Beatitude #4

Beatitude #4
beatitude4

cover by francesca

May 30- 1959 30 cents

a weekly miscellany of jazz and other poetry extolled to design beauty and beat the prolific or poetic life among the blessed neo-existentialists & other habitues & gawkers of the North Beach scene, located in the city of San Farncisco, U.S.A.

edited & produced on a kick or miss basis by a few hardy types who sneak out of alleys near Grant Avenue
--the only responsible party being
John Kelly, publisher -- office at 14 Bannam Alley (until tomorrow), San Francisco 11, California (or c/o City Lights ' book shop).

Manuscripts are solicited but cannot be returned unless accompanied by the usual stamp & envelope bit.

*CONTENTS: indicates the poets included here from beatitude #4**
kaufman ginsberg chance * ferlinghetti brautigan*	whalen langton * kenai weiss * frost	stanley uronovitz mcbride * robinson * delattre	anderson * mann kirby persky margolis *

THREE POEMS by William J. Margolis

A FACE IN THE FROWNING WORLD

frowning with concealed intent
at frailties -- he would guffaw
at the plight and curse
his shout... he frowns by turns
and hurls himself at hidden
chuckles, while he flicks
old shards of discontent & pity
from his beard like burnt-out,
dried up fireflies and turns
to face the frowning world
with laughter in the flowing sleeve
of his melancholic habit.

VESPERS

In still night before last light down,
when horizon defying flickers
yet play the hillsides
and beside each candle warm, worn faces
tell the stars to little tucked in children,
bliss, and all the bosom softness of the world
and all named things are fast.

II.

bright in the fog and even
when supperlights glow with families,
we warm th enight with laughter
and all flowers securely close their eyes
in love and trust of morning sun.

William Margolis
William J. Margolis

3 POEMS by John Chance

EARLY SPRING

Young one, I know a place of dreams
And the light there is always dim
And in that light the phantoms
Of every age speak
In a voice of mist and green.
The yellow hair of young girls
Trail in limpid streams fo blue
That span a dark abyss.

Leaves at the wimdow
Nod to me - I sip the wine
Rippling at my side. An oak
Shattered with age suggests
With a dead and empty hulk
The worth of heros
To a lifeless age.

Young one, let us not long
Linger here at the brink
Of the world - for this is
Not glass not the images
Of a wanton mind - and fire
Turns to rippling streams
The waters of frozen hearts.

Let us hasten to out voice.

WAKING

the green brow of a hill
greets my eye at dawn.
i pull back the curtain
further, filling the room
with sunlight. pigeons

rise from green
and spiral high above the sun
then swarm down fleeting
a flutter of wings in trees.

ONE MOMENT

alighing in clove
the weary yellow fly
turns green

BEATITUDE magazine ~ #4-b "