Barbara Crooker Verse-Virtual 2014 November

November 2014

I live and work in rural northeastern Pennsylvania, and have four full-length books of poetry, all available on Amazon. My fifth, Barbara Crooker: Selected Poems, is coming out next year from FutureCycle Press. This November, I have a writing residency at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts: http://www.vcca.com/main/index.php

Four Ekphrastic Poems
based on paintings by
Edward Hopper
(1882 - 1967)

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Gas (1940)
Oil on canvas - 26 1/4 x 40 1/4"
Museum of Modern Art - New York

I like the loneliness of old gas stations,
Pegasus, a faded red, about to fly off
into the sky, which stretches above the dark
pines, the rural road running by, a river,
all curves and meanders. The white paint’s
flaked off the wooden shingles,
and the Drink Coca-Cola! sign is stained
with rust, but the light in the window
casts a yellow glow on the cement.

I think my parents are about to cruise up
in their Buick, a big gray boat of a car,
the one that was up on blocks during the war,
and they have no idea what darkness lies
up ahead. She’s happy, leaning back
on the plush seat, the night air riffling
her page boy; he leans his arm out the window,
the ash of his cigarette eddying to the ground.

The lone attendant fills their tank, checks the oil,
wipes both windshields until they gleam, then returns
to his metal chair, his solitary vigil, keeper
of the lighthouse, pilot of the night.

first published in Rosebud
winner of the 2006 Ekphrastic Poetry contest, Rosebud

Chop Suey (1929)
Oil on canvas - 32 in × 38 in
Private Collection

We were sitting in that little Chinese restaurant
you used to like, the distance between us,
like the cold formica table, vast as a shelf
of ice. It was so quiet, you could hear each tick
of the clock as the minute hand hit
another notch. I saw you checking your watch
when you thought I wasn’t looking, your glance
glazing off to the side. You were ready to leave
as soon as we arrived. Our eyes didn’t meet, ocean
liners in separate shipping lanes. In the middle
of the table, the tea in the pot continued its slow steep,
though we both knew how bitter it would taste
when the waiter finally brought the tiny porcelain cups.

first published in Borderlands

High Noon (1949)
Oil on canvas - 27 ½ x 39 ½ inches
The Dayton Art Institue, Dayton

Hopper's women are always alone, even if someone
else is in the room, even if they’re leaning
at the counter of an all-night diner. This woman
is standing in the open mouth of her doorway
as if it were the prow of an ocean liner,
ready to embark on a long voyage. Her dress
and lips part in anticipation. The sun pounds
down, a relentless spotlight, but she is unblinking
in its glare, stares off in the middle distance.
Triangular shadows slice the air; rough waters
ahead. The curtain of the sky rises. Everything
is about to begin.

first published in The MacGuffin

Room in New York, 1932
oil on canvas - 29 x 36 in.
Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery, University of Nebraska, Lincoln

The acid tones of the walls.
The thick silence between them.
The man in shirtsleeves reads
the paper. The woman
in red-orange turns to the piano,
her face retreating in shadow.
The shut door. The clock’s
regimental ticking. Each
occupies an edge of the table;
the polished center, no man’s land.
She places a trigger finger
on one of the ivory keys.

first published in decomP
nominated for Best of The Web, 2011