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Eric Barker is my namesake.  My mom and dad used to visit him and other fixtures up in Big Sur back in the 1950’s.  I have only recently discovered his work.  Here is a poem of his:

Lines for a favorite cat:

Escaping for twelve years

The nearly always imminent deaths,

My wary and beautiful cat

Pawtucket

Died last night

In the teeth of a masked

And murderous coon.

Loudly caterwauling his rage and terror

At the full moon

As she turned away

Her blandly betraying bitch face

From the floodlit death arena

Good-bye,

Roller of bobbins, balls, dice,

Devilish feather-strewer!

Old three-striker at gopher holes.

Good-bye.

This is the way things are:

I have carried your bedding of ferns

To the deep hole I have dug, crossed

Your paws in the way

You used to sleep.

This is the way life is,

And I must make do somehow,

Without you,

Even making a pet, perhaps, of your enemy

The coon, who has cleaned your dish

And is already picking the lock

Of the back door

With dexterous and beseeching hands

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