Biography of George Barker
George Granville Barker was an English poet and author.
Life and Work
Barker was born in Loughton, near Epping Forest in Essex, England, elder brother of Kit Barker [painter] George Barker was raised by his Irish mother and English father in Battersea, London. He was educated at an L.C.C. school and at Regent Street Polytechnic. Having left school at an early age he pursued several odd jobs before settling on a career in writing. Early volumes of note by Barker include Thirty Preliminary Poems (1933), Poems (1935) and Calamiterror (1937), which was inspired by the Spanish Civil War.
In his early twenties, Barker had already been published by T. S. Eliot at Faber and Faber, who also helped him to gain appointment as Professor of English Literature in 1939 at Tohoku University (Sendai, Miyagi, Japan). He left there in 1940 due to the hostilities, but wrote Pacific Sonnets during his tenure.
He then travelled to the United States where he began his longtime liaison with writer Elizabeth Smart, by whom he had four of his fifteen children. Barker also had three children by his first wife, Jessica. He returned to England in 1943. From the late 1960s until his death, he lived in Itteringham, Norfolk, with his wife Elspeth Barker, the novelist. In 1969, he published the poem At Thurgarton Church, the village of Thurgarton being a few miles from Itteringham.
Barker's 1950 novel, The Dead Seagull, described his affair with Smart, whose 1945 novel By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept was also about the affair. His Collected poems were edited by Robert Fraser and published in 1987 by Faber and Faber.
In describing the difficulties in writing his biography, Barker was quoted as saying, "I've stirred the facts around too much, ... It simply can't be done". Yet, Robert Fraser did just that with; The Chameleon Poet: A Life of George Barker.
George Barker's Works:
Thirty Preliminary Poems (1933)
The Dead Seagull (1950)
Collected Poems (1987)
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George Barker Poems
Sonnet To My Mother
Most near, most dear, most loved, and most far, Under the huge window where I often found her Sitting as huge as Asia, seismic with laughter, Gin and chicken helpless in her Irish hand,
To My Mother
Most near, most dear, most loved and most far, Under the window where I often found her Sitting as huge as Asia, seismic with laughter, Gin and chicken helpless in her Irish hand,
I looked into my heart to write And found a desert there. But when I looked again I heard Howling and proud in every word
O Who Will Speak From A Womb Or A Cloud?
Not less light shall the gold and the green lie On the cyclonic curl and diamonded eye, than Love lay yesterday on the breast like a beast. Not less light shall God tread my maze of nerve
Grandfather, Grandfather, what do pandas say? Grandfather, Grandfather, as among the rocks they roll
January Jumps About
January jumps about in the frying pan trying to heat his frozen feet
1 Today, recovering from influenza, I begin, having nothing worse to do, This autobiography that ends a
Turn On Your Side And Bear The Day To Me
Turn on your side and bear the day to me Beloved, sceptre-struck, immured In the glass wall of sleep. Slowly Uncloud the borealis of your eye
Calamiterror (Section Vi)
1 Meandering abroad in the Lincolnshire meadows day Day and day a month perhaps, lying at night lonely,
Circular From America
Against the eagled Hemisphere I lean my eager Editorial ear
To Any Member Of My Generation
What is it you remember? - the summer mornings Down by the river at Richmond with a girl, And as you kissed, clumsy in bathing costumes,
At Thurgarton Church
To the memory of my father At Thurgarton Church the sun burns the winter clouds over
O Child Beside The Waterfall
O Child beside the Waterfall what songs without a word rise from those waters like the call
Morning In Norfolk
As it has for so long come wind and all weather the house glimmers among the mists of a little
Sonnet To My Mother
Most near, most dear, most loved, and most far,
Under the huge window where I often found her
Sitting as huge as Asia, seismic with laughter,
Gin and chicken helpless in her Irish hand,
Irresistible as Rabelais but most tender for
The lame dogs and hurt birds that surround her,—
She is a procession no one can follow after
But be like a little dog following a brass band.
She will not glance up at the bomber or condescend