Review of Ben Saff's minor league all american dance club
January 27, 2021
minor league all american dance club
Toho Publishing
$9.99
You can purchase a copy from Toho Publishing or Amazon.
Reviewed by Chris Kaiser
“Perhaps I know best why man is the only animal that laughs: he alone suffers so excruciatingly that he was compelled to invent laughter.”
Frederick Nietzsche
Is it any wonder millennials are attracted to the absurd? They are told to go to college, which saddles them with debt and offers few job prospects, forcing them into the tenuous gig economy that proffers no healthcare insurance, no paid vacation, and no job security. In the meantime, they are fed a steady diet of American optimism by the powers that be. They are told the country is in good shape because the stock market is performing well, while unemployment is at an all-time high. They are told the military is the best in the world even though the U.S. lost in Korea and Vietnam, and has been mired in conflict in Afghanistan and Iraq since 2002. And they were told that the novel coronavirus would disappear like a miracle.
Albert Camus asked the question: “How does a rational being confront the idea that his existence might not be rational but rather absurd? The answer,” he said, “is simply to laugh.”
Absurdist humor relies on the illogical, the incongruous and it is alive and well among the young adult demographic. It helps to express the disillusionment felt by many millennials.
Yet, the absurdist humor in millennial Ben Saff’s new chapbook, minor league all american dance club, isn’t so much about disillusionment, as it is about having fun. And fun is what I want right now, given recent political events.
Absurdist humor breaks rules and Saff does that with talking alligators, observant parking meters, and passengers tip-toeing on the wings of airplanes. The opening poem, “the alligators,” seems to be a simple tale of alligators strutting around the city like “they were born here,” enjoying themselves at comedy clubs, and smoking in cafes. But like all good poetry, Saff leaves a lot of room for the reader to ask questions and fill in the blanks. Where did the alligators come from? Why did they travel north? Did they not feel as powerful in their previous geography like they do in their new environs? Why is it important we know what makes these alligators laugh? The poem is less than 20 lines long, yet packs an emotional punch that is both unassuming and potent.
I am familiar with the conspiracy theory that purports a secret cabal of reptilian shape-shifters controls the world. Is Saff playing with this idea? I don’t want to give away the poem, but I will repeat the warning of the poet: “don’t ask what’s in their briefcase.”
Another poem titled “roommate” plays with our absurd sensibilities. The narrator encounters death, who “drums a rhythm / on the wall” with his scythe, and also plays air guitar on it. But this is not the first time our narrator has seen death. We are told that death loves the trick of “passing / through the locked apartment door,” but that it’s “getting old”. I can just imagine the grim reaper trying to get a laugh from his bored roommate.
Death makes himself at home, talking about his foray into yoga (he “won’t shut up about it”) and smiling at the suggestion to “order dominoes”. The whole scenario is bizarre and absurd, but somehow believable within the context of the world Saff creates, told in a simple, readable fashion.
I recently attended a graveside service for a 40-year-old man who died of a drug overdose. During the ritual, I sort of had my own conversation with death, thinking about how I should perhaps prepare for his arrival. I might have been better served psychologically if I had entertained the notion of death more absurdly, like Saff. After all, no one escapes the final breath. Why not room with death, get to know his annoying habits, and discover what makes him happy?
Humans have an inherent longing for certainty, which can manifest in many ways, some of them harmful like authoritarian cults or fascist governments, some of them harmless like marriage and ritualistic routines. Humor is one way to combat uncertainty and the poet shares the stage with the philosopher and the comedian in helping us share in the laughter rather than fight in the despair.
In the poem “angel gabriel,” Saff again challenges our funny bone by having “angel gabriel … shop at target.” As Saff has done with just about all the poems in this collection of 19, he leaves lots of room for the reader to travel within the poem to find several layers of meaning. At first, the reader might think this poem is about the Angel Gabriel, the one who foretold the birth of John the Baptist and Jesus. But there is some wiggle room in that interpretation. Saff never uses the definite article “the” before the name angel gabriel. It could actually be the name of an Hispanic character. Another clue to the latter interpretation is the use of the Spanish phrase, “piso mojado” (wet floor) on a “a bright yellow sign” that angel gabriel passes.
Just when the reader thinks he or she might have the poem figured out, or at least manageable, Saff tells us that angel gabriel stopped himself from buying a succulent plant when “he remembers the fifth / commandment.” That line just turned my world upside-down. It was so unexpected and it gives the poem extra layers for interpretation (or just enjoyment).
I’m aware of the irony of trying to explain these works when absurdity is the compulsion to go looking for meaning that simply isn’t there.
Some of the poems in this collection — and especially “miata” — remind me of the poem, “A True Account of Talking to the Sun at Fire Island,” by Frank O'Hara, which just so happens to be one of Saff’s favorite poems. “This poem has so much of what I enjoy about poetry: it's lawless, imaginative, playful, absurd, authentic, and just a little bit enlightening,” Saff told me in an email.
And those are all the qualities you’ll find in the poems in this marvelous chapbook. You will laugh, you will be surprised, you will want more.
Chris Kaiser’s poetry has been published in Eastern Iowa Review, Better Than Starbucks, and The Scriblerus. It appeared in Action Moves People United, a music and spoken word project partnered with the United Nations, as well as in the DaVinci Art Alliance’s Artist, Reader, Writer exhibit, which pairs visual art with the written word. He’s won awards for journalism and erotic writing, holds an MA in theatre, and lives in suburban Philadelphia.