Three blurbs appear at the back of the book, Eating Fruit Out of Season.

Nowhere in Canadian poetry will the prosaic mind discover verse so barbed and ironic as in this text, while inspired intellects must find it a source of prophetic nostalgia and exquisite, fleshed-out wisdom. Herein is Ontario pastoral and Space-Age romanticism, both scrutinized by a poet who inks truth that is satire.

Winner of the Governor-General’s Award for Poetry

What I like best about David Clink’s poems is the way he disorients me with continual shifts in perspective, moving from a child’s perceptions of the world, to the earth seen by astronauts; from literary bafflegab through a suicide prevention hotline for poetry addicts ("If you wish to rage against the dying of the light/ press 1.") to Hercules ordinary in his dying. Clink’s eye for the ridiculous everywhere (including in himself), and his deadpan humour, are held in check by his acknowledgement of grief and longing. I found reading Eating Fruit out of Season to be like, well, like eating fruit out of season – unpredictable, intriguing, not every bite to my taste, but I didn't want to stop eating.

Winner of the Trillium Book Award for Poetry

PRAISE FOR EARLIER WORK

"Dear Mr. Clink, I’m writing to you at this time to complain about your chapbook One Dozen. I was so absorbed in reading the damn thing today that I missed my subway stop! Its otherworldly qualities, evocative emotional landscapes and humourous cranial detours are most enjoyable and have all passed my personal reality inspection. Still, I had to switch tracks at St. George station!"

Author of Spiral Agitator