"Old voice, the gods of rhyme and metre, crumbs of earth and putrefaction hanging from his lips, the poet comes, rising from the dead, orroyos for eyes, roar of blood pounding against canyon walls, his ancient vehicle, too, clicking and road-worthy, counting each kilometre and stress, echoes of Cohen, mordant, arrhythmic, dreaming of diamond-eyed Lucy, the first and last woman. Giles Blunt is here, dripping prose petals, song lyrics. Welcome him home."
Gary Geddes, author, What Does a House Want?
