Sonnet To My Mother by George Bake

Sonnet To My Mother by George Baker

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

To drop her gin and scuttle to a cellar,

But lean on the mahogany table like a mountain

Whom only faith can move, and so I send

O all her faith and all my love to tell her

That she will move from mourning into morning.

George Barker

A critical appreciation of 'to my mother' by George Baker

This sonnet by George Baker is, as the title suggests, a tribute to

his mother, evidently, at the time of the aerial bombardment of

Britain by the Luftwaffe in the Blitz during the Second World War. The

poet was then, apparently, living in a far distant part of the world,

as he refers to his mother being 'most far'. This was probably some

time between 1942 and 1943 when Baker was living in the U.S.A and

Canada.

The poet's intension is not only to pay tribute to his mother but,

more specifically, as the poem is addressed 'to' her, to send her his

love and expression of his firm belief that she will 'move' from

'mourning to morning', in other words, that she will be lifted out of

her present state of grief over a bereavement to the light, hope and

life associated with 'morning' or a new day.

The poet's feelings of great admiration for and love of his mother are

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...aled into insignificance resembling a pathetic 'little

dog' following ridiculously in the wake of such a public performance.

Thus through his imagery, the poet creates a vivid picture of many

facets of his mother: her size; exuberant manner; religious faith; and

magnetic personality.

Baker also makes use of direct comparison to show up his great-hearted

mother against lesser mortals who 'scuttle' fearfully to a 'cellar'

whilst she will not even 'glance up' at the bomber or 'condescend/ To

drop her gin'. This contrast suggests that his mother is almost

superhuman in her courage and proper pride.

So vivid and life-like is baker's portrait of his mother that I see

her in my mind's eyes as a real but larger-than-life personality and I

appreciate fully how such a mother would win his love and unqualified

admiration.