Norma Gay Davidson-Zielske (nee Prewett)

Thinking of Emily Dickinson, Gay’s favorite poet, and Emily’s autobiographical line, “Dare you see a soul at white heat?” That pure soul at white heat also perfectly describes Gay. Gay was a poet to her marrow. Gay was sui generis. She will be missed but always remembered.

I was a nurse who took care of Gay during her last few months with us on earth. She always amazed me, no matter what. I remember painting with her and trying to sing... where she would always say "your voice needs tuning". She painted a picture of me one day and called "Lady in Purple" in water color, and it took me by surprise because up until that day I wasn't sure she liked spending time with me (much of which I would try to keep her busy with trying her to teach me to paint)- but she did and would always say "Maybe singing is better for you right now" ( I am by no means a good artist) In any case, even up to when she left our care, there was still many glimpses of her that I got to see. Her poetry, her spicy and artistic style, and her sense of humor even during the worst of days will forever be remembered. She will always be apart of our lives. My condolences to the family and children of Ms. Norma G, may you find some peace in knowing she touched the hearts of us all.

I was so impressed by Gay, her talent and free spirit that I wrote a high school essay about her. While we lost touch over the years, she made a lasting impression on me. I will miss her spark in the world.

During the years I was going to the open mike poetry readings Rusty Russell hosted at Café Montmartre in Madison, Gay came occasionally. When she was there the night was always more vibrant and enlightening, although I don’t recall that she ever read her own work; she was already a respected poet at Whitewater, and the winter drives from there to Madison delayed her arrival until all the reading slots were filled. I’m not sure she ever wanted to read anyway, for she seemed more than interested in poets Madison proper was fostering. She was always one of the most radiant, alive people there, and she had standards, thank goodness. They were high standards. You knew that if she complimented your work, it was good work, and she meant it. In her, imagination found a fresh, rigorous, invigorating pattern. May she at her best be an example to us, artists and all.

Gay and her family traveled to Paris with us many years ago. She was so enamored with Paris that she faced her entrenched fear of flying in order to get there, seeking out a therapist, medication, and even a pilot-led tour of the cockpit to ensure she could handle the flight. And once there, she wrapped Paris around herself like an Hermès scarf, which she coupled with a stylish beret to complete her French immersion. She was aglow the entire trip. We miss Gay. Her trenchant wit, her sparkling vivacity, her far-ranging talents, her infectious laugh, her thirst for adventure, her boundless energy, her friendship. She aptly labeled herself a bon vivant, but she was so much more: she had an adventurous soul, a vagabond intellect, an artistic impulse that quickened at the slightest provocation, and a garrulous demeanor that allowed her to meet new friends everywhere she went. Hail to thee, blithe spirit.