<p>Clegg mixes "genuine and imaginary anthropology", and the join between those aspects of his work that are essentially tall tales or fabulation and those that the results of diligent research is practically invisible. So too is the transition between tightly controlled traditional form and ranging free verse, the former being done so softly and unostentatiously. A quick march through some of the titles (âMossâ, âNightgrassâ, âWounded Musk Oxâ, âKayaksâ, âMeteorâ, âDillâ, âMosquitoâ) reads like a sort of ingredients list â words as ancient elements, boiled down tinctures, excavated knucklebones and panned nuggets, bottled and labelled for cautious use in the creation of spells and medicines. Plus there's the over-arching sensation of the poet's joyous obsessiveness, like a child collecting shells or insects, in everything he writes about.</p>
<p>So yeah, yeah, I recommend it.</p>
- Jon Stone, Sidekick Books