Here’s a scan of the front cover of the very first Ambit, printed in the Summer of 1959:
And here’s Martin’s very first editorial:
And here’s what a computer makes of Martin’s scanned text. I was going to correct it, but on consideration I rather like the cavalier approach it has taken with his carefully-formed prose. Perhaps sometime soon I’ll scan in an early piece from Burroughs, from when he was doing his cutup work. Reassembled by machines? I’m sure he’d approve:
“Per hus travellers hnve had the exquisite experience of seeing s Iild
beer. For an Englishman, the surprise of seeing such sn sninsl Ielkin; slon;
by the side e! the rosd is i—euss sud the incinient stuck firlly in sy sihd.
For the hear it Iss quite otherwise. There Iss clearly no surprise and
no consequent pleasure. Plodding his Isy along the hillside, he took
shsolutely no notice of the hus 1osd’s excitmthehsvienr. Perlups he hunched
his shoulders n little hut he certainly didn’t look round or step, he just
pledded on to Iherever he Iss going in his intsrninnhle sssreh for honey.
Dsy by dsy, Is pied on: bus sttsr has crashes darn on us. Ie are struck
Iron in trout, behind, both sides, and fesr tinslly to be sqnsshod flat by
solething dreppifl plonk on top of us. These buses which ohtrude on us,
are the discordant opinions oi those about us and their divergent voices
are too obtrusive to he shrugged off, we have to sit up and listen to what
they have to say.
Ihat is more these scribes require us to take q¢g1Qn, lqngh by month
day by day, they present more causes, more problems about which (if we have
any social conscience at all, we are reminded) we must take decisions.
Ie must decide whether we should be marching to Aldermaston, weigh up the
claims of the various politicians, settle our minds about the smoking/Csmosr
scare and weigh up each day the rival soap claims.
Our problem is we find it impossible to make up our minds. Ie lack the
information, we lack the time, we lack above all the interest. Ie feel tired.
Listening to the partizsn of one side or the other, the way ahead seems
clear but we are easily confused by the counterblasts from the opposition
and we’ve forgotten those arguments presented to us earlier which would have
routed our present antagonist so completely.
we are apathetic. Vast numbers of our countrymen share the same vice.
“Apathy” – it is the cry of the gallant enthusiasts who are opinionated,
know what they want and are trying to carry it out. Ie hunch our shoulders
and plod on. Human beings in their buses have become too complex for us, we
are inclined to hope they’re rather boring. Ie doubt if there is s field
of activity worthy of our attention.
In this crisis, Art, that mysterious elusive human mystery, remains.
Its nature undetermined, its purpose undefined, yet its flashing beam illumines
the desert~of life. Moreover it’s appreciation is so individual, so personal
that every man can have an opinion as valuable as the next. Art allows us
to assert ourselves in a world where our individuality seems half submerged.
It is our honey and it is worth breaking into a trot to get a whiff of it.
Can Ambit give you the scent? Ie don’t know. Ie hope that what we
offer you is the true honey. On the gramophone, “Pats Isller’ has been
squawking out one of his extraordinary love songs:-
“If this isn’t love it will have to do -
Until the real thing comes along.”
Ii this isn’t Art, it’ll have to do – until the real thing comes along.”
Martin C. 0. Bax
Featuring:
Hey – It’s Ambit #206!
