Sir Arnold Wesker is a British dramatist known for his contributions to world drama. He is the author of 50 plays, 4 volumes of short stories, 2 volumes of essays, a book on journalism, a children's book, extensive journalism, poetry and other assorted writings. His plays have been translated into 17 languages and performed worldwide.
Turns out that a rather brilliant playwright is a pretty good poet. The title is a clue to the pessimism of these poems, and a darn interesting idea as a one-liner. Michael Kustow's foreword tells us that Wesker is not as pessimistic as these poems indicate. I'm glad, but the book must be evaluated as a book. I see no evidence that Wesker is a great poet, but he certainly isn't bad. This is not a book to read for impressive expression, telling metaphors, or most of the other things that made poetry poetry. This is a good place to find compressed and rather good expressions of age, weariness, and failure.