Andrea Baker is the author of Famous Rapes (Water Street Press, 2015), a paper and packing tape constructed not-quite-graphic-novel about the depiction of sexual assault from Mesopotamia to the present day. She has been a Poetry Society of America Chapbook Fellow, and in 2005 she was awarded the Slope Editions Book Prize for Like Wind Loves a Window. Her recent work has appeared in Denver Quarterly, Fence, Pleiades, The Rumpus, Tin House, and Typo. It has also been anthologized in Family Resemblance: An Anthology of Eight Hybrid Literary Genres (Rose Metal Press, 2015), Verse Daily, and Broken Land: Poems of Brooklyn (New York University Press, 2007). In addition to her work on the page, she is a subject in the documentary A Rubberband is an Unlikely Instrument. She works as an appraiser of arts and antiques in New York City.

Other poems by Andrea Baker in Verse Daily:
September 6, 2011:   "Like a Machine, Struggle for Mother" "I speak and God licks the wine from me...."

Books by Andrea Baker :

Other poems on the web by Andrea Baker :
Two poems
Three poems

Andrea Baker 's Website.

About Each Thing Unblurred is Broken:

To persist in faith is to accomplish the full journey from Resolve to Devotion. And we must know Devotion sees this vivid world with new eyes, always. In these latest poems, Andrea Baker shows a gaze for gardens, a gaze for catastrophe, a gaze for everlasting. Here is greatness coming into view."
—Donald Revell

"In the extraordinary Each Thing Unblurred is Broken, Andrea Baker creates for us one of the most intriguing and inexplicable of narrators—this voice speaking to us is a pick to play her mother’s lute, this voice also marries, this voice has a body and her body fell on him. This narrator pays more attention to birds than any lyric-I in history, and probably this narrator is a bird, and maybe this bird or bird-woman is named Gilda. Or else, this voice simply understands Gilda. And this ever-seeing voice speaks and speaks to us and for a while we think we don’t understand—until we do. “Her own face/covered//she dissolves/and nothing can hold her,” because— if the formula demands that whatever is unblurred is broken—then, we must know, this narrator, this mind, this bird, this woman—she is utterly not broken."
—Sarah Vap

"Andrea Baker’s second book assembles a patchwork of desolate wreckages and destructions of the self. These are portraits of a body at odds with the world, as “the world is cruel; the world is real.” Each murmuration of images, each bevy of metaphor, allows Baker to achieve an immediacy feathered with response. Reader, prepare to find your damage here. Prepare to be recognized, and so to be soothed."
—Jennifer Militello