| Ode to
Walter Zylinski
(Ambassador of Argentine Tango)
O leaden Gravity, thou
art defied
And thy dominion sovereignly denied.
For here a seeming mortal shuns thy law
And Paradise his wingèd feet restore:
Our first glimpse of
the light that shone
Before the dismal curse of right and wrong,
Before the coming of that dread command,
Before the fig-leaf and the reprimand.
That Argentinian
silvered Mercury,
That airy spirit making light of thee,
That lord of Dance proclaiming liberty,
That second Adam setting captives free.
The sun's bright child, his will on earth be done
To mount the skies his resurrection won,
To lead disciples risen from the dead,
The prince of th'air
cast down beneath his tread.
To trample broods of vipers
in his fame,
The pharisees-of-dance to put to shame,
The ve'il to remove from Moses' face,
God's glory to reflect in His embrace.
O Gravity, where is thy
victory?
See, mortal's put on immortality
And though the final trumpet hath not blown,
Yet raised in po'wer is the weakness sown.
Behold th'eternal is already come
And thy brief reign before its time undone
And more, his fame in holy writ's inscribed
Beyond thy reach in Heaven's book ascribed.
For here I trace with
poet's frenzied pen
'Till multitudes repeat the long amen
And statues throng the length of palace walls
To emulate his sculptures in our halls.
The temple of his soul then, angels guard
(That holy vessel, off'ring of pure nard,
That priceless balm our savior's feet anointed,
That kin and kind ambassador appointed)
Until with ye he mount
on unfurled wings
To take his place with David, sire of kings,
Who danced before the ark and off'rings made,
Uncovering before the servant maid;
'Till ye bestow
Heav'n's laurels on his helm
When he shall dance amid th'empyrean realm.
For he's the stuff of dreams,
divine decree,
Then you've no weight, usurping Gravity.
October 2000
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