Dean Rader

Dean Rader Poems

Dean Rader Biography

Dean Rader is an American writer and professor who teaches at the University of San Francisco, in the Department of English, where he has also served as Department Chair.[1] Rader holds a M.A.and Ph.D. in comparative literature from the State University of New York at Binghamton where he studied translation, poetry, visual culture, and literary studies. He is primarily known for his poems that mix high and low art and his scholarly work on Native American poetry. His latest book of poetry, " Self Portrait as Wikipedia Entry" [2] was published in 2017 by Copper Canyon Press, and was also posted on ZYZZYVA on February 6,2012. Rader's recent collection, Landscape Portrait Figure Form (Omnidawn 2014) , a book that explores the connection between poetry and painting, was named by the Barnes & Noble Review as one of the year's Best Books of Poems. He was also the recipient of the George Bogin Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America. Harvard poet and critic Stephen Burt selected a folio of Rader's poems entitled " American Self-Portrait" for the 2015 award. In 2011, Rader wrote a series of columns for the San Francisco Chronicle on The 10 Greatest Poets, which received media coverage in The New York Times.)

The Best Poem Of Dean Rader

America I Do Not Call Your Name Without Hope

America, I Do Not Call Your Name Without Hope

After Neruda

Not even with your knife against my throat,
or when you drag my chair under the bulb
or tell me to place my hands behind my back.
These cuffs connect us like two outlaws
on the run from history's white horse. Its hard whip
a firecracker in the ear. Lost land, this is a song
for the scars on your back, for your blistered feet and
and beautiful watch, it is for your windmills,
your magic machines, for your fists. This is for
your wagon of blood, for your dogs and their teeth
of fire, for the hearts you harvested like wheat
from a field. This is for your verbs, your black lurk,
your whir. This is for your mouths, for your fear,
for your bandaged bones that one day may sing.
This is for your singing. This is for the past,
but it is not for the past. This is for daybreak
and backbreak, for dreams and for darkness.
This song is not for the flag or your fight,
but it is a song for fighting. It is a song of flame
but not for burning. It is the song I will sing
when you knock on my door, my son's name in your mouth.

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