Three Poems from Regard for Junction by Gerard Rizza (1959-1992)

I felt a twinge the other day when I was looking for a reference book and found my copy of Gerard Rizza's Regard for Junction, which I had been missing.

"If I take care of myself forever what will you give to me?"

Oh, Gerard.

This was put out by Spectacular Diseases in England. Paul Green is at the helm of that press, if I'm remembering correctly .

There's this card in the middle of this thing like a little tombstone that reads, "i.(n) m.(emoriam) Gerard Rizza 1959-1992." A little cenotaph. And on the reverse it reads, "Because of Gerard Rizza's death on the 4th April 1992, there is no signed edition of this book."

Stiletto sentence.

What were we all doing then, in April 1992? Hadn't "we" recently "finished" a war in the Gulf? Weren't all our governing doctrines suddenly revealed to have abundant "air quotes" in them? Weren't we all feeling powerless inside the power?

I imagine that's what Gerard might have felt too, because he was beginning to be "fully empowered," to borrow a phrase from Neruda, in his poetry--which is limber and muscular and erotic and filled with a love of life--as he was dying of A.I.D.S.

I think he might have been a student of the great Bernadette. Certainly he was a friend. There's a tincture of her in these poems. But he has his own voice.

Bernadette wrote the introduction, and it is very beautiful....

She says, ""It was not long after I first met Gerard that we were confused with each other twice. At first a poem of mine was thought to be a poem of his in "The Ledge." Soon after that I noticed glowing on my windowsill space a poem called "Poem at" beginning with the words "albuminous catch." I studied all its lines and said to myself "Who wrote this poem? did I?" I came to the conclusion that I had but I had not; the poem is in this book.

[and get her Steinian next sentence!....me]

"Now I know I hadn't and I know he had but maybe all of us had. Rizza sures does have the appearance of an angel and his poetry makes the stuff of the exclusively own self fall right off the table along with the crush of the halo. I regard him and these poems as beautiful and innocent forms or messages sent by a courier impressed for the public service."

Oh, Bernadette. Is there another like her? (nooooo!)

Here are three poems from Rizza's collection....

As I Lay Winking

Books change since I was last here.
Green crane from a glance at staves.
Boots piled and the Chinese slippers back
from my place.
Unfolded and framed sister's drawing.
Read your cards, throw your coins,
help yourself to your life, young.
I didn't mean to stay,
just came to apologize
for projecting the whole book of my dead
onto your leaving.
Do you be.
Translate a controvery of remembering.
A black zip bead.

for Rick



Day Book

I.

In the pouch of pens is the tooth brush amber in the plastic wrap but
won't write. I pull out the blue one creamy and cold. At are
newspapers and a clear cup with cubes is in the magazine net.
"Shouldn't they have cleaned that out for me? He is gone a long
time and he will bring something back. "It's bad to love tightly."
My feet. "Your shoes are so retro." Then was then he brought me
aspirin. It was for the fever I made not to work. He's putting a
napkin in my lap pulling my tray down.


II.

After dinner there might be something I want to write while you
separate suits. A new deck. You teach me Cheat. The back of the
cards is a photo of a field and track, train and white Amtrack
arrow in the corner. Your legs cross. "Don't you want to put
your legs across me?" "I do but let me get my coat." From
the Hook of Holland to Amsterdam they check tickets. From here to D.C.
Won't he be surprised. All the times i made plans to visit and here
comes the woman whose son must be blond think-skinned cold nose
as his feet are sweating in ski boots. Your foot folds a magazine. I
lick my lips.


III.

I call him Varsity. I write his name in orange. I rub his belly
under striped sweater. Everything is going so well for him. He
drops his pants and I embrace him trying in the poem to get away
from this new stanza. It was meant to be a stanza of his name to
me. If I take care of myself forever what will you give to me?

IV.

It is seven o'clock there is a small piece of cellophane on your
white sock. It's making my dick hard. We've stopped somewhere. I
am reminded by men's voices that we have a new vice-president
and a new president.

V.

There is no writing in front of T.V. on the first morning in D.C.
I will sit at the table on the patio under that tree wearing all
the ivy, naked branches up from its dress and later cross out
everything I write under tree. But the air feels right the color
blue over Watergate building. None of it hits the paper well but
the coffee hit my palate o.k. To complete this scene of me: cold
flowers kind sunny day in D.C.


VI.

Warm
what am I feeling
he said to sit in the last/back car
that it was cruisy
but all the wrong people are in this car
maybe this is the front
lights go out all train noise stops
I look to the sky
see emerald moving light
turn right in framed space open building
light and motors again
ventilation
take off my shoes
air my dogs
Tim said when I kicked off
my shoes and sighed after the longest day in D.C.
"Dogs are barkin" felt
right then sounds right now
I love trains
the boy near me is reading a book
by C.S. Lewis
called Mere Christianity
glasses sweeten his face
dark socks in sneakers endearing
he crosses his leg
opens the book
I wish they'd turn out these long lights
I'm glad I'm alive


VII.

Everything in D.C. is there
for everyone who reads this poem
so go to go
see
it's not my job to tell it
I had great fun
with great friends old and new
and rode with emotional gear
strapped on tight
through my kind of hell
one night
But I'm back now
I'll call you whoever you are
and say I'm ready getting
ready
then say good bye now take care now
good night now


VIII.

Is there anyone on this train
wondering about this last car
cruise business
some other young man
who might find it exciting
to find another young man me in this wondering
He pushes the back of his seat
book and face are out of sight
the stretch from knee
over crotch and front split tail
of flannel shirt either side
of his rise


IX.

the warmth when words satisfy
I scratch more flakes
on to white


for Bobby Miller




Poem at


albuminous catch
pacting sea
alarms the door
as plex skin
parts of a tape
weeded to
round of which
you seated are
known supplying
the date and jello
o.k. to rend
garble from sunny window
picting tiny brandy
to preserve


for Gary Gullo



I found only two copies of this book for sale on all of ABE...both ship from England...if you are interested just inquire from the seller for transatlantic shipping...here's a link...

http://www.abebooks.com/servlet/SearchResults?an=gerard+rizza&sts=t&x=27&y=15