http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
As regular readers know, my poetry collections try to reflect something of the world in which we live as well as my own feelings about life, love and nature. I written and posted several poems about the current unrest sweeping across parts of the Arab world and North Africa. This is the latest as I can but wish the people of Syria success in their courageous attempts to make it a better, kinder place for themselves and those who will come after them.
It’s none of my business? Where there is clear injustice, don’t we all have an obligation to future generations to try and stamp it out?
This poem is a villanelle.
HIGH TIDE IN DAMSCUS
Peaceful protesters in Syria,
meeting with violent opposition,
deserving better
Unrest flowing like the Abana,
crowds seeking greater freedom;
peaceful protesters in Syria
Spirit of human endeavour,
defying the government’s position,
deserving better
Tide turning on an inferior
example of ‘just’ political intention;
peaceful protesters in Syria
Hear Democracy's cry, never
silenced for long by any suppression,
deserving better
Harbingers of reform, ever
brave, determined and humanitarian;
peaceful protesters in Syria,
deserving better
Copyright R. N. Taber 2011
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Friday, 29 April 2011
Only Human
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
This post is duplicated on my gay-interest blog today.
A number of readers have been in touch to say they have been unable to order my new novel Catching up with Murder at a bookstore, only from amazon.com or amazon.co.uk. UK readers especially seem to be affected. Sorry, folks!! I have contacted the publishers (Raider Publishing International) but they are not being very helpful. As soon as I find out what is going on, I will let you know, and a BIG thank you to ‘Deirdre’ and ‘Shaun’ who bought their copies from amazon and took the trouble to let me know they enjoyed it.
I write for the sheer pleasure of it, that's all. It is great therapy for someone as prone as I am to bouts of depression. When readers get pleasure from my writing too, it is always a wonderful bonus. Oh, I know there a lots of better writers than me out there and my books are about as likely to be best-sellers as pigs are to chase the ravens away from the Tower of London, but it's the writing not the selling that's the main attraction for me.
Meanwhile...
There are moves afoot to persuade the United Nations to designate May 14th as the world’s International Day of Compassion which I fully support. It is to this end, the poem is repeated on both blogs.
Whatever our socio-cultural-religious or sexual persuasion, unless we make room for compassion, in our hearts, our lives will be found sorely wanting.
As I have said before on my blogs, our differences do not make us different, only human. Hand in hand with compassion go mutual tolerance and respect. It often strikes me that there is precious little of either in the world today.
This poem is a kenning, or 'Who am I?' poem as kennings are often called.
ONLY HUMAN
Invariably, I am tested to tears
where fear, resentment, blame, even hate
would have me take on the persona
of some dark angel, turning its back on all
it holds dear, clawing its way
under the skin of whom it holds responsible
for those self-same tears
shed for a love meaning more, far more
than any free fall horror
Invariably, I am all but torn apart
where a native sense of right and wrong
weigh down the scales of justice
on a side I would much prefer not to be,
taking the human heart to places
it would much prefer not to go, carried
in spite of itself by a relentless
undertow of fiercely conflicting emotions
preventing rescue
Invariably, I reach out for hands
stretching from a shadowy shore so near
yet, oh, so far…and it comforts me
in my distress to know there is goodness
and hope where the human heart
beats with a will to overcome its worst,
demanding we do our best, despite
a tearful mist blurring the sight, sure threat
even to love’s lasting light
Invariably, those hands do not let me drown
who am only human and called Compassion
Copyright R. N. Taber 2009
[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
This post is duplicated on my gay-interest blog today.
A number of readers have been in touch to say they have been unable to order my new novel Catching up with Murder at a bookstore, only from amazon.com or amazon.co.uk. UK readers especially seem to be affected. Sorry, folks!! I have contacted the publishers (Raider Publishing International) but they are not being very helpful. As soon as I find out what is going on, I will let you know, and a BIG thank you to ‘Deirdre’ and ‘Shaun’ who bought their copies from amazon and took the trouble to let me know they enjoyed it.
I write for the sheer pleasure of it, that's all. It is great therapy for someone as prone as I am to bouts of depression. When readers get pleasure from my writing too, it is always a wonderful bonus. Oh, I know there a lots of better writers than me out there and my books are about as likely to be best-sellers as pigs are to chase the ravens away from the Tower of London, but it's the writing not the selling that's the main attraction for me.
Meanwhile...
There are moves afoot to persuade the United Nations to designate May 14th as the world’s International Day of Compassion which I fully support. It is to this end, the poem is repeated on both blogs.
Whatever our socio-cultural-religious or sexual persuasion, unless we make room for compassion, in our hearts, our lives will be found sorely wanting.
As I have said before on my blogs, our differences do not make us different, only human. Hand in hand with compassion go mutual tolerance and respect. It often strikes me that there is precious little of either in the world today.
This poem is a kenning, or 'Who am I?' poem as kennings are often called.
ONLY HUMAN
Invariably, I am tested to tears
where fear, resentment, blame, even hate
would have me take on the persona
of some dark angel, turning its back on all
it holds dear, clawing its way
under the skin of whom it holds responsible
for those self-same tears
shed for a love meaning more, far more
than any free fall horror
Invariably, I am all but torn apart
where a native sense of right and wrong
weigh down the scales of justice
on a side I would much prefer not to be,
taking the human heart to places
it would much prefer not to go, carried
in spite of itself by a relentless
undertow of fiercely conflicting emotions
preventing rescue
Invariably, I reach out for hands
stretching from a shadowy shore so near
yet, oh, so far…and it comforts me
in my distress to know there is goodness
and hope where the human heart
beats with a will to overcome its worst,
demanding we do our best, despite
a tearful mist blurring the sight, sure threat
even to love’s lasting light
Invariably, those hands do not let me drown
who am only human and called Compassion
Copyright R. N. Taber 2009
[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
Thursday, 28 April 2011
A Common Garden Snapshot
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
After a great evening yesterday, I just had to come and tell you about it. Now, I am no artist, not least because I don’t think visually, and have the greatest admiration for those who do. So I was thrilled to be invited to a private viewing of 'Authorized’ by artist James Howard. It is his latest solo show, and a very exciting experience.
The show proved to be very different from anything of his that I have seen before, yet still characteristically sharp, satirical, entertaining and (very) thought provoking.
Regular readers will know that I have enthused about this young man's work before. I have known his parents for years and will continue to watch his creative talents develop and evolve with great interest. His work reflects ways of seeing and feeling that arouse all the observer's senses as if waking them up after a restless sleep. One cannot help but come away from his 'Authorized' with one's own outlook on life and art (and perception of self) under review.
Find more about James Howard at: http://luckyluckydice.com/
I urge anyone who has a feeling for contemporary art with a difference and lives in London, or is planning to visit, to look in at his show ‘Authorized’ at the Aubin Gallery 64-66 Redchurch Street, Shoreditch, London, E2 7DP April 27th to May 26th.
Enjoy! [Above all else, any art form best comes into its own once it is not only shared but also enjoyed.]
Meanwhile...
Friends often comment that I rarely take photographs even when on holiday or passing through new places. My camera is my mind’s eye and it encourages me to write poems.
I get a feeling for places, people too, that I frequently shape into a poem that I can share with others just as they might share their holiday snaps. Such was the case when I visited Scarborough to give a poetry reading there a few years ago. By way of illustration, the second poem is one I wrote about this very pretty and friendly town on the Yorkshire coast.
Welcome to my garden. [Sadly, I don't have my own where I live in London although I do look out over one.]
A COMMON GARDEN SNAPSHOT
Leaves, strewn about in the mud
like underwear torn from a washing line
by a freak wind
Lies, piling up like dead leaves
providing sustenance for the very earth
that nurtured
Hearts, now joined together,
now ripped apart, like bread fought over
by sparrows
Hopes, tossed like underwear
on a cruel wind over hungry graves ready
to gobble us up
Chase the wind, stumble in mud,
retrieve underwear for the washing machine
or stand by and watch?
Choices, a gathering of sparrows
debating how best to survive a bad winter
through to spring
Graves, wearing hard won badges
of flowers and dead leaves, each telling lies
about us
[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber. Assembly Books, 2007]
Hey, ‘Are you going to Scarborough fair?/Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme..’
[This next poem is a villanelle, and you might care to refer back to the blog archives (June 5th 2007) for the context in which I wrote the poem.]
THE GUARDIANS
Sentinel of times past, guardian-protector,
Scarborough’s castle at the turn of its bays
keeps vigil on the town like a zealous lover
Of battles, banquets, hear its walls murmur,
rage, grieve, yearn… for halcyon days;
sentinel of times past, guardian-protector
Nearby, the uplifting spirit of a great writer
lends grace to a modern world’s ways,
keeps vigil on the town like zealous lover
Brave nautical eye of a veteran godfather
watches out at night for harbour strays;
sentinel of times past, guardian-protector
Earth Mother, bidding heaven come nearer
as pools of light on the sand drop away,
keeps vigil on the town like a zealous lover
As sea to sand, a community come together,
so Time, humanity’s present terror allays;
sentinel of times past, guardian-protector,
keep vigil on the town like a zealous lover
[Scarborough, North Yorkshire, March 2007]
[From: Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]
After a great evening yesterday, I just had to come and tell you about it. Now, I am no artist, not least because I don’t think visually, and have the greatest admiration for those who do. So I was thrilled to be invited to a private viewing of 'Authorized’ by artist James Howard. It is his latest solo show, and a very exciting experience.
The show proved to be very different from anything of his that I have seen before, yet still characteristically sharp, satirical, entertaining and (very) thought provoking.
Regular readers will know that I have enthused about this young man's work before. I have known his parents for years and will continue to watch his creative talents develop and evolve with great interest. His work reflects ways of seeing and feeling that arouse all the observer's senses as if waking them up after a restless sleep. One cannot help but come away from his 'Authorized' with one's own outlook on life and art (and perception of self) under review.
Find more about James Howard at: http://luckyluckydice.com/
I urge anyone who has a feeling for contemporary art with a difference and lives in London, or is planning to visit, to look in at his show ‘Authorized’ at the Aubin Gallery 64-66 Redchurch Street, Shoreditch, London, E2 7DP April 27th to May 26th.
Enjoy! [Above all else, any art form best comes into its own once it is not only shared but also enjoyed.]
Meanwhile...
Friends often comment that I rarely take photographs even when on holiday or passing through new places. My camera is my mind’s eye and it encourages me to write poems.
I get a feeling for places, people too, that I frequently shape into a poem that I can share with others just as they might share their holiday snaps. Such was the case when I visited Scarborough to give a poetry reading there a few years ago. By way of illustration, the second poem is one I wrote about this very pretty and friendly town on the Yorkshire coast.
Welcome to my garden. [Sadly, I don't have my own where I live in London although I do look out over one.]
A COMMON GARDEN SNAPSHOT
Leaves, strewn about in the mud
like underwear torn from a washing line
by a freak wind
Lies, piling up like dead leaves
providing sustenance for the very earth
that nurtured
Hearts, now joined together,
now ripped apart, like bread fought over
by sparrows
Hopes, tossed like underwear
on a cruel wind over hungry graves ready
to gobble us up
Chase the wind, stumble in mud,
retrieve underwear for the washing machine
or stand by and watch?
Choices, a gathering of sparrows
debating how best to survive a bad winter
through to spring
Graves, wearing hard won badges
of flowers and dead leaves, each telling lies
about us
[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber. Assembly Books, 2007]
Hey, ‘Are you going to Scarborough fair?/Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme..’
[This next poem is a villanelle, and you might care to refer back to the blog archives (June 5th 2007) for the context in which I wrote the poem.]
THE GUARDIANS
Sentinel of times past, guardian-protector,
Scarborough’s castle at the turn of its bays
keeps vigil on the town like a zealous lover
Of battles, banquets, hear its walls murmur,
rage, grieve, yearn… for halcyon days;
sentinel of times past, guardian-protector
Nearby, the uplifting spirit of a great writer
lends grace to a modern world’s ways,
keeps vigil on the town like zealous lover
Brave nautical eye of a veteran godfather
watches out at night for harbour strays;
sentinel of times past, guardian-protector
Earth Mother, bidding heaven come nearer
as pools of light on the sand drop away,
keeps vigil on the town like a zealous lover
As sea to sand, a community come together,
so Time, humanity’s present terror allays;
sentinel of times past, guardian-protector,
keep vigil on the town like a zealous lover
[Scarborough, North Yorkshire, March 2007]
[From: Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
Spring Chorus
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
On Friday (April 29th) HRH Prince William will marry Catherine ‘Kate’ Middleton in Westminster Abbey.
OVERHEARD IN A GAY BAR:
1st GAY MAN: Oh, I do so love a wedding!
2nd GAY MAN: Even a straight one?
1st Gay MAN: What has sexuality to do with love, for goodness sake?
ME (thinks): Good question.
This poem is a villanelle.
[Note: This post is duplicated on my other blog today. If you would like to see and hear me read the poem, go to my YouTube channel at http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber
or directly to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTNJfV6lKYU [One of four poems recorded in the Royal Borough of Windsor (with views) ]
SPRING CHORUS
Cheers for a royal wedding,
like flowers of the earth;
joys of love’s eternal spring
World, its lovers applauding
since birth and rebirth;
cheers for a royal wedding
Where young lovers pledging
a sacred troth,
joys of love’s eternal spring
Nation, to its Family bringing
comforts of its hearth;
cheers for a royal wedding
If royalty, its hardships wring,
make time, too, for mirth,
joys of love’s eternal spring
Find in every tear, a blessing
as a gentle rain to earth;
cheers for a royal wedding;
joys of love’s eternal spring
Copyright R, N. Taber 2011
On Friday (April 29th) HRH Prince William will marry Catherine ‘Kate’ Middleton in Westminster Abbey.
OVERHEARD IN A GAY BAR:
1st GAY MAN: Oh, I do so love a wedding!
2nd GAY MAN: Even a straight one?
1st Gay MAN: What has sexuality to do with love, for goodness sake?
ME (thinks): Good question.
This poem is a villanelle.
[Note: This post is duplicated on my other blog today. If you would like to see and hear me read the poem, go to my YouTube channel at http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber
or directly to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTNJfV6lKYU [One of four poems recorded in the Royal Borough of Windsor (with views) ]
SPRING CHORUS
Cheers for a royal wedding,
like flowers of the earth;
joys of love’s eternal spring
World, its lovers applauding
since birth and rebirth;
cheers for a royal wedding
Where young lovers pledging
a sacred troth,
joys of love’s eternal spring
Nation, to its Family bringing
comforts of its hearth;
cheers for a royal wedding
If royalty, its hardships wring,
make time, too, for mirth,
joys of love’s eternal spring
Find in every tear, a blessing
as a gentle rain to earth;
cheers for a royal wedding;
joys of love’s eternal spring
Copyright R, N. Taber 2011
Monday, 25 April 2011
Panic Attack
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Yes, I’m back again! You can’t keep a blogger away from their readers for long. I just don’t have time to write up the blog on a daily basis for now, that’s all. So do please continue to browse the archives and feel free to get in touch any time. If you enjoy at least some of the poems, feel free to send the URL to anyone you know who might also enjoy dipping into the blog from time to time.
I know that several housebound readers enjoy exploring the archives; one of these, ‘Jan’ contacted me to say that is wheelchair bound following a car accident last year and ‘loves exploring’ the poems. That’s great, Jan, and you might pay special attention to my poem My Canine Partner (May 25th 2010) about an assistant dog to the mother of a close friend of mine who also has to rely on a wheelchair to get about following a car accident a few years ago. Like guide dogs, assistant dogs have helped give disabled people back their independence.
Meanwhile...
It is always wonderful to hear from readers (which is why I included my email address in the blog’s introduction) but some have such sad tales to tell. I can only hope I can give them some reassurance and help save them from taking one step forward and two steps backwards all the time.
Some readers suffer from bouts of depression as I do. Today’s poem was written in 2002 when I was in the latter stages of recovering from a severe nervous breakdown; it first appeared on the blog in 2009. Reader ‘Leela’ says she continues to have panic attacks even though she is under the doctor and taking anti-depressants. I urge her to talk this through with her GP.
Yes, anti-depressants are a big help, but they are no quick-fix solution. Moreover, it can take a while to find one that agrees with you. I now take a low dose of an anti-depressant daily and will probably do so for the rest of my life. For me, though, writing, especially poetry, helps keep depression at bay.
[On the subject of my writing, several readers have asked why they cannot find my fiction on amazon.co.uk; it’s possibly because I write as Roger Taber or Roger N. Taber while I always write my poetry collections as R. N. Taber:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=R.+N.+Taber&x=10&y=16 [Poetry]
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=R.+N.+Taber&x=10&y=16 [Fiction]
They won’t all be on amazon.com either as they are only listed there if published and/or distributed on the US. Overseas readers can always obtain direct from me at a generous blog discount; just email me at rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog reader’ in the subject field.
Now, regarding panic attacks, I continued to have them for years (even as recent as 2010) although they became less and less frequent; for this reason, I always have a brown paper bag handy to breathe into as it helps control the breathing and alleviate the stress of suffering what can be a very nasty and scary experience.
Many of my poems reflect various stages of mental ill health I have suffered since childhood when depression in children was not recognised or, if it was, rarely acted upon and more often than not put down to ‘tantrums’.
I think it is very important to raise awareness about mental health problems; too many people still think depression is much the same as being fed-up! Moreover, it can happen to anyone, and strike at any time. As it is an ‘invisible’ illness, its victims are often misinterpreted as being moody, rude, and even aggressive when their behaviour is invariably a cry for help. It is also worth bearing in mind that the last person to hear that cry is usually the very person who is feeling depressed, and in need of understanding and support, not rejection. It is great that some high profile celebrities share their own experiences, but we should not forget that many ordinary men and women can and do fall victim to mental health problems for a wide variety of reasons. We should support them, not stigmatise them.
This poem first appeared (in its original form) in Prime Time Poets, Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2003 and then in my collection.
PANIC ATTACK
Streets like sheets
of frosted glass;
shadows fighting
to pass
Open up, let them in
or crawl...
(unseen) back
to the wall?
Wanting to know,
afraid to see,
like turning the page
of a horror story
Sounds like voices
(good or bad?)
taking pot shots over
the head
A heat mist in the air
is soaking the skin,
like mocking laughter
sneaking in
Anxious to get home
(not far, not sure)
Oh, but wait, panting
with fear
They know I’m here!
Copyright 2004; 2011
[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; 2nd ed. in preparation. NB 2nd eds. of my collections will not be available until after 2015 and will contain revisions of some poems.]
Yes, I’m back again! You can’t keep a blogger away from their readers for long. I just don’t have time to write up the blog on a daily basis for now, that’s all. So do please continue to browse the archives and feel free to get in touch any time. If you enjoy at least some of the poems, feel free to send the URL to anyone you know who might also enjoy dipping into the blog from time to time.
I know that several housebound readers enjoy exploring the archives; one of these, ‘Jan’ contacted me to say that is wheelchair bound following a car accident last year and ‘loves exploring’ the poems. That’s great, Jan, and you might pay special attention to my poem My Canine Partner (May 25th 2010) about an assistant dog to the mother of a close friend of mine who also has to rely on a wheelchair to get about following a car accident a few years ago. Like guide dogs, assistant dogs have helped give disabled people back their independence.
Meanwhile...
It is always wonderful to hear from readers (which is why I included my email address in the blog’s introduction) but some have such sad tales to tell. I can only hope I can give them some reassurance and help save them from taking one step forward and two steps backwards all the time.
Some readers suffer from bouts of depression as I do. Today’s poem was written in 2002 when I was in the latter stages of recovering from a severe nervous breakdown; it first appeared on the blog in 2009. Reader ‘Leela’ says she continues to have panic attacks even though she is under the doctor and taking anti-depressants. I urge her to talk this through with her GP.
Yes, anti-depressants are a big help, but they are no quick-fix solution. Moreover, it can take a while to find one that agrees with you. I now take a low dose of an anti-depressant daily and will probably do so for the rest of my life. For me, though, writing, especially poetry, helps keep depression at bay.
[On the subject of my writing, several readers have asked why they cannot find my fiction on amazon.co.uk; it’s possibly because I write as Roger Taber or Roger N. Taber while I always write my poetry collections as R. N. Taber:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=R.+N.+Taber&x=10&y=16 [Poetry]
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=R.+N.+Taber&x=10&y=16 [Fiction]
They won’t all be on amazon.com either as they are only listed there if published and/or distributed on the US. Overseas readers can always obtain direct from me at a generous blog discount; just email me at rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog reader’ in the subject field.
Now, regarding panic attacks, I continued to have them for years (even as recent as 2010) although they became less and less frequent; for this reason, I always have a brown paper bag handy to breathe into as it helps control the breathing and alleviate the stress of suffering what can be a very nasty and scary experience.
Many of my poems reflect various stages of mental ill health I have suffered since childhood when depression in children was not recognised or, if it was, rarely acted upon and more often than not put down to ‘tantrums’.
I think it is very important to raise awareness about mental health problems; too many people still think depression is much the same as being fed-up! Moreover, it can happen to anyone, and strike at any time. As it is an ‘invisible’ illness, its victims are often misinterpreted as being moody, rude, and even aggressive when their behaviour is invariably a cry for help. It is also worth bearing in mind that the last person to hear that cry is usually the very person who is feeling depressed, and in need of understanding and support, not rejection. It is great that some high profile celebrities share their own experiences, but we should not forget that many ordinary men and women can and do fall victim to mental health problems for a wide variety of reasons. We should support them, not stigmatise them.
This poem first appeared (in its original form) in Prime Time Poets, Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2003 and then in my collection.
PANIC ATTACK
Streets like sheets
of frosted glass;
shadows fighting
to pass
Open up, let them in
or crawl...
(unseen) back
to the wall?
Wanting to know,
afraid to see,
like turning the page
of a horror story
Sounds like voices
(good or bad?)
taking pot shots over
the head
A heat mist in the air
is soaking the skin,
like mocking laughter
sneaking in
Anxious to get home
(not far, not sure)
Oh, but wait, panting
with fear
They know I’m here!
Copyright 2004; 2011
[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; 2nd ed. in preparation. NB 2nd eds. of my collections will not be available until after 2015 and will contain revisions of some poems.]
Thursday, 21 April 2011
Among Shades Of Evergreen
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
It’s now just over a week since I had my first hormone implant in a course of hormone therapy prior to radiotherapy for my prostate cancer. I was very nervous, but it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as I had anticipated and I certainly won’t be nervous when I go for my next implant in three weeks time. After that, I will only need to have one more prior to starting radiotherapy in July. So far, I have experienced no nasty side-effects, but get tired easily.
By September I should be cancer-free. I should add for the benefit of any male readers that, although I've been told that I will never get a natural erection again, I am also assured the likes of Viagra will work should the occasion (or opportunity) for it arise.
Meanwhile, on to a happier subject...
It is Her Majesty the Queen’s birthday today although it is not her ‘official’ birthday here until June 13th. [The latter is the day on which her birthday is celebrated across the Commonwealth although the exact date varies from country to country.] A very Happy Birthday, Your Majesty.
Oh, but how nice to have two birthdays, yeah?
This villanelle was written in great admiration and respect for Her Majesty and HRH Prince Philip in celebration of their respective 85th and 90th birthdays, 2011. [By the way, I’ll be back on the 29th with another villanelle I have written to celebrate the wedding of Prince William and Catherine ‘Kate’ Middleton. Meanwhile, I hope you will enjoy browsing the blog archives.]
AMONG SHADES OF EVERGREEN
Among shades of evergreen
at nature’s heart,
find jewels fit for a queen
All freedom, since time began,
on red alert
among shades of evergreen
Come dew on a peace rose seen
at each new day’s start,
find jewels fit for a queen
See lives, loves and tears fallen
to death’s random dart
among shades of evergreen
Come a spirituality wiping clean
history’s darker part,
find jewels fit for a queen
Cherish first hints of spring, icon
for humanity’s re-start;
among shades of evergreen,
find jewels fit for a queen
Copyright R. N. Taber 2011
It’s now just over a week since I had my first hormone implant in a course of hormone therapy prior to radiotherapy for my prostate cancer. I was very nervous, but it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as I had anticipated and I certainly won’t be nervous when I go for my next implant in three weeks time. After that, I will only need to have one more prior to starting radiotherapy in July. So far, I have experienced no nasty side-effects, but get tired easily.
By September I should be cancer-free. I should add for the benefit of any male readers that, although I've been told that I will never get a natural erection again, I am also assured the likes of Viagra will work should the occasion (or opportunity) for it arise.
Meanwhile, on to a happier subject...
It is Her Majesty the Queen’s birthday today although it is not her ‘official’ birthday here until June 13th. [The latter is the day on which her birthday is celebrated across the Commonwealth although the exact date varies from country to country.] A very Happy Birthday, Your Majesty.
Oh, but how nice to have two birthdays, yeah?
This villanelle was written in great admiration and respect for Her Majesty and HRH Prince Philip in celebration of their respective 85th and 90th birthdays, 2011. [By the way, I’ll be back on the 29th with another villanelle I have written to celebrate the wedding of Prince William and Catherine ‘Kate’ Middleton. Meanwhile, I hope you will enjoy browsing the blog archives.]
AMONG SHADES OF EVERGREEN
Among shades of evergreen
at nature’s heart,
find jewels fit for a queen
All freedom, since time began,
on red alert
among shades of evergreen
Come dew on a peace rose seen
at each new day’s start,
find jewels fit for a queen
See lives, loves and tears fallen
to death’s random dart
among shades of evergreen
Come a spirituality wiping clean
history’s darker part,
find jewels fit for a queen
Cherish first hints of spring, icon
for humanity’s re-start;
among shades of evergreen,
find jewels fit for a queen
Sunday, 17 April 2011
Birthright
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
Hi folks! I am just popping in to give you the direct link to my latest YouTube caper. Hopefully, you will enjoy the view of Hampstead Heath if not the poem or my amateurish performance!
I am feeling fine, by the way. My treatment for the prostate cancer is progressing well. No worries there.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eui8TD9mQ50
This latest YouTube caper was filmed yesterday. There are a couple more to come, but I am not very good at editing (adding panning to poem etc.) so I have to leave that to my friend Graham when he is available. We only had time to put one on the pc yesterday. It was a nice, but cloudy day. Again, we have to grab whatever opportunity presents itself when we are both free and it's not pouring with rain! It's not brilliant, but we're not professionals and have great fun doing it. (I think we're getting better at it as we go along). We do edit out some of the background noise, but think it adds to the atmosphere so are reluctant to block out everything.
Meanwhile...
This poem has not appeared on the blog since 2009.
The quality of love is no less pure between two gay people then between a man and a woman. Those who continue to argue differently (and there are plenty of them) are simply reinforcing various socio-cultural-religious stereotypes that are ill judged, outdated, offensive and wrong, not to mention in contradiction of the Human Rights of gay men and women world-wide.
Birth is a natural process. We are as nature intends us to be. If that means being gay, so be it. We are as entitled to live and love as full and meaningful a life as any heterosexual.
Repressive regimes world-wide, take note!
Moreover, those in the West who only tolerate gay people but continue to think ill of us (in private if not in public) might care to remind themselves that, like it or not, we are all part of a common humanity...whose greater tragedy has to be its divisiveness. I dare say it will always be this way. To paraphrase George Orwell, all politics and religion corrupt but some politics and religions corrupt absolutely.
BIRTHRIGHT
As the first blush of dawn
brushes the horizon
I think of you;
at each choral surprise
that opens our eyes
I think of you;
like sun-kissed clouds
come noon, my lips
find yours
Our lives,
our own, to have, to hold
for all time
You and I,
our every moment’s passing,
heaven surpassing
Earth, no gentle mother
to us but extending
her blessing...
to lovers everywhere,
no matter colour,
creed, sex;
nor sexuality missing out,
fingers pointing put
to rout
Sun, moon
and stars, but reflections
in our eyes
As for me,
no fairer dawn than the day
you were born
Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2011
[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Expressions From The Heart, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 and in 1st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004 (2nd ed. in preparation). NB 2nd eds. of my poetry titles will be available from 2015. Signed 1st eds. are still available at a generous blog discount. Enquiries to: rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog reader’ in the subject field.]
Hi folks! I am just popping in to give you the direct link to my latest YouTube caper. Hopefully, you will enjoy the view of Hampstead Heath if not the poem or my amateurish performance!
I am feeling fine, by the way. My treatment for the prostate cancer is progressing well. No worries there.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eui8TD9mQ50
This latest YouTube caper was filmed yesterday. There are a couple more to come, but I am not very good at editing (adding panning to poem etc.) so I have to leave that to my friend Graham when he is available. We only had time to put one on the pc yesterday. It was a nice, but cloudy day. Again, we have to grab whatever opportunity presents itself when we are both free and it's not pouring with rain! It's not brilliant, but we're not professionals and have great fun doing it. (I think we're getting better at it as we go along). We do edit out some of the background noise, but think it adds to the atmosphere so are reluctant to block out everything.
Meanwhile...
This poem has not appeared on the blog since 2009.
The quality of love is no less pure between two gay people then between a man and a woman. Those who continue to argue differently (and there are plenty of them) are simply reinforcing various socio-cultural-religious stereotypes that are ill judged, outdated, offensive and wrong, not to mention in contradiction of the Human Rights of gay men and women world-wide.
Birth is a natural process. We are as nature intends us to be. If that means being gay, so be it. We are as entitled to live and love as full and meaningful a life as any heterosexual.
Repressive regimes world-wide, take note!
Moreover, those in the West who only tolerate gay people but continue to think ill of us (in private if not in public) might care to remind themselves that, like it or not, we are all part of a common humanity...whose greater tragedy has to be its divisiveness. I dare say it will always be this way. To paraphrase George Orwell, all politics and religion corrupt but some politics and religions corrupt absolutely.
BIRTHRIGHT
As the first blush of dawn
brushes the horizon
I think of you;
at each choral surprise
that opens our eyes
I think of you;
like sun-kissed clouds
come noon, my lips
find yours
Our lives,
our own, to have, to hold
for all time
You and I,
our every moment’s passing,
heaven surpassing
Earth, no gentle mother
to us but extending
her blessing...
to lovers everywhere,
no matter colour,
creed, sex;
nor sexuality missing out,
fingers pointing put
to rout
Sun, moon
and stars, but reflections
in our eyes
As for me,
no fairer dawn than the day
you were born
Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2011
[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Expressions From The Heart, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 and in 1st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004 (2nd ed. in preparation). NB 2nd eds. of my poetry titles will be available from 2015. Signed 1st eds. are still available at a generous blog discount. Enquiries to: rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog reader’ in the subject field.]
Saturday, 16 April 2011
Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
I said I would be back now and then between now and September, and here I am although I hadn’t expected to drop by quite so soon. Firstly, may i say a BIG thank you to those readers who have been in touch to say they have ordered my new novel Catching Up With Murder and look forward to reading it. I hope you will not be disappointed. There is certainly nothing poetic about it. I have simply tried to tell a good story that, at times, slips into black comedy. I had great fun writing it.
Meanwhile...
A conversation with a friend yesterday has prompted me to post today’s poem. She has recently separated from her husband and is worried about bad dreams even though she insists the split is an amicable one. Amicable or not, any marriage break-up is traumatic for all parties concerned, especially any children who are of an age to understand what is going on. I told my friend much the same as I am posting here. She said it had been good to talk as she had avoided discussing her marital problems with anyone.
It is always good to talk over problems with a good listener. Never bottle things up (I speak from harsh personal experience) as they will always break out in the end, sometimes with devastating results. As regular readers will know, I put a severe nervous breakdown many years ago down to just that.
Once I had a really awful nightmare. I was fifteen years-old at the time. My mother’s explanation was basic, but very much to the point. She explained that dreams, even bad ones, are a safety-net for feelings we cannot explain or put into words because, for whatever reason, we have no conscious knowledge of them. It could be that we are in denial or grappling with emotions on the surface without understanding or acknowledging their depth. While good dreams can be inspirational, bad dreams are nothing to fear because (she assured me) the Sandman is always on our side and has our best interests at heart.
As an adult, I still take reassurance from the fact the Sandman is on my side even if it took a good few years for me to be convinced.
PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN
A blackbird flew me into dawn’s
early glow, and together we discovered
where the sandmen go;
gathered under a rainbow
among sunbeams, mixing its colours,
painting our dreams
A young man told me I should leave
without delay; in my dreams, he alone
would have the last say;
I couldn’t pick and choose
from the best, no artist dare ignore
the worst
The blackbird would have flown on
into the day, but I was having none of it,
would have my say;
How could a sandman
always get it right, invade the mind
each night?
‘Ah,’ said the sandman, ‘it’s for you
to find your way through the paintings
and what lies behind;
the human spirit is a complex affair,
heaven forbid we should either prompt
or interfere.’
‘A human being is a unique creation,
free to fly at will, nor are we its keepers;
we can but try
to offer ways of seeing
the inner eye can observe, inspiring
hope and endeavour.’
‘Yet, humanity is but a fragile thing,
despite hidden strengths that will see it
right as often as not,
and it is down to us sandmen
to see where it’s broken, pieces fallen,
patch it up
Blackbird dropped me there, left me
but half awake to ponder the implications
of daybreak,
and I thought I heard
it singing out there, where it’s a sandman
has the last word
Copyright R. N. Taber 2011
I said I would be back now and then between now and September, and here I am although I hadn’t expected to drop by quite so soon. Firstly, may i say a BIG thank you to those readers who have been in touch to say they have ordered my new novel Catching Up With Murder and look forward to reading it. I hope you will not be disappointed. There is certainly nothing poetic about it. I have simply tried to tell a good story that, at times, slips into black comedy. I had great fun writing it.
Meanwhile...
A conversation with a friend yesterday has prompted me to post today’s poem. She has recently separated from her husband and is worried about bad dreams even though she insists the split is an amicable one. Amicable or not, any marriage break-up is traumatic for all parties concerned, especially any children who are of an age to understand what is going on. I told my friend much the same as I am posting here. She said it had been good to talk as she had avoided discussing her marital problems with anyone.
It is always good to talk over problems with a good listener. Never bottle things up (I speak from harsh personal experience) as they will always break out in the end, sometimes with devastating results. As regular readers will know, I put a severe nervous breakdown many years ago down to just that.
Once I had a really awful nightmare. I was fifteen years-old at the time. My mother’s explanation was basic, but very much to the point. She explained that dreams, even bad ones, are a safety-net for feelings we cannot explain or put into words because, for whatever reason, we have no conscious knowledge of them. It could be that we are in denial or grappling with emotions on the surface without understanding or acknowledging their depth. While good dreams can be inspirational, bad dreams are nothing to fear because (she assured me) the Sandman is always on our side and has our best interests at heart.
As an adult, I still take reassurance from the fact the Sandman is on my side even if it took a good few years for me to be convinced.
PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN
A blackbird flew me into dawn’s
early glow, and together we discovered
where the sandmen go;
gathered under a rainbow
among sunbeams, mixing its colours,
painting our dreams
A young man told me I should leave
without delay; in my dreams, he alone
would have the last say;
I couldn’t pick and choose
from the best, no artist dare ignore
the worst
The blackbird would have flown on
into the day, but I was having none of it,
would have my say;
How could a sandman
always get it right, invade the mind
each night?
‘Ah,’ said the sandman, ‘it’s for you
to find your way through the paintings
and what lies behind;
the human spirit is a complex affair,
heaven forbid we should either prompt
or interfere.’
‘A human being is a unique creation,
free to fly at will, nor are we its keepers;
we can but try
to offer ways of seeing
the inner eye can observe, inspiring
hope and endeavour.’
‘Yet, humanity is but a fragile thing,
despite hidden strengths that will see it
right as often as not,
and it is down to us sandmen
to see where it’s broken, pieces fallen,
patch it up
Blackbird dropped me there, left me
but half awake to ponder the implications
of daybreak,
and I thought I heard
it singing out there, where it’s a sandman
has the last word
Copyright R. N. Taber 2011
Monday, 11 April 2011
A Shared Antipathy For Beer Can Rings
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Readers have asked for the ISBN of my new novel, Catching up with Murder; it is 9781616671884 and should be on most major databases by now. If anyone has any difficulty getting a copy, please let me know and I will look into it. I hope you will enjoy a gay thread meant to takes the storyline beyond the parameters of conventional crime fiction into shades of black comedy. First and foremost, a novel has to entertain and provide an avenue of escapism from the harsher aspects of real life. I can only hope I haven't fallen too short of the mark.
Meanwhile...
Regular readers will know I have always loved Brighton (East Sussex) and been a regular visitor there for more than fifty years. I often go there on my birthday even though it is in December; I started writing this poem there on my 63rd birthday and finished it on the train back to London.
Several readers have kindly contacted me to say how much they enjoyed the poems I read in Brighton for YouTube last December.
[Find these and others at: http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber ]
Thanks for that, folks. Encouraging feedback is always gratefully received, especially as I find reading outdoors quite hard since there are always so many distractions.
I included today’s poem in my latest poetry collection. Regular readers will also know that all my poetry titles are listed on amazon.co.uk (with some readers’ reviews) if anyone is interested. They can be ordered at any UK bookstore. Alternatively, signed copies are available direct from me at a generous blog discount; this applies to overseas readers too as my collections are only on sale in the UK until I can find a distributor with any faith in poetry as a viable sales proposition. [Contact: rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog Reader’ in the subject field.]
My poetry books contain a mixture of gay-interest and other poems, divided into themed sections for easy reading; there are about 20 – 25 poems per section so readers can just pick one and then try another section another time. [I should say that my critics complain I crowd my books with too many poems. I take their point, but readers seem to enjoy having six or seven little poetry books in one. So I think I’ll stick with my readers rather than pander to the critics for my next collection in 2012.]
On the whole, Brighton beach is kept remarkably clean and tidy; all the more remarkable for the way some people simply toss their litter away where they stand (on the beach or even in the sea; both present a danger to wildlife) rather than find a waste bin.
This poem is a villanelle.
A SHARED ANTIPATHY FOR BEER CAN RINGS
We kept the most curious company,
watching waves clear beer cans rings away;
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me
A spring twilight glowing beautifully,
footprints unable though longing to stay;
we kept the most curious company
I wondered, what do they think of me?
Could we converse, whatever would we say,
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me?
Clouds, lamenting pollution, I dare say,
crab and gulls much the same of the sea;
we kept the most curious company
On one thing we’d be sure to agree,
the world doesn’t see things nature’s way;
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me
A sudden rush of waves hit me angrily,
a smoky dusk making a meal of us per se;
we kept the most curious company;
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me
[Brighton, East Sussex (UK), May 2008]
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
PS The use of 'per se' in the 6th stanza is yet another example of the liberties I often take with 'hidden' rhyme; i.e. sounds that are similar but not an exact rhyming match.
Readers have asked for the ISBN of my new novel, Catching up with Murder; it is 9781616671884 and should be on most major databases by now. If anyone has any difficulty getting a copy, please let me know and I will look into it. I hope you will enjoy a gay thread meant to takes the storyline beyond the parameters of conventional crime fiction into shades of black comedy. First and foremost, a novel has to entertain and provide an avenue of escapism from the harsher aspects of real life. I can only hope I haven't fallen too short of the mark.
Meanwhile...
Regular readers will know I have always loved Brighton (East Sussex) and been a regular visitor there for more than fifty years. I often go there on my birthday even though it is in December; I started writing this poem there on my 63rd birthday and finished it on the train back to London.
Several readers have kindly contacted me to say how much they enjoyed the poems I read in Brighton for YouTube last December.
[Find these and others at: http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber ]
Thanks for that, folks. Encouraging feedback is always gratefully received, especially as I find reading outdoors quite hard since there are always so many distractions.
I included today’s poem in my latest poetry collection. Regular readers will also know that all my poetry titles are listed on amazon.co.uk (with some readers’ reviews) if anyone is interested. They can be ordered at any UK bookstore. Alternatively, signed copies are available direct from me at a generous blog discount; this applies to overseas readers too as my collections are only on sale in the UK until I can find a distributor with any faith in poetry as a viable sales proposition. [Contact: rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog Reader’ in the subject field.]
My poetry books contain a mixture of gay-interest and other poems, divided into themed sections for easy reading; there are about 20 – 25 poems per section so readers can just pick one and then try another section another time. [I should say that my critics complain I crowd my books with too many poems. I take their point, but readers seem to enjoy having six or seven little poetry books in one. So I think I’ll stick with my readers rather than pander to the critics for my next collection in 2012.]
On the whole, Brighton beach is kept remarkably clean and tidy; all the more remarkable for the way some people simply toss their litter away where they stand (on the beach or even in the sea; both present a danger to wildlife) rather than find a waste bin.
This poem is a villanelle.
A SHARED ANTIPATHY FOR BEER CAN RINGS
We kept the most curious company,
watching waves clear beer cans rings away;
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me
A spring twilight glowing beautifully,
footprints unable though longing to stay;
we kept the most curious company
I wondered, what do they think of me?
Could we converse, whatever would we say,
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me?
Clouds, lamenting pollution, I dare say,
crab and gulls much the same of the sea;
we kept the most curious company
On one thing we’d be sure to agree,
the world doesn’t see things nature’s way;
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me
A sudden rush of waves hit me angrily,
a smoky dusk making a meal of us per se;
we kept the most curious company;
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me
[Brighton, East Sussex (UK), May 2008]
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
PS The use of 'per se' in the 6th stanza is yet another example of the liberties I often take with 'hidden' rhyme; i.e. sounds that are similar but not an exact rhyming match.
Saturday, 9 April 2011
Stranger Than Fiction
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
I am being positively shameless today and plugging my new novel Catching up with Murder that is now out and about on amazon.co.uk:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=roger+taber&x=12&y=17
[Note: My poetry collections are listed under R. N. Taber and are only on sale in the UK although blog readers can order direct from me at a generous discount.]
http://www.amazon.com/(so available outside Europe)
It isn't a gay novel as such, but introduces Fred Winter, a retired detective in what was intended as the first of a series of Winter novels but...Well, who knows? There is a gay thread within the storyline although it doesn't really take off until ‘Act 2’ of the novel. Anyway, I have posted a brief synopsis below in case any readers might want to buy it or order at their local public library. (If you still have one; so many libraries are closing in the UK as part of government cutbacks.)
CATCHING UP WITH MURDER: a novel in three acts by Roger Taber
SYNOPSIS:
The novel divides itself naturally into three acts. Act One commences with a young woman, JULIE SIMPSON, asking retired Chief Inspector FRED WINTER to investigate the death of an aunt, RUTH TEMPLE, found dead in her bath. Since a large amount of alcohol was found in Ruth’s body, the coroner records a verdict of accidental death. Julie thinks otherwise but cannot convince Winter - at first...
Once Winter is on the case, he not only embarks on various avenues of enquiry but also finds himself attracted to an old flame CAROL BRADY whose husband had been murdered some years ago. One potential lead after another leads to the same dead end - a village on the south coast called Monks Tallow.
Act Two now takes the reader back twenty years to the early 1980s. A young man, RALPH COTTER, shoots his friend, SEAN BRADY, at Brady's home, witnessed by Brady's young son, LIAM. Cotter, a married, closet homosexual, is terrified that Brady will expose him. Cotter runs to his lover, Darren “Daz” HORTON for help. They head for a cottage belonging to Horton’s aunt. (The aunt is visiting her daughter in New Zealand so the cottage is empty). En route, they stop to give a lift to a woman, SARAH MANNERS, whose car has broken down in a storm. Shortly afterwards, the car skids and smashes into a tree, killing Sarah. The two men bury the body and Cotter evades capture by taking her identity. Darren’s aunt dies and he inherits the cottage. He and Cotter live there, happily enough, as man and ‘wife’ - in an obscure English village called - Monks Tallow.
Act Three follows Fred Winter to Monks Tallow where he slowly pieces together this jigsaw of audacious masquerade and murder, putting not only his own life in danger but also but those close to him.
Copyright R. N. Taber 2011
Meanwhile...
Writing or reading a novel is one thing, getting on with real life is something else.
This poem is a kenning and has not appeared on the blog since 2009.
STRANGER THAN FICTION
I’m as likely to arrive naked
at the party and set tongues wagging
as slip quietly away, everyone
asking who I was, where I came from
and wondering why I bothered
turning up at all since I didn’t appear
to have much to do or say,
like some charismatic stranger
stepped out of a dream
I’m as likely to arrive, guns blazing
at a showdown and set tongues wagging
as slip quietly away, everyone
complaining that I didn’t take their side
against this or that antagonist
or snivelling into handkerchiefs like lovers
caught out playing cat and mouse
with a passion that wearies of the game,
leaves them home alone
I’m as likely to arrive in royal fanfare
at some local fete and set tongues wagging
as slip quietly away, everyone
agreed I could have put on a better show
but supposing it’s for the best;
Besides, who really knows what inspires
us to action or inaction, given
a fickle nature so often putting us
at odds with each other?
Call me Life, shining love's light on the mind
though its mortal shadow closing in behind
[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber Assembly Books 2010
I am being positively shameless today and plugging my new novel Catching up with Murder that is now out and about on amazon.co.uk:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=roger+taber&x=12&y=17
[Note: My poetry collections are listed under R. N. Taber and are only on sale in the UK although blog readers can order direct from me at a generous discount.]
http://www.amazon.com/(so available outside Europe)
It isn't a gay novel as such, but introduces Fred Winter, a retired detective in what was intended as the first of a series of Winter novels but...Well, who knows? There is a gay thread within the storyline although it doesn't really take off until ‘Act 2’ of the novel. Anyway, I have posted a brief synopsis below in case any readers might want to buy it or order at their local public library. (If you still have one; so many libraries are closing in the UK as part of government cutbacks.)
CATCHING UP WITH MURDER: a novel in three acts by Roger Taber
SYNOPSIS:
The novel divides itself naturally into three acts. Act One commences with a young woman, JULIE SIMPSON, asking retired Chief Inspector FRED WINTER to investigate the death of an aunt, RUTH TEMPLE, found dead in her bath. Since a large amount of alcohol was found in Ruth’s body, the coroner records a verdict of accidental death. Julie thinks otherwise but cannot convince Winter - at first...
Once Winter is on the case, he not only embarks on various avenues of enquiry but also finds himself attracted to an old flame CAROL BRADY whose husband had been murdered some years ago. One potential lead after another leads to the same dead end - a village on the south coast called Monks Tallow.
Act Two now takes the reader back twenty years to the early 1980s. A young man, RALPH COTTER, shoots his friend, SEAN BRADY, at Brady's home, witnessed by Brady's young son, LIAM. Cotter, a married, closet homosexual, is terrified that Brady will expose him. Cotter runs to his lover, Darren “Daz” HORTON for help. They head for a cottage belonging to Horton’s aunt. (The aunt is visiting her daughter in New Zealand so the cottage is empty). En route, they stop to give a lift to a woman, SARAH MANNERS, whose car has broken down in a storm. Shortly afterwards, the car skids and smashes into a tree, killing Sarah. The two men bury the body and Cotter evades capture by taking her identity. Darren’s aunt dies and he inherits the cottage. He and Cotter live there, happily enough, as man and ‘wife’ - in an obscure English village called - Monks Tallow.
Act Three follows Fred Winter to Monks Tallow where he slowly pieces together this jigsaw of audacious masquerade and murder, putting not only his own life in danger but also but those close to him.
Copyright R. N. Taber 2011
Meanwhile...
Writing or reading a novel is one thing, getting on with real life is something else.
This poem is a kenning and has not appeared on the blog since 2009.
STRANGER THAN FICTION
I’m as likely to arrive naked
at the party and set tongues wagging
as slip quietly away, everyone
asking who I was, where I came from
and wondering why I bothered
turning up at all since I didn’t appear
to have much to do or say,
like some charismatic stranger
stepped out of a dream
I’m as likely to arrive, guns blazing
at a showdown and set tongues wagging
as slip quietly away, everyone
complaining that I didn’t take their side
against this or that antagonist
or snivelling into handkerchiefs like lovers
caught out playing cat and mouse
with a passion that wearies of the game,
leaves them home alone
I’m as likely to arrive in royal fanfare
at some local fete and set tongues wagging
as slip quietly away, everyone
agreed I could have put on a better show
but supposing it’s for the best;
Besides, who really knows what inspires
us to action or inaction, given
a fickle nature so often putting us
at odds with each other?
Call me Life, shining love's light on the mind
though its mortal shadow closing in behind
[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber Assembly Books 2010
Thursday, 7 April 2011
Points Of View
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
This poem was written in 2002. Now we have civil partnerships and gay adoption in the West and that’s great. Even so, there are still plenty of people echoing the sentiments of the bigot (who shall remain anonymous) that inspired it. Oh, he would not admit it in public; political correctness has seen to that. In private, however...
As a gay man (but even if I wasn't, I hope) I am all for civil partnerships; by the time they appeared on statute books here a few years ago, they were long overdue.
I am also in favour of gay couples adopting so long as they do so with the child’s best interest at heart, not because they want to make a point or score over the heterosexual majority. [Oh, yes, heterosexuals don’t have a monopoly on one-upmanship.]
As I have said many times on both blogs (and will undoubtedly say again) our differences do not make us different, only human. It is high time we stated learning to respect each other’s differences, not fight over them. Dare I suggest that schools (including if not especially Faith Schools) would be a good place to start teaching something their students need to learn if they are to help create the better, kinder, more peaceful world to which so many of them aspire.
POINTS OF VIEW
It won’t do to be gay, you said,
it won’t do at all;
However much people may pretend
not to mind, most prefer
the company of their own kind;
it could ruin your life forever;
Better play safe, take on a wife
and semi, raise kids,
bash away at Promotion’s door,
keep the neighbours happy;
discover (for sure?) how it is
that acting 'normal'
hypes a higher dividend
than throwing in
with gay types to the bitter end.
Equal Ops, a revolution
of sorts. But same sexes at the altar
and adoption?
Hardly a right and proper
option...
Points of view, certainly, but
you’re you and I’m me.
Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears in 1st eds. of First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd ed. in preparation.]
This poem was written in 2002. Now we have civil partnerships and gay adoption in the West and that’s great. Even so, there are still plenty of people echoing the sentiments of the bigot (who shall remain anonymous) that inspired it. Oh, he would not admit it in public; political correctness has seen to that. In private, however...
As a gay man (but even if I wasn't, I hope) I am all for civil partnerships; by the time they appeared on statute books here a few years ago, they were long overdue.
I am also in favour of gay couples adopting so long as they do so with the child’s best interest at heart, not because they want to make a point or score over the heterosexual majority. [Oh, yes, heterosexuals don’t have a monopoly on one-upmanship.]
As I have said many times on both blogs (and will undoubtedly say again) our differences do not make us different, only human. It is high time we stated learning to respect each other’s differences, not fight over them. Dare I suggest that schools (including if not especially Faith Schools) would be a good place to start teaching something their students need to learn if they are to help create the better, kinder, more peaceful world to which so many of them aspire.
POINTS OF VIEW
It won’t do to be gay, you said,
it won’t do at all;
However much people may pretend
not to mind, most prefer
the company of their own kind;
it could ruin your life forever;
Better play safe, take on a wife
and semi, raise kids,
bash away at Promotion’s door,
keep the neighbours happy;
discover (for sure?) how it is
that acting 'normal'
hypes a higher dividend
than throwing in
with gay types to the bitter end.
Equal Ops, a revolution
of sorts. But same sexes at the altar
and adoption?
Hardly a right and proper
option...
Points of view, certainly, but
you’re you and I’m me.
Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears in 1st eds. of First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd ed. in preparation.]
Sunday, 3 April 2011
Words Of Wisdom
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
A number of readers (of both blogs) have contacted me to complain about my recent reading of The Test on YouTube. They generously allow me my point of view but say they would not want the worry of a test and if they spread HIV-AIDS that is the other person’s fault for not insisted on safer sex.
Yes, I am entitled to my point of view and will not budge from it. Apart from the risk of spreading infection, albeit unknowingly, how can we look after our own bodies if we are not aware of its needs? On medication, people (in the West, at least) can live with the virus for many years now, but they need to take care of themselves.
Nor should we forget that it is not only HIV-AIDS that can be caught and spread by having unprotected sex; some venereal disease (like Chlamydia) can cause infertility.
Sexual responsibility is not something any of us should take lightly. It is also another reason why we should refrain from binge drinking; a condom is the last thing on anyone’s mind when they are drunk. One reader told me to ‘Get off your soap box and stop preaching then someone might even listen to what you have to say.’ Fair enough. If it is ‘preaching’ to call for commonsense, I can but hold my hand up to it.
What do you think? [ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T2zUUblt0ik]
Meanwhile...
It is Mother’s Day here in the UK. Several readers have asked for this poem that I posted earlier this year on my gay-interest blog. It hasn’t appeared on this blog since 2008 when one reader complained that I was ‘insulting the occasion by talking about gay people.’ [Does she think gay men and women don’t have mothers, I wonder?] It is especially for ‘Martin’ who says, ‘My brother George is a complete mess because he is gay and afraid to face up to it.’
It appears that George has only confided in Martin, who insists ‘My family will not disown George and will love him no less for being gay. But it has to be his decision, not mine, to tell them and our friends.’ Poor Martin, it is horrible to be put on the spot like that, especially by a loved-one.
Thanks for that Martin and let’s hope George will find his way through the maze of sexual awakening and reach a happy conclusion.
It is nice that these brothers are close and, by the sound of it, part of a lovely family. I have always felt alienated from my own family; more and more so since my mother’s death. As I grow old(er), not being part of a close family is one of my greatest regrets, but I dare say it is as much my fault as anyone else’s. It is only in recent years that I stopped blaming my family for a severe nervous breakdown in my early 30’s. I only blamed them because I couldn’t talk to any of them. Apart from my mother, members of my family have little if any capacity for listening to anything they do not want to hear. Even so, I was being very unfair. Few people have any real understanding of mental illness and how its traumatic effects can linger on for many years even after a person appears to have recovered. It has been my experience that so-called professional are much the same; most are more interested in trying out their various theories than the people upon whom are trying them out. A close family can do far, far more to help its members than any counsellor or therapist. Although life does return to a semblance of normality in the end, it can take many years as it did in my case. I only hope George will tell his family and friends he is gay before the stress of a closet existence catches up with him as it did with me all those years ago.
My mother died in 1976, but I still take strength from her humanity and commonsense approach to life.
WORDS OF WISDOM
There are words my mother told me
that, when I’m low, I always recall,
seize upon and cling to passionately,
open to this body, heart and soul
There are dreams my mother shared
that, when I’m low, I always recall;
knowing how much she really cared
keeps her near, makes them real
There are principles my mother had
that, when I’m low, I always recall,
believing good will always best bad
though humankind would do it ill
There is bigotry my mother warned
that, when I’m low, may get to me;
the trick (she had its lesson learned)
is cry inside, so the enemy won’t see
My mother passed away years ago
but I can hear her voice in my ear,
urging me to keep the faith and know
love’s truth will always conquer fear
These are words my mother told me
that, when I’m low, I always recall;
no matter colour, creed, sex, sexuality,
love embraces heart, body and soul
In those words my mother told me,
hear the cry of a common humanity
Copyright R. N. Taber 2008
A number of readers (of both blogs) have contacted me to complain about my recent reading of The Test on YouTube. They generously allow me my point of view but say they would not want the worry of a test and if they spread HIV-AIDS that is the other person’s fault for not insisted on safer sex.
Yes, I am entitled to my point of view and will not budge from it. Apart from the risk of spreading infection, albeit unknowingly, how can we look after our own bodies if we are not aware of its needs? On medication, people (in the West, at least) can live with the virus for many years now, but they need to take care of themselves.
Nor should we forget that it is not only HIV-AIDS that can be caught and spread by having unprotected sex; some venereal disease (like Chlamydia) can cause infertility.
Sexual responsibility is not something any of us should take lightly. It is also another reason why we should refrain from binge drinking; a condom is the last thing on anyone’s mind when they are drunk. One reader told me to ‘Get off your soap box and stop preaching then someone might even listen to what you have to say.’ Fair enough. If it is ‘preaching’ to call for commonsense, I can but hold my hand up to it.
What do you think? [ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T2zUUblt0ik]
Meanwhile...
It is Mother’s Day here in the UK. Several readers have asked for this poem that I posted earlier this year on my gay-interest blog. It hasn’t appeared on this blog since 2008 when one reader complained that I was ‘insulting the occasion by talking about gay people.’ [Does she think gay men and women don’t have mothers, I wonder?] It is especially for ‘Martin’ who says, ‘My brother George is a complete mess because he is gay and afraid to face up to it.’
It appears that George has only confided in Martin, who insists ‘My family will not disown George and will love him no less for being gay. But it has to be his decision, not mine, to tell them and our friends.’ Poor Martin, it is horrible to be put on the spot like that, especially by a loved-one.
Thanks for that Martin and let’s hope George will find his way through the maze of sexual awakening and reach a happy conclusion.
It is nice that these brothers are close and, by the sound of it, part of a lovely family. I have always felt alienated from my own family; more and more so since my mother’s death. As I grow old(er), not being part of a close family is one of my greatest regrets, but I dare say it is as much my fault as anyone else’s. It is only in recent years that I stopped blaming my family for a severe nervous breakdown in my early 30’s. I only blamed them because I couldn’t talk to any of them. Apart from my mother, members of my family have little if any capacity for listening to anything they do not want to hear. Even so, I was being very unfair. Few people have any real understanding of mental illness and how its traumatic effects can linger on for many years even after a person appears to have recovered. It has been my experience that so-called professional are much the same; most are more interested in trying out their various theories than the people upon whom are trying them out. A close family can do far, far more to help its members than any counsellor or therapist. Although life does return to a semblance of normality in the end, it can take many years as it did in my case. I only hope George will tell his family and friends he is gay before the stress of a closet existence catches up with him as it did with me all those years ago.
My mother died in 1976, but I still take strength from her humanity and commonsense approach to life.
WORDS OF WISDOM
There are words my mother told me
that, when I’m low, I always recall,
seize upon and cling to passionately,
open to this body, heart and soul
There are dreams my mother shared
that, when I’m low, I always recall;
knowing how much she really cared
keeps her near, makes them real
There are principles my mother had
that, when I’m low, I always recall,
believing good will always best bad
though humankind would do it ill
There is bigotry my mother warned
that, when I’m low, may get to me;
the trick (she had its lesson learned)
is cry inside, so the enemy won’t see
My mother passed away years ago
but I can hear her voice in my ear,
urging me to keep the faith and know
love’s truth will always conquer fear
These are words my mother told me
that, when I’m low, I always recall;
no matter colour, creed, sex, sexuality,
love embraces heart, body and soul
In those words my mother told me,
hear the cry of a common humanity
Copyright R. N. Taber 2008
Saturday, 2 April 2011
The Keeper
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Several readers have asked me to post this poem that I read at The Monument in the City of London for YouTube last week: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZB0aPmmvbsk I posted it on my gay-interest blog in May 2010, but it has not appeared on this one before.
Let the flame of love die and civilisation will surely perish. Precious little chance of that (he says with fingers crossed) but should the human heart let it die, its host body might as well be dead too. When people speak of love, romance springs to mind and lovemaking. Yet, love comes in all shapes and forms, to each a unique signature of its own; close friends; pets, favourite places; music that makes us feel we love everyone (while it lasts); stories that inspire and remind us that, for all its ups and down, we are in love with life...
Long, long, live love!
THE KEEPER
I feed the fire that keeps
the light in your eyes burning brightly,
inspires the Sandman
who revisits you nightly till dawn breaks
and it’s Apollo’s turn
to take over the reins of inspiration
seeing us through everyday
frustration and confusion, politics
of disillusion
I am your guide, who needs
no telling which path you should take
through life though
you make one mistake after another,
even lose your true self
among its twists and turns, misleading
signs pointing this way
and that, each promising the fruits
of fulfilment
I am the ghost of lives past
calling from some distant other-world
of its own making
anxious to be heard, reassure us
that life is for living,
each to our own, following feelings
we can’t always explain,
trust the spirit of nature in whose womb
we were born
Find me, Keeper of love’s eternal flame,
anxious that humanity live up to its name
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
[Note: This poem will appear in my next collection TrackingThe Torchbearer scheduled for publication spring 2012.]
Several readers have asked me to post this poem that I read at The Monument in the City of London for YouTube last week: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZB0aPmmvbsk I posted it on my gay-interest blog in May 2010, but it has not appeared on this one before.
Let the flame of love die and civilisation will surely perish. Precious little chance of that (he says with fingers crossed) but should the human heart let it die, its host body might as well be dead too. When people speak of love, romance springs to mind and lovemaking. Yet, love comes in all shapes and forms, to each a unique signature of its own; close friends; pets, favourite places; music that makes us feel we love everyone (while it lasts); stories that inspire and remind us that, for all its ups and down, we are in love with life...
Long, long, live love!
THE KEEPER
I feed the fire that keeps
the light in your eyes burning brightly,
inspires the Sandman
who revisits you nightly till dawn breaks
and it’s Apollo’s turn
to take over the reins of inspiration
seeing us through everyday
frustration and confusion, politics
of disillusion
I am your guide, who needs
no telling which path you should take
through life though
you make one mistake after another,
even lose your true self
among its twists and turns, misleading
signs pointing this way
and that, each promising the fruits
of fulfilment
I am the ghost of lives past
calling from some distant other-world
of its own making
anxious to be heard, reassure us
that life is for living,
each to our own, following feelings
we can’t always explain,
trust the spirit of nature in whose womb
we were born
Find me, Keeper of love’s eternal flame,
anxious that humanity live up to its name
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
[Note: This poem will appear in my next collection TrackingThe Torchbearer scheduled for publication spring 2012.]
Friday, 1 April 2011
Passers-By: A Collage
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Life is never as dark as it sometimes may seem just so long as we always make room for love.
PASSERS-BY: A COLLAGE
Time, it’s passing by me,
all alone;
Stress, getting worse each day;
Love, it’s all around me
closed to us…
who do not see for its tears
Society, it’s hacking me
in pieces;
human remains everywhere;
Religion, it’s leaving me
half dead,
trying to make sense of it all;
Politics, it’s deceiving me,
so weary
of hearing lies and half lies;
Power, it’s killing me,
crying out
to cloth ears for peace of mind
Hope, it’s imploring me
rise up
against the unfairness of life;
Life, should it not be teaching us
respect
for each other’s differences?
Differences, once hacking
at each other,
learning the lessons of history;
History, busy reworking
ages-old myths
surrounding and dividing us;
Us, a common humanity,
world guardians,
a duty of care to generations
Time, it’s passing by me,
listening out
for the timbre of its every heartbeat;
Love, it’s all around,
healing us,
who could not see for our tears
Copyright R. N. Taber 2011
Life is never as dark as it sometimes may seem just so long as we always make room for love.
PASSERS-BY: A COLLAGE
Time, it’s passing by me,
all alone;
Stress, getting worse each day;
Love, it’s all around me
closed to us…
who do not see for its tears
Society, it’s hacking me
in pieces;
human remains everywhere;
Religion, it’s leaving me
half dead,
trying to make sense of it all;
Politics, it’s deceiving me,
so weary
of hearing lies and half lies;
Power, it’s killing me,
crying out
to cloth ears for peace of mind
Hope, it’s imploring me
rise up
against the unfairness of life;
Life, should it not be teaching us
respect
for each other’s differences?
Differences, once hacking
at each other,
learning the lessons of history;
History, busy reworking
ages-old myths
surrounding and dividing us;
Us, a common humanity,
world guardians,
a duty of care to generations
Time, it’s passing by me,
listening out
for the timbre of its every heartbeat;
Love, it’s all around,
healing us,
who could not see for our tears
Copyright R. N. Taber 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)