Leaves of Glass assembles the shards of a lost and broken correspondence into a jagged lens, and examines imagination and sympathy. Wild, sharp and witty, these poems find their languages in the gaps between letters and the silences between words, and build a radiant, vital and eloquent collection.
Felicity Plunkett, on Leaves of Glass
However one approaches this wonderfully original and sophisticated book, it is Prater’s masterful, often unpredictable use of rhythm and expression, and his effortless fusion of humour with melancholy and lyricism with idiosyncrasy, which mark him not only as an insightful student of culture and history but also as one of the foremost Australian poets of his generation.
Ali Alizadeh, on Leaves of Glass
We Will Disappear is a full tilt swerving syntax for a crazy world – speedy, accurate, satiric, tender, intense, visceral, engaged. It’s chocked with wake up calls and rhythms for the new century, sounds of cities, seas, planets, spinning and disappearing, and a lament for what’s passing. All along Prater pitches a dark destabilising line then subverts it with an explosion of pure lyric joy. Formally inventive whilst also dropping beats of pop media jargon and all the transitory idioms we live in, this is a new language for all tomorrow’s aching parties. Exciting, highly charged, and affecting.
Jill Jones, on We Will Disappear
We Will Disappear is made up of woven vignettes, elegant compositions with smatterings of real and imagined German, Japanese railways, a bumpy ride to Bangkok, Lao roads, morning in Harlem and a scale model Belfast. David Prater then adds pop culture, colloquialisms, sensuality, vowel play, wit and the tincture of the political. He is the seasoned traveller, both in real life and within the globe of these poems. We disappear into the text as if it were an imagined continent.
alicia sometimes, on We Will Disappear
In our information-saturated, hyper-connected, post-industrial world there is so much to take in, and Prater is able to call its tune. Song titles and band names jostle with political figures and current events, and the layers are spun together without being brought to rest. These references are not, however, hysterical erudition. The poems point to an expression through excess. So many names, places, stories, yet the author is able to pluck them from the abundance to voice what is lost amongst them. Sentimentalists may do this by conjuring false ideals, but Prater is able to confront the world around him, its tackiness, its indifference, its hyperactivity and impermanence, through a language of self-expression.
Ryan Scott, on We Will Disappear
We Will Disappear pops and buzzes with references to drugs (Dexedrine, grass and cigarettes), military hardware (atom bombs, Semtex, F-15s and Minutemen) and virulent diseases (SARS), not to mention communications technologies, both current and defunct (satellites, radio, daguerreotypes and computer coding). Relentlessly racy, Prater hits hard and fast in his attempts to keep up with the wrenching juggernaut of our times.
Justin Clemens, on We Will Disappear
Prater’s poems flow like the text on CNN, but beautifully.
Derek Motion, on Abendland