The poems of David Hickey’s first collection, In the Lights of a Midnight Plow, glitter and startle. His is a writing deftly musical, where every detail and image has been carefully weighed, honed with a knife’s edge and poet’s ear to fit just so. The subjects are diverse, though his aim, always, is true: wehter writing about nature, farming, or domestic concern, there is intelligance, beauty, humour and originality. Most ipmortantly, there is language, the sparkle and sheen of it, the rhythm, all of which tells us that a new and important voice is at work here.