Chris Wallace-Crabbe poem evokes the ineffable . . .

I’ve had screenshots of this poem parked on my desktop for months now. Time to post them, and a bit about the author, Chris Wallace-Crabbe, now 85 years old, whom I have never heard of until this poem which still holds me, despite the two Australian words that I had to look up — “dinkum,” (honest, true) and “Lasseter” (the discoverer of a rich gold mine in a remote region of central Australia) — in a sort of Neptunian trance, enchanted, spacey, bewitched. The way I am every time dark shadowy figures dart through space in the outside corners of my eyes; or when I sense, or dream, my deceased husband Jeff’s presence; or my Mom’s, or Dad’s or sister Mary’s; or as now, when two old friends, Georgia in Bloomington, and Deidre in Jackson Hole, have recently died, and I feel each of them, at times, hovering, will-o-wisp, just above, or settled within.

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1 Response to Chris Wallace-Crabbe poem evokes the ineffable . . .

  1. I love this poem! Thank you for sharing it.

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