“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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15 January 2012

IMPORTANT POLICE NOTICE

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Health Warning


Poetry falls from stars and bars
And blows tumbleweeds up the street.
It pushes sand dunes over the mountains
And herds fish to the farthest deep.
Poetry fills the dimmest breath with sense,
And strangles lovers in their sleep.


Philip White





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1 comment:

steve said...

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye
Thats all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die
I lift the glass to my mouth
I look at you and sigh
WB Yeats