“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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28 April 2013

OLD POEM FOR WINTER MORNINGS





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Song Of Relief

 

The news came first by nightmare:
a vivid, snaky dream.
I reached to touch you in my sleep
and sat up as you screamed
“I’m just not into that scene anymore!
I’m just not in that scene!”

I woke, and like the songs all say,
you were not with me, anyway.

 


Stirling, Winter 74 
poem, and photo of salt pan at Emu Bay, Kangaroo Island, by Philip White


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5 comments:

Maire said...

Nightmare at Wayside Cottage

@maire19 said...

.@whiteswine Nightmare at Wayside Cottage

the FINGA said...

Wayside Cottage was one motherfuckin rocknroll household full of nightmares and wonder I remember your brother an Mickey tripping when thelandlod come to the door to tell you to turn it all down

fore lawn said...

the sedge has withered from the lake and no birds sing

Philip White said...

I reckon I changed the name of this from Nightmare at Wayside Cottage to Song of Relief about 1988. Dunno why.