Folks — I try to send only on the holy days of the Earth (changes of seasons, full moons) or cultural/political holidays of particular significance. And I send only literary work of my own. But Dolly Parton, a woman of extraordinary beauty - body, mind, and soul - of intelligence and humor, died last week leaving the world better for her being. She brought a 60 year treasure of song and her legendary generosity enriched the hearts of many. She did not see the world through rose-tinted glasses but disdained politics. She sang love and she sang truth to power in a world on fire. Pink was her color. I share with you the Ode to Dolly by a dear friend whose poetry I much admire. Sing with the angel, Dolly.
Amig@s — procuro enviar mensajes únicamente en fechas benditas a la Tierra (cambios de estación, lunas llenas) o en fiestas culturales o políticas de especial significado. Y solo comparto obra literaria mía. Sin embargo, Dolly Parton — mujer de extraordinaria belleza de cuerpo, mente y alma— de inteligencia y humor, murió la semana pasada, dejando un mundo mejor gracias a su haber sido. Trajo un tesoro de canciones por sesenta años, y su legendaria generosidad enriqueció el corazón de muchos. No veía el mundo con lentes de color de rosa, pero desdeñaba la política; cantó al amor y alzó su voz para decir la verdad al poder en un mundo en llamas. El rosa era su color. Comparto con ustedes la «Oda a Dolly», escrita por una querida amiga cuya poesía admiro mucho. Canta con a los ángeles, Dolly.
Ode to Dolly
Saints come in all sizes and shapes.
Saints of music are avian wonders
and fly off when called
by a greater song,
as our Dolly who was music aloft,
dancing on stilettos, glittering on her feet,
to her hair, exhilarating into time and space.
She was a hidden constellation
behind tantalizing scenes.
She glowed.
She shimmered.
She brightened any dull surface
with sparkle.
She polished a song with joy.
She burnished love on troubled hearts.
She told those who had stopped
believing in dreams coming true,
dream with me a little while,
until my song is through.
Her fairy tale rhymes restored failed Camelots.
Dawn choruses in search
of a stage found her voice.
Even flags breathed peace and exhaled
to half mast.
She gave the Imagination
a library, that tells us
to keep faith, and live the truth
of who you are.
That the earth will meet the moon tonight
in a rusty red shadow
kiss eclipse,
is fitting and right,
for the swan
song singer’s
good night.
Gail Onion
Saints come in all sizes and shapes.
Saints of music are avian wonders
and fly off when called
by a greater song,
as our Dolly who was music aloft,
dancing on stilettos, glittering on her feet,
to her hair, exhilarating into time and space.
She was a hidden constellation
behind tantalizing scenes.
She glowed.
She shimmered.
She brightened any dull surface
with sparkle.
She polished a song with joy.
She burnished love on troubled hearts.
She told those who had stopped
believing in dreams coming true,
dream with me a little while,
until my song is through.
Her fairy tale rhymes restored failed Camelots.
Dawn choruses in search
of a stage found her voice.
Even flags breathed peace and exhaled
to half mast.
She gave the Imagination
a library, that tells us
to keep faith, and live the truth
of who you are.
That the earth will meet the moon tonight
in a rusty red shadow
kiss eclipse,
is fitting and right,
for the swan
song singer’s
good night.
Gail Onion
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