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A Smell of Fish is Irish-born, London-berthed Sweeney's seventh volume of poetry and his 14th book in somme. As such, the sense of a author hitting a mid-year peak, totally in manage of his skills and powers, is palpable. And the range of variations is outstanding, as well: by turns sombre, amusing, detached, passionate, Sweeney is eager to play every single octave on poetry's piano--and to experiment with voices not entirely his personal.

Often, like in the city man's dream of liberty that is the Appointment, his whimsical naturel imagery is reminiscent of W.B. Yeats "so he jumped in and swam / and a red-tailed hawk / led him to the island / in which among the silverbirch / he found a lantern". In other poems, like the wittily acerbic Roadkill, he sounds like Ted Hughes in a bit of a negative mood: "Scrape the cat off the highway / get it house and fillet out the flesh / throw it in the marinade".

The a lot more experimental poems are often intriguing, if not often entirely profitable. In the center of the collection is a series of haikus, the very best of which, like Hangover ("Appear a drunk lying / in a canoe / being walked on / by a pair of skunks"), are oddly but tellingly comic. Immediately soon after them arrives a chunk of extremely freely translated Dante: "what is your identify?" / Fame is the very last point I want / Fuck off and do not annoy me further".

A Smell of Fish ends with a suite of related poems, themed close to the bleak surreal elegance of the English littoral at Thorpeness. These are the very best poems in the book: sardonic, lyrical, strongly imagined. For Sweeney, Thorpeness is a place in which waves "are apologetic on the shingle/soon after the excesses of the prior night", in which the "white dome of Sizewell / is the bald head of a killer". Taken collectively the Thorpeness verses sort a vivid and resonant summary to a coveted collection. --Sean Thomas