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JOAN CRAWFORD
3/23/190(6) – 5/10/1977
Joan Crawford in “Untamed” (1929)
Joan Crawford is one of my favorite celebrities and favorite muses. She visits my thoughts quite a lot, and I don’t mind it a bit! She’s incredible to watch on the screen – I never tire of those glamorous closeups that showcase her wonderful facial structure. I could go on, but I’ll jump to the real intent of this post now 😉
It’s been nearly 40 years since dear Joan passed, but she continues to live on so vibrantly through new and old fans alike. I’d like to consider myself a fairly recent fan, but a vehement one at that. And of course, what do fans do best? Pay tribute, of course!
For those of you who don’t know, I’m a freelance poet and write quite a bit in my spare time over at hellopoetry (I’ll post the link at the end of this!). My current endeavor is a cinema poetry project, where I’ve been writing one or more poem for every film I’ve seen since January. And as a big Joan fan, you can imagine a lot of the movies were Crawford films!
Here I have gathered an aggregate of my Joan inspired poems. Some are based on herself, others on characters she portrays. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy these poems as much as I do! And of course, stay tuned, for there will definitively be more to come in the future.
Best,
Nora
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POEMS ABOUT JOAN
Little girl with wide blue eyes Dreams as boundless as the skies Surrounded by dust and dead ends Waltzing in a land of make pretend
Freckled, fervent and coy Twirling past the neighbor boys When she moves, she slips away Lost in a smile and a happy place
Left to wander the desert dry Alone and forgotten no matter what she tries Looking for affection in an empty well Fading echoes of forgotten church bells
With her reveries she swiftly dropped A leap of faith and the whole world stopped Warm blood and dampened grass, A mangled foot and a binding cast
In dark days she prayed for help Wanting to step and perform Not ready to give up her last chance To take the stage by way of dance
Ten years later, she’s swaying and twice as stunning as before Sculpted cheekbones and brooding eyes Grabbing audiences by surprise
She’s reborn a star of the movies, With a new name and tiny waist Pretty young flapper with a striking face The little girl has finally found her place
Lucille Fay LeSueur, age six (c. 1911, 1912)
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Broken vessel, Stalwart beauty A work of art Standing alone and bereft
How many voyages Has she failed to complete? Starting off so strong, Only to taste defeat?
Young bright thing With inexplicable rust Something broken, Something bad A faulty error, a fatal bust
Salt water tears, So bittersweet Knowing her cargo She cannot keep
Turning back for shore On her final try Fighting her hardest Not to cry
Joan Crawford and her niece, Joan LeSueur (1937)
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Click, hum. The phone line dies, The ghost of rejection tickling one Ear as it floats across the other. Her Breath goes with it, a short exhale Of frustration and grief.
The room is now silent, save for the Shallow breaths of the aging dame Grey mascara rivers running down Thin crevices, inexorable lines of An inevitable future. No makeup So fine and polished can mask: she’s fallen Victim to the times, pushing and straining As far as the limits of her youth will allow
Cold remnants of an untouched meal Watch from the corner, stale, unwanted collecting dust and fleas, Waiting to be disposed of, bound to be forgotten. She pauses, blinks. The pit of her stomach Grumbles in understanding — two hands Jump to grasp a cinched waist. Open bourbon, brought in anticipation of good news Teases: no cheers for the old hag!
A fist and a table, an empty glass soon Filled as she pours herself a bitter dose Of panacea, just a little something to take The edge of her face, to knock off a few years and Quiet the pain.
Fifty and forgotten, candle in the wind A name that once drew the largest of crowds, Full theatres and a demand in the public eye, Now brings nonchalance, indifference, or Worse — ignorance! Who?
The young starlings, bright, eager doe-eyed Little things: they are the new pull, the desired Flavor and choice eye candy. She trembles, but Blames the alcohol: after all, it whispers, Who wants to look at you?
Joan Crawford and Bette Davis in “Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?” (1962)
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She’s soft and smells like rose petals Yet she scratches and scrubs At blood red skin even though It’s been washed a million times before Tired eyes meet their match In the silvery visage of their oldest friend
Crimson lips part, then furl At the reflection who’s no longer a youthful girl Auburn hair tumbling out of place, Aging actress falling far from grace, One clenched fist in a lace white glove Eyelids dripping as she screams above
Joan Crawford in “The Bride Wore Red” (1937). Box office poison!
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Selected poems inspired by Joan’s characters/performances
Deviant daughter, I’d give it all and more To have you knocking at my door
Satin drapes, silver knifes A furnished mansion to Start our lives anew Oh, my darling, I’d even kill for you
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Joan Crawford and Ann Blyth in “Mildred Pierce” (1945)
I found God In the gaze of my lover As we lay still on the water In the stupor of fear
I found God When I fled alone to discover I was trapped with no other Until he appeared
I found God In my haggard reflection, Torn dress by the ocean Wondering if I was in the clear
I found God Watching lost men die free, Succumbing to clarity Thinking my time was near
I found God When I lost all hope My heart was breaking on the waves And I didn’t know how to steer
I found God In a longing embrace Finally feeling in my place Knowing our time was now and here
Joan Crawford and Clark Gable in “Strange Cargo” (1940)
Thank you for checking these out! You can find more of my work over here
Keep in touch!
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