#peter gizzi

[geryone]

Fierce Elegy, Peter Gizzi

[garadinervi]

Jay Ritchie, Listening in Many Publics, Edited by Peter Gizzi, Cover design by Megan Fildes, Invisible Publishing, Picton, ON / Fredericton, NB / Halifax, NS, 2024

[beguines]

Peter Gizzi

[woundgallery]

Peter Gizzi

[typewriter-worries]

Lines Depicting Simple Happiness, Peter Gizzi

[ Text ID: About you there is nothing I wouldn't want to know / With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler. ]

[rosepoems]

Hypostasis & New Year

Peter Gizzi

For why am I afraid to sing the fundamental shape of awe should I now begin to sing the silvered back of        the winter willow spear the sparkling agate blue would this blade and this sky free me to speak       intransitive lack –

the vowels themselves free

Of what am I afraid of what lies in back of me of day these stars scattered as far as the I what world and wherefore will it shake free why now in the mind of an afternoon is a daisy       for a while flagrant and alive

Then what of night of hours’ unpredicated bad luck and the rot        it clings to fathomless on the far side in winter dark

Hey shadow world when a thing comes back comes back unseen but felt and no longer itself        what then what silver world mirrors tarnished lenses what fortune what fate and the forms not themselves but only itself the sky by water and wind shaken I am born in silvered dark

Of what am I to see these things between myself        and nothing between the curtain and the stain between the hypostatic scenes of breathing and becoming the thing I see are they not the same

Things don’t look good on the street today beside a tower in a rusting lot one is a condition the other mystery even this afternoon light so kind and nourishing a towering absence vibrating air

Shake and I see pots from old shake        and I see cities anew I see robes shake I see desert I see the farthing in us all the ghost of day the day inside night as tones decay        and border air it is the old songs and the present wind I sing and say I love the unknown sound in a word

Mother where from did you leave me on the sleeve       of a dying word of impish laughter in the midst my joy I compel and confess open form my cracked hinged picture doubled

I can’t remember now if I made a pact with the devil        when I was young when I was high on a sidewalk I hear “buy a sweatshirt?” and think buy a shirt from the sweat of children        hell I’m just taking a walk in the sun in a poem       and this sound caught in the most recent coup

[missedstations]

"Findspot Unknown" - Peter Gizzi

Thus far we have spoken only the codes, a litany of survival. Thus spoke the silvered asphodel next to the factory ruin. Sound carries on water. My subject is the wind. To take umbrage at what a tree can do, watching one single birch become lightning stunning the sky. Landscape is a made thing, to see the mind seeing itself. To see thought, a wing in night, the long brooding. Take it, listen, the night is orchestral when the power's on. Everything disporting. A furred wand upon nothingness. I get it, it was good to leave the world, to find myself in thou. There's a lot to be said for seeing in the dark, and more to the light when there's nothing to see. If I write about the moon, it's because it's there. I am landlocked, surrounded by rivers and lakes, pills and leaves. I saw a better life, it was far off, sun on moss next to a friend, the softening air, the dandelion fluff. It was kinda real, and kinda not. Can't see it today. And out of nothing, breath. A beast-like shadow in the glass. If I brought back every feeling I had where would I put them, what could they mean to this world on the floor? It was best to let the moon unravel and focus the truth of the music. It was best to let the music unravel and focus the truth of night. Like when I found you in the back of my mind. I am talking about people and the night. People inside the night. The night and what we are made of. The things and the people. The signal and its noise.

[whyldwaste]

I'm just visiting this voice I'm just visiting the molecular structures that say what I am saying I am just visiting the world at this moment and it's on fire It's always been on fire

Peter Gizzi, “Archeophonics”