Michael Gizzi 1949-2010
The sad and shocking news of Michael Gizzi’s passing reached us this morning. I didn’t know him well but admired his work as an editor and poet. He sent me an inscribed copy of his New Depths of Deadpan last season, which I am reading today, the best way I know to honor him. – SS
1st stanza of “Man In Marble”
How can life that runs through us daily
separate us from the sparrows
that presume to own the air?
He was my best friend and closest co-conspirator (LOL) at Bishop Thomas Hendricken School in Rhode island and, afterwards, when we both went to Boston for college: he to BC, me to BU. It didn’t matter, though. we still partied for years like Dionysians. He was our Trimalchio. The real deal. Girls adored him, followed him around, spoiled him rotten. I mean gorgeous, smart, sophisticated girls (many from Manhattan and Philly) any young man would kill to be seen with. His preference, though, was for Wellesley girls. They seemed to know how to manage his restlessness better. Keep him pre-occupied, you know? Or challenge him just the right way, which would slow him down temporarily and make him think twice. He liked their easy, natural superiority. Mikey never had to study much, you know? He seemed to anticipate exactly what the instructor would ask. Eventually, he taught me how to “game” tests by prioritizing the seven most likely questions and preparing smart answers for each of them well ahead of time. Mikey had more important things to do than rote studying. Frankly, it bored him silly. He was a creature of the ’60′s (a rolling stone) and he lived just like that. He loved the West Village and the Combat Zone in Boston, too, where so many young girls seemed to know him already and were delighted to run into him again. He had some power over them he wouldn’t talk about. I haven’t seen anything like that gift since. Anyway, the boy sure understood the English language and how to rip your heart out with a single phrase or metaphor. He was an argonaut to the core, since I met him at age 14, so I’m not sure how happy he ever was. But I never met anyone who seized each day like Mikey did. He was and he remains a grand credit to our species. Mikey, we miss you already, man. Set things up for us. We’ll all be along shortly. Then we’ll party like never before. We promise. We’ll all sing “Like a Rollin’ Stone” till we drop, just the way we used to. Remember what Dominic Vespucci taught (demonstrated to) us in ’67 and you’ll be fine ’til we get there. Isis loves you, guy, and we do too. Hang tough ’til we get there!
I have set many of Michael’s poems to music, usually as song cycles for a single voice and piano. Like his poems, he charmed and delighted and amused deeply. My tribute to him will be to set as many of his poems as I can. I am sad there will not be more.