In the best collection yet from the Deputy Editor of the Times Literary Supplement, this is poetry as autobiography — a wonderfully poignant evocation of a genteel suburban upbringing, a wild youth and a regretful middle-age.
Skillfull, rueful, enviably well-hewn poems with Cole Porter-level rhymes ("strangers"/"hydrangeas" and "Seized on a street corner by the Absolute/I readjust my tie, flick the dandruff from my suit") but also many regrettable, cringe-inducing phrases (for example, "supercilious queer" appears twice) that help me understand why my copy from the Scottish Poetry Library is stamped "WITHDRAWN."