“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)





15 October 2013


near Emu Bay Kangaroo island photo Philip White



all the things are being sucked from the air
do not blame the plants the birds or the bugs
for clawing at the holes our poison left
it's a queue now they've gone too

even the fishscaler's sunset
sucks sideways cross the desk
pulling eyes ears nose touch skin
straight through the windows into the out

rise through prehistory with the dragonfly
tinkerbell dance with canopy shards
once the incoming fire when the incoming went
the button is pushed leaving every lost in sky

in case I land badly I'm warning you
this mess on the ground could fly too

philip white

this photo by Alex Ellinghausen from whom I hereby steal it in exchange for lunches coming

some other poems
having watched my father die - read
a thought about form - read
my no good kids - read
on account of my mouth being blind - read
you came and stood by my table - read
rosemary dobson - read
i had a soul - read
for elias canetti - read

1 comment:

tom said...

i want to fly
fly a phantom