Here’s a list of the 70 books I’ve published so far. I just thought I should put this out there in case anyone is wondering what I’ve been up to for the past half a century. The list does not include photo chapbooks without significant text, photo collage chapbooks, separate broadsides, and other minor publications. At some point, I’ll add in the items that are pictorial only. Bill Roberts of Bottle of Smoke Press published a book titled David Barker: A Bibliography in 2009. It is quite detailed and contains full publication data and physical descriptions of each item, as well as comments by me.
*****
Italy My Love, My Silly Banana (1975) Poetry. Chapbook.
Inside the Big O (1975) Poetry. Chapbook.
Ideal Tourist (1977) Poetry. Chapbook.
Cha Cha In Laguna (1978) Poetry. Chapbook.
Bank Job (1978) Literary short story. Chapbook.
Scenes From A Marriage (1979) Poetry. Chapbook.
Planetarium (1979) Photos by Judy Barker and nonfiction essay by David Barker. Chapbook.
The Secret Life of the Spirit (1979) Poetry. Chapbook.
Long Beach Nocturne (1979) Photos by Judy Barker and nonfiction essay by David Barker. Chapbook.
High Fallon, Southern Comfort (1980) Literary short story in a two author collection, with Kirk Robertson. Chapbook.
Faded Bungalows (1981) Photos by Judy Barker with literary short story by David Barker. Chapbook.
Charles Bukowski Spit In My Face (1982) Literary memoir. Chapbook and ebook.
Jack Kerouac Price Guide (1982) Bibliography. Chapbook.
I Laughed & The Devil Laughed Too (1983) Poetry. Broadsides in a portfolio.
Charles Bukowski: A Bibliographic Price Guide (1983) Bibliography. Chapbook.
The Gambler (1984) Literary short story. Chapbook.
Fish Lips (1984) Literary short story. Chapbook.
John Steinbeck; A Checklist (1984) Bibliography. Chapbook.
Fool’s Paradise (1984) Literary short story. Chapbook.
Cigar Shaped Craft (1985) Science fiction short story. Chapbook.
Scenarios of Alien Visitation (1985) Paranormal/UFO nonfiction. Chapbook and ebook.
Frank Scully (1985) Paranormal/UFO nonfiction. Chapbook.
The Reality Hoax (1985) Paranormal/UFO nonfiction. Chapbook.
Bukowski, The King of San Pedro (1985) Biographical essay. Book.
The Gambler and Other Stories (1986) Literary short stories. Chapbook.
Buk at Big L.A. Poetry Blowout (1987) Literary short stories. Chapbook.
Postmarked Salem Oregon (1987) Literary short story. Chapbook.
You’ll Go Blameless (1990) Poetry. Chapbook.
Poems (1996) Poetry. Chapbook.
Morning At Frottage Woods (1996) Poetry. Chapbook.
2 from 69 (1997) Poetry. Chapbook.
See’s Candy (1998) Poetry. Chapbook.
Death at the Flea Circus (4 Chapters) (1999) Excerpts from a literary novel. Chapbook.
Campfire Note on the Approaching Doom (1999) Literary short story. Chapbook.
Three Chapters from Death at the Flea Circus (2000) Excerpts from a literary novel. Chapbook.
3 from Repast (2000) Literary short stories. Chapbook.
The Captive Dragon (2001) Fantasy novel. Book and ebook.
Stories From The Brink (2002) Literary short stories. Chapbook.
On The Cusp Of The Rollover (2003) Literary essays. Chapbook.
Quartet (2003) Poetry. Chapbook.
Just These Bananas (2003) Poetry. Chapbook.
Lunch Hour Poems (2004) Poetry. Chapbook.
Too Much Me (2005) Poetry. Chapbook.
Slept Here. (2005) Poetry. Chapbook.
Ghost. (2010) Poetry. Chapbook.
One Match Left. (2010) Literary short story. Chapbook.
Death at the Flea Circus. (2011) Literary novel. Book.
The Recluse. (2011) Horror short story. ebook.
The Camber Horror. (2011) Horror short story. ebook.
The Crickets. (2011) Horror short story. ebook.
Cordial Spirits – Two Supernatural Tales. (2011) Literary/Horror short stories. ebook.
The Revenant. (2012) Horror. Part of serialized novel, collected in Dead Guys in Packards. ebook.
Don’t Go Down the Bunny Trail. (2012) Horror short story. ebook.
If I Could Die Right Now, I’d Be Happy. (2012) Horror. Part of serialized novel, collected in Dead Guys in Packards. Chapbook and ebook.
The Ghoul God’s Bride. (2012) Horror short story. ebook.
Caleb’s Revolt. (2013) Horror. Part of serialized novel, collected in Dead Guys in Packards. ebook.
Opal’s Trails. (2013). Poetry. Chapbook.
Chupacabra Chalupa. (2013) Two author collection with Jordan Hofer. Science fiction, two short stories. ebook.
Alien Autopsy Barbecue. (2013) Two author collection with Jordan Hofer. Science fiction short story. ebook.
The Revenant of Rebecca Pascal (2014) Written with W. H. Pugmire. Horror novel. Book.
In the Gulfs of Dream & Other Lovecraftian Tales. (2015) Written with W. H. Pugmire. Horror short stories. Book.
Dead Guys in Packards (2015) Horror novel. ebook.
Little Gray Bastards. (2016) Written with Jordan Hofer. Paranormal/UFO nonfiction. Book.
Unidentifiable Flying Objects. (2017) Written with Jordan Hofer. Paranormal/UFO nonfiction. Book.
Paris Poems (2017) Poetry. Chapbook.
Witches In Dreamland. (2018) Written with W. H. Pugmire. Horror novel. Book.
Half in Light, Half in Shadow (2019). Horror. Four short stories. Chapbook.
Her Wan Embrace (2022). Horror. Collection of short stories and poems. Book.
Down for the Count With Charles Bukowski (2023). Essays. Trade paperback book.
My forthcoming book of Halloween themed poetry, 12 Foot Skeleton Poems, will be published on October 1, 2023, by Third Spook Press. Here’s the book’s description:
“Do you love Halloween? Are you obsessed with it above all other holidays? Do you start celebrating it early, in September, or even August? Or do you celebrate Halloween all year long, sometimes to the dismay of your friends, family, and neighbors? And do you really love those large, crazy, spooky Halloween decorations that have become so popular the last few years?
If so, this book is for you! In 20 poems it celebrates the 12 foot skeleton phenomenon — with poems about the people who are devoted to setting up these gigantic eye-catching figures in their homes and yards. Some of the poems have a supernatural element. The poems are written in modern “free verse” style, meaning they don’t use traditional rhyme or meter, and are written in an easy-going, conversational style.”
The trade paperback is 50 pages long and costs $8.00. It is available for purchase on Amazon Books.
In the 1980s and ‘90s, I wrote 40 or more pieces about Los Angeles author Charles Bukowski. These included a memoir, a dream journal, essays, book reviews, poems, blog posts, etc. With the exception of the memoir, Charles Bukowski Spit in My Face, none of these pieces has ever been reprinted. I decided to make them available in a series of books, of which this is the first. I’m revising the texts as needed. That’s a slow process, and it’ll take me several years to bring out the entire series. I hope Bukowski fans find these writings of interest.
I first published the collection in eBook form a couple of months ago, and now it’s available as a trade paperback from Amazon.com. I would post a link to it but for some reason WordPress doesn’t want me to do that, so you’ll need to go to Amazon and find it yourself. The book is 104 pages and sells for $10. Here are the front and back covers:
This book collects several of David Barker’s more personal writings about the legendary Los Angeles underground author, Charles Bukowski, whom he witnessed firsthand as a young fan in the 1970s. In the 1980s and 1990s, Barker wrote dozens of pieces about Bukowski. Except for his memoir, Charles Bukowski Spit in My Face, none of these have ever been reprinted. They are now being made available in a series of books from Rumba Train Press, of which this is the first volume. It includes the following:
“Charles Bukowski Spit In My Face.” Barker’s memoir Charles Bukowski Spit In My Face tells in detail his experiences with the famous writer. As a college student, Barker and his fellow student poets worshipped Bukowski, who was making a name for himself in nearby Los Angeles. They attended Bukowski’s readings, hung out with him at bars, and in 1972 attended a big party at the home of Bukowski’s girlfriend, Linda King. This was paradise for an adoring fan until Barker later made the mistake of asking Bukowski to sign a book at a bar. Buk had been drinking heavily and his rage against humanity was boiling to the surface. It didn’t go well for Barker that night. A few years later he made a second mistake and wrote about the event. He describes the fallout from publishing his story in three prefaces to the memoir, included here. The memoir and prefaces were revised for this book.
“Buk at Big L.A. Poetry Blowout: Literary Nightmares and Sorry Nocturnal Hallucinations.” Selected notes on tormented dreams that plagued Barker following the publication of his memoir. Until then Barker had enjoyed a good reputation in the small press poetry scene, being published in some of the best literary magazines. That changed when his “Spit” book came out. He was blacklisted. Editors suddenly wanted nothing to do with him. Overnight he became a nonentity. While he accepted this and moved on, his subconscious mind still wrestled with it, resulting in countless dreams in which he was haunted by a near mythical “Bukowski” figure with whom he struggled to make peace.
“Eat Here and Get Filthy Healthy – A Visit to the Dew Drop Inn.” The Dew Drop Inn in Redondo Beach was a health food restaurant run by Bukowski’s girlfriend (later his wife), Linda Lee Beighle. In 1978, curious about the place, Barker and his wife visit the cafe, but while there he’s terrified that Bukowski will show up and attack him. They have lunch and enjoy the hippie ambience, which he describes in detail. This is the most detailed description of the Dew Drop Inn that you’ll find anywhere, with rare, never before seen photographs of it.
“Drunken Buddha of De Longpre.” This piece praises the continued excellence of Bukowski’s writing in his later years as he gained wide fame and success. In it Barker puts his youthful adulation of Bukowski into mature perspective.
“Flowers for the Grave of Charles Bukowski: A Journal Written in the Days After Bukowski’s Death.” In this daily log from 1994, Barker reports his immediate thoughts and feelings as news leaked out about the death of his literary hero, Bukowski. With the Web still in its infancy, Barker learns the scant details of Buk’s final days from TV, radio, newspapers, and magazines.
“Singing Again All Hours of the Night” and “Young Mr. Bukowski” are two poems by Barker that were published together as a broadside in 1986. They present idealized images of Bukowski at the beginning and end of his remarkable literary career.
“Bukowski: The King of San Pedro” is a short biography of Charles Bukowski and critical appraisal of his work that was published as a miniature book in 1985. Barker calls it “a mini bio that was also a bit of hero worship.” The publisher, Richard G. Wong, created the book in cooperation with Bukowski who read galley proofs of the text before it was printed. Bukowski was very pleased with the finished book.
Praise from Bukowski for “The King of San Pedro”:
“Barker seems to have me down pretty good. It’s as if he had followed me around. If I once did, indeed, spit on his face, it really wasn’t his, it was Humanity’s. […] I must thank you again […] for coddling me in this curiously lovely little leatherbound honor. It, for me, is a high point. One of the highest.” Charles Bukowski, in a letter to publisher Richard G. Wong dated 1/8/1986.
I have a new book out, first as an eBook, later to be followed by a trade paperback. My original plan was to create only the print version, but Amazon’s Word file template that you use to format the text for printing as a book is broken for some users. It’s a known bug, and so far, Amazon has ignored the problem. So, I went with plan B, publishing it first as an eBook and then I’ll create a print version from that, using a different Amazon program. We’ll see how well that works once I get to that point. Meanwhile, the Kindle eBook is available. It’s a collection of some of my writings about author Charles Bukowski. Below is the cover. You can buy it on Amazon. Amazon won’t let me link to it from this blog for some arcane reason.
My short tale “Don’t Go Down the Bunny Trail – An Easter Horror Story” is free on Amazon today through Saturday. I never thought about it before, but this one fits into the Folk Horror category. Here’s a brief description:
Little Emily has been waiting patiently for weeks for Easter to arrive. Now there’s just a few hours left, it’s the afternoon before Easter, and she’s really excited, but her daddy’s late coming home from the mill, the sun is setting, and she’s afraid of being home alone when the woods get dark. A scary short story about something strange that’s coming down the bunny trail towards Emily’s house, and she’s not sure if it’s really the Easter Bunny, or if it’s that creepy rabbit from her dad’s horror DVD, or something else the townsfolk whisper about that came to Earth when a fireball fell from the sky one night and landed in the lake at the end of the Bunny Trail. Click the link below to see the eBook on Amazon:
Ten or eleven years ago I wrote an Easter Bunny horror story called “Don’t Go Down the Bunny Trail” and published it as a Kindle eBook on Amazon. Below is a link to a Youtube video trailer for that eBook. The eBook had been priced at 99 cents, which is plenty for a story of about 11 pages, but I wanted to offer it for free for the five days leading up to this Easter Sunday, and silly Amazon won’t let me do that unless I increase the regular price to $2.99, which is way too much for such a short piece. So don’t buy it at $2.99! Wait until it becomes free starting on April 4, 2023. After Easter I’ll change the price back to 99 cents.
It recently occurred to me that I should write a sequel to this story that explains (more or less) what happens to the character after she is abducted by a giant evil Easter Bunny. My tentative title for this sequel is “The Girl Who Crawled Out of the Lake.” Meanwhile, check out the video below:
Review of I Hit Like A Girl by Debbie Kirk, Feel Free Press, 2004, $6 including postage.
I’ve read too much poetry in my life, and I don’t even read it that often. But having written the stuff for 40 years, I run into it whether I want to or not, and unfortunately, most of it falls into sea of mediocrity that ranges in quality from “execrable shit” to “hopelessly banal” to “okay but immediately forgettable” to “pretty good but so what?” to “pretty damned good but still so what?” With all of those, you would feel no loss if the only existing copies of the poems perished in a disaster. Given this sad state of affairs, I seldom go looking for poetry proactively. But one day, having nothing better to do, I did some random reading of unfamiliar authors on a literary webzine (I forget which one), and came across a poem by someone named Debbie Kirk. The poem blew me away. It wasn’t just awfully good. It was startling, fresh, innovative, genuine, raw, powerful, and had that deceptively easy feeling to it, like the author had dashed it off without much effort. As she probably did. Intrigued, I Googled her name and read everything I could of hers on the web. Every piece struck me the same way as that first poem. Here, I said to myself, is a major talent at the beginning of her career. I assumed she must already be famous. She wasn’t, although she was already known to hardcore poetry freaks. All that will change, I predict. But don’t hold me to that. I also predicted widespread social collapse from the Y2K bug and in 1982, I was sure California would sink into the sea like Atlantis. What I can be sure of is that she should become famous, if merit means anything. I’ll go out on a limb here and say that Debbie Kirk is one of the most significant poetic talents of her generation. In a blurb on the back cover of I Hit, John Bennett says “Bukowski didn’t have a crown, but if he did, if he had, Debbie Kirk is who should be wearing it, not all these limp-dick pretenders to the throne.” I second that. I couldn’t have said it better myself. And Bukowski is someone who comes to mind when I think of Debbie’s work. Not that she’s some kind of female Buk clone; she isn’t. But she has that degree of authenticity, of realness, of originality. She’s her own person, and models herself after no other writers that I can detect. Kirk has that same brute power that Chinaski had, like a horse that has just left the starting gate and already you know it’ll will win the race because it makes all the other horses look like gimps. She has the gift, the class, the goods. After reading poetry for a lifetime, it’s something you detect with some kind of sixth sense. She radiates these goddamned rays, wave after wave of them. That’s the best I can explain it. I felt it with the first poem, and by the time I’d read a half dozen, I was sure of it. Here is something new, something that matters. This will be good to watch. Finally, something that isn’t the usual crap. Praise the gods.
If we accept the obvious notion that Debbie Kirk’s writing is autobiographical, then she’s had a very difficult life. Abuse as a child, drug use as an adult, poverty, plenty of trouble. Although it’s dramatic raw material for any writer, this unhappy subject matter is not what makes Kirk’s work meaningful and important. It’s what she does with the material, how she handles it, that makes all the difference. Lesser poets would wallow in the misery, overwork it, wring every drop of pathos from it. Not Debbie. She plays with it, bounces off it, uses the horrific details as little hand-thrown bombs to get the reader’s attention. Once she has it, she slaps you silly, turns you around, and kicks you out the door. The first thing you notice is that she does not court the reader. As far as she’s concerned, you can piss off. She doesn’t need you. She’s not out to win you over, to gain your praise or acceptance. She seems to be writing mainly to entertain herself. Hers is a high intelligence that needs something more than the daily bullshit to keep itself engaged. She finds that something extra in the magic of language. She’s playing with words, with images, with her and the reader’s minds. That the result is literature doesn’t seem to matter much to Kirk. I suspect she would still write even if she were unable to find publication, because it’s something to do that helps pass the hours. Our great luck is that she does publish, and we can eavesdrop on the workings of her fascinating creative mind.
I’ll quote a couple passages from I Hit Like A Girl that hint at her madness and method. They may not be the best parts. I took the lazy route and opened the book to the beginning and found something that caught my eye and maybe will catch yours, too. You might find better lines in the book if you look for them. No matter, these will serve my point well enough: that there is something unusual going on here. Take, for example, these lines from “Anarchy In The Trenches”:
“People keep telling that drugs will kill me some day
This makes me smile.
If it’s not an accessory to self destruction,
I toss it back into the donation box.”
Or these lines, from “I Am The Skeleton Of Burrough’s Bullet”:
“I am the skeleton of Burrough’s bullet
Some pieces missing
Others not working properly
This old drunk Pollack who lives in the desert
Sent me an email last week that said I was the Sylvia Plath of this generation.
Flattery will get you anywhere, anywhere with a girl whose already laying on
The ground.”
[and later in the same poem]
“Haven’t left my room in a few days
I’ve been pissing in this can in the corner.
seriously.”
Those excerpts are from the first two poems in I Hit Like A Girl. The book has 21 poems. Only 75 copies were printed, and Feel Free Press will mail you one of them, if it isn’t already sold out, for a mere $6. You would be a fool not to buy this book. J.J. Campbell has written that “Debbie Kirk, 30, writes poetry and short fiction while waiting for the dead to walk the earth.” Indeed, this is poetry that may wake the dead. Read her before the rotting zombies get your sorry ass. Kirk is the author of two other collections that I’m aware of: Valley Of The Gallows (Black Hoody Nation, 2003, edition of 50 copies) and Lost Words Of Suicide Lovers (with co-author J.J. Campbell, Pink Anarchkitty Press, 2003). You would be well advised to track these earlier works down before they become impossibly rare and expensive. Here’s a bit from Gallows that should whet your appetite:
“In my invisible straitjacket I saw it all.
My mother’s frail body lying on the floor,
and my dad’s fists covered in more blood and hair
each time they raise up again.
I was five years old.
I was paralyzed.”
Again, this is from the first poem in the book, “I had the best aim in kindergarten.” But with Debbie, you don’t need to wade through a bunch of crap before you get to the real goods. She jumps right into the heart of the matter and takes it from there. It’s a trip worth taking.
(END)
From January 2008:
two young poets worth your time
I’ve read countless small press poets in my time, and the vast majority are talented people who have a way with words, but — sadly — their work is easily forgotten. It falls short somehow: not saying anything worth hearing, or saying it, but badly; the content is worthy but the execution fails. You come away with a feeling that you’ve seen all you need to see, that further investment of your time would not pay off. You want to like them, you want to enjoy their work, but time is short and it’s just not worth the effort. If they would only say what’s really on their mind. Say it as clearly as they can. Using memorable, striking imagery. As if they are in love with language. Almost never do you have all of that in one poet. You might have the intellect, the gift for language, but the work is cold and gives you no feel for the person behind it. Or you might have a live body but a less than solid craft.
Okay. And then there are the good ones. The really good ones. Those who have it all and are using it, burning it like fuel. A handful of small press poets come to mind. I’m not going to name them all because I would forget a few and feelings would be hurt, but I will name just two as primary examples of the gift unimpeded. A man and a woman. Both 30ish. John Dorsey and Debbie Kirk. If I had to name my favorite young small press poets, these two would be at the top of the list.
I’ve written about John Dorsey before. He’s a vagabond angel, a word lunatic, a visionary. I saw him read at The Beat Museum and it blew me away. If Gregory Corso and Allen Ginsberg have a spiritual heir, it’s John Dorsey. He is carrying the torch, lighting the landscape, singing alone in the wasteland. There is nobody that touches him. Nobody comes close. True genius. Every poem is a complete reward for the moments spent reading it. I feel honored to have met him. I hope to God I see him read again.
Debbie Kirk came out of nowhere, machine guns blazing, a fugitive, taking no prisoners, moving fast, a furious meteor, arc of fire across the sky, unprecedented, unpredictable. Unschooled. Professors should sit at her feet, taking notes. I don’t understand why Borders’ shelves aren’t lined with her collected works. Somebody in the orders dept has fucked up big. What she does on paper is pure magic. It’s alive, breathing, bleeding, weeping. Where does she get this stuff? How does she know exactly what to do with the words? Why can’t anyone else do it quite as well, with equal impact? Watching her is, I imagine, like it would have been to watch Sylvia Plath a half century ago. It just has to be seen to be believed.
There may be better young poets out there, but I doubt it. A gift that big is hard to keep secret.
I suggest you track down the books of these two and read them, and hang onto them.
(END)
From August 2008:
Debbie Kirk’s latest chapbook
Debbie Kirk has a new chapbook out, Broken (Kendra Steiner Editions # 108), and like everything she does, it’s well worth your time and your money. Although it’s a mere 6 poems, there’s nothing slight about this collection. It’s another solid outing by a consistently hard-hitting, authentic young poet. From “Untitled Stack of Words”:
“My life is the soundtrack
To millions of trainwrecks
With lots of
Reverb.”
Indeed. Like all of Debbie’s work, the poems are visceral, raw, real, and flawlessly executed. Only 55 copies printed, so don’t delay. Go here to order:
Needless to say, don’t expect to buy the above books from the original publishers and websites. They are surely long gone, sold out. If the websites even still exist. But you can buy some of Debbie’s poems here (click on photo of book cover):
The trade paperback edition and ebook of my new collection of Lovecraftian horror stories, Her Wan Embrace, are now available on Amazon. Publisher Joe Morey says about half of the signed and numbered hardcover copies are still available for purchase directly from Weird House Press. Those are not on Amazon. Don’t wait too long if you want the hardcover; it won’t last forever.
David Barker
Death At The Flea Circus 