http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
Today's poem was written in 2002 but could have been written at any time in any century.
Some readers have questioned my use of the word 'Faith' in the last stanza after it first appeared on the blog in 2007. Well, religion does not have a monopoly on Faith. Me, I chose to put mine in nature long, long ago.Perhaps even more importantly, we need to have faith in ourselves...or how else can we expect it of others?
This poem is a villanelle.
THE WORLD THIS WEEKEND
In pastures green, desert sand
slither silent, unseen,
lessons unlearned
Fear - like a dead man’s hand
appears sound, washed clean
in pastures green, desert sand
Words - like swords at the land
ripping out its spleen,
lessons unlearned
Love - a living, moving strand
of hope on the world scene
in pastures green, desert sand
Time to make a brave stand
against war and pain,
lessons unlearned?
Faith keeps us safe and sound
nor leave our wounds unclean
in pastures green, desert sand,
lessons unlearned
[From: First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
In The Swim
Just as a swimmer may be struck by cramp so life may well deal us an unexpected, even near fatal blow. Yet, the human body and psyche are blessed with amazing powers of recuperation so long as we are willing to call on them, empowering us to come reach the shore safely, our fear of drowning all but gone if never quite…
IN THE SWIM
I grow old and, yes, the bottoms
of my trousers are rolled,
treading water in a vast sea, afraid
to swim. Let a heat mist
swallow me up, roaring shores
disappear (no respite there
for troubled minds, only crowds
oblivious to my missing you);
Apollo’s kisses on me like arrows
inflicting the bloody poetry
of pain, though waves wash it clean
so no one sees, no one reads
but upon whom it outs and feeds
I grow old and, yes, the bottoms
of my trousers are rolled
as I soak up the last of summer days
inclined to follow autumn’s ways
even as Apollo’s heat on me assumes
the contours of your body
against my bare skin and we are joined
as once we were, promising
to stay together forever, not knowing
life had other plans for us,
consumed by a summer’s history,
left to but blindly drift
the teasing shores of eternity
A sudden thrust of time and tide
demands an instant decision
(swim or drown?) Panic seizes me
in passion’s grip, my body
thrashing wildly like a lover in the heat
of an incredible lovemaking,
caught out confessing and climaxing
a bloody poetry of pain
no waves need wash clean, spoils
of ecstasy for all to see,
lovers finding rhythm enough to swim
the waters of eternity,
no matter who or our sexuality
Swimming strongly now, making for shore,
drawn by sounds of love and laughter
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
Saturday, 25 September 2010
All Dressed Up And Nowhere To Go
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Haven’t we all been there…all dressed up and nowhere to go?
ALL DRESSED UP AND NOWHERE TO GO
Tables in a room at Happy Hour;
forced laughter booming like canon
across no man’s land!
Lots of food and drink so let’s not think
about tomorrow, or mind
tears in the wind. Give us a tune.
on the keys….
Sing along to the accordion man
(who’ll cheer us up if anyone can)
while old gods tease us
about the rights and wrongs of strings
we pull at each other across the floor.
Hear a banging at the door? Let ‘em in,
the more the merrier!
No one so much as scrapes a chair
(nobody hears) like toys seen better days,
discarded by peers
grown out of their inhibitions
and found better ways
to spend an evening than a gathering
of fictions
Copyright R. N. Taber 1997; 2010
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears in 1st eds. of Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2001; 2nd ed. in preparation.]
Haven’t we all been there…all dressed up and nowhere to go?
ALL DRESSED UP AND NOWHERE TO GO
Tables in a room at Happy Hour;
forced laughter booming like canon
across no man’s land!
Lots of food and drink so let’s not think
about tomorrow, or mind
tears in the wind. Give us a tune.
on the keys….
Sing along to the accordion man
(who’ll cheer us up if anyone can)
while old gods tease us
about the rights and wrongs of strings
we pull at each other across the floor.
Hear a banging at the door? Let ‘em in,
the more the merrier!
No one so much as scrapes a chair
(nobody hears) like toys seen better days,
discarded by peers
grown out of their inhibitions
and found better ways
to spend an evening than a gathering
of fictions
Copyright R. N. Taber 1997; 2010
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears in 1st eds. of Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2001; 2nd ed. in preparation.]
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
Castaways
Readers Edel and Margrit spotted this poem on my gay-interest blog recently and have asked me to post it here today for their good friends Ralph, James, Carmen and Serena, all of whom profess to be ‘corny souls who are really into love poems.’
As I said on the gay-interest post, I am a corny ole soul at heart myself, very much so. I used to (and still do) love Doris Day. I watched her and Frank Sinatra in Young At Heart on TV recently and…it was magic! Later, I found myself humming a Doris Day song (not in the movie) that I used to love called Love’s Little Island. This poem was inspired by both the singer and the song.
As I recall it, the song lyric goes, ‘I am a castaway on Love’s little island/please rescue me, I wanna be safe in your arms…’ Gay or straight, haven’t we all been there? Who wouldn’t opt for love over the so-called ‘better’ things in life like riches, fame, and all that celebrity crap…?
Many people seem to share my love for Doris Day so here’s the link to a radio station: on which reader ‘Mary Amm’ says ‘Mike DeVita hosts a fabulous 2+ hour weekly program…at 3:00pm (New York time) with a repeat on Wednesdays at 3:00pm, 8:00pm and midnight (all New York times)…. see the schedule below.’ She goes on to say that ‘BaltimoreNetRadio plays at least 2 Doris Day songs an hour and usually more....Mike has a wealth of knowledge on Doris and has known her for 60+ years...tune in for a real Sentimental Journey - BaltimoreNetRadio plays THE BEST MUSIC of the 40s, 50s and 60s...stay tuned for some really great shows...’
http://www.baltimorenetradio.com/
SEPT 26 SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY W/DORIS DAY DORIS IN 1962
OCT 3 SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY W/DORIS DAY DORIS IN 1963
OCT 10 SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY W/DORIS DAY DORIS IN 1964
OCT 17 SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY W/DORIS DAY DORIS IN 1965
OCT 24 SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY W/DORIS DAY DORIS IN 1966, 67, 68
OCT 31 SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY W/DORIS DAY DORIS BEYOND 1968
NOV 7 THE DORIS DAY SONGBOOK: SHOW #1 THE BROADWAY COLLECTION PART ONE
NOV14 THE DORIS DAY SONGBOOK: SHOW #2 THE BROADWAY COLLECTION
Many thanks for that Mary Ann. I for one will be tuning in. If you would care to email me at rogertab@aol.com that would be great. [I never share email addresses or even full names or any other confidential information with readers.]
Meanwhile…
CASTAWAYS
Washed up on an island
in a misty dream,
passing centuries shadowing us
(wings across golden sand)
Game to explore an island
in a misty dream,
fair memories waving back at us
(castle flags on golden sand)
Last seen kissing on an island,
sea mist closing in,
too soon, time’s tide covering us
(footprints on golden sand)
Closer to nature on an island,
(love’s lasting dream)
earth’s descant surely winging us,
seabirds across golden sand
As golden sand to ocean waves
are the world’s lovers…
though humankind run the gamut
of nature’s grudges against it
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
Monday, 20 September 2010
The Message
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
As regular readers know, I subscribe to no religion. Nor would I call myself an atheist as I like to think I have a strong sense of spirituality... that I take from nature, nowhere else. However, I have open-minded, open-hearted friends of all faiths, including a close Muslim friend. It is my experience that the majority of ordinary men and women, whatever their belief or non-belief, are ready and willing to take others as they find them and do not let religion get in the way of establishing lasting friendships…however much their leaders, deliberately or otherwise, might encourage them to do so.
Tragically, it is the fundamentalists (in any religion) who shout the loudest and not only make themselves heard but are exploited by a world media who would have us believe they are 'typical' Muslims, Christians, Hindus...whatever.
It has been my experience that the majority of people from ethnic minority backgrounds are culturally homophobic although many self-styled ‘devout’ Christians no less so. However, I am glad to say there are many exceptions and, hopefully, these will eventually prevail over the bigoted majority.
Even so, these are worrying times for gay people. For example, a local newspaper in Tower Hamlets, a borough in the London’s East End that has a significant Muslim population, recently reported what reads as a very disturbing case. A teenager, apparently described by teachers at his school as “devout, humble Muslim” was recently acquitted on the charge of murdering a school student support office last November amid allegations that the victim was a “predatory paedophile”. The 17-year-old defendant admitted wielding the kitchen knife that fatally injured the man but said he had feared being raped or killed by him; he also admitted taking a knife with him in case the man tried to force him “into sexual acts”. Subsequently, he was unanimously cleared of both murder and manslaughter by the jury:
http://www.asianimage.co.uk/news/united_kingdom/8353101.A_Level_pupil_is_cleared_of_murdering_student_officer/
My problem with this case is that, as the article reads, whether or not the victim was an alleged paedophile or gay man, if the student thought he might be sexually assaulted, why visit the man anyway and take a knife with him?
Does this not give the green light to the view that 'It's okay to kill a gay' as I heard two schoolboys discussing on a bus only the other day? Worse, could it not also be interpreted as fuelling the misconception, commonly expressed by the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority, that gay = paedophile?
Whatever, the deplorably narrow-minded Far Right and may well be on the rise in the US and Europe, along with others easily influenced by some of their worst sentiments and, yes, they may well win a few battles in the years ahead…BUT...it/they cannot and will not win the war against those who uphold the principles of a common humanity. Humanity is bigger and better than that…yeah?
[Note: This post is duplicated on my other blog today.]
This poem is a villanelle. [It is the third poem I read on the video below.]
THE MESSAGE
The message of Islam is peace
though some people have other ideas;
beware, who dares undermine this
It’s of love the Koran teaches
though some people play on its tears;
the message of Islam is peace
To the world, its prophet reaches
though some people play on its fears;
beware, who dares undermine this
The truth about Islam is kindness
a prophet’s wisdom across centuries;
the message of Islam is peace
May religion, its martyrs embrace,
reject paltry egos poisoning its prayers;
beware, who dares undermine this
We are a common humanity, no less
for its religions and secular philosophies;
The message of Islam is peace;
beware, who dares undermine this
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
As regular readers know, I subscribe to no religion. Nor would I call myself an atheist as I like to think I have a strong sense of spirituality... that I take from nature, nowhere else. However, I have open-minded, open-hearted friends of all faiths, including a close Muslim friend. It is my experience that the majority of ordinary men and women, whatever their belief or non-belief, are ready and willing to take others as they find them and do not let religion get in the way of establishing lasting friendships…however much their leaders, deliberately or otherwise, might encourage them to do so.
Tragically, it is the fundamentalists (in any religion) who shout the loudest and not only make themselves heard but are exploited by a world media who would have us believe they are 'typical' Muslims, Christians, Hindus...whatever.
It has been my experience that the majority of people from ethnic minority backgrounds are culturally homophobic although many self-styled ‘devout’ Christians no less so. However, I am glad to say there are many exceptions and, hopefully, these will eventually prevail over the bigoted majority.
Even so, these are worrying times for gay people. For example, a local newspaper in Tower Hamlets, a borough in the London’s East End that has a significant Muslim population, recently reported what reads as a very disturbing case. A teenager, apparently described by teachers at his school as “devout, humble Muslim” was recently acquitted on the charge of murdering a school student support office last November amid allegations that the victim was a “predatory paedophile”. The 17-year-old defendant admitted wielding the kitchen knife that fatally injured the man but said he had feared being raped or killed by him; he also admitted taking a knife with him in case the man tried to force him “into sexual acts”. Subsequently, he was unanimously cleared of both murder and manslaughter by the jury:
http://www.asianimage.co.uk/news/united_kingdom/8353101.A_Level_pupil_is_cleared_of_murdering_student_officer/
My problem with this case is that, as the article reads, whether or not the victim was an alleged paedophile or gay man, if the student thought he might be sexually assaulted, why visit the man anyway and take a knife with him?
Does this not give the green light to the view that 'It's okay to kill a gay' as I heard two schoolboys discussing on a bus only the other day? Worse, could it not also be interpreted as fuelling the misconception, commonly expressed by the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority, that gay = paedophile?
Whatever, the deplorably narrow-minded Far Right and may well be on the rise in the US and Europe, along with others easily influenced by some of their worst sentiments and, yes, they may well win a few battles in the years ahead…BUT...it/they cannot and will not win the war against those who uphold the principles of a common humanity. Humanity is bigger and better than that…yeah?
[Note: This post is duplicated on my other blog today.]
THE MESSAGE
The message of Islam is peace
though some people have other ideas;
beware, who dares undermine this
It’s of love the Koran teaches
though some people play on its tears;
the message of Islam is peace
To the world, its prophet reaches
though some people play on its fears;
beware, who dares undermine this
The truth about Islam is kindness
a prophet’s wisdom across centuries;
the message of Islam is peace
May religion, its martyrs embrace,
reject paltry egos poisoning its prayers;
beware, who dares undermine this
We are a common humanity, no less
for its religions and secular philosophies;
The message of Islam is peace;
beware, who dares undermine this
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
Sunday, 19 September 2010
A Short History Of Cinema
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Jill who describes herself as a ‘gay-friendly straight reader’ says she spotted this poem on the gay blog in May and thinks I should repeat it here ‘because there can’t be anyone who hasn’t fantasised about some gorgeous male or female on the big screen at some time or another.’
You could very well be right there, Jill.
Oh, but is there anything quite like a trip to the cinema when you’re feeling low?
A SHORT HISTORY OF CINEMA
You stepped out of a movie,
came and sat next to me where I was alone
between rows of heads
so close together, the screen was in pieces
just like I was
You put your lips to my ear
and told me no one has a monopoly on love
so why don’t I do something
about sitting here on my own, torn in pieces
by strangers
You put an arm around me
letting your tongue caress the lobe of my ear,
gently tugged at my chin
till I was being sucked into the whites of eyes
like a priest’s silk
You kissed me on the lips
gently prising mine apart to let in your tongue
while your hands explored
nether regions of a body I scarcely recognised
as my own
Oh, but I responded eagerly
like the child hugged by a relative come to stay
but never long enough
to put together all the pieces of the family jigsaw,
make it whole
You returned to the movie,
where music was playing, credits already showing
leaving me hungering for more
where I sat, in pieces but coming together, courtesy
of strangers
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
Jill who describes herself as a ‘gay-friendly straight reader’ says she spotted this poem on the gay blog in May and thinks I should repeat it here ‘because there can’t be anyone who hasn’t fantasised about some gorgeous male or female on the big screen at some time or another.’
You could very well be right there, Jill.
Oh, but is there anything quite like a trip to the cinema when you’re feeling low?
A SHORT HISTORY OF CINEMA
You stepped out of a movie,
came and sat next to me where I was alone
between rows of heads
so close together, the screen was in pieces
just like I was
You put your lips to my ear
and told me no one has a monopoly on love
so why don’t I do something
about sitting here on my own, torn in pieces
by strangers
You put an arm around me
letting your tongue caress the lobe of my ear,
gently tugged at my chin
till I was being sucked into the whites of eyes
like a priest’s silk
You kissed me on the lips
gently prising mine apart to let in your tongue
while your hands explored
nether regions of a body I scarcely recognised
as my own
Oh, but I responded eagerly
like the child hugged by a relative come to stay
but never long enough
to put together all the pieces of the family jigsaw,
make it whole
You returned to the movie,
where music was playing, credits already showing
leaving me hungering for more
where I sat, in pieces but coming together, courtesy
of strangers
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
Friday, 17 September 2010
Alternatives
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
I am duplicating this post on my other blog today by way of replying to those readers who have contacted me about yesterday’s post. Opinion was divided for and against and only marginally the former. One person wrote, ‘…you should be ashamed of yourself for attacking the Holy Father, you along with gay and transgender s**t heads everywhere. As for saying you are not disrespectful of religion, it is not the impression anyone would have from reading your blogs. How dare you share your sick mind and spirit with others…?’
Well, the reader is entitled to his or her opinion of course…and so am I. I’ve always thought it is a great pity that more people aren’t prepared to agree to differ rather than insult or fight each other.
Meanwhile…
Today’s poem has appeared on both blogs, the last time in July 2009. Most people who wrote in were sympathetic to my point of view whether or not they agreed with it. One person, though, said ‘It is typical of a gay man to turn his back on God. Go on, admit it. You would be too ashamed to face Him…that’s why you can’t handle religion, because you know God disapproves of your lifestyle.’
Oh, dear, Roger’s in hot water again…
For a start, I certainly don’t believe it is ‘typical’ of a gay man or woman to turn their backs on God; many gay people have succeeded in reconciling their sexuality with their religion in spite of innumerable obstacles placed in their paths by the less enlightened among heterosexual family members and friends, not to mention religious leaders who use religion not only as an excuse but also as a weapon to defend their bigotry.
Me, while I take issue with many aspects of religion, I respect all those who are prepared to enter into its basic humanitarian rather than just theological principles; that is to say, keep an open mindedness and open heartedness without which dogma and ritual are little more than play acting.
Everyone is entitled to believe in what or whom they will or nothing and no one at all. But lose our capacity for humanity and its respect for those with whom we can but agree to differ and we may well find ourselves but play acting in the longest running soap opera of all…
There are always alternatives, even if only a rock and hard place. Moreover, maturity entitles us to make our own choices, not have them made for us by those who like to think they always know what’s best for us and for whom the sum total of those same alternatives is invariably the ultimate nemesis.
[This post is duplicated on both blogs today. Something lighter tomorrow, I promise as well as a different post on each blog for those readers who enjoy dipping into both from time to time. ]
ALTERNATIVES
I looked for God in heaven
but did not find Him there,
looked again, in sun and rain
for Earth Mother
Some say it’s, oh, so pagan,
as bad as being gay;
I just see myself as someone
looking nature’s way
God is many things to many,
interpreting His conditions
for the good of all humanity
according to its religions
The sun rises, sets, rises again
and no one takes issue
nor that moon and stars shine
or songbirds sleep as we do
Let nature sue for harmony,
hear our confessions,
and we feed less on acrimony
spread by world religions
To wake, sleep and wake again
may or may not imply rebirth
and, yes, each to his or her own
but we share a common earth
Who looks for God in heaven
and does not find Him there
has but to look in sun and rain
for Earth Mother
See, too, nature assert its power
where humankind gone too far
Copyright R. N. Taber 2008
I am duplicating this post on my other blog today by way of replying to those readers who have contacted me about yesterday’s post. Opinion was divided for and against and only marginally the former. One person wrote, ‘…you should be ashamed of yourself for attacking the Holy Father, you along with gay and transgender s**t heads everywhere. As for saying you are not disrespectful of religion, it is not the impression anyone would have from reading your blogs. How dare you share your sick mind and spirit with others…?’
Well, the reader is entitled to his or her opinion of course…and so am I. I’ve always thought it is a great pity that more people aren’t prepared to agree to differ rather than insult or fight each other.
Meanwhile…
Today’s poem has appeared on both blogs, the last time in July 2009. Most people who wrote in were sympathetic to my point of view whether or not they agreed with it. One person, though, said ‘It is typical of a gay man to turn his back on God. Go on, admit it. You would be too ashamed to face Him…that’s why you can’t handle religion, because you know God disapproves of your lifestyle.’
Oh, dear, Roger’s in hot water again…
For a start, I certainly don’t believe it is ‘typical’ of a gay man or woman to turn their backs on God; many gay people have succeeded in reconciling their sexuality with their religion in spite of innumerable obstacles placed in their paths by the less enlightened among heterosexual family members and friends, not to mention religious leaders who use religion not only as an excuse but also as a weapon to defend their bigotry.
Me, while I take issue with many aspects of religion, I respect all those who are prepared to enter into its basic humanitarian rather than just theological principles; that is to say, keep an open mindedness and open heartedness without which dogma and ritual are little more than play acting.
Everyone is entitled to believe in what or whom they will or nothing and no one at all. But lose our capacity for humanity and its respect for those with whom we can but agree to differ and we may well find ourselves but play acting in the longest running soap opera of all…
There are always alternatives, even if only a rock and hard place. Moreover, maturity entitles us to make our own choices, not have them made for us by those who like to think they always know what’s best for us and for whom the sum total of those same alternatives is invariably the ultimate nemesis.
[This post is duplicated on both blogs today. Something lighter tomorrow, I promise as well as a different post on each blog for those readers who enjoy dipping into both from time to time. ]
ALTERNATIVES
I looked for God in heaven
but did not find Him there,
looked again, in sun and rain
for Earth Mother
Some say it’s, oh, so pagan,
as bad as being gay;
I just see myself as someone
looking nature’s way
God is many things to many,
interpreting His conditions
for the good of all humanity
according to its religions
The sun rises, sets, rises again
and no one takes issue
nor that moon and stars shine
or songbirds sleep as we do
Let nature sue for harmony,
hear our confessions,
and we feed less on acrimony
spread by world religions
To wake, sleep and wake again
may or may not imply rebirth
and, yes, each to his or her own
but we share a common earth
Who looks for God in heaven
and does not find Him there
has but to look in sun and rain
for Earth Mother
See, too, nature assert its power
where humankind gone too far
Copyright R. N. Taber 2008
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
Sea Change
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
A reader for whom I only have a screen name has contacted me to say that ‘while I liked your poem No Ordinary Day, (Sept 11th post) it has no place on a gay blog. Can’t you see how offensive it is to the friends and relatives of people who died?’ Well, frankly, no I can’t. He or she is entitled to their opinion of course but I would make the point that gay people, too, died in the 9/11 attacks. I knew one of them. Don’t they count for goodness sake?
Meanwhile…
As a child, I loved myths and legends. Most of these I’d read in books as I was an avid reader before I even went to school. Many, too, were told me by an old man who lived on our street. I love autumn and once asked him why leaves fall from the trees at this time of year. He replied that it was the old gods shedding tears for the end of summer but I shouldn’t worry because Apollo always liked to have the last laugh and there would still be sunshine regardless. I’m not sure if I quite believed him but it is an explanation that still appeals to the poet in me.
This poem is a villanelle. It first appeared on the blog two years ago and is repeated today for ‘Celine’ who was kind enough to write in and request it ‘so any new readers can enjoy it too.’
Celine says she enjoys dipping into my collections and blogs from time to time ‘especially for nature poems and poems about the seasons.’ She also ‘loved the way the books are divided into sections,’ Thank you Celine, especially for the latter comment as many of my critics accuse me of ‘cramming’ too many poems into one collection. I hope other blog readers will enjoy the poem.
Incidentally, I am always interested to know what other people think about my collections (good or bad) whether they have bought any or perhaps borrowed from their local public library.
SEA CHANGE
Sea of muddy leaves,
our summer gone
as autumn grieves
Heaps, like ragged graves
with flowers strewn,
sea of muddy leaves
A dying sparrow heaves
its last, alone
as autumn grieves
North wind brings waves,
our seasons blown,
sea of muddy leaves
No kinder soul than braves
an acid rain
as autumn grieves
Each heart, in time, gives
up its own…
sea of muddy leaves
as autumn grieves
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
A reader for whom I only have a screen name has contacted me to say that ‘while I liked your poem No Ordinary Day, (Sept 11th post) it has no place on a gay blog. Can’t you see how offensive it is to the friends and relatives of people who died?’ Well, frankly, no I can’t. He or she is entitled to their opinion of course but I would make the point that gay people, too, died in the 9/11 attacks. I knew one of them. Don’t they count for goodness sake?
Meanwhile…
As a child, I loved myths and legends. Most of these I’d read in books as I was an avid reader before I even went to school. Many, too, were told me by an old man who lived on our street. I love autumn and once asked him why leaves fall from the trees at this time of year. He replied that it was the old gods shedding tears for the end of summer but I shouldn’t worry because Apollo always liked to have the last laugh and there would still be sunshine regardless. I’m not sure if I quite believed him but it is an explanation that still appeals to the poet in me.
This poem is a villanelle. It first appeared on the blog two years ago and is repeated today for ‘Celine’ who was kind enough to write in and request it ‘so any new readers can enjoy it too.’
Celine says she enjoys dipping into my collections and blogs from time to time ‘especially for nature poems and poems about the seasons.’ She also ‘loved the way the books are divided into sections,’ Thank you Celine, especially for the latter comment as many of my critics accuse me of ‘cramming’ too many poems into one collection. I hope other blog readers will enjoy the poem.
Incidentally, I am always interested to know what other people think about my collections (good or bad) whether they have bought any or perhaps borrowed from their local public library.
SEA CHANGE
Sea of muddy leaves,
our summer gone
as autumn grieves
Heaps, like ragged graves
with flowers strewn,
sea of muddy leaves
A dying sparrow heaves
its last, alone
as autumn grieves
North wind brings waves,
our seasons blown,
sea of muddy leaves
No kinder soul than braves
an acid rain
as autumn grieves
Each heart, in time, gives
up its own…
sea of muddy leaves
as autumn grieves
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Crocodiles In The Water
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
I wrote this poem some years ago after a conversation with a young student whose family in his home country have to walk miles every day to fetch clean water. He was genuinely shocked that we, here in the West, take the simple, everyday act of turning on a tap so much or granted.
After the poem appeared in various print and online publications, readers wrote in whose various countries of origin were mostly in Africa (but also, latterly, Iraq) to say much the same thing.
We are living in the 21st century, for goodness sake! The West should be ashamed that we do not do more to provide basic amenities for poorer people world-wide.
We must do more: http://www.megree.com/e/3
Thhis poem is a villanelle.
CROCODILES IN THE WATER
A common slaughter,
Third World dying
for want of clean water
Children’s laughter
turns to crying,
a common slaughter
Each young-old grafter
grown sick of trying
for want of clean water
At some capital altar,
disciples denying
a common slaughter
A 21st century arena
found sadly lacking…
for want of clean water
Through gold teeth, eager
summit tipplers belying
a common slaughter
for want of clean water
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
I wrote this poem some years ago after a conversation with a young student whose family in his home country have to walk miles every day to fetch clean water. He was genuinely shocked that we, here in the West, take the simple, everyday act of turning on a tap so much or granted.
After the poem appeared in various print and online publications, readers wrote in whose various countries of origin were mostly in Africa (but also, latterly, Iraq) to say much the same thing.
We are living in the 21st century, for goodness sake! The West should be ashamed that we do not do more to provide basic amenities for poorer people world-wide.
We must do more: http://www.megree.com/e/3
Thhis poem is a villanelle.
CROCODILES IN THE WATER
A common slaughter,
Third World dying
for want of clean water
Children’s laughter
turns to crying,
a common slaughter
Each young-old grafter
grown sick of trying
for want of clean water
At some capital altar,
disciples denying
a common slaughter
A 21st century arena
found sadly lacking…
for want of clean water
Through gold teeth, eager
summit tipplers belying
a common slaughter
for want of clean water
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
Sunday, 12 September 2010
In Celebration Of Hearts And Minds
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
An email from ‘a group of peaceful gay Muslims who feel trapped between cultural homophobia and a growing Islamophobia world-wide’ asks that I remind everyone there are not only peace loving but also gay Muslims out there. Food for thought, yeah?
Meanwhile…
Several readers have asked for today’s poem to be repeated. It first appeared on my general blog in November 2008 and was subsequently included in my new collection.
I read in an English newspaper only yesterday how ‘The far right is gaining ground across the US’. The writer goes on to say, ‘The alarming trend is best shown by the soaring popularity of the Tea Party Movement. Named after the Boston tea Party of 1773…it has become a rallying point for the right. It provocatively chose the anniversary of Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” speech for a recent march in Washington at which black politicians were abused and spat on’. The article refers to the threat by a Florida pastor to burn copies of the Koran but makes the point that, ‘Most of the current hysteria has been spawned by the proposed Ground Zero mosque…There is no issue more divisive in America today.’ [Daily Mirror, p9, Sept 11th 2010] I should say, though, that while all reports I have read and heard refer to a proposed mosque near Ground Zero, I have since been given to understand that it is a disused building that will be converted to an Islamic community centre. People may argue that principles underlying arguments for and against its location remain the same…it has to be said that there is a world of difference between a mosque and a Community Centre.
Apparently, the Tea Party has the support of Sarah Palin whose TV performances as shown on British TV during the US presidential election campaign alienated a good many viewers, including yours truly. It puts into context a remark passed by two American tourists not long ago when I met up with and hugged a black female friend on a street in central London. “Did you see that?” one jerk said to the other, “If that’s not enough to turn anyone pitbull, Sarah Palin’s not heading for the White House!”
Imagine, Sarah Palin in the White House! It’s has to be one of the world’s worst nightmares.
Black men and women world-wide know as much as if not more about physical and psychological abuse than we gay men and women. Racism, homophobia, prejudice against disabled people or anyone who is “different” and won’t play ball with today’s tick box culture….all bigotry is sick. We can but trust that, one day, commonsense and decency will overcome humankind’s persistent inhumanity towards its own once and for all.
For many black and mixed race people - indeed, anyone at all who has a feeling for human decency - I imagine the likes of Martin Luther King and Barack Obama stand out among the heroes of modern times. We gay men and women, too, have our particular heroes. Oscar Wilde and Quentin Crisp spring to mind but there are many others, especially in the arts, who may have been publicly put down by the less enlightened among us for standing up for a common humanity but have managed, just as publicly, to rise above all that and carry us with them. [Nor do I mean certain so-called ‘activists’ and ‘media babes’ who have jumped on the political bandwagon in latter years and who, in my opinion and that of many gay friends and contacts, are but publicity-seeking divas who do more than anyone to promote the very gay stereotypes they would have us believe they are protesting against.]
Wherever those among us may practise inhumanity towards others, we may have no choice but to retaliate in kind, at least until we can achieve our aims by diplomatic means. But does justifying any retaliation in kind really excuse it?
To deliver an eye for an eye may be a tempting but what does it prove other than that we are little or no better than those acting against us?
[Note: This post appears on both blogs today. Something lighter tomorrow, I promise.]
IN CELEBRATION OF HEARTS AND MINDS
Once, there was a man who had a dream
for his country and the world;
we killed the man but the dream refused
to die in hearts and minds
Years on, another man took it on himself
to show his country and the world
how dreams can come true and integrity
win over hearts and minds
To Martin Luther King, came the dream
to unite his country and the world;
when we lost the man, we kept the dream
alive in hearts and minds
It was Barack Obama who took the dream
and shaped it into a reality
providing a platform of hope and aspiration
for sound hearts and minds
The world owes all to its men and women
who not only dream of doing their best
but inspire us to do ours by actively working
for good hearts and minds
Where there is a dream, invariably a future
marked out in blood, sweat and tears;
no quick fixes but the finer ties of history
uniting hearts and minds
[London, UK. Nov. 5th 2008]
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
An email from ‘a group of peaceful gay Muslims who feel trapped between cultural homophobia and a growing Islamophobia world-wide’ asks that I remind everyone there are not only peace loving but also gay Muslims out there. Food for thought, yeah?
Meanwhile…
Several readers have asked for today’s poem to be repeated. It first appeared on my general blog in November 2008 and was subsequently included in my new collection.
I read in an English newspaper only yesterday how ‘The far right is gaining ground across the US’. The writer goes on to say, ‘The alarming trend is best shown by the soaring popularity of the Tea Party Movement. Named after the Boston tea Party of 1773…it has become a rallying point for the right. It provocatively chose the anniversary of Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” speech for a recent march in Washington at which black politicians were abused and spat on’. The article refers to the threat by a Florida pastor to burn copies of the Koran but makes the point that, ‘Most of the current hysteria has been spawned by the proposed Ground Zero mosque…There is no issue more divisive in America today.’ [Daily Mirror, p9, Sept 11th 2010] I should say, though, that while all reports I have read and heard refer to a proposed mosque near Ground Zero, I have since been given to understand that it is a disused building that will be converted to an Islamic community centre. People may argue that principles underlying arguments for and against its location remain the same…it has to be said that there is a world of difference between a mosque and a Community Centre.
Apparently, the Tea Party has the support of Sarah Palin whose TV performances as shown on British TV during the US presidential election campaign alienated a good many viewers, including yours truly. It puts into context a remark passed by two American tourists not long ago when I met up with and hugged a black female friend on a street in central London. “Did you see that?” one jerk said to the other, “If that’s not enough to turn anyone pitbull, Sarah Palin’s not heading for the White House!”
Imagine, Sarah Palin in the White House! It’s has to be one of the world’s worst nightmares.
Black men and women world-wide know as much as if not more about physical and psychological abuse than we gay men and women. Racism, homophobia, prejudice against disabled people or anyone who is “different” and won’t play ball with today’s tick box culture….all bigotry is sick. We can but trust that, one day, commonsense and decency will overcome humankind’s persistent inhumanity towards its own once and for all.
For many black and mixed race people - indeed, anyone at all who has a feeling for human decency - I imagine the likes of Martin Luther King and Barack Obama stand out among the heroes of modern times. We gay men and women, too, have our particular heroes. Oscar Wilde and Quentin Crisp spring to mind but there are many others, especially in the arts, who may have been publicly put down by the less enlightened among us for standing up for a common humanity but have managed, just as publicly, to rise above all that and carry us with them. [Nor do I mean certain so-called ‘activists’ and ‘media babes’ who have jumped on the political bandwagon in latter years and who, in my opinion and that of many gay friends and contacts, are but publicity-seeking divas who do more than anyone to promote the very gay stereotypes they would have us believe they are protesting against.]
Wherever those among us may practise inhumanity towards others, we may have no choice but to retaliate in kind, at least until we can achieve our aims by diplomatic means. But does justifying any retaliation in kind really excuse it?
To deliver an eye for an eye may be a tempting but what does it prove other than that we are little or no better than those acting against us?
[Note: This post appears on both blogs today. Something lighter tomorrow, I promise.]
IN CELEBRATION OF HEARTS AND MINDS
Once, there was a man who had a dream
for his country and the world;
we killed the man but the dream refused
to die in hearts and minds
Years on, another man took it on himself
to show his country and the world
how dreams can come true and integrity
win over hearts and minds
To Martin Luther King, came the dream
to unite his country and the world;
when we lost the man, we kept the dream
alive in hearts and minds
It was Barack Obama who took the dream
and shaped it into a reality
providing a platform of hope and aspiration
for sound hearts and minds
The world owes all to its men and women
who not only dream of doing their best
but inspire us to do ours by actively working
for good hearts and minds
Where there is a dream, invariably a future
marked out in blood, sweat and tears;
no quick fixes but the finer ties of history
uniting hearts and minds
[London, UK. Nov. 5th 2008]
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
Saturday, 11 September 2010
No Ordinary Day
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
It is nine years to the day since the 9/11 terrorist attacks.
The original version of this first poem was first published in a tape version of A Term Of Trial, Hidden Brook Press (Canada, 2001) and was then included in my collection, First Person Plural, (2002); see also on my general blog, September 11th 2007. Some readers may prefer the original but I have revised it for a 2nd edition that will be not be published for a few years yet. This is the revised version’s first public appearance.
I lost a friend in the 9/11 attacks and was very emotional when I wrote the original version in September 2001, shortly after the tragedy. We weren’t close but had been friends for years and would enjoy catching up now and then over a few beers.
Although, some years on, I prefer the revised version of the poem, the original received some positive feedback. More importantly, it helped ease my distress. Another friend who had just completed a Masters degree in English Literature thought it was a ‘bad’ poem but, as I am always reassuring wannabe poets, there is no such thing as a bad poem; if it has helped the poet and/or anyone else to write and share it, what the purist critic thinks is all but irrelevant. I said as much on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square last year and lots of people contacted me to agree…or disagree.
I have since written other, possibly better poems about 9/11 as well as the 7/7 attack on London in 2005…but this was my first and remains special to me. Nothing hurts more than losing a loved one or friend unless it is having to stand by helplessly and watch them suffer. We are helpless, too, in the face of death. Yet, life is precious and we must move on in our own time and our own way/s. Nor should we feel in the least bit guilty about that.
As I have before, moving on does not mean leaving anyone behind.
[Note: This post is duplicated on my other blog today.]
NO ORDINARY DAY
Getting ready for work,
off to school; chatting on a cell phone
how life’s cool;
taking a flight, just like any other
ordinary day, 11th September;
suddenly...hijacked
Terror in the sky, cell phones
calling to say “I love you as I die.”
Offices below, at the heart
of a nation, throbbing the day-to-day
business of salvation
suddenly...struck!
Death, horror, confusion;
world ripped apart on television.
Who can imagine the horror,
pain, despair, disbelief that such a thing
could happen here?
Survivors and the dead, victims
of a terrorist outrage;
rescue workers killed for their courage;
heroes inspiring faith, hope
and a will to overcome among tears
for those never coming home
where memories endure
Let us pray for peace, not war,
however long it takes. If a bough breaks,
cradle falls on Ground Zero,
let songbirds in trees and spring flowers
help ease our fear through years
of fighting back tears, seeing off terror
If gaping holes and fallen towers
in time restored, it’s only love, in hearts
beating true, can build a better world,
to each sacred trust we’ve seen broken,
bring regeneration for its own sake
and save our children
Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2010
THE LONGEST JOURNEY
Love has many faces,
some gay, some not,
journeys many places,
laughs, cries a lot…
No finer friend you’ll find
to share peace of mind
whenever demons on the brain
come again, again
for the soul
or we fall
Love has many faces,
comforts, make afraid
in least expected places,
reflecting all that’s made us
tearful, sublime,
captives of Time;
In a world not of our choice
its sweeter voices
ease the soul
or we fall
Love has many reasons,
asks questions, tells lies;
a face for all seasons
where need flies…
in the heat of human sorrows,
through crumbling tomorrows;
brave hearts on wing
in spite of everything
that drags on the soul
or we fall
My love, it wears a friend’s face,
makes no demands;
a single candle placed
at your heart’s command…
under threat of darker sorrows,
striving better tomorrows;
a light in the soul’s gloaming
to guide an epic roaming
at freedom’s call
or we fail
Copyright R. N. Taber 1996; 2010
[Note: I have made some revisions to the first poem as it appears in 1st eds. of First Person Plural, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd ed. in preparation. The second poem is from Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]
It is nine years to the day since the 9/11 terrorist attacks.
The original version of this first poem was first published in a tape version of A Term Of Trial, Hidden Brook Press (Canada, 2001) and was then included in my collection, First Person Plural, (2002); see also on my general blog, September 11th 2007. Some readers may prefer the original but I have revised it for a 2nd edition that will be not be published for a few years yet. This is the revised version’s first public appearance.
I lost a friend in the 9/11 attacks and was very emotional when I wrote the original version in September 2001, shortly after the tragedy. We weren’t close but had been friends for years and would enjoy catching up now and then over a few beers.
Although, some years on, I prefer the revised version of the poem, the original received some positive feedback. More importantly, it helped ease my distress. Another friend who had just completed a Masters degree in English Literature thought it was a ‘bad’ poem but, as I am always reassuring wannabe poets, there is no such thing as a bad poem; if it has helped the poet and/or anyone else to write and share it, what the purist critic thinks is all but irrelevant. I said as much on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square last year and lots of people contacted me to agree…or disagree.
I have since written other, possibly better poems about 9/11 as well as the 7/7 attack on London in 2005…but this was my first and remains special to me. Nothing hurts more than losing a loved one or friend unless it is having to stand by helplessly and watch them suffer. We are helpless, too, in the face of death. Yet, life is precious and we must move on in our own time and our own way/s. Nor should we feel in the least bit guilty about that.
As I have before, moving on does not mean leaving anyone behind.
[Note: This post is duplicated on my other blog today.]
NO ORDINARY DAY
Getting ready for work,
off to school; chatting on a cell phone
how life’s cool;
taking a flight, just like any other
ordinary day, 11th September;
suddenly...hijacked
Terror in the sky, cell phones
calling to say “I love you as I die.”
Offices below, at the heart
of a nation, throbbing the day-to-day
business of salvation
suddenly...struck!
Death, horror, confusion;
world ripped apart on television.
Who can imagine the horror,
pain, despair, disbelief that such a thing
could happen here?
Survivors and the dead, victims
of a terrorist outrage;
rescue workers killed for their courage;
heroes inspiring faith, hope
and a will to overcome among tears
for those never coming home
where memories endure
Let us pray for peace, not war,
however long it takes. If a bough breaks,
cradle falls on Ground Zero,
let songbirds in trees and spring flowers
help ease our fear through years
of fighting back tears, seeing off terror
If gaping holes and fallen towers
in time restored, it’s only love, in hearts
beating true, can build a better world,
to each sacred trust we’ve seen broken,
bring regeneration for its own sake
and save our children
Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2010
THE LONGEST JOURNEY
Love has many faces,
some gay, some not,
journeys many places,
laughs, cries a lot…
No finer friend you’ll find
to share peace of mind
whenever demons on the brain
come again, again
for the soul
or we fall
Love has many faces,
comforts, make afraid
in least expected places,
reflecting all that’s made us
tearful, sublime,
captives of Time;
In a world not of our choice
its sweeter voices
ease the soul
or we fall
Love has many reasons,
asks questions, tells lies;
a face for all seasons
where need flies…
in the heat of human sorrows,
through crumbling tomorrows;
brave hearts on wing
in spite of everything
that drags on the soul
or we fall
My love, it wears a friend’s face,
makes no demands;
a single candle placed
at your heart’s command…
under threat of darker sorrows,
striving better tomorrows;
a light in the soul’s gloaming
to guide an epic roaming
at freedom’s call
or we fail
Copyright R. N. Taber 1996; 2010
[Note: I have made some revisions to the first poem as it appears in 1st eds. of First Person Plural, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd ed. in preparation. The second poem is from Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
Autumn Sonata
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
For me, September is the start of autumn…whatever the weather people or the almanacs say.
Here’s my favourite autumn villanelle. It hasn’t appeared on the blog since 2007 and is repeated today especially for Grace, Shirley, Ely, and Marc who have kindly written in to say they love my villanelles…which more than compensates for the reader who contacted me to say she hates them because they are ‘so bland’ and ‘not real poetry at all.’ Oh, well, can't please everyone...
Villanelles are not as easy to write as they look. Regular readers will know I have a passion for them and won’t be surprised to learn that I have written 200+. I try to vary style and content in my poetry and am always experimenting with voices. Even so, the villanelle remains a firm favourite of mine if only because its simplicity is far from simplistic and I get a sense of achievement from keeping to the discipline it imposes on a poet.
Left entirely to my own devices, I am inclined to waffle and have even been known to mix my metaphors. Oh, dear! Now, villanelles clear my head. They keep the inner eye focused on the straight and narrow if multidimensional paths along which a poet loves to cross uncharted territories of the mind, hopefully with his or her readers for company at various stages of the journey.
AUTUMN SONATA
Silvery grey skies,
leaves drifting,
summer closing its eyes
Lighting home fires,
hopes flaring
silvery grey skies
Holiday goodbyes,
wishful thinking,
summer closing its eyes
Words to the wise
softly treading
silvery grey skies
With long, wistful sighs
and daydreaming,
summer closing its eyes
Time quickly passing,
our hopes surprising
silvery grey skies,
summer closing its eyes
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
For me, September is the start of autumn…whatever the weather people or the almanacs say.
Here’s my favourite autumn villanelle. It hasn’t appeared on the blog since 2007 and is repeated today especially for Grace, Shirley, Ely, and Marc who have kindly written in to say they love my villanelles…which more than compensates for the reader who contacted me to say she hates them because they are ‘so bland’ and ‘not real poetry at all.’ Oh, well, can't please everyone...
Villanelles are not as easy to write as they look. Regular readers will know I have a passion for them and won’t be surprised to learn that I have written 200+. I try to vary style and content in my poetry and am always experimenting with voices. Even so, the villanelle remains a firm favourite of mine if only because its simplicity is far from simplistic and I get a sense of achievement from keeping to the discipline it imposes on a poet.
Left entirely to my own devices, I am inclined to waffle and have even been known to mix my metaphors. Oh, dear! Now, villanelles clear my head. They keep the inner eye focused on the straight and narrow if multidimensional paths along which a poet loves to cross uncharted territories of the mind, hopefully with his or her readers for company at various stages of the journey.
AUTUMN SONATA
Silvery grey skies,
leaves drifting,
summer closing its eyes
Lighting home fires,
hopes flaring
silvery grey skies
Holiday goodbyes,
wishful thinking,
summer closing its eyes
Words to the wise
softly treading
silvery grey skies
With long, wistful sighs
and daydreaming,
summer closing its eyes
Time quickly passing,
our hopes surprising
silvery grey skies,
summer closing its eyes
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
Blue Eyes
Regular readers will know that, although I never post comments, I always read them and will reply if I have an email address. I could not find a contact link to the reader who kindly sent a website/blog link along with comments after reading yesterday’s post. The comment was to the effect that I am not the only gay person to feel excluded by what appears to be some kind of elite gay enclave in Cornwall. I love Cornwall, in spite of the fact it is so gay-unfriendly, and will be following the blog with which that reader is associated:
http://www.pinkpasty.blogspot.com/ - It all sounds very strange and a very unpleasant situation in which some gay people seem to find themselves in that part of the UK. I’m not sure what to make of it all.
As a professional librarian all my working life, I have to say I am very disappointed that the library service in Cornwall seems to be going along with the homophobic majority. Maybe someone should try reserving my books and see what reason the library service gives for not obtaining any? Mind you, they can always acquire reserved items via the Inter-Library Loans service so wouldn’t have to buy them. Heaven forbid that Cornwall libraries should add poetry collections that include gay material to their stock!
Meanwhile…
‘Sian C’ has requested this poem. She describes herself as ‘a dedicated follower of poetry’ and adds, ‘Oh, and I am not a lesbian. Someone’s sexuality is surely of no more relevance than a poem’s if he or she is a nice person and the poem a nice poem?’
Ah, a woman after my own heart! Sian has asked me to repeat this poem that appeared on my gay-interest blog in 2008 for ‘all my friends.’ I confess I found myself (very) slightly revising it.
Gay, straight, male or female, who hasn’t sat in a bar, bus or train and fantasised about some gorgeous creature who is plainly aware of your adoration, even meets your wistful glances if only fleetingly…and that’s all?
BLUE EYES
He sat at a table by the window
staring into space, eyes like dewdrops
on a bluebell among shadows
haunting the bold, handsome face
like city kids playing among
spring flowers making a brave show
in window boxes
I lost myself in those eyes,
exploring territory unknown without fear,
guided by the sad sunshine
of a smile along trails I 'd never dare,
nature running wild, its call
echoing the quickening heartbeat
of a wilful child
We found each other and he took
my hand, gently pulled me to the ground;
our first kiss was like coming home
after long years away and we made love
then and there. Oh, the beauty,
the ecstasy, the bitter-sweet cruelty
of despair!
Suddenly, he got up and went out in the rain;
I finished my drink and went home alone
Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2000
[Note: Am earlier version of this poems has appeared in several poetry publications, including 1st eds. of Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; 2nd ed. in preparation. NB. For signed 1st eds. of my collections, contact: rogertab@aol.com ]
http://www.pinkpasty.blogspot.com/ - It all sounds very strange and a very unpleasant situation in which some gay people seem to find themselves in that part of the UK. I’m not sure what to make of it all.
As a professional librarian all my working life, I have to say I am very disappointed that the library service in Cornwall seems to be going along with the homophobic majority. Maybe someone should try reserving my books and see what reason the library service gives for not obtaining any? Mind you, they can always acquire reserved items via the Inter-Library Loans service so wouldn’t have to buy them. Heaven forbid that Cornwall libraries should add poetry collections that include gay material to their stock!
Meanwhile…
‘Sian C’ has requested this poem. She describes herself as ‘a dedicated follower of poetry’ and adds, ‘Oh, and I am not a lesbian. Someone’s sexuality is surely of no more relevance than a poem’s if he or she is a nice person and the poem a nice poem?’
Ah, a woman after my own heart! Sian has asked me to repeat this poem that appeared on my gay-interest blog in 2008 for ‘all my friends.’ I confess I found myself (very) slightly revising it.
Gay, straight, male or female, who hasn’t sat in a bar, bus or train and fantasised about some gorgeous creature who is plainly aware of your adoration, even meets your wistful glances if only fleetingly…and that’s all?
BLUE EYES
He sat at a table by the window
staring into space, eyes like dewdrops
on a bluebell among shadows
haunting the bold, handsome face
like city kids playing among
spring flowers making a brave show
in window boxes
I lost myself in those eyes,
exploring territory unknown without fear,
guided by the sad sunshine
of a smile along trails I 'd never dare,
nature running wild, its call
echoing the quickening heartbeat
of a wilful child
We found each other and he took
my hand, gently pulled me to the ground;
our first kiss was like coming home
after long years away and we made love
then and there. Oh, the beauty,
the ecstasy, the bitter-sweet cruelty
of despair!
Suddenly, he got up and went out in the rain;
I finished my drink and went home alone
Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2000
[Note: Am earlier version of this poems has appeared in several poetry publications, including 1st eds. of Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; 2nd ed. in preparation. NB. For signed 1st eds. of my collections, contact: rogertab@aol.com ]
Monday, 6 September 2010
No Storybook Hero
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
As requested by ‘Jane’ in Cornwall, I am duplicating a poem and some comments I posted on my gay-interest blog back in June and which prompted protest from several readers in Cornwall. No offence was intended. I simply wrote how it is, for me personally at any rate. Much as I love visiting what has to be one of the most beautiful parts of the UK, I certainly don’t find it in the least bit gay-friendly.
As I mentioned on a previous post, when Cornwall held its first ever Gay Pride march in Truro, August 2009, I emailed the organizers to wish them well, only to receive a nasty reply telling me to stay away as they wanted no truck with gay activists. I hadn’t intended to participate or so much as implied that I might…and replied that I am no activist, just a poet.
I have friends in Cornwall but if some among the gay community there are almost as homophobic as the heterosexual majority…what chance for a gay poet to make new friends there? Only recently, a reader emailed to say they had offered a Cornwall library one of my poetry titles after receiving one as a present but had already bought one. The library declined to accept and it appears that a member of staff made a point of referring to the fact that my collections include gay material. As a librarian working in public libraries for many years, I was quite upset. I contacted Cornwall Libraries and offered to donate my two later titles. They were not interested. This came as no surprise and just goes to show that the UK has a long way to go before it is united against homophobia. I won’t be put off visiting beautiful Cornwall but I won’t be popping into any of its libraries either…or engaging with the locals in any gay-interest debate.
No activist, me, honestly. I’m just an Ordinary Joe who also happens to be a poet who, in turn, also happens to be gay.
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears in 1st eds. of Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; 2nd ed. in preparation; I don’t envisage any 2nd eds. being available for some years yet. Meanwhile, all 1st ed. titles are available at a blog discount for all readers + free p&p/shipping (in Europe only). Contact: rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog reader’ in the subject field]
NO STORYBOOK HERO
When I listen to the waves,
they always tell the same stories
I used to hear from leafy choirs
long, long ago…how one day
I’d be riding a white horse – to
fame and glory….
Only, life never took me that way,
but in other directions
despite objections from alter ego,
friends and family;
I wasn’t meant be a hero of the kind
that rides out storms, surfs
giant waves, climbs snowy peaks,
charges to the rescue,
bugles blaring, just in time to save
the goodies from the baddies
the way they manage it in movies
and books…
Instead, life found another role for me,
an Ordinary Joe in the street,
trying to make the best of things,
struggling to make ends meet;
nothing to lose, everything to prove
because I’m gay and not cut out
for heroics
Do your worst, knock me down.
I will bounce right back
like a clown or child’s wobbly toy
(better applause than tears)
get on with my life as best I can,
take it on the chin
like a ‘real’ man, play my part,
from the heart, for who I am,
no hero leapt out of long-ago stories,
but an Ordinary Joe fighting
old prejudices, siding with the trees
against a world feeding myths
to its children who, in turn, (we hope)
know better than to listen
[From: Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, 2007]
This second poem, written in Cornwall some years ago will appear in my next collection, Tracking the Torchbearer in 2012 by way of celebrating the Olympic Games coming to the UK and Her Majesty the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee:
IN PRAISE OF SEA THRIFT
Guardians of our history,
looking out for us
among rocks by the sea
Shadows once the enemy,
now protectors,
guardians of our history
As natural as we to nudity,
rising, falling waves…
among rocks by the sea
Lovers, like fishes set free
from glass cages,
guardians of our history
Witness Apollo frantically
planting kisses…
among rocks by the sea
Careworn, fickle humanity
proofing its pages,
guardians of our history
among rocks by the sea
[Mullion, Cornwall May 1998]
Copyright R. N. Taber 2000
As requested by ‘Jane’ in Cornwall, I am duplicating a poem and some comments I posted on my gay-interest blog back in June and which prompted protest from several readers in Cornwall. No offence was intended. I simply wrote how it is, for me personally at any rate. Much as I love visiting what has to be one of the most beautiful parts of the UK, I certainly don’t find it in the least bit gay-friendly.
As I mentioned on a previous post, when Cornwall held its first ever Gay Pride march in Truro, August 2009, I emailed the organizers to wish them well, only to receive a nasty reply telling me to stay away as they wanted no truck with gay activists. I hadn’t intended to participate or so much as implied that I might…and replied that I am no activist, just a poet.
I have friends in Cornwall but if some among the gay community there are almost as homophobic as the heterosexual majority…what chance for a gay poet to make new friends there? Only recently, a reader emailed to say they had offered a Cornwall library one of my poetry titles after receiving one as a present but had already bought one. The library declined to accept and it appears that a member of staff made a point of referring to the fact that my collections include gay material. As a librarian working in public libraries for many years, I was quite upset. I contacted Cornwall Libraries and offered to donate my two later titles. They were not interested. This came as no surprise and just goes to show that the UK has a long way to go before it is united against homophobia. I won’t be put off visiting beautiful Cornwall but I won’t be popping into any of its libraries either…or engaging with the locals in any gay-interest debate.
No activist, me, honestly. I’m just an Ordinary Joe who also happens to be a poet who, in turn, also happens to be gay.
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears in 1st eds. of Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; 2nd ed. in preparation; I don’t envisage any 2nd eds. being available for some years yet. Meanwhile, all 1st ed. titles are available at a blog discount for all readers + free p&p/shipping (in Europe only). Contact: rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog reader’ in the subject field]
NO STORYBOOK HERO
When I listen to the waves,
they always tell the same stories
I used to hear from leafy choirs
long, long ago…how one day
I’d be riding a white horse – to
fame and glory….
Only, life never took me that way,
but in other directions
despite objections from alter ego,
friends and family;
I wasn’t meant be a hero of the kind
that rides out storms, surfs
giant waves, climbs snowy peaks,
charges to the rescue,
bugles blaring, just in time to save
the goodies from the baddies
the way they manage it in movies
and books…
Instead, life found another role for me,
an Ordinary Joe in the street,
trying to make the best of things,
struggling to make ends meet;
nothing to lose, everything to prove
because I’m gay and not cut out
for heroics
Do your worst, knock me down.
I will bounce right back
like a clown or child’s wobbly toy
(better applause than tears)
get on with my life as best I can,
take it on the chin
like a ‘real’ man, play my part,
from the heart, for who I am,
no hero leapt out of long-ago stories,
but an Ordinary Joe fighting
old prejudices, siding with the trees
against a world feeding myths
to its children who, in turn, (we hope)
know better than to listen
[From: Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, 2007]
This second poem, written in Cornwall some years ago will appear in my next collection, Tracking the Torchbearer in 2012 by way of celebrating the Olympic Games coming to the UK and Her Majesty the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee:
IN PRAISE OF SEA THRIFT
Guardians of our history,
looking out for us
among rocks by the sea
Shadows once the enemy,
now protectors,
guardians of our history
As natural as we to nudity,
rising, falling waves…
among rocks by the sea
Lovers, like fishes set free
from glass cages,
guardians of our history
Witness Apollo frantically
planting kisses…
among rocks by the sea
Careworn, fickle humanity
proofing its pages,
guardians of our history
among rocks by the sea
[Mullion, Cornwall May 1998]
Copyright R. N. Taber 2000
Sunday, 5 September 2010
Brown Shoes
http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T
This poem first appeared on the blog in 2008 and is repeated today at the request of ‘Jules’ who emailed me with some kind words to say about the blog. Thanks, Jules, encouragement is always gratefully received.
Loved ones may leave us yet we have but to look and we will always find something there to trigger memories of happier times to help ease our loss, especially when we are feeling it most…
BROWN SHOES
Brown leather shoes at the bottom
of my stairs and somebody''s knocking
at the door, but nobody answers
do the door opens of its own accord,
lets a body enter, return
where you belonged before angels came,
took you away that awful Thursday
(should have been a mine-and-yours day)
anniversary of our first meeting
in the park; we were walking, got talking,
came to an understanding of sorts
that led first to one kiss then another
yet it might well been a dream
for all that’s left of us now, a pair of shoes
at the bottom of my stairs, pleading
to be strolled if only just one more time
Ah, but there’s no returning,
for all this heart’s yearning and our front
door’s opening of its own accord
to let you back in, where you belong;
even so, life goes on, like love…
and though I am nobody now you’re gone,
to somebody else I well may turn
one of these days, though they will never
want for a spit ‘n’ polish, brown shoes
left at the bottom of my stairs
[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]
This poem first appeared on the blog in 2008 and is repeated today at the request of ‘Jules’ who emailed me with some kind words to say about the blog. Thanks, Jules, encouragement is always gratefully received.
Loved ones may leave us yet we have but to look and we will always find something there to trigger memories of happier times to help ease our loss, especially when we are feeling it most…
BROWN SHOES
Brown leather shoes at the bottom
of my stairs and somebody''s knocking
at the door, but nobody answers
do the door opens of its own accord,
lets a body enter, return
where you belonged before angels came,
took you away that awful Thursday
(should have been a mine-and-yours day)
anniversary of our first meeting
in the park; we were walking, got talking,
came to an understanding of sorts
that led first to one kiss then another
yet it might well been a dream
for all that’s left of us now, a pair of shoes
at the bottom of my stairs, pleading
to be strolled if only just one more time
Ah, but there’s no returning,
for all this heart’s yearning and our front
door’s opening of its own accord
to let you back in, where you belong;
even so, life goes on, like love…
and though I am nobody now you’re gone,
to somebody else I well may turn
one of these days, though they will never
want for a spit ‘n’ polish, brown shoes
left at the bottom of my stairs
[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Room With A View
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
I suspecr few of us haven't, at some time or another, sat hunched in a chair, chin in hands, brooding about whatever issues are plaguing us, staring at the carpet without really seeing it.
Stare long enough and the inner eye may well home in on far more than we bargained for…
ROOM WITH A VIEW
Flowers in the carpet
starting to grow
where there was only
a muddy brown
Reaching for clouds
whiter than whites
of eyes left staring into
an enemy’s face
Flowers in the carpet
starting to dance
like a ballet company
for ‘Spartacus’
Romans, rounding up
slaves for the killing
and only carpet flowers
to weep our graves
Flowers in the carpet
but fading memories,
we slaves of time found
wanting in its eyes
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
I suspecr few of us haven't, at some time or another, sat hunched in a chair, chin in hands, brooding about whatever issues are plaguing us, staring at the carpet without really seeing it.
Stare long enough and the inner eye may well home in on far more than we bargained for…
ROOM WITH A VIEW
Flowers in the carpet
starting to grow
where there was only
a muddy brown
Reaching for clouds
whiter than whites
of eyes left staring into
an enemy’s face
Flowers in the carpet
starting to dance
like a ballet company
for ‘Spartacus’
Romans, rounding up
slaves for the killing
and only carpet flowers
to weep our graves
Flowers in the carpet
but fading memories,
we slaves of time found
wanting in its eyes
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
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