GO HERE for more poems, etc – WRITINGS OF DEAN BAKER
Those who don’t buy my books have Van Gogh’s ear for music
In the face of an ever diminishing interest in one of the oldest arts, poetry, this book serves as an introduction why that interest should be revived in schools and individuals: illustrating the loss that accrues by not doing so, and the benefits to society through a passionate involvement in the poetic arts. Poetry has been an essential art in history and is in danger of being trivialized into extinction. Several seminal events in recent literary history are detailed in illustrating how poetry is not merely an adjunct to history and culture but can elucidate, influence and in changing perspective alter those same events and deeds. Find out more in this treatise more sociologically descriptive than academically oriented.
“Invaluable teaching tool that makes poetry enjoyably accessible while making the art of poetry relevant to all our times and ages.”
Dean J. Baker is an author of more than 20 books. Composer, performer, and songwriter published in prestigious literary journals worldwide since 1973.
Born in Toronto, Canada, to a Ukrainian/Polish father and an Irish/Scottish mother. Attended the University of Guelph, and later won their book awards, along with several unsolicited Ontario Arts Council awards, best poems published in a year in literary journals, and The T.S. Eliot Society of Miami’s Calendar Poet award. Member of Socan (Society of Authors, Composers, Publishers) he has played guitar, bass, and piano in many bands and is writing more songs. Author of The Herald(2010), and Baker’s Bad Boys(2010), published by Mad Poet Press. His most recent works are Silence Louder Than A Train, The Mythologies Of Love, The Lost Neighborhood, an expanded and revised Baker’s Bad Boys(2014-satiric stories of childhood), Dark Earth, Of Flesh Sculptures And Abandoned Love, The Eschatological Dog, Measuring Gravity By Grace (Poems 1970-1980, Vol.1), Our Geographies (Poems 1970-1980, Vol.2), The Transits Of Revelation, Fat Albert’s Outpatient Folk Clinic, The Moon Worn Tides Vol. 1, Poetry & How It Gets That Way, In Riparian Fields, Tormenting The Monkey, Provenances And Paroles, Cousin Harold’s Adventures In The Real World, The Poetry Hotel, The Lost Canadian, Early Selected Poems, Vol. 1, The Lost Canadian, Poems Selected, Vol. 2., Blood Upon The Moon, Soliloquies Of The Horizons.
His awards include universities’ awards, along with several unsolicited Arts Council awards; best poems published in a year in literary journals, edited two books of Governor General’s Award winner Joe Rosenblatt, and The T.S. Eliot Society of Miami’s Calendar Poet award.
He has traveled solo through Canada, the USA, Ireland, England, Scotland, France, Germany, Italy, Greece. Dean J. Baker’s works show a highly disciplined, passionate and informed uniqueness. He brings to his craft a very widely read mind, fully intimate with all the great literature of the past along with a similar awareness of today’s writers.
“Dean is a combination of thought and torment that has made him write more than a baker’s dozen of fine poems.. he might produce a collection that could astound us all.” – Irving Layton, (“Canada’s greatest poet”-Leonard Cohen), nominated twice for the Nobel Prize for Literature. http://deanjbaker.wordpress.com/ https://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM
104 pages, $15.99
The thing could barely stand. Yet taken
from his mother and the barn smells
he still impressed with his pride,
with the promise of sovereignity in the way
his head moved to take us in.
The fierce sunlight tugging the maize from the ground
liked at his shapely flanks.
He was too young for all that pride.
I thought of the deposed Richard II.
“No money in bull calves,” Freeman had said.
The visiting clergyman rubbed the nostrils
now snuffing pathetically at the windless day.
“A pity,” he sighed.
My gaze slipped off his hat toward the empty sky
that circled over the black knot of men,
over us and the calf waiting for the first blow.
the bull calf drew in his thin forelegs
as if gathering strength for a mad rush…
tottered…raised his darkening eyes to us,
and I saw we were at the far end
of his frightened look, growing smaller and smaller
till we were only the ponderous mallet
that flicked his bleeding ear
and pushed him over on his side, stiffly,
like a block of wood.
Below the hill’s crest
the river snuffled on the improvised beach.
We dug a deep pit and threw the dead calf into it.
It made a wet sound, a sepulchral gurgle,
as the warm sides bulged and flattened.
Settled, the bull calf lay as if asleep,
one foreleg over the other,
bereft of pride and so beautiful now,
without movement, perfectly still in the cool pit,
I turned away and wept.
The economy of language, the spirit of truth; sociology, philosophy: the distillation of experiences reflected, and altered, in one brief poem – that’s the magic of poetry, and a great poet.
Irving Layton is a poet everyone should read, and hear reading his own work. http://irvinglayton.ca/Recordings/index.html
Irving Layton was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature, twice. He was friend and mentor to Leonard Cohen. Leonard called him “Canada’s greatest poet.”
Looked up to by Allen Ginsberg, Williams Carlos Williams, Michael Hamburger, and many other fine and great writers for decades.
Disclosure: Irving was my friend for decades. He once said of my very early writing, ” Dean is a combination of thought and torment that has made him write more than a baker’s dozen of fine poems.. he might produce a collection that could astound us all.” And he did not play favourites.
alternatively, direct from – https://deanjbaker.wordpress.com/links-to-my-books-in-print//
What are people talking about. Everywhere I go they whisper.
They stick their eyes at me, right at the base of the breastbone,
when I’m not looking.
The breastbone seems flat, pointed like a dagger to the top
of my stomach.
O, my stomach, my stomach… when the knife rips you open
it will find coffee and four strips of bacon, pieces of chewed
beard and a handwritten note saying I have left town forever
– excerpt from his brilliant work, Lies, 1972 and from A Long Continual Argument, The Selected Poems of John Newlove
John was a friend of mine – yet I had only said hello back him when I heard him read this live one time at York University. I’d been searching for the room in which the reading was to be held, and came around a corner to come face-to-face with him, and Joe Rosenblatt.
The mothership: http://deanjbaker.wordpress.com
‘the poet of desolate landscapes’
Fortunately for me I read some early Ballard in the ‘70’s before all the hype and surrounding mess over his work Crash, turned into a movie by Cronenberg.
He was called the ‘poet of desolate landscapes’ for a reason.
One of my favorite science fiction writers, along with Thomas Disch (particularly Camp Concentration), Philip K. Dick, and other individual books, such as A Canticle For Leibowitz. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Canticle_for_Leibowitz
Most people will recognize what Spielberg did with his quite wonderful autobiographical work, Empire Of The Sun. Excellent movie, wonderful book.
However, a book of interviews with Ballard is more than interesting and shows a prophet of the future now in his words.
Extreme Metaphors is a great compilation of the author in talks that are always interesting, and often revelatory.
Take this passage, from 1974 – (the year, not any particular book), in an interview conducted by Carol Orr, with the influence of Judith Merrill, whom I was fortunate to meet. (Along with Marian Engel, who wrote the great (and supposedly feminist) novel, Bear amongst other works, introduced by poet Gwendolyn MacEwen, to my surprise when I was first meeting Gwen, who introduced me by saying, “This is the poet I’ve been telling you about,” and having Marian interject, “Well, say something brilliant then, poet” to which I apparently satisfactorily replied since both Judith and Marian gave an approving, and raised eyebrows, nod to Gwen afterwards. *biography
“Threats to the quality of life that everyone is so concerned about will come much more, say, from the widespread application of computers to every aspect of our lives where all sort of science fiction fantasies will come true, where bank balances will be constantly monitored and at almost any given time all the information that exists about ourselves will be on file somewhere – where all sorts of agencies, commercial, political and governmental, will have access to that information.”
– Pg.58, Extreme Metaphors, How To Face Doomsday without Really Trying.
Reason enough to start to reading his books, let alone that book.
These poems are advertisements for the BOOKS – get uplifted, buy one
all my books on sale – http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM
alternatively, direct from CreateSpace –https://deanjbaker.wordpress.com/links-to-my-books-in-print/
<–Check this out: Poetry & How It Gets That Way – updated!
also posted – https://ohcanaduh.wordpress.com/2017/01/29/the-herald-2/
Alden Nowlan is one of those poets whom I never got to meet, and always wish I’d been able to do so.
I first saw one of his poems when I was in high school. And as with that poem, his other poems: they always evoke, a ‘yes!,’ about honesty and the truth of things. Always memorable. You’ll find them repeating themselves at the least expected moments.
The poem that first struck me was his ‘Aunt Jane.’
Aunt Jane, of whom I dreamed the nights it
was dead at ninety, buried at a hundred.
We kept her corpse a decade, hid upstairs,
where it ate porridge, slept and said its prayers.
And every night before I went to bed
they took me in to worship with the dead.
Christ Lord, if I should die before I wake,
I pray thee Lord my body take.
Just to be sitting in your own world and to have 8 lines smack you awake out of the blue, away from your concerns and take you to revelation so quickly, so easily, and with such delight – amazing.
But Alden has many, many poems of the kind that do so – surprising in their humility, strength and understanding. His are the works you could carry in a small book with you and find sustaining every time you looked.
He covers history, patriotism, and more all in a beautiful way.
Canadian January Night
Ice storm: the hill
a pyramid of black crystal
down which the cars
slide like phosphorescent beetles
while I, walking backwards in obedience
to the wind, am possessed
of the fearful knowledge
my compatriots share
but almost never utter:
this is a country
where a man can die
simply from being
And from Alden Nowlan, Selected Poems
A Poem About Miracles
Why don’t records go blank
the instant the singer dies?
Oh, I know there are explanations,
but they don’t convince me.
I’m still surprised
when I hear the dead singing.
As for orchestras,
I expect the instruments
to fall silent one by one
as the musicians succumb
to cancer and heart disease
so that toward the end
I turn on a disc
and all that comes out
is the sound of one sick old man
scraping a shaky bow
across and out-of-tune fiddle.
These poems of Alden’s are a few of the good, and representative of his best. You need the book to even begin to get an awareness of his greatness.
Robert Frost may be more well known, but for me Alden wins the laurels.
all my books on sale – http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM