The following post is excerpted from an article by Rob Baker from the March 2008 Council Chronicle.
Chicano poet was born with rattlesnake poison in his blood.
In January, 1952, just before his mother gave birth, she was bitten by a rattler. The healer who tended to her wound and then brought Baca into the world said that because of the venom Baca would be able to see in the dark and that he would change many times throughout his life, just as a snake sloughs its skin. And change many times he did. . . .
That he would morph into a renowned poet is perhaps the least likely change anyone would have predicted for Baca who, as a young adult, could barely read or write, who 鈥渉ated books, hated reading,鈥� who had 鈥渘ever owned a book and had no desire to own one.鈥澛� And this change probably wouldn鈥檛 have happened if Baca hadn鈥檛 been sentenced, at age 21, to five to ten years in prison. . . .
Chance encounters catalyzed Baca鈥檚 transformation.
A couple years into his incarceration, Baca received a letter from a man as part of a church program to write to prisoners without families. As a result of their continued correspondence, Baca painstakingly taught himself to read and write, activities that helped bring purpose into his monotonous days.聽 The man then put Baca in touch with a poet friend. Poetry changed Baca鈥檚 life forever.
鈥淚 believe something in my brain or something in my nervous system was impacted by poetry, by the way the lines and the words were arranged,鈥� said Baca.
鈥淚 was such an emotional animal and I had never read any poetry. When I read it, it just tolled so many bells in my head, it was like, 鈥榃ow! I can actually communicate like this. There are actually people who talk like this and write like this.鈥� I was just absorbed into it, into the vortex of this ecstasy.鈥�
鈥淟anguage gave me a way to keep the chaos of prison at bay and prevented it from devouring me,鈥� he wrote in his prologue to
鈥淚t was a resource that allowed me to confront and understand my past . . . and it opened a way toward the future that was based not on fear or bitterness or apathy but on compassionate involvement.鈥�
In another life change, Baca ultimately morphed into a teacher. He began by working with gang members who regularly congregated near his home, though his initial contact with them seemed more likely to result in violence than poetry.
One night, when the youths hanging out on his street were particularly raucous, Baca went outside in his pajamas, baseball bat in hand. He told them that they had awakened his baby and that they had to leave.
鈥淭hey said, 鈥榃e ain鈥檛 got no other place to go,鈥欌�� Baca recounted. 鈥淪o I said, 鈥楢ll right, meet me at St. Anne鈥檚 church tomorrow and I鈥檒l ask the priest if we can use the barracks there.鈥� And you know what? They all met me there and I had my first workshop ever, and I realized with a sort of vague ignorance that I was really gifted at working with kids.鈥�
Baca encourages students to tell the stories no one else has: the stories of their own lives. He also encourages students to use poetry to discuss issues they might not normally talk about. 鈥淢ost of the time there are subtle protocols you have to abide by. You鈥檙e sitting at a table with friends, there are certain things you don鈥檛 talk about. With these kids, ninety percent of their lived experience is stuff you don鈥檛 talk about. . . . ”
To Baca, his mission as a teacher鈥攁nd the role of poetry in general鈥攊s nothing less than to save lives.
鈥淢y job is simply to keep the light inside [my students] burning. That鈥檚 it. My job is to make sure they do not fall into despair. And I guess that鈥檚 the answer to why I work with unwed mothers, I go to prisons, I work with homeless and gang kids, because their light鈥檚 starting to go off, to dim, and I have to come in there and fire it up, and I do that with poetry, and I do that with commitment, and I do that with compassion.鈥�