Showing posts with label publication. Show all posts
Showing posts with label publication. Show all posts

3/5/20

review of mamaist: a different sort of light KYOTO JOURNAL

Kyoto Journal 95 Spring 2020

Reviews

Mamaist Heartbeat Otherwise: A Poetry Roundup


[.....]
       Alan Botsford avoids the two traps that often ensnare poets.The first trap is for a poet to become so smitten with a style that he or she starts to write all his or her poems in that style.The second trap occurs when poets write poems that leave one, after the last line is read, with nothing: nothing to think about, nothing memorable, not a belly laugh, a giggle, or a grimace. Botsford, in his most recent "mamaist" tome, writes in a variety of styles He calls some of his mamaist work "generic poems," by which he means poems that use "generic" language--everyday words and phrases--that he twists in a way that revivifies it. It's the creativity and wit in some of these poems that will stay with readers the longest. In a time when too much of what is offered as poetry is, in fact, chopped prose, it is a delight to find, in a poem called "a mamaist earth of heart":


Yes, you amigo of imago (no scold of clods)--
sing out your amens of names
with booms of bosom borne of boner,
and mania of anima under a cloud of could!
Armed of dream, takes your moods of dooms,
your swords  of words and befriend the devil of lived!


Language is central to what poems are. This is so obvious that one feels silly writing it, especially when one has just been reminded of what a poem can be by language play as lively as Botsford's. One is happy to be so reminded, and also to experience in books such as these the vibrancy and vigor of the English-language poetry scene in Japan.

- David Cozy

7/5/19

A review of mamaist: a different sort of light


http://www.decompmagazine.com/mamaist.htm


mamaist: a different sort of light
A Review of mamaist: a different sort of light
by Alan Botsford

Spencer Dew


“After all, doesn’t milk sound like a miracle?” Not dada, then, but something more nourishing, nudging the unfurl of a seed, “fern-like, out from under / every moment, a tongue, a feather, a flame lifting into the air,” a smell like fresh-baked bread and rich, tilled soil.

While there’s mention here of the notorious nobodaddies—“Uncle-Sam-I-Am” up in the sky—of patriarchal pasts and presents, the gift of this collection is to focus us elsewhere than the phallocentric “I.” Indeed, here, that “I” is surrendered to the wind of words, “a mamaist Daedalus” falling, equipped “with traits of artist and . . . rawness of answers” who nonetheless is confronted in due course with “the coming of gnomic as the cosmic of comics.”

From the hum and crackle of electrotherapy to the notion of light as love, a warm enveloping—from the dark that crows speak of, each to each, to dream horses that may be metaphors for everything but are also just precisely what they are in any given, shifting, moment—such sources are mined via a generous generative. One poem, for instance, is collaged out of titles of City Lights books. Others ask questions such as What if Dante had gotten distracted on his walk? and What if all true writing “is a translation from somewhere” unknown?

The mamaist stance or sensibility, then, is to submit to this, to open oneself, surrendering the self bit, and then
to be taking lessons from the cosmos, in pain and in joy . . . to learn how to walk the dizzying edge between two worlds—how, for instance, to enter a house shoeless like a ghost, how, whenever you read, to read from finish to start; how to eat words—still wriggling and writhing in your mouth—raw, and with a nod of your head to look for the next sentence to be complete...

6/23/19

Verse Daily poem



One of my poems, entitled "Dante Recalling an Encounter with Beatrice," was shared by Verse Daily site on June 23, 2019:  (click) "Dante recalling an encounter with Beatrice" Alan Botsford   "One afternoon while thinking of you, Beloved, I left..."

The poem is from my new book "mamaist: a different sort of light" (dark woods press, 2019)

1/1/16

Interview Alan Botsford- DIOGEN Tatjana Debeljacki



Can you tell us something about your hometown and growing up?
From one point of view, I was born in Sharon, Connecticut and grew up in the Maryland suburbs in relative freedom. (From another point of view, I was born in the state of Connect-I-Cut, raised in the state of Mary's Land, came of age by the healing waters of the pool of Bethesda, found illumination in Came-Bridge, Massachusetts... and left it not at all behind for the Land of the Rising Son.)
But… for the record, I was raised with my three older siblings by my mother, Cynthia Schwartz Botsford, a divorcee who worked for the U.S. government. I often used to wander in nearby woods, play ‘war games’ and such with friends after school, but most of all when I wasn’t drawing pictures, which I loved to do, I was reading books, practically anything I could find, …and eventually, as is not uncommon, one wants to try one’s hand at writing. I had a favorite uncle, a former U.S. diplomat, poet and painter named James D. Hurd living in Washington, D.C. (my father, Richard Van der Zee Botsford whom I saw little of, lived and worked in Europe & Africa.)--this uncle I admired and loved dearly and it was he who inspired me to want to write poetry. 

When did you publish your first book and how did the success follow later?
I wrote the initial draft of ‘mamaist’ in New York in the year 1988, after I quit my then teaching job at Hunter College and my future wife—a Japanese illustrator-- and I had begun living together. Later I showed the first incarnation of ‘mamaist’ to people I knew, among them Derek Walcott who said: “I know what you’re trying to do.” Stanley Kunitz who said: “You seem to be going through some sort of a growth spurt.” Annie Dillard who said: “This is an odd bird.” Susan Sontag who said: “I wish you good luck!” Joseph Brodsky who said: “I’d put it in your drawer and leave it there.” And Allen Ginsberg who said: “Why did you give me these poems? [Me: I wanted to share my gift with you.] He: “KEEP YOUR GIFT!” 

It wasn’t until fourteen years later, in 2002 and now living in Japan, that I published the first ‘mamaist’ book, called “mamaist: learning a new language.” It received some good reviews in the U.S. and Japan. The next year, 2003, the second ‘mamaist’ book co-written with an older poet came out in the U.S., entitled A Book of Shadows (Katydid Press). The third ‘mamaist’ book morphed into Walt Whitman of Cosmic Folklore, an essay-dialogue-poetry hybrid collection published in 2010 by Spokane, Washington’s Sage Hill Press. The book was a kind of ‘song of ourselves’ to/with/from Whitman, a poet I’d long had a complicated relationship with. (Anyone writing in the English language or, perhaps for that matter, in contemporary poetry, I believe has to come to terms with him.) I did a modest book tour that took me to points west, in California, Washington and Texas where I gave readings, talks, and radio interviews.
(For more: http://alanbotsford.com/ ) The dialogue on Walt Whitman is, of course, an ongoing one in the U.S., as he is considered, despite his shortcomings, essential to America’s view of itself. 
     
living more than twenty years in Japan, author of several books, including Walt Whitman of Cosmic Folklore, and is editor of Poetry Kanto?
As I mentioned, I moved here with my wife and son from New York. During my early years living in Japan, I naturally was sending poems out for publication, mostly to journals in the U.S. But one established journal I knew of in Japan, Poetry Kanto, at the time was being co-edited by Shuntaro Tanikawa. I dared send him some early mamaist poems and was amazed to receive an encouraging reply from him. Needless to say I never dreamed I might one day, many years later, become part of Poetry Kanto’s editorial team. 

Magazine is dedicated to the poetry based on researching topics; you're an editor? Are you satisfied with the  Editorial team and the  members of Poetry Kanto?
When I became co-editor in 2004, I was working with Nishihara Katsumasa, who offered invaluable early support and guidance to me as co-editor. When he stepped down as co-editor to devote himself to his writing endeavors in 2012, I became sole editor of Poetry Kanto. In 2013 I was able to shepherd Poetry Kanto from a print journal to an online journal, where it can now be read by readers worldwide, and where fortunately the traffic is increasing year by year:  http://poetrykanto.com/

Professor of American Literature at Kanto Gakuin University and editor of Poetry Kanto?
Yes.

Walt Whitman of Cosmic Folklore will change the way we think not back where we?
I take the view that literature, like many of the arts, involves talking to the spirits. The host—in this instance Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass-- as ghostly, ghost-ridden, the haunting from beyond the grave, from beyond the pale, from the afterlife of the poet Walt Whitman that we, as readers, can continue to live in, and to live out of. To the extent that Whitman’s spirit lives long in his writings, is long-lived, to that extent I tried to bear him in my mind, my heart, and was touched by the body of work that he struggled over the course of his adult life to bear into the world. Similarly each of us can thus be moved in our encounters with the arts, poetry being one, in unique, unexpected, and sometimes profoundly reinvigorating ways.

Poetry. Distinguished poet-translator William I. Elliott and his colleague at Kanto Gakuin University, Alan Botsford Saitoh, both residents of Japan?  
After mamaist came out, Bill Elliott asked me to publish a book of poems with him, which we called A Book of Shadows. Shortly afterwards, Bill retired as editor of Poetry Kanto and generously passed the baton as (co-)editor to me in 2004. For further info on Bill’s role as founder of Poetry Kanto, please read here: http://poetrykanto.com/

Mamaist for 2015's Best Books of the Year in fiction, nonfiction, mysteries?
(From the annals of "Object lessons"-- I once sent a former teacher of mine a 20-page letter with poems and I got a one-sentence reply. It took me a year to get over it. But I’ve never forgotten the sentence. It taught me, among other things, that humility and hell must go together, to preserve good humor, if not, at times, one’s very life.)

 “Poetry is a thing that emerges upwards out of silence.” ? 
The unconscious in its revealing aspect, is love; the unconscious in its concealing aspect, is love; the unconscious in all its manifesting aspects, is love. The hidden, invisible, innermost depths of the world, our world, reflecting our own unconscious depths, past all our fears or demons or monsters—as dangerously, painfully real as they are imagined, to be sure-- is love. This all true art shows us, as the true substance of emptiness, or silence, or death. 

What are your plans for the future creative work? 
Whatever the next incarnation of ‘mamaist’ brings, I hope to be up to the task.

Do you think you have outwitted the expectations?
Not wishing to tempt fate, I am happy to meet ‘expectations’, for now. 

How do you manage all that with so much work that you do? Do you have time for yourself?
As a college professor, the classroom is at best where renewal can take place, for all concerned. I am lucky to be able to teach language and literature, areas where I am continually seeking to learn new things, both with and from my students. 
Is there anything that you could pinpoint and tell us about yourself between dreams and reality?
There is a pool described in the Gospels called "the pool of Bethesda", which was said to become a healing water when stirred by an angel. Such stirrings may not be for everyone, for there will always be disbelief, if not outright rejection, of angelic stirrings from the otherworld. But as for myself, for my part, I HAVE made it my life's work -- for the sake of ongoing healing in my life and in the lives of others, that will always remain in some sense unfinished business -- to try to keep one ear attuned to THE ANGEL'S STIRRINGS.

Have you achieved everything you have ever wanted to and if you could live your life again would you be an artist again?
Whenever I hear this sort of question, what first comes to mind is my memory of the Russian poet Joseph Brodsky in his Morton Street apartment in Greenwich Village, smoking cigarettes and talking with us students. He insisted that if he could live his life over he would never become a poet. He would want, instead, to become an airplane pilot. I was stunned to hear him say that. Anyway, as for me I am happy to continue writing and publishing mamaist works, in this life or the next.

Is there anything you would like to say that you think is important and that I haven’t asked you ?
What’s it like living as a foreigner in Japan?  Living as a foreigner has reinforced my sense of self as the composite, the patchwork, the custom-made person that I am, and to be accepting of it, to be solely oneself or to be soully the other-- rupturing as well as healing…To live wholly in the world to see the Holy of the world, in which whatever appears before you, whatever enters your field of vision or consciousness-- is love at first sight, reminding us that we can't change the world but we can change the way we relate to the world.

Alan Botsford’s career in a few years? 

As well as a career, I see poetry as a pilgrimage, a calling where old realities die, new realities come into being, the pattern must be re-discovered, or, at the very least admitted, as energies flowing through the human being, and the poet is one who through nature and for culture channels, or better still, serves those energies.

For me poet William Blake said it beautifully: The poet’s task is “To open the eternal worlds, to open the immortal eyes Of man inwards into the worlds of thought.” To the extent that I am able, I hope to be playing my part, however small, in this, poetry’s task, and to have the opportunity to share it with others. Thank you, Tatjana.erview

10/25/15

Poetry Kanto 2015

Editor's Note
Alan Botsford

We learn it like a poet: You’re dead. You’re lying in the ground thinking, I’m not coming back to life ever. What am I going to do? You’ve made your bed and now lie in it. With poems such as these, however, the dying part is over, now comes the living part,  from—the heart. And then you realize, History has a history of mystery too. A roll of the heart at the table of love wins you a jackpot of art seen from below & above, the soles of your feet anchored in the street, the roof of the ivory tower pressed against a higher power…no place, you admit, for denial in this new ideal. If the living will were not contested, they would be yours—the vowels yours, the consonants yours, the rhythms yours; how from the wild complicated mess of things you humbly learn, as evidence of listening both to the people–What you think you need is more freedom? I’m gonna change your point of view, Dropped into a net of a million freedoms–and to your own heart within.


Contents

10/25/14

Poetry Kanto 2014

Editor's Note
Alan Botsford


To find everyday our passage never the same, or if it is, to anticipate and appreciate its rhythms, its quotidian music, its wheel of cadences and flux of patterns. To awaken to the interchange of meanings and purposes that define daily existence and under-gird the transient structure we call this day, the way the ancient Greeks extolled the examined life.
No, not much has changed. We still face our bafflements in navigating the currents out on the sea of stories we call our life. May the gods (omnist) teach us well, compassion temper our unholy spirits, love inhabit our hearts and guide our actions. For the forces of imagination are based on no handbook. Wherever the white goddess dwells, there the black wager must be made. Resistance strengthens practice, tempers character. Metamorphosis that matters is responsive. Every day is a specimen day. Ardor is the sun within a sun that gives its word. Peace, what we struggle to find, cannot be re-collected. No experiment is adequate to the healing required, unless sublime breaking of bounds accompanies each step. So let the bloom achieve its idiom. Let the promise of another spring re-script the politics of our days.


Contents

8/5/14

Poetry Pacific: Interview with Alan Botsford

Tuesday, 5 August 2014

Interview with Alan Botsford

Alan Botsford is author of mamaist: learning a new language (Minato No Hito, 2002);  A Book of Shadows (Katydid Books, 2003); and Walt Whitman of Cosmic Folklore (Sage Hill Press, 2010) a hybrid collection which, as the Walt Whitman Quarterly Review wrote, “combines […] poetry, criticism, dialogues, myths and folktales, hip-hop rhymes and postmodern surfaces interwoven with the wit and wisdom of Whitman’s visionary embrace of the reader”. He was educated at Wesleyan University and Columbia University, and has lived the past quarter century in Japan. A featured guest-editor of Japanese Poems in Translation in June 2012 of Connotation Press: An Online Artifact, Botsford serves as editor of Poetry Kanto, Japan's longest running annual bi-lingual international poetry journal (poetrykanto.com). His poems have appeared in The Cortland ReviewRiver StyxYemassee Literary JournalMickle Street ReviewConfrontation, and American Writing, among other places, and in poetry anthologies in the U.S. and Japan. He teaches English at Kanto Gakuin University in Yokohama, Japan and lives with his wife, the illustrator Minako Saitoh and their son in Kamakura.

Seven Important Questions for Poetry Editor Alan Botsford

1.Given the ways contemporary authors have been trying to compose all kinds of poetry, how would you define ‘poetry’?

.   What is poetry? Unresponsive dust, or Life: you choose. Or it’s the gift predecessors have given you, and that you would pass on to all those in need of reading it. Or it’s one of those gifts you don’t look for, it finds you.

  Yet why you, you wonder? Prayerfully inside outside, hopefully over under, actually 
  there here, definitely before after, is all you’ll get by way of an answer. (Yes, down the 
  path of its pulverization, the dust sings…but as bad as it gets, it gets better when the best 
  of you, as poet, is at play.)

2. Many people say poetry is dying. Do you agree or disagree with this statement, and why?

  Poetry—it’s true, there’s no future in it. Annihilating the self is dangerous. Poetry knows
  this. But when it’s your destiny, it’s what makes the present worth living. That’s why you 
  keep the perception of the real and the imagined separate. Poetry won’t cerebrate what it
  celebrates.

3. What defining features do you think ‘best’ poetry should possess? In other words, what is your personal or working definition of ‘best’ poetry? 

   Before a real poet, living or dead, I’d bow and say: Your potential is paralyzing to someone like me! Your promise is perpetual and perceptual! And O I’ve never seen how one sees the world like you, let alone imagined feeling how it feels if in your shoes I’ve stepped (I’d be the universe and who could mistake it?). Climbing aboard such trains of associations as yours leaves me dizzied. Unto me I receive the dazzle mercifully unfinished. You’re like a god of the beautiful whose fragrances make me swoon! O beautiful expression! You’re the boon without the mooning! You’re as deep a commerce at a sale that I can set sail for, and as mystical a cellar as a cosmic cell locked by the key that energizes every door one walks through, as ever I’ve known! O thank you for your view, for all the things that you see, that you offer and proffer profiting you not, but for free.

4. What are the most important makings of a ‘great’ poet? – please name 3 greatest poets the world has produced thus far.

  A poet who comes to poetry not to chase fame but to make a purchase of the world’s 
  newest names understands that when we sleep, the earth embeds us in its nocturnal arms
  and rhythms, its underworld music. Here a poet can make a stand in the yawning earth
  where poems originate from utterances ancestral as kin. and where what he dives into,
  divides him like knives flaying the skin from the bones. Here, nobody knows who you
  are save by your true voice, summoning you back into your life where spiritual
  revolution-inducing poetry is poetry taking you back to the source to bathe and be reborn
  in.

  Dante, Dante, Dante.

5. Who are the 3 most important or noteworthy contemporary poets according to your personal/working criteria?

  Among lyric poets I’m familiar with I’d include Michael S. Collins, William Heyen,
  Mari L’Esperance, and Rigoberto Gonzalez.

6. Considering the contemporary poetry writing/publishing reality, what are the most important changes that you think should be made to promote poetry as a worthy cause?

  Poetry as energy work, as spiritual journey, is something that can be better understood
  and promoted in the future.


7. What are the most important or interesting things that you have learned about poetry writing/publishing as a poetry editor?

  Writing poetry is not for the faint of heart. You do it only if you have to. Poem-writing
  offers a way of integrating and balancing those irrational energies of darkness with the
  daytime, rational mind of light. Indeed, poems are as necessary to waking, as dreams are
  to sleep. But the poet beholding the boundaries toes no line, betrothes himself to none
  but the line he’s sentenced to writing To the un-belonged he or she would belong-- the
  poet, the dreamer, the flash artist.. We are all here, the poet would remind us, as native
  speakers of Poetry, our first language.

10/25/13

Poetry Kanto 2013

Editor's Note
Alan Botsford

Ah (says the poet), all this growing to do in these gestures of balance… As they make themselves felt again in the rounds You’ve been making, past all regret, Beyond the well of sorrow and hope, As they climb the stairway up the center Of your heart, it’s then that the wordbeats–Echoing like footfalls in your forehead Where the sharp pain announces itself Briefly, for just a moment, before Descending once more into memory–Tap out the messages you’re a vessel for, An instrument for the music you hear Somewhere in the foreground, the drumming In the ear that says to you:
From the street to the ivory tower comes the deal, realing and wheeling, not of ‘poetry’–but of communing selves by poetic justice where swirling in and around and through each other word for word, context within context, are the world’s spirits distilled to a new form. When the moon is free-est, the tales are tallest, when tales are tallest, plots are thickest, when plots are thickest, the living and the dead have some business together, whose transactions, artfully overheard, remind you to Keep on loving What you would love, where you would.


Contents


12/25/12

Kaimana Review-- Adele Ne Jame's The South Wind

(from KAIMANA 2012, Paul Nelson, editor.
Hawai’i Literary Arts Council)
by Alan Botsford, editor of Poetry Kanto and author of Walt Whitman of Cosmic Folklore
In an evidence-based world, we are forever trying to solve the puzzle of the play of appearances and trying to fit the pieces into place. For the poet, however, the pieces won’t fit, the puzzle will never be solved. Out of depths Orpheus-like and at the borders Janus-faced, Adele Ne Jame travels as exile and maker in an exploratory trajectory between seen and unseen, alive to the always-changing pathways towards the sayable. In The South Wind, a new collection of graceful, exquisitely-wrought poems, she navigates her way through the winds of loss, violence, and the ravages of history–via lament and mourning–towards the possibilities of new life. Each poem marks a destination reached that is hard-won, hard-earned, composed of the poet’s alchemic power, emotional steadiness, and spiritual nimbleness. And each destination marks a recovery, however provisional, through poetic remembrance and verbal music, of what time and war have undone.
In the poem “The World is a Wedding,” for example, Ne Jame in three steely-eyed, deft stanzas captures the dynamics of her late parents’ domestic life in New Jersey. The scene she depicts, while evoking their Lebanese origins, is an extended family’s meal together as they recount stories of exotic travels. In the final stanza, with the visiting whirlwind of uncles and cousins now departed from the house, Ne Jame offers this glimpse:
When the house is empty
Mother sits alone
in front of the T.V. watching
an old movie, the hero smoking a cigarette.
Father’s already asleep in the small room
off the kitchen, having given himself up
to the next small loss, to King’s Display
where in a shabby darkroom on West 45th Street
he will develop more prints
for the movies, ten-foot blowups of stars,
heroes on the marquee, the crowd passing by.
In the poem, Ne Jame’s progenitors remain real and hauntingly present to her. Indeed the archetypal Father will be forever among the “ten-foot blowups of stars,/ heroes on the marquee.” Yet the poem’s coup de grace occurs with the implication that the poet herself joins “the crowd passing by” in order to escape the Father’s shadow (History by any other name), an escape which, as Abraham Lincoln famously said, is impossible. If, then, the poet meets the requirements of a historical reality all too ready and willing to assert its control over the poetic imagination, it is a trade-off the poet consciously makes. Being bound thus to memory also frees up energy available to her as poet and is a function of the way she chooses to relate to the world.
You could say she harnesses the elemental wind to her poetic craft, intending the energies of a poem to be felt for what they are—modes or nodes of realization, not only of representation. When bringing such awareness into language, the poet as maker almost has to step aside, for a very clear force is writing through her, one that would declare: I have mastered the art of leaving, I perceive the forms and change them. The hugeness of the heart and vision, in other words, is mindfulness in action. We can learn much from this poet. She touches the nerve of our humanity and looses a freedom our hearts cry out for. We can, her poems remind us, vitally wake up to the voice we hear at dawn.