Apples and pumpkins were plentiful, everything bursting ripe as Kathleen Winter read us the story of Kerry’s burgeoning sexuality.
Madeleine Thien met Elise and me in a Mile End alley. There always seemed to be barking in the distance. Fitting for the author of Dogs at the Perimeter.
It was a cold November day when Elise Moser and I met Deanna Smith in the park off St Laurent in Little Italy, around the corner from her place. But we froze our little mitts off so went to Marché Milano and pretended to buy pasta for an hour. Actually, we didn’t have to pretend.
The Point is a neighbourhood of contrasts and history, where street names sound like they belong in Liverpool and kids run around speaking a French that wouldn’t be out of place in Les Plouffe circa 1953.
The sun sliced low above the street, on over to the brick wall of his building. David Homel read us a passage from Midway. A dog barked and everyone else had somewhere to go.
This poem, “Pairs,” is based on the following letter-pairs: bp, dt, fv, gk, sz. Each pair is composed of consonants whose sound is produced using the same vocal mechanism.
It was a wet and soggy October day when Elise Moser and I passed through street number 13 1/2 to find P.J. Bracegirdle’s hidden apartment. We were surrounded by a constant din of construction noise – every single neighbour was digging their secret dungeon.
Mot/town is a video and literary collaboration between myself, Elise Moser, and some of Montreal’s writers, poets, and spoken word artists. We meet in their neighbourhoods, in their kitchens, on their front stoops, at their work place and bring a camera.
Veteran Just for Laughs comics Mike Ward and Deanne Smith travel to the depths of Cote-St-Luc to sit down for an intimate “Evening” with my Bubby Sophie. She jokes, she sings, she tries to force feed them a variety of different foods. Learn why kosher chickens are better than non-kosher chickens.
Pastagate, the Soccer Turban Ban and the Mayoral Scandal(s) were just a few of the goodies that propelled Montreal to first place in its bid to become the “Most Embarrassing City on the Planet” this summer. Knowing how to end things in style and wanting to do so with a bang, the city concluded its debacle of a summer (hopefully), with a grand finale in the form of a backhoe-sized sinkhole in the heart of its downtown core. To celebrate, I did what Montrealers do best: I threw a (sinkhole) party.
Is there life after art? Dimitrios Koussioulas answers in the affirmative. When his steady paycheque as a member of the Galerie de Bellefeuille sales staff disappeared last summer, he toyed with writing a novel. Instead, he settled on a talk show called Parc Avenue Tonight. Filmed in his living room. Broadcast on YouTube. Now available on Rover.
Lorsque j’ai appris que Ray Bradbury est décédé, j’ai d’abord été surpris : j’ignorais que l’auteur, dont j’avais fini la deuxième lecture de Farenheit 451 la veille, était encore vivant. Son décès à changé mes plans initiaux pour la vidéo : moi qui comptais brûler le roman (geste discutable même en lien avec la nature du récit dans lequel des hommes brûlent tous les livres sur leur chemin dans un avenir dystopique), je décide, à la place, de distribuer ses œuvres à des quidams. Geste, d’ailleurs, qui se rapproche plus du Marc d’aujourd’hui.
It’s been a long time since it has felt like an “endless summer.” Or, maybe it’s endless but for all the wrong reasons. The city sinks in a dust of its own making, vacations are harried, and an election looms. What better anecdote, then, than to throw yourself into a book. Even better, dig out a dog-eared title that, once upon a time, was a doorway into endless magic and myth.
St-Henri is ground zero in the gentrification battle taking place on the streets in Southwest Montreal.