Wild Seed

<p>These poems travel narrow roads deep north and they take slow boats east; they sail the Nile south and they safari in Africa; they turn paintings inside out and find our faces there; they long for love long after love let go; they poke fingers in the eyes of the pompous and they reincarnate Vincent in the suburbs-and they do all this with a quiet mastery of forms borrowed from all quarters of the world all the while standing in a kitchen cooking quinces sitting at an office desk after hours turning emails into prayers. <br/>From the review by Mark Tredinnick</p>