A Poet's Blog: Roger N.Taber shares his thoughts & poems...

Thoughts and observations by English poet Roger N. Taber, a retired librarian and poet-novelist.- "Ethnicity, Religion, Gender, Sexuality ... these are but parts of a whole. It is the whole that counts." RNT [NB While I have no wish to create a social network, I will always reply to critical emails about my poetry. Contact: rogertab@aol.com].

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Location: London, United Kingdom

Sadly, a bad fall in 2012 has left me with a mobility problem, and being diagnosed with prostate cancer the same year hasn't helped, but I get out and about with my trusty walking stick as much as I can, take each day as it comes and try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. Many of my poems reflect the need to nurture a positive-thinking mindset whatever life throws at us.

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

Youth-Middle Age-Old Age (Three poems)

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

Yesterday, I posted a poem inspired by a song sung by Doris Day. A reader has been in touch to ask, ‘It is bad enough that someone who claims to be a serious poet writes gay rubbish, which I find offensive, but to write about Doris Day is really the last straw!’

Well, for a start I have never claimed to be a serious poet only someone who takes poetry seriously; well, most of the time. I am certainly no poetry snob, and readers will know that I write on all manner of themes. Nor am I a music snob. I love Doris Day just as I love Ella Fitzgerald and Johnny Cash.  I love some classical music, but I also love some pop and adore rock ‘n’ roll. I love some opera but cannot claim to be an opera buff. With me, it’s pick’n’mix. So what’s wrong with that? If it is good of its kind, I will usually enjoy it. Why shouldn’t I enjoy Elvis Presley every bit as much as Placido Domingo or adore Shirley Bassey just as I do Diana Ross and Leona Lewis. And let's not forget the late, great Dusty Springfield or, for that matter, Mario Lanza or Frank Sinatra. I could go on all day...

If people choose to limit their appreciation to one kind of music, one genre of literature or one period of art, that’s up to them. But there are lots of people like me who love to dabble in this ‘n’ that, and where’s the harm?

So I offer no apology for offending that particular reader. What planet is he (or she) from, I wonder?

Meanwhile...

So many readers have asked me to repeat this trilogy of villanelles that has not appeared on the blog since early 2010 so here it is again. I hope new readers and those who are unable to browse the blog archives for whatever reason, quite possibly because they simply don’t have the time, will enjoy it and regular readers will also enjoy being reacquainted with it.

We all have to grow old, but to how many of us, I wonder, does the ageing process convey the wisdom that we must make the most of the best not the worst of it all...?


IN APPRECIATION OF YOUTH

Youth cries the world’s tears,
slows time’s flight,
relays Earth Mother’s fears

It will always lead the cheers
for wrongs put right,
Youth cries the world’s tears

Youth bonds with its peers,
develops second sight,
relays Earth Mother’s fears

To peace and love it steers
(Armageddon in sight)
Youth cries the world’s tears

As a mist of naivety clears,
it won't throw the fight,
relays Earth Mother’s fears

It straddles the world’s terrors,
a love poem to write;
Youth cries the world’s tears
relays Earth Mother’s fears

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008
IN CELEBRATION OF MIDDLE AGE

In celebration of middle age
(after much rehearsing)
time brings us centre-stage

Like a bird freed from its cage,
we’ll fly on a poem’s wing
in celebration of middle age

Daring us turn the first page
in our history’s re-shaping,
time brings us centre-stage

Shake off cliché and adage,
give truth a rare dusting
in celebration of middle age

Inspired by youth’s raw rage,
its humanity enduring,
time brings us centre-stage

Acted out on a custom page,
a love poem in the making;
in celebration of middle age
time brings us centre-stage

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008
BY WAY OF MARKING OLD AGE

By way of marking old age
(after much reflecting)
time edges us off-stage

Like a bird returned to its cage,
we’ll flex a feisty wing
by way of marking old age

Letting slip that life's last page
makes good reading,
time edges us off-stage

Let’s not pass cliché and adage
off as living…
by way of marking old age

Inspired by a well-honed rage,
its humanity enduring…
time edges us off-stage

No matter memory skips a page,
its poetry re-working;
by way of marking old age
time edges us off-stage

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

[From: On The Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

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