from the well of my mind,more echo than thought, as it fades through the wind
and flickers away to the silence beyond
like the voice, in myself, of another.
His [John Burnside's] poetry is best when dwelling in possibility, the imagination having been skilfully persuaded, by rhythm and by image, to postpone making up its mind indefinitely.
from The Guardian: Black Cat Bone by John Burnside--review
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