The Sudden Quiet

Praise for New Skin 'When I first came across Fraser Mackay's wry ruminations, I liked how they were rooted in place and gave off an air of hardy, solitary manhood: somewhere, in Central Victoria, among granite and magpies, there's a joint in a wide paddock; the horse has been fed by hand and a cold rain is heading in from the West; maybe, tonight, a loving friend will show with a good red; then again, maybe she won't. Easefully, a poem starts up, one that knows just when to open its mouth, and when to go quiet. You get a sense that the poet is on the path of learning about what Robert Adamson has called "the clean dark".' - Barry Hill