Just learned from Todd Swift all the way over in England that poet Artie Gold, whom he refers to as a "Montreal legend", died yesterday.
I must confess -- and this feels spooky -- though I live in the same neighborhood, walk the same streets and quite likely, without knowing it, crossed paths with him in the 17 years since I came here, I really didn't know him.
Reading through the sample poems Todd highlights, I find a devil-may-care, stream-of-consciousness quality... at times engaging, at times grandstanding, at times hackneyed, wanting in finish.
Tho I can't even picture his face, I imagine Artie Gold from behind the curtain, a sardonic smile curling on his lips out of feigned respect for this oblivious listener who never did catch on, who never did appreciate his words during his lifetime.
P.S. April 15: Seems I was mistaken. For the last couple of decades at least, AG lived in NDG, not Mile End where I live.