In which a miserable old poetaster obsesses on hope, hopelessness, loneliness, aloneness, death, dying, war, wealth, empire, the tragically demented West and many other things no sensible person could possibly believe; yet with pity we publish this pitiful pile of awkward melodies that want to make you sit up but don’t, because we – that is us civilised citizens of mature democracies and advanced economies and all those other lovely names we call ourselves – are thoroughly inured.erson could possibly believe; yet with pity we publish this pitiful pile of awkward melodies that want to make you sit up but don’t, because we – that is us civilised citizens of mature democracies and advanced economies and all those other lovely names we call ourselves – are thoroughly inured.

“Cameron confesses to a weariness with poetry’s old forms and concerns, particularly the perennial Romantic subjects of love and exploration of the self. As a corrective, he ... turns his presbyopic gaze outward in a sequence of poems that takes in eco-vandalism, press barons, George W. Bush and death. One admires his determination to reject the pretension and obscurantism that winds its way around too much of the poetry that crosses one’s desk these days.” – The Sunday Herald’s review of Presbyopia, Cameron’s first collection

"A Barrel of Dried Leaves rakes together the 'corroded' past and 'sing[s] the anthem' of change and patriotism in a galvanizing, all-encompassing way. The collection veers away from the expected self-exploration and, without obscurantism, places the reader in a world-reaching, overarching search for human identity. ... A Barrel of Dried Leaves asks us, individually and collectively, in passion and integrity, to not only accept transition, but also pursue transformation. 'Ah! Make a song of that!'" – Shanley McConnell, DURA

Other books by Allan Cameron