Biography of Patrick White
Former poet laureate of Ottawa. Eight books of poetry: Poems (Soft Press) , God in the Rafters, (Borealis) , Stations (Commoner’s Books) , Homage to Victor Jara, (Steel Rail Press) , Seventeen Odes, (Fiddlehead Books) , Orpheus on Highbeam, (Anthos Books) , Habitable Planets, New and Selected Poems, (Cormorant Books) , and The Benjamin Chee Chee Elegies, (General Store Publishing) . His work has been translated into five languages and appears in hundreds of national and international periodicals and anthologies, including the likes of Poetry (Chicago) , Dalhouse Review, Texas Quarterly, the Fiddlehead, and Georgia Review, etc. Winner of the Archibald Lampman Award, Canadian Literature Award, Benny Nicholas Award for Creative Writing, he was also a runner-up for the Milton Acorn People’s Poet Award. Founding editor and publisher of Anthos, a Journal of the Arts, Anthos Books, and producer-host of Radio Anthos, a popular literary radio show. George Woodcock wrote of his Selected Poems in the Ottawa Citizen: He promises to be one our best and best respected poets. Sharon Drache, in the Kingston Whig Standard: He might well win the Nobel Prize one day in his own inimitable way. And Orbis, (London, England) , has said of his work: His images are strong, lyrical, moving. He dares and achieves.
Patrick White's Works:
Poems (Soft Press)
God in the Rafters (Borealis Books)
Stations (Commoner's Books)
Seventeen Odes (Fiddlehead Books)
Homage to Victor Jara (Steel Rail Publishing)
Orpheus on Highbeam (Anthos Books)
Habitable Planets, New and Selected Poems (Cormorant Books)
The Benjamin Chee Chee Elegies (General Store Publishing)
Patrick White Poems
The Widening Compass Of Pain
ations. At war with the world and yourself like two halves of the same unbroken wishbone,
You Were The Intimacy
You were the intimacy of the things I loved that were so impossibly far away I could never reach out and touch them
A Day Of Writing
A day of writing, trying to clarify myself to Alysia, myself, Alysia, to the night rain, trying to hang the universe on the tip of an eyelash without blinking, pulling handfuls of the stagnant dimensions
Rain At Five In The Morning. Can't Sleep
Rain at five in the morning. Can't sleep. Too many shards of broken mirrors of the way things are in my mind. Not enough windows to look through
Mad People Trying To Impress Me
Mad people trying to impress me with the quality of their souls. Ego-slurry alienated radioactively from the rest of the world trying to compensate for the meltdown of their lives by glowing bioluminescently in the dark like the tiny zodiacs
I Don't Know What I'm Here For
I don’t know what I’m here for. I just write. I just paint. Like breathing in and out. Inspired expiration. I watch the rain, blankly, sometimes for hours, washing off the dust
My Death Was A Quiet Event
My death was a quiet event. I entered the abyss with all the constituents of the first sign of life to give voice to the silence
Alcohol, Sex, And This Cold Spring Night...
Alcohol, sex, and this cold spring night in their blood, the rowdies outside the Crown and Thistle have taken their chilly elations home. Past midnight, the town quiescent, the moon, Venus and Jupiter set, the silence of the stars
Yes, There Are Pale Gardens
Yes, there are pale gardens, wings ribbed like the eyelashes of butterflies, and roses of flaking blood rooted like something that was said between the lines of lovers
He gate to my heart open and the horses ...
Soft liberation going on underground as if someone left the gate to my heart open and the horses are grazing in sidereal pastures and there’s no turmoil in the wind blowing
The Brighter The Light, The Deeper The S...
for Rebekah Garland The brighter the light, the deeper the shadow. Shine. And anyone who can see will follow.
Let It Go, Let It Go, Let It Go
Let it go, let it go, let it go, as if my soul were sweeping out a season of unleafing, sodden feelings, sodden hearts, the rose ruined, cumbrous clouds gusting over the eyelashes
You Are Crazy
You are crazy and beautiful and wounded and wild and the youngest daughter of a coven of poetic sea-witches,
Taking An Upbeat Flambuoyant Approach To...
Taking an upbeat flambuoyant approach toward catastrophe. A good attitude to go on perishing by. Adept at it. Like Atlantis happy enough
Burning World, Take Me
Burning world, take me, fold me in your flaming arms
and let me disappear into the unforgiving night.
Among these blind, here, in their black eggs,
eyeless birds who nest in their own ignorance,
I am the leper of light they drive out
with the stone of the moon, the wolf
with the mystic wound that will not heal until the last star
is born of the bleeding. Return me to the cold, brutal beauty
of your mineral wilderness, my bones on Venus