Mags Thru Doors

Good thing about subscribing to magazines is that its a nice surprise when they arrive. Lamport Court 9 came through the door this morning, and being a Saturday time to read it. When I was its co-editor I think I was always trying to expand both the contributors and the audience - a somewhat thankless task - but now its just got one editor it seems to have settled into having a few regular contributors, a few guests, a few strangers. For those who've not seen it, it's the most unpretentious magazine you can ever see, no letters, reviews or even an editorial (a Kenneth Rexroth poem suffices in this issue). It's a little on the "beat" side of things, now, with a few dips into the avant garde. But poets (and despite there being some fiction, its now mostly a poetry magazine)are given room to breathe. Given my previous posts about finding good poetry hard-to-find it does make you wonder when you read a well-edited magazine, why that is the case. Like a John Peel listener in the age of Wham! and Shakatak, you get the feeling that editors, publishers and the like aren't really doing their job well enough. The real find here is Simon Robson for his superbly realised "My Cleanliness Moron for a Union Rep." The contributor notes only state that Simon Robson "works for the post office." As did Bukowski of course.