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Showing posts from January, 2017

Who will win the 2017 T S Eliot Prize?

My choice for the best book of poetry of 2016 would be Ian Duhig's The Blind Roadmaker. I said pretty much everything I wanted to about it in my Guardian review of it earlier this year, printed below. But without very much encouragement, I could just as easily heap superlatives on it, so here we go -- it's funny, smart, generous, crafty and crafted, beautiful, wise, and the work of a poet who's not only mastered his trade, but possesses two rare qualities in complete abundance: humility and boundless curiosity. Duhig is the real deal, and deserves the accolade of the T S Eliot Prize more than any in my opinion; even in a year with a fair few worthy contenders. I'll be keeping my fingers firmly crossed.

As a dictionary plunderer who knows a lot about a lot of things, Ian Duhig’s eclectic enthusiasms and often laugh-out-loud wit make him poetry’s answer to Stephen Fry. Popular but complex, comic yet serious, no one could accuse his verse of being dull or predictable. “My…