Dear Editor,
Death announces its ghostly presence again. In a land haunted by many deaths, there is one more. A towering figure standing astern a capsizing boat. An icon that was a beacon. A guardian of language, a master of words, a graceful, precious presence now lost. He made it to 93, an inning well-played. A trip to the wicket that was sublimely sweet. Ian McDonald.
What to say? What is there to offer? To a son of Trinidad that gave so much to Guyana. Now gone. What words can pay homage to a man who seemed to be truly for all seasons. Then still one more. A season not lived, unknown, to many a man. But lived by him. A figure of clarity, that splendid beauty in the arts of timeless expression. In a land of countless flaws, he was that true genius: priceless.
Within the dark clouds of grief, a Guyana plunged into grimness, there is sadness. No Ian McDonald to put pen to paper and pay a tribute to this country’s many dead. It is a dark time. A hollow space. A place of men filled with air, and the pomposity that billows out of them. Indeed, Ian McDonald was a gem. A lion in a den. A man given to the fine arts, and the finer points, of the pen. A stalwart who strode the sidelines and made his mind speak; his voice heard. Resonant it was. Transcendent too, in the most splendid meaning of that expression. Like I said: timeless and priceless. A purity that had its time, and was immortal while it lasted.
Thus, the wicker of life flickers, then fades. Then is no more. But for the footprints left. But for the passages that leave breathless from the awe that was overdue, but forever underdone. It is my special privilege to pay this tribute in an hour of unmatched national grief to Ian McDonald. A figure that soared above his time in the manner of a colossus. He was a legend in his own time, and with a rime of his own. An ancient mariner in a world grown modern too fast, and also too cold and callous and contemptuous. Ian McDonald was a breath of fresh air. A son of Sunday and a sun on Sunday. He made it to 93, when about 100 Guyanese couldn’t make it to 43, even 23. His is one loss among many losses. Among many deaths, one more death. Ian McDonald’s life can be celebrated. I do so in the midst of a harrowing milestone that should never have been achieved. May the soul of this adopted son of Guyana, Ian McDonald, find eternal rest. Let it be.