Lee Wilson’s unsettling lucidity has already become familiar to readers of Smiths Knoll and The Rialto. His poetry, like Cavafy’s, tilts at an odd angle to the universe, full of strange but always illuminating resolutions which lurch to the left.
Wilson is both astonishingly candid and somehow as withdrawn as Puck; always generous and extraordinary in his observations of others. He is rather merciless about himself.
His poetic language is vivid, unsettling rich and helps to create one of the most original voices to have emerged in recent years.