a mamaist ten most-wanted

commercy   

                                        

cosmosis

enigman 

mannafestival

martyrealize

meducation

okaos

redeemon 

resourcerer 

wonderfool

Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

this

I don't want to make a big thing out of this.
There's more to life than this, I know.
But I will say this—
this, in a sense, is the stuff from which everything else is made;
everything--including this, that and the other--comes from this.
Though I can’t understand this with my mind,
I mean this,
I'm not just saying this.
Of course, I realize not everyone wants to hear this,
not everyone likes the sound of this.
Dreams, after all, are made of this;
this has driven some people mad.
Some, not knowing what to make of this,
may not want to get into this right now.
Others, finding this hard to believe,
may not be ready for this.
Still others, afraid of what this might mean,
would prefer this to not happen at all.
But listen carefully to this.
This is happening every single moment of our lives,
only once we lose sight of this 
we’re left trying to live to see this, to remember this 
and this above all. 
Does this sound familiar to you?
If you think this is something,
wait 'till you see what comes after this--
there's more to this than meets the eye.
Yes, there's a word for this.
I know of no other way of saying this.
But let's not be civilized about this.
Go ahead--take this 
and eat this.
Take this 
and drink this.
 Let this grow inside yourself.
This is the point of this, isn't it?
(Otherwise, nothing can really come of this.)
Now don't take your eyes off this.
Keep looking steadily at this
and nothing but this.
Are you ready for this?
This
--watch this carefully--
is this.
And yet... and yet...
--how can I put this?-- 
this 
is not this 
--no--
not this.
Isn't this something!
Imagine this!
See what a difference this makes? 
…Yes, this is that.




Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

           

a mamaist coining

one whose soul is roomy: Rumi

one who in the face of divinity is undaunted: Dante

  

                    *

one who is a son of Amor: Emerson

one who has manly wit: Whitman

one who when walled-in suffers himself thoroughly:  

                   Thoreau

                     *

one for whom the Body is bawdy: Baudelaire

one who avails himself of Apollo's airs: Apollinaire

one who when ardent is a closet Rambo: Rimbaud

                                        

                     *

one who knows well a word's worth: Wordsworth

one who when he wants to can shell out: Shelley

one who has a key to the exchange: Keats

                                        

                      *

one who in the depths of his soul stays wild: Wilde

one whose inspiration is in following his own beat:     

                   Ginsberg

one whose vision heralds a broad sky: Brodsky

Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

a mamaist environment

God bless the woods I won’t seek a way out of

God bless the snake I want to let live in the grass

God bless the ground that has kept slipping out
            from under me

God bless the hell and high water I have come through
            (and these waters, for running so deep)

God bless the stone walls I have run into
            (trying to arrive at where one never stops arriving)

God bless the wrong trees I have barked up

God bless the crow I have had to eat
            (the taste of which is unmistakable)

God bless the rain I at times haven’t known enough to come
            out of

God bless the wind to which I have thrown some,  
            but not all, caution

God bless the mountains that have been moved by my 
            faith (even without my knowing it)

God bless the clouds my head has been in

God bless the bird in the air I have felt as free as

God bless the earth I always come back down to

God bless the sky for not being the limit

God bless the stars that have been in my eyes
            (by which all that I love brightly shines)

God bless the moon that lives in the man

God bless the sun whose light, in dawning, I am 
            just now beginning to see

Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

a mamaist vehicle

I walk out of the house that isn't there 

and get into the car that I don't have. 

After settling comfortably behind the wheel 

that I don't grasp, I turn the ignition key 

that isn't in my hand and listen with satisfaction 

as the engine I don't hear begins to rev up, ready

for action. Then, once the emergency brake is released,

I gently put my foot on the pedal which is on 

the floor my feet aren't resting on, and, taking a breath   

I don't inhale, I start advancing slowly along 

a trajectory I don't feel throughout my entire body.      

Soon I'm speeding down a road that I'm not  

traveling on, glancing out the window to the left  

at scenes of woodland, and to the right at a flurry 

of billboards--with the path I'm on leaving the scenes  

behind so quickly that I don't have time to see them.   

I'm heading towards a town I'll never visit in order  

to spend time with people whom I'll never meet, who       

are awaiting the arrival of one who will not arrive, 

not now, not ever, but who at this point is departing      

for a destination which, changing 

again and again and again, is located in 

the unknown, a destination which, like a moment lived 

fully and deeply, is but another word for my life. 

Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

a mamaist visit

                           




Pardon me.
But a god just spoke to me.
Yes, me!
Can you hear me? he said.
Oh dear me, I said. 
You mean me?
Why me?                                               
Don't you know me? he said.
Who, me? I said. 
O woe is me! 
What do you want from me?
Do you read me? he said.
No, I said. Not me!
Take this cup from me!
Please, spare me!
Answer me! he said--
For if you don't know me by now,
You will never know me!
Truly I've got the devil in me, I thought.  
Then I looked again and saw
An angel smiling at me.
Trust me, he said. 
Then all of a sudden it hit me.
O poor me! I thought,
O lucky me! 
Please! I said, Take me with you,
Take me there!                                                                                            
No, he said, turning from me--
You must wait for me.  
And remember me. 
And show me 
Who you are, 
Who you are.

Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

a mamaist purchase

                 



You pay up front. 
You pay on the spot. 
You pay on demand.
You pay that which is yours
and yours alone to give,
paying as you go.
Sometimes there is all hell to pay,
so you pay close attention,
keeping your eyes open, 
listening with both ears.
You loosen the purse strings,
you open the purse,
and you shell out --
a pound of flesh here, 
a pound of flesh there;
now an arm and a leg, 
now through the nose--
paying whatever the asking price.
If the fiddler asks, 
you pay the fiddler;
if the piper asks,
you pay the piper.
You pay each and every debt
presented to you for payment.
You pay up, you pay in, 
you pay out, you pay over,
you lay your money down.
You pay and you pay.
You pay until you’re among
the forgotten at the bottom,
until you’re among
the wretched of the earth,
until property-less,
homeless,
and penniless,
having come through,
    having come across,
having lost everything there is to lose,
at last 
what you see
is what you get.
Then, and only then,
do you have what you've paid for.
And it's priceless.




Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

here

                                     

You are here. 
Do you know where you are? 
Why ask, Where does one go from here? 
Why try to get somewhere, or be elsewhere?
Whatever it is you're looking for, it's here. 
Here's where the real action is:
here water is wine, night is day, past is present, above is below;
anything can happen here.
As for who's the boss around here,
don't expect to find You-Know-Who here
there's no one here by that name.
Here everybody's the star of the show--
the gang's all here:
here are the living, here are the dying, 
here are the dead, here are the born again--
there's room here for everybody.
The way things are around here, however,
you may sometimes feel up to here with here;
you may sometimes want just to leave your 'Kilroy was here'
and then get the hell out of here.
But remember--what you feel here 
is what you feel there.
The hereafter isn't somewhere else,
the hereafter is right here-- 
here is where the birds sing, here is where the sky is blue;
you needn't look any further than here.
Here, there, everywhere--it's all here;
all that you've ever dreamed of is right here.
If you have something to do, do it here.
If you have something to say, say it here--
that's what we're here for.
For here is the true Kingdom.
We're all here for the same reason:
to realize here what we have in us.
Here, right here where you are.







Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

______*

                 


               

      My mind's a complete ____ .
      When I look, for instance, at a _____ space, all I see is a ____ .
      When I look at a ____ wall, all I see is a ____ .
      When I look at a ____ page, all I see is ____ .
      Indeed, when I look point-____  at a stranger, 
      I often meet with a ____ stare.
      With a ____ being what a ____ is, however, 
      there are ____s and there are ____s.
      And the way to know a good ____ when you see one is, 
      of course, to look at a _____ from the point of view of a ____.
      That's why I put myself in a ____'s place,
      that's why I put myself in a ____'s shoes,
      that's why, in fact, I become a ____.
      For believe me, once you've seen a ____ this way, 
      in a sense you've seen them all.
      Of course, when you ask for the real ____ to please stand up, 
      it may not always be a pretty ____, 
      but it's a ____ all the same. 
      I, for one, am shooting off at the mouth 
      (using ____s, naturally) for the sake of a ____ .
      Now, if I was going to leave my mark on the world, 
      I wouldn't worry--there's plenty of ____s to go around: 
      with a ____  ____ here and a ____ ____ there, 
      here a ____, there a ____, everywhere a ____ ____, 
      one can't help but draw a ____.
      The world, after all, is a  ____ slate:
      all you do is look for the ____ in everything and you'll find it;
      then you simply fill in the ____.
          




     * For _____ please read _____ throughout.

Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

a mamaist story of U and

       
I loves U, U loves I. It's an old story. 
Long before I set eyes on U, I knew 
what U looked like, only I didn't know 
it would take a lifetime of stumbling 
through the dark to find U. Now that I
has, I won’t let U go. For I needs U; I
wants U; I lives by U. Because of U, I 
sees in the dark. Because of U, I feels 
the insides of things. Because of U, I 
is able to love everything I isn't so as 
to be what I is. Even if U doesn't  
understand what I is saying, it’s not
important. For the wonderful thing 
is, U always knows what I means—
I doesn't have to say one word.



Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

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.

For once you try everything from A to Z,

you find that nothing really works,

and that with nothing up your sleeve,

nothing is what it seems--

it leaves everything to your imagination

and nothing to be desired.

Now, if you think this has nothing to do with you,

or is much ado about nothing,

well, you ain't seen nothin' yet.

As any good-for-nothing can tell you,

I'd like nothing better than to offer you nothing.

But timing is everything.

Before you get all worked up over nothing,

you should know something first:

I used to have nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to fear.

I mean, I used to think I was really something,

that I had everything going for me,

that anything was possible.

I used to believe that if one couldn't have everything,

at least something was better than nothing,

and that as long as there was something for everyone,

who could ask for anything more?

One day, however, I began hearing sweet nothings

whispering in my ear, to the tune of

"All or nothing? All or nothing? All or nothing?"

At first something in me said, "Oh, it's nothing,"

and I tried to act as if nothing had happened.

But day and night I kept hearing the sweet nothings

in my ear until I knew I had something to worry about,

since nothing was standing in my way

and I was already next-to-nothing.

Finally I decided it was all for nothing anyway,

that there was nothing left for me to do

except to take nothing personally.

So I slipped into something a bit more comfortable

and, after thinking of everything, 

I said to myself, "Here goes nothing..."

And suddenly, in a blinding flash, nothing happened.

Absolutely nothing!

And everything--in a word--changed!

I had nothing more to lose,

nothing more to hide--

for nothing was new under the sun,

 nothing more and nothing less.

And all I could say was, "Thanks. Thanks for nothing."

That's why, now, I can believe everything I hear,

for everything reminds me of something else.

And that's why I can take nothing for granted,

for I know that nothing really matters,

that nothing's perfect,

that nothing lasts forever.

After all, nothing is sacred.

Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.

interview Alan Botsford--WINGSPAN

mamaist: learning a new language

MINATO NO HITO, Publisher, Japan, 2002
ISBN 4-89629-113-1

Available at Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/mamaist-Alan-Botsford-Saitoh/dp/4896291131/ref=sr_1_5?dchild=1&keywords=alan+botsford&qid=1590479737&s=books&sr=1-5


Review in Kyoto Journal

"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 have been explored, the last five lines take a turn that will astonish anyone whose mind is alert to the spiritual dimensions of the language of Being, whether that person's connection 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.

The arrangement of the twenty-eight poems offers a glimpse of the poet's experiences that formed mamaist language. In the second poem the reader meets "the poet after being called to his vocation" 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 me, 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.

This first book is, I believe, an important beginning for an important writer. The distinctive quality of voice and the content of his work possess a moral tone that revels in the birth of words and meaning.

-2003

*

Review in The Japan Times (excerpt)

"Like the Dadaists his title borrows and departs from, [Botsford] throws out convention to create a new art... [I]t's a revitalization of old forms... [that] breathes new life into words by the sheer brilliance of his constructions...consciously or unconsciously embracing the feminine principle of receptivity and nonlinear thought."

-2003