This is treasure. It speaks with a soft, insistent whisper. The patter of the little syllables. Its roots appear to be in American poetry - Stevens, Olson, Dorn. Like Michael Haslam, Langley recalls GM Hopkins but the language is less obviously `wrought' - having a lightness that nevertheless resonates with allusion and etymological tricks. It has a gentle,introspective quality. No big dramas or sudden epiphanies. The mind catches itself at it ... watching willow warblers in Staffordshire sallows or the light moving in a remote Suffolk church. The long poems, `Matthew Glover' and `Man Jack' are wonderful - and there is nothing else like them in modern English poetry. No-one else writes like this. It deserves a much wider readership.