They woke as from a drug-induced slumber -
A dream of darkness, of fire that was the darkness,
And in their guts, the gripe of apples.

What had it promised, that sibilant voice,
That affable constrictor? Knowledge -
Knowledge that only gods rejoice in.

from 'Apple Gripe'

In The Sound of Light John Heath-Stubbs, now in his eighties, gives us a coherent, shaped, celebratory volume on an antique model and scale, revealing once more how inexhaustible and adaptable forms - traditional and free verse - can be when handled with his rare tact and mastery, and how his blindness is mitigated by a marvellous second sight of images and tones.

    Fable, fairy tale and a sense of the fun of language serve to heighten the serious concerns which underlie his work.  His tone is rarely earnest: he has a rich sense of humour and a wry turn of phrase.