A Jeff Buckley Kind of Day…

I don’t know why, but every once in a while I just get the feeling that it’s a JEFF BUCKLEY kind of day.

Every once in a while I get melancholy over Buckley’s death. I wonder what music we lost forever the day he went for a fully clothed swim in the Wolf River in Tennessee and never came out. His voice kills me, as do his lyrics. He was such a huge talent and we lost him before we really saw what he was capable of.

Where would he be now?

R.I.P. Jeff

(A poem I wrote for Buckley a few years ago)

That was so Real (for Jeff Buckley, who left us wanting)

And the muddy river filled his lungs,
Lay claim to the manic voice you loved,
Cracked the illusion
Of his almost crystal vision.
His hair, how it swirled
In muddy pirouettes
On the babbling surface,
Mimicking his life in static dance,
Softly tumbling with the river’s breath—
Spot-lit from above
As tears floated down
To mar the imagined last refrain.
And under the lilac tree you’ll find him,
That crystal vision still intact,
Within its branches—sweet and heady,
His mystic voice will one day rise.

By Kevin Craig

Author, Poet, Playwright. Author of The Camino Club, Billions of Beautiful Hearts, and Book of Dreams, all from Duet Books, the LGBTQ Young Adult imprint of Chicago Review Press. Other books: Pride Must Be A Place, Half Dead & Fully Broken, Burn Baby Burn Baby, The Reasons, Sebastian's Poet, and Summer on Fire.

1 comment

  1. As far as I’m concerned, every day is a Jeff Buckley kind of day. The day I bought Grace, it went straight into my personal top ten ‘favourite albums’. I hear pain in his voice and it makes me go, “Ah, Jeff, you knew it too.”

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