“Sod the wine, I want to suck on the writing. This man White is an instinctive writer, bloody rare to find one who actually pulls it off, as in still gets a meaning across with concision. Sharp arbitrage of speed and risk, closest thing I can think of to Cicero’s ‘motus continuum animi.’

Probably takes a drink or two to connect like that: he literally paints his senses on the page.”


DBC Pierre (Vernon God Little, Ludmila’s Broken English, Lights Out In Wonderland ... Winner: Booker prize; Whitbread prize; Bollinger Wodehouse Everyman prize; James Joyce Award from the Literary & Historical Society of University College Dublin)


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19 March 2014

NOT A POEM ABOUT THAT




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Bits fly away


This autumn is so unsure of itself 
I feel like I should be cold.
As quiet as science you do not come.

We were going to the ocean.
But beside the cutting horses at Kangarilla,
I watch the bulldogs fucking on the lawn,

knowing that you will not come.
When farmers watch their livestock hump,
they think of wives and lovers.

Bits fly away from me very quick now
as the windscreen shatters.
I was in another direction.


Philip White






photo is Sally Wicks' "All in one", taken by me on Greg Johns' sculpture hills at Palmer

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