Making sheep interesting

He is most like a poet when writing least like one. Skim the titles of P. J. Kavanagh’s new collection and you’ll find the clues. ‘November’, ‘London Bridge’ and ‘Christmas walk’ are admirable instances of a skilled craftsman plying his trade, but they lack the yeasty suddenness of the real thing. Head instead for ‘What I didn’t say to Thomas’, a slice of wry humour about Kavanagh’s evasiveness over his belief in God, or ‘Vox Pop’, which uses a Larkinesque transition to turn a momentary rant into a celebration of civilised values.

Kavanagh has all the technical gifts a poet could wish for, but at times his brain has to work overtime because his heart and soul have phoned in sick. The poem in honour of his father-in-law’s 75th birthday is dignified, respectful and slightly dull, and its best line, ‘We seldom make decisions, they make us’ occurs in the paragraph of introduction.