THE JAPAN TIMES,

Sunday, July 13, 2003,

Tokyo, Japan

MAMAIST: LEARNING A

NEW LANGUAGE

If at first glance this might

sound like a new form of

feminist poetry, think again.

Alan Botsford Saitoh, who

lives in Kamakura and

teaches at Kanto Gakuin

University, is a wizard with

language and turns rhyme on

its head.

Like the Dadaists his title

borrows and departs from,

Botsford Saitoh throws out

convention to create a new

art. But it's not just clever

language, it's a revitalization

of old forms. Picking up

snippets of overused idiom,

conversation, shopworn

slogans and haggard

phrasing, he breathes new

life into words by the sheer

brilliance of his constructions.

Words ricochet off one

another, as Botsford Saitoh

runs rings around most poets

of his generation with this

new manifesto, consciously

or unconsciously embracing

the feminine principle of

receptivity and nonlinear

thought. The poems speak for

themselves, like this extract

from the brilliant "Nothing."

I have nothing to say for

    myself
I believe in nothing
That's why I always have

    nothing on my mind
I just remembered something, however,
And if I may, here's

    something to show for it,
A little something from

    nothing.
Mind you, it's nothing to

    write home about.
And it's nothing to speak of,

    either.
It's really about nothing in

    particular.

(Leza Lowitz)

KYOTO JOURNAL #57,

2004, Kyoto, Japan

mamaist: learning a new

language may be one of the

first books of poems to

transpire from our global

civilization. Appropriately

enough, the author presents

it as a new language, one he

calls mamaist. But there is no

manifesto here, rather a

joyful romp in language that

is constructive rather than

destructive, nurturing rather

than negative. In other words,,

it's mamaist, not Dadaist.

The first poem, daringly

called "Nothing," opens

combatively: "I have nothing

to say for myself./ I believe in

nothing..." It then continues

for fifty-nine lines of verbal

slapstick, handing the reader

all the takes on "nothing"

that constitute our routine

responses to humdrum life.

When all aspects of "nothing"

seem to be explored, the last

five lines take a turn that will

astonish anyone whose mind

is alert to the spiritual dimen-

sions of the language of Being

, whether that person's conn-

ection to it is Buddhist,

Hindu or the mystical

expressions of Christian,

Judaic or Islamic traditions.

There is even room for the

purely secular impulse.

Clearly to do this is a major

achievement.

By associating the worldview

of these poems with any of

the dominant religious trad-

itions, I am not suggesting

that Botsford Saitoh's point

of view derives from any of

them. Rather, it is precisely

the lack of obvious "sources"

that justifies identifying these

poems with what has been perceived as

an emerging global aware-

ness, one that recognizes all

life on this planet as radically

interconnected and inter-

dependent.

The arrangement of the

twenty-eight poems offers a

glimpse of the poet's exper-

iences that formed mamaist

language. In the second poem

the reader meets "the poet

after being called to his voc-

ation." From there one

follows along through various

conditions and situations

that the poet confronts as he

lives his world and learns its

language. The poem which,

for this reader, contains the

most hilarious confrontation

of all, is the story of "U and I"

who skate along on the

absurdity of language as it

bends, or is bent, to reveal

the meaning of words in a

reality not normally seen.

You don't know where you

have been in these poems

until after you get there. This

makes re-reading another

trip, and one with manifold

rewards. It is a journey of

discovery, that seems to

surprise the poet as much as

the reader.

Two years ago, on the basis

of these poems as published

in journals, Botsford Saitoh,

who lives in Kamakura and

teaches at Kanto Gakuin

University, was nominated

for a Pushcart Prize in poetry. This first

book is, I believe, an import-

ant beginning for an import-

ant writer. The distinctive

quality of voice and the

content of his work

possesses a moral tone that

revels in the birth of words

and meaning. One would do

well to heed the first line of

"Dadirdydebil": "Now reader,

hold fast-you're in for a crude

awakening!"

Perhaps this is what we need

now, an Awakening that is

fun. This is a most exciting

book, humorous, revealing,

and profoundly serious.

(James Gurley)