New Depths of Deadpan

by Michael C. Gizzi

Poetry. Should the two masks that represent Comedy and Tragedy pass through each other (imagine a total eclipse), might not their overlapping intersection be an expression of deadpan? And what about Janus, that janitor in January? Do his back-to-back facial characteristics suggest anything more than the infinite, noncommittal gaze of beginnings and endings? Or does the almost reckless declarativeness of these poems show a mind's weathering both the antic and the intimate, both merriment and distress? Michael Gizzi's previous books include MY TERZA RIMA, CURED IN THE GOING BEBOP, and CONTINENTAL HARMONY, all available from SPD.

Genres: Poetry

67 pages, Paperback

First published April 1, 2009

Reviews

[Rodney · Rating 5 out of 5]

Michael Gizzi’s poems are a home sound for me, like the Purple Grotto in the kitchen while Italy chops onions on “Another clammy night.” The radio’s been quiet since 2001’s My Terza Rima, so extra glad to see New Depths of Deadpan, which finds Gizzi in brilliant form, “thick as bus exhaust/and four times bigger than Cheops with peanut sauce,” lines a little cleaner but in the way a great sax player smooths the vibrato with time, as the ideas get sharper and more like steel mesh or Lorelei.

It’s temping to quote great titles (“Posse of Forks”) and lines (“My walking stick was the limousine in the living room”), but that’d pretty much be the whole book. “Because the news is so awful so is being present” might sum up its virtues as well as anything, but it’d miss the sly fun and perpetual zing of everything Gizzi throws in the pan, where sound cooks down to pure poetry.

[Eddie Watkins · Rating 5 out of 5]

The forested doctor of curbside etymology says, "Hogtie reason. Forks fly from poetry sparks. Open wide and eat up the tragic mask of your grins."

Lobbed into my car by erosion I ride metal gizzards through these pages. My t-top mind absorbed by rays, pinged by bugs. All shops unopened in the seepage of bills.

A fire breaks out to be extinguished by the next line, salamanders squirming in ash. A cop puts a hat on my ass.

Treelines encircle my intentions. Typewriters spoon my doctor, run away with the moon.

Lakes row across me on unpremeditated meaning.

[Brianna · Rating 4 out of 5]

Seems like largely a collection of nonsequiters.

[R.K. Cowles · Rating 4 out of 5]

4 1/2 stars

[Ryan · Rating 3 out of 5]

Something in me temperamentally resists Michael's work. It is a failure on my part as a reader. There are some blindingly beautiful moments in "New Depths..." and ones that I hope stay with me for a while, but I found myself too often carried to distraction.

[Ponsius Odaga · Rating 3 out of 5]

each poem takes about 5 rereads as Gizzi really puts the english language to work. There are an even spread of high and low point in this piece, but overall its definitely not for the beginner.