Home Thoughts Around A Tree

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

Some Readers have kindly asked after my health. I am fine, putting all thoughts of prostate cancer out of my mind (most of the time) and enjoying each day as it comes. Apart from having to rest a lot, I am determined to carry on as usual and see the cancer as a temporary nuisance, nothing more. It’s like fighting an enemy. Run away from the battle and it has won. Today's poem relates to a particular childhood memory; happy memories can be excellent weapons against any forces threatening to bring us down. [It was originally centred on the page, but the blog template will no longer let me do this.]

Meanwhile...

I have now posted all four ‘Brighton in May’ videos on You Tube. You should be able to access them from my YouTube channel [http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber] but for the readers who have said the link does not work, here are the direct links:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-k1umqkeWME
(Brighton in May 1 - Peace - Three poems)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0OApixHC9iY
(Brighton in May 2 – The Time Keeper)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxDfd2Pxqic
(Brighton in May 3 – Millions Like Us & Lasting Impressions)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gj2HSJCvvBo
(Brighton in May 4 - Shell Seekers)

Meanwhile...

This poem has not appeared o the blog since 2008, and is repeated today especially for Rafael and Angelina who are celebrating their silver wedding anniversary today. Congratulations to you both and may the years ahead by as happy as those behind you.

I love trees. We should take greater care of them. An inspiration to poets they may well be, but, more importantly, they protect the planet. Every tree felled is potential death blow to us all.

HOME THOUGHTS AROUND A TREE

Tree

listening to bird songs,

leafing pages of our history,

its rights and wrongs;

leaving, agree the swallows,

is best for all concerned;

staying, argues a sparrow,

means lessons learned;

a grasshopper chimes in,

determined to have its say;

opinion divided, like this

slow death of day;

sun, starting to go down,

moon ascending,

twilight giving way in tears

to sad worlds where

dreamers have softly trod,
would have stayed even,

returning to the galaxy all

that’s given life, light,

and peace in our time, Heaven

in its sights. (Oh, but if only!)

A whole new world in one tree.

See, hear its coming together

when natives and migrants start
talking to each other;

swallows, sparrows, grasshoppers,

hushed; only a barn owl stirs.

Nothing (and no one) with any

answers

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2011

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from an earlier version that appears in 1st eds. of A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005; 2nd ed. in preparation. NB. 2nd eds. of my poetry titles will not be available until after 2015. In the meantime, signed 1st eds. are available direct from me at a generous blog discount; this also applies to overseas readers, especially as my poetry books are only on sale in the UK. Contact rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog reader’ in the subject field.]

Swan Lake

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

I have started posting my most recent YouTube recordings. If interested, the direct links are:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-k1umqkeWME
(Brighton in May 1 – Peace)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0OApixHC9iY
(Brighton in May 2 – The Time Keeper)

But you should be able to access my YouTube capers at any time from my YouTube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber 

I have to rest a lot either side of an active day out at the moment, but it is well worth it. Brighton has always been an inspiration for me since I was a kid, and it only takes an hour to get there on a fast train from  London.

Meanwhile...

This villanelle hasn’t appeared on the blog since 2007 and is here today especially for ‘Roseanne’ and who says, ‘I adore ballet and am training to be a ballet dancer.’

Here’s wishing you every success, Roseanne.

Me, I loved Tchaikovsky’s music long before I knew he was gay. What has sexuality to do with talent, anyway, or greatness for that matter? [After all, there have been many great gay men and women throughout history.]

SWAN LAKE

A love story on stage;
nerve strings of its composer
turning each page

As a bird flies its cage,
so music in glorious colour;
a love story on stage

Let dance, our pain assuage;
ensemble, solo, or pas de deux
turning each page

See art display the courage
of humankind’s old enemy, fear;
a love story on stage

Performance, paying homage
to the divided heart of its creator,
turning each page

Dancers, their talents engage
to read into art all human nature;
a love story on stage
turning each page

[NB.  Written after a brilliant performance by the Harlow Ballet Association at The Playhouse, Harlow, April 2007.]

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

The Two Of Us

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

I have not posted today’s poem on this blog before. An earlier version has appeared twice on my gay-interest blog; a revised version appears here today at the request of a group of young gay people living in Paris although several are from other parts of France. Brigitte writes: ’Nous sommes quatre filles et les garçons gais qui demeure à Paris qui n'ose pas dire nos parents nous sommes gais. Comment nous les disons? Oh, et pouvoir vous poste votre poème The Two Of Us sur votre blog plaisent (pas le gai l'un) parce que certains de nos parents le lisent.

How do young people tell their parents they are gay? There is no easy answer. The only way is to tell them without making an issue of it. The chances are quite high that, initially at least, many parents will make an issue of it. We have to make allowances for this. If parents genuinely have no idea that a child of theirs is gay, the revelation can come as a shock. Their gut reaction may be one of horror and hostility, but not always. We have to give parents the benefit of the doubt here. Some parents already suspect and are just waiting for us to confide. The important thing to remember is that our parents love us even in those tragic cases where they appear to reject us because of our sexuality; there are few things worse than feeling rejected. Tell them and, where necessary, allow them time to get used to the idea. It often helps to enlist the support of a sympathetic older family friend or relative. If you already visit a local support group, talk it through with one of the leaders or counsellors before you tell your parents and afterwards.

Love is strong and will usually survive the worst that is thrown at it; despair, disappointment, anger... But sometimes this takes time.

For any French parent who may not read English very well... [S'il vous plaît pardonner n'importe quelles erreurs comme je suis partiellement sourd et pas bon aux langues.]:

Comment les jeunes disent-ils leurs parents ils sont gais ? Il n'y a pas de réponse facile. Le seul moyen est de les dire sans faire un problème de lui. Les hasards sont tout à fait hauts cela, au début au moins, beaucoup de parents feront un problème de lui. Nous devons tenir compte de ceci. Si les parents n'a pas vraiment d'idée qu'un enfant du leur est gai, la révélation peut venir comme un choc. Leur réaction instinctive peut être un d'horreur et d'hostilité, mais pas toujours. Nous devons donner du le bénéfice du doute aux parents ici. Quelques parents soupçonnent déjà et nous attendent juste pour confier. La chose importante à se souvenir d'est que nos parents nous aiment même dans ces cas tragiques où ils apparaissent nous refuser à cause de notre sexualité ; il y a peu des choses pires que se sentir refusé. Les dire et, où nécessaire, permettre leur chronomètre pour obtenir qui est utilisé à l'idée. Il aide souvent à enrôler le soutien d'un plus vieil ami de famille ou le parent compatissant. Si vous déjà bisit un groupe de soutien local, parlez il passé avec un des dirigeants ou des conseillers avant que vous dites vos parents et ensuite.

L'amour est robuste et survivra d'ordinaire le pire qui est lancé à lui ; le désespoir, la déception, la colère... Mais quelquefois ceci prend le temps.

Good luck to all gay boys and girls who may dread telling their parents they are gay. Remember that, however they react, they love you. Where cultural-religious persuasions may appear to threaten that love, be sure the bond between child and parent, is strong enough to rise above that. Any parent to whom this may not apply is a disgrace to the underlying principles of those same cultural-religious persuasions and are guilty of betraying the very principles of parenthood. Yes, where there is a need for reconciliation, it can take time. And yes, sadly, time is not always on our side. Yet, whatever, we need to get on with our lives and enjoy what happiness we can even if it is not always as all-inclusive as we would wish.

Oh, and I must recommend an excellent and very enjoyable French DVD called ‘Juste une question d’amour’ that tackles this very subject.

Good luck to you all. La bonne chance à vous tous.

THE TWO OF US

Under Paris stars,
one night in June, a nightingale
sang our tune;
we embraced,
exchanging vows with tongues
of fire;
no chill of darkness
undermining or intruding upon
our happiness;
your hand in mine
as we solemnly exchanged rings
said it all...

Come morning,
sweet night bade us each a fond
au’revoir;
a minute’s silence
for two singles joined together
(no matter what);
Cock crows
as we embrace a parallel dawn,
bask in its glory;
love, icon
for all seasons, opening its petals
to the sky

Story told, the world over,
me and my gay lover

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd ed. in preparation. NB. 2nd eds. of my poetry titles will be available after 2015 and will contain revisions of some poems. In the meantime, signed 1st eds. remain available at a generous blog discount. Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog reader' in the subject field.]

A Face At The Window

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

I have always been an avid reader. Once, when I was very unhappy, my mother tried to coax a smile from me. ‘What is there to smile about?” I snapped irritably.

“Every smile has a happy ending,” she said, and then added with a knowing smile of her own, “but you have to read the whole book to appreciate it.”

I managed a smile, but it was years before I really understood what she really meant.

When someone dies, remembering them can hurt...until you start turning the pages of the book you wrote together and happy memories leap out at you like the best photos in an album to cherish always.

[Note: This post is duplicated on both blogs today.Why? Because life, death and love don't discriminate beween colour, creed, sex or sexuality. Only (ignorant) people do that.]

A FACE AT THE WINDOW

There’s a face
at a window I always see
whenever I pass by;
it’s always there,
smiling at me, and I know
the reason why

There’s a face
at a window I always see
if rain makes it blur;
it’s always there,
laughing at me, a rare joy
to remember

There’s a face
at a window I always see,
day and night;
it’s always there,
telling me, for each wrong
there’s a right

There’s a face
at a window I always see
whenever I’m down;
it’s always there,
to lift me, make damn sure
I move on

There’s a window
I always see in smiley faces
passing by;
it’s always there,
reassuring me that our love
will never die

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

The Visit

http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber

A  reader (Irish, I wonder?) writes, 'Given that you often write poems that reflect major events, don't you think the first visit of an English monarch to Eire for a hundred years deserves one?'

Well, yes, I do. While I have to be neccessarily selective about events I choose to write about, I agree this one is well worth a poem and will try and include it in my next collection - Tracking The Torchbearer - on schedule for publication in spring 2012.

This poem is a villanelle.

THE VISIT

To Ireland’s shores, an English queen
flies centuries of mistrust and war
(a sense of long overdue conciliation)

Though history hurl threats obscene,
blood and tears from its roofs pour,
to Ireland’s shores, an English queen

Where a sea of rage for all that’s been
said, done, left at Ireland’s door,
a sense of long overdue conciliation

To be or not to be? The Irish Question
hanging on all that’s gone before,
to Ireland’s shores, an English queen

No finer hours has Dublin Castle seen
than invoke the spirit of Blarney lore;
(a sense of long overdue conciliation)

Both sides of the Irish Sea, celebration
(honouring its ghosts, and far more);
to Ireland’s shores, an English queen,
a sense of long overdue conciliation

[London: May 17th 2011]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011





[Note: Written to mark the first visit of an English monarch to Ireland for 100 years.]

Engaging With Nature

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

A very personal poem today, written by way of an explanation of sorts to those well-meaning religious minded people who have expressed genuine disbelief if not horror that my prostate cancer has not compelled me to seek out the God of Holy Books and Ritual.

For a start, I have every confidence in the hospital team responsible for my treatment and expect to be cancer-free by the time it has run its course.

Moreover, only as a young child did I ever enter into any conception of a personified God, let alone a populated heaven or hell. My parents did, especially my mother, and I believed her until I was old enough to make up my own mind.

Even as a teenager, (I am 65 now) I could only ever see it all as pure metaphor.

As regular readers will know, I turned to nature for spiritual reassurance long, long ago. Nor do I honestly think it had anything to do with feelings of alienation as I proceeded to confront my sexuality. Possibly, what some call 'God' is nature although I dare say they would argue that He (or She?) created nature for human beings to enjoy. (Yes, enjoy, not attack and destroy.)

Who knows? Everyone to their own Belief, I say, and it is high time we stopped arguing and fighting amongst ourselves over who is right and who is wrong!

[Note: This poem is duplicated on both blogs today.]

ENGAGING WITH NATURE

Gripped by fear,
I can but direct it elsewhere,
but it keeps returning
to this cancer stalking me
like a predator

Away, dark fear!
Let me get on with my life;
feed your lust elsewhere;
I am but human, yet no fodder
for a predator

Seized by doubt,
I can but trust positive thinking,
will prevent me surrendering
to this awful cancer turning me
inside out

Away, all negativity
threatening to undermine me
wherever I'd turn
a deaf ear to friendly voices
debating me!

Let me not resist a need
for comfort food and fiercer hugs
than ever before
to restore poor self-confidence,
give love its head

Yes, I will survive
whatever this cancer throws at me
if only for Nature’s insisting
I embrace all a feisty spirituality
has to give

‘Ah,’ they say in tears,
‘but she is fickle who’ll have her way
even in a world
where humanity claims a squatter’s
rights over hers.’

Be that as it may,
it’s my belief she‘ll no more concede
victory to my cancer
than see me put down by bigots
because I’m gay

Take heart,
and let’s give the human spirit its due,
nor will not fail us
though we go to endgame or not,
gay or straight

Let some see God as Lord Protector,
and such as I engage with Nature

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Classic Somerset

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

Hello again. I hope some of you are enjoying the occasional dip into the blog archives while I concentrate on other things, not least my ongoing treatment for prostate cancer. I will be back from time to time, but not on a daily basis.

While several US readers have been in touch to say how much they enjoyed my new novel Catching Up With Murder (many thanks for that) it appears that UK readers are still having difficulty ordering from some bookstores although amazon.co.uk seem to provide copies fairly quickly. I have contacted the publishers (Raider International) and hopefully they will liaise with the UK’s main Book Suppliers to solve the problem.
Meanwhile...

I must thank all those readers who have been in touch to ask after my health. I am fine, just tired. I had my second (female) hormone implant earlier today, and will go for my third and last in July before starting radiotherapy in what seems likely to be August now (not July as I thought). I am not looking forward to that or the low fibre diet I’ll have to keep to for the duration. Still, it will be worth it. I will just have to hope I’ll escape the worst long term side-effects. Whatever, I have weighed up the risks carefully and don’t intend to change my mind.

The phrase ‘prostate cancer’ strikes fear into the hearts of many men. It is a fact, however, that more men live with it than die from it. Even so, if treatment is advisable, as in my case...Well, no treatment is without risk. I will just have to take each day as it comes.

Fear not, dear readers, there is absolutely no likelihood of the Grim Reaper having his wicked way with me for a few years yet.

I really am very positive about the cancer, but can’t deny it gets a little scary sometimes. Right now, writing up the blog, I feel fine. (Yes, I do, really!) I expect to have good days and bad days, but remain determined that the latter shall be kept to a minimum. Physically, I am in good shape and have no pain whatsoever. The battle is more of a mental one; living with the knowledge that the cancer is there inside me, and knowing the treatment will leave me impotent. However, regarding the latter, I am assured there is an 80% chance that something like Viagra or Tadalafil will do the trick should an opportunity arise when I need it. It shouldn’t bother me since, at 65 years-old, I haven’t been sexually active for a while. Even so, I guess it has to do with my manhood feeling threatened.

Mostly, I rise above any feelings of inadequacy and threat, but every so often they strike and refuse to go away. Yet, a long, leisurely stroll on lovely Hampstead Heath, barely fifteen minutes walk from my front door, invariably restores me to positive-thinking mode. As I live alone, I am also very fortunate to have some very good friends who help me keep a sense of perspective. It is always good to talk things over with friends when troubled. I should be cancer-free by the autumn, but as a kindly soul could not resist pointing out only yesterday, there are no cast iron guarantees about anything in this life. True, but I have always preferred to look forward to what is likely to happen, not worry about what might.

Meanwhile...

Several readers have asked how I came to write the poem about the death of Osama bin Laden so soon after president Obama announced it. [See my general blog: http://rogertab.blogspot.com/] Well, as I’ve already said, on the whole I feel fine, but every now and then I have a restless night. It was in the early hours (GMT) of May 2nd that I heard the news. The poem took a few hours to write before I finally managed to get some sleep.

Meanwhile...

While I am pleased that my new novel seems to be holding its own, I have no illusions about myself as a writer of fiction. I am not a great novelist and never will be, but I’m glad some people think I tell a good story. I certainly can’t compare myself with classic writers of some of the world most wonderful fiction. Among these, I include books for children such as Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, Wind in the Willows, Black Beauty, Little Women and Huckleberry Finn; some of these take on a whole new dimension of course when we come to read them again as adults.

One of my favourite novels as a child was Lorna Doone by R. D. Blackmore and it was from was this romantic adventure novel that I developed a love for Somerset. It is some years since I visited Doone Valley, but some friends have recently returned from visiting it while staying with relatives in the surrounding area. I felt inspired to take down the novel from my bookshelf, blow away the dust from its cover and devour it as eagerly as when I was a child. Later, I wrote this villanelle, and it will appear in my next collection Tracking the Torchbearer scheduled for publication in spring 2012.

Some readers may be interested in other poems I have written about Somerset that I also included in my 6th collection On the Battlefields of Love (2010). You might also care to go to the BBC site:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/local/somerset/hi/people_and_places/arts_and_culture/newsid_8144000/8144465.stm

Oh, but how can I worry about prostate cancer when spring is here in the UK? There is so much out there to enjoy, not least in beautiful Somerset, and enjoy it I will.

CLASSIC SOMERSET

Doone valley, classic fiction
for holiday images
conjuring true inspiration

Come any with a predilection
for turning nature’s pages;
Doone valley, classic fiction

At Badgworthy Water, listen
out for Carver’s rages
conjuring true inspiration

At Earth Mother’s invitation,
share a Love of Ages;
Doone valley, classic fiction

Celebration of Lorna and John
(birds singing their praises)
conjuring true inspiration

Cream teas teasing imagination
to revisit R. D’s pages;
Doone valley, classic fiction
conjuring true inspiration

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Terror Under Fire

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

The death of Osama bin Laden announced by president Obama this morning demands I drop all else to record the event.

Al-Qaida may not be mortally wounded, but it has undoubtedly suffered a serious psychological as well as military blow from which it will not recover easily. While the War on Terror has not yet been won, let’s hope Bin-Laden’s death marks a significant turning point from which peace and reconciliation may, in time, be achieved. Meanwhile, we must remain alert.

As regular readers will know, I try to record events and places, albeit necessarily selectively, in my poetry. More often than not, I compose a villanelle for the occasion, a poetic form that demands a discipline which, for me, reflects an effective and memorable directness; the repetition of a line as well as rhyme scheme makes the poem easy to relate to and therefore also remember.

While its critics will disagree, I see the villanelle as a sharply focused poetic photograph that will, as likely as not, be selected for a place in that album we call the human mind.

TERROR UNDER FIRE

Death of Terror’s icon.
Osama bin Laden shot dead;
alas, the Terror lives on

A compound in Pakistan
harboured Al-Qaida’s head;
death of Terror’s icon

A battle, not the war won
(Terror has a martyr instead);
alas, the Terror lives on

To victims of Terror’s son,
hollow closure in celebration;
death of Terror’s icon

Hopes for peace, an orison
on wings of a dove overhead;
alas, the Terror lives on

Extremists, like carrion
circling a body all but dead;
Death of Terror’s icon;
alas, the Terror lives on

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: this poem will appear in my next major collection Tracking the Torchbearer scheduled for publication in spring 2012.]