During the '40's England's George Barker was a sort of prime minister to the Kingdom of Royal Fireworks over which the late Dylan Thomas reigned. Like Thomas, his poetry had a rhapsodic resonance suffused with showy symbols and sensuus word-paintings. Fashions change, and so does one's craft. This later poetry of George Barker is direct, indelicate and not incantory at all. It is biographical, determinedly so, and deals with the poet's continuing preoccupation with Eros although now damning romantic deceptions of all kinds. There are some brilliant passages, among the best he has done, bitting, intimate, demonic, and some funny nes, wry and very modern. Some of it is strong, but on the whole it is more ensation than substance.