
I know whereof Mike McNamara speaks, that mix of nostalgia and regret, a past not disowned but wondered at. What deluded fools we all were; and how on earth did we few survive? And not just the fags. The past lied to the likes of us, made us wrongly and we had to struggle out from under. The asylum poems here, with their incantatory delivery, took my breath away. There was so much here applicable to my own sorry past that I wanted to quote from, especially from An Unlikely Tune and The Hard Man’s Grave Revisited. Elsewhere, some lovely rhythms and unforced rhymes. On reaching the last page I went back to the first.
…Sam Smith

