“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)





21 September 2014


These are some snaps I made at George Grainger Aldridge's joint in the Flinders last week. 

That's George at the top with the Elder Range. This land will eat humans. I went up for the funeral of Joe McKenzie, a senior Adyamathanha man and a dear cobber and mentor for many years. There were a lot of good people. It was refreshing to be at an Australian graveside where little English was spoken - the locals have their tongue back. 

Joe's mates came from all over the place, and there were hundreds there at Hawker ... like Jardine Kiwat, my Torres and Tiwi Islander mate below: a provider of exquisite percussion, game and laughter! 

Overall, though, the whole damn thing was  very sad ... even beyond his wide country knowledge, many will miss Joe's quiet brilliance, and measured, calm scepticism as much as his perfectly-aimed derision ... photos Philip White

1 comment:

Lee Creek said...

That doesn't look much like wine sitting there on that table Whitey! Great photos! The Flinders are in bloom. Better get up there. Sorry to hear about Joey. I saw you two handing the guitar around at Blinman a long time ago. Is that Jardine from the Warumpi Band?