Book Preview: "Pegasus at the Plow"
Born in Scranton, Pennsylvania on April 9, 1958, Patrick Joseph Walker has always been a seeker of truth in all things. His earliest perceptions of life were colored by familial devotion to Irish clan and the Catholic Church. An early scholar, he attended Scranton Preparatory School and was later accepted into the Special Jesuit Liberal Arts Program at the University of Scranton. During a hiatus from formal education, he worked as a staff writer for the Legislature in Saipan. When he returned to the United States, he was awarded a Philosophy Fellowship at Fordham University. Today, he "works" as an editor and proofreader of educational materials for a local correspondence college. His "real" work, however, involves studying the works of Blaise Pascal and Friedrich Hayek. He lives in Factoryville, Pennsylania, with his artist POSSLQ, Ginger Cody, her daughter Anna, and the family's two dogs, Lilly and Rosie.
Patrick Walker is an individualist, a man so comfortable in his skin and his world of observation and creation that he seems to have little need for not only the contemporary mechanics that could make his life of writing simpler, but for the recognition and applause most poets hope to find. The product of an Irish Catholic upbringing, he has managed to walk his own path apparently unconcerned about the grit of 'employment', but instead finds his life of support from writing and editing scholastic materials while immersing himself in his favored study of the works of 17th century French mathematician, physicist, and religious philosopher Blaise Pascal and 20th century economist and political philosopher Friedrich Hayek. And how does this information aid in reading the poetry Walker has composed during the past twenty five years? The reader must turn to the at times enigmatic poems contained in this slim but pungent volume to appreciate the result.
Reviewed by: Grady Harp
The Cowardly Lion's Evening Party
You brave their faces once again;
You sense the eyebrows lifting
As though you were some novel strain
That had researchers buzzing.
You circulate from tongue to ear.
You dominate the room
As might some tyrant, gripped with fear,
Whose mere nods could deal doom.
You walk on eggs, you skate thin ice,
You pull up on a dime.
You later say, "Jeez, it's been nice.
I've sure had a good time."