanted to be
in the magazine despite its limited production qualities.
The role of mimeographed or duplicated publications (we used the
term duplicated in the
UK, I recall) is important. Yes,
many magazines were well-produced, especially if like
Evergreen Review they
were backed by a larger organisation, in this case Grove Press. But
there were numerous cheaply-produced mimeographed publications.
Beatitude from
San Francisco is a good example, appearing
between 1958 and 1960, it had what might be called a loose editorial
policy which resulted in a wide variation in the quality of the
poems. It would seem that the editorial policy was one of more or
less using everything that came in.
So, there is a mixture of the well-known names and people who
it would be almost impossible to track down. Some simply signed
their poems as “Marc” and “Jo”.
I doubt that, outside a few libraries and private
collections, complete sets of
Beatitude exist. Even an anthology compiled from the magazine,
and published by City Lights books in 1960, is out-of-print and
expensive to buy on the internet.
The revival of the tradition of the little magazine as the ephemera
of bohemia – and in its way the Beat Era might have been the final
fling of the old bohemian literary world – meant that people
looked back to earlier avant-garde practices and
personalities, and in doing so brought some poets and others into
circulation again. Walter Lowenfels, friend of Henry Miller in 1930s
Paris (he’s in Miller’s Black
Spring as Jabberwhorl Cronstadt ), and a one-time member of the
Communist Party, resurfaced in magazines and edited a couple of
anthologies which featured old and new poets, usually those who
might have radical leanings. Some elderly Objectivist poets from the
1930s – George Oppen, Charles Reznikoff, Carl Rakosi - were
re-discovered and brought back into print.
And a couple of others were involved with little magazines. Jon
Edgar Webb (who spent time in prison in the 1930s for armed robbery)
and his wife Gypsy Lou Webb launched
The Outsider from
New Orleans
with a policy that combined traditional jazz and new poetry. They
were old bohemians with a background in the Depression days of the
1930s, and were particularly fond of Charles Bukowski and Kenneth
Patchen.. Their story is inspirational in that they sacrificed most
things, including home comforts, to get their magazine printed and
circulated. I treasure my copies of the five issues (in four, one
being a double issue) and they seem like items from a time it’s hard
to imagine now. The Webb’s kind of bohemia just doesn’t appear to
exist anymore.
There was also Gilbert Neiman, who produced three issues of
Between Worlds from the Inter-American University
in Puerto Rico. Neiman had started
his literary career in the 1930s and was a friend of Henry Miller
whose The Air-Conditioned
Nightmare is dedicated to Neiman and his wife. He later had a
somewhat chaotic career in teaching because of his heavy drinking,
something that Miller noted. But in 1960 he edited
Between Worlds which
appeared on an annual basis for three years. Like Jon Edgar Webb,
Neiman was obviously keen to establish a connection between the
Beats, and the newer generation of writers generally, and earlier
bohemians and avant-garde poets.. He included work by Gregory Corso,
Gary Snyder, Whalen, Burroughs, Ed Dorn, and Ferlinghetti, alongside
Mina Loy, William Carlos Williams, and Harry Roskolenko.
Roskolenko was a poet and a one-time Trotsykist, and as a merchant
seaman was wounded when he got involved in a minor insurrection
while his ship was docked in
Hamburg. For me, this was always one of the
most interesting aspects of the little magazines, that through them
I came across poets and prose writers who I knew little or nothing
about and so was introduced to not only new names but also many from
the past. It was an adventure tracking down their books and, where I
could, the magazines they’d been in.
I’ve attempted to give a broad survey of at least some of the
magazines of the Beat Era. There were others I could have included.
Tuli Kupferberg’s Birth
started its life in 1958 with an issue devoted to
Greenwich Village
and Bohemianism, which showed that he knew what was happening as the
Beat scene began to expand. And many more, such as
Nomad, Exodus, Foot,
Wormwood Review, Intrepid,
and Kulchur, a classic
little magazine which was representative of much that was exciting
and interesting in the arts in its lifetime, which ran from 1960 to
1966. There was also Jay Landesman’s
Neurotica, which, between
1948 and 1951, gave an indication of the way the wind was blowing
when it published John Clellon Holmes, Allen Ginsberg, Carl Solomon,
Chandler Brossard, and Anatole Broyard. There was also a short story
by Larry Rivers, a one-time saxophone player and later well-known as
an artist, about junkie jazz musicians.
Neurotica was a truly
idiosyncratic publication. The most-interesting little magazines
often were idiosyncratic in that their overall impact reflected the
tastes and concerns of their editors. Gael Turnbull’s
Migrant might be a good
example with its mixture of essays, letters, poems, and some
contributions that were difficult to categorise.
------------
This is the text of a talk given at the Manchester University
Symposium on Little Magazines at the John Rylands Library, Manchester, Friday, 6th
March, 2020.
|