The fizz of his technical inventiveness is unabated...There are tender as well as rude poems on sex, bluntly honest meditations on death and old age, and affectionate poems of family life...All entertaining, humane and irresistibly readable.—Fleur Adcock
Gavin Ewart, one of Britain’s finest and most original poets, is presented here in a half-century retrospective. His subjects various and his approach toothsomely scathing, he believes: "good light verse is better than bad heavy verse any day of the week.” Consider one of his briefest poems, “The Lover Reflects: Afterwards" – “Perhaps I was greedy. I know I should be grateful/You wanted a snack and I wanted a plateful." An inventive technical master (creator of the "Ewart" form), he stalks his favorite prey––hypocrisy, love’s foibles, the “pseuds”––with a razor-sharp wit. “There is iron in irony, although you smile,” he writes in one poem: "...I have my language, you have yours/ a lower-archy is a hierarchy viewed from above."