That Sid Gold should come to poetry is a remarkably apt occurrence, for few people are quite so excited by words and their meanings as is the Harlem-born, Bronx and Manhattan-raised Gold. Words, words, words, words. Sid talks, and there is a danger in talking for most poets – the danger that they will have given as deep a consideration for the verbal as they do to their written language. In this, Gold is a sort of amphibian, able to breathe in two mediums…But where he may be, on the one hand, conversationally-speaking, broad-ranging and effusive, to say nothing of excitable and plangent, his poetry is finely-tuned, striking exactly the chord he seeks to strike with a minimum of effort. It is as if all of the words that bubble out of him are part of the creative fermentation process, so much excess verbiage, and somehow, what is left (on the page) is high-octane language.