Some time ago I posted a poem about her, "The Languagewoman," summarizing my interactions and her accomplishments.
Here is a new elegy...
-- an elegy for Suzette Haden Elgin (November 18, 1936 – January 27, 2015)
The soul is not substance but sound,
a self made of speech and song.
Birth is the opening of a throat
to cry out in discovery.
Death is the sliding of a voice
from one chorus to another.
When angels weep, mortals rejoice;
and when mortals weep, angels rejoice;
but in God's ear it is all one sublime symphony,
and the Great Conductor never loses track of a single note.