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.

Thursday, 29 March 2012

Ella Sings The Blues

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

Someone very special to me once bought me an album of the late, great Ella Fitzgerald called Ella Sings the Blues. She was, of course, a great jazz singer. But, my, couldn't she sing Blues!  Mind you, Ella could sing anything and it would leave a lasting impression on the listener.

My late mother also loved Ella and I remember playing it some years after she died and thinking maybe she was listening to it, too, in that Great Unknown we call death. I didn't feel in the least bit sad. On the contrary, the experience transcended my sadness to an indescribable feeling approaching enlightenment, and my tears confirmed rather than contradicted it. Moreover, I was in the early stages of recovery from a nervous breakdown at the time and like to think Mum was looking out for me as she always did.

Whimsical, yes, of course, but...don’t we all do whimsy sometimes?

Photo: Ella Fitzgerald (taken from the Internet)

ELLA SINGS THE BLUES

How will it be when I’m dead?
Will I hear music playing in my head,
see doves fly by in a clear blue sky,
hear a newborn baby’s very first cry,
and Ella singing?

How will it be when I die?
Will I wing with doves, oh, so high
that I can look down and see
those I’ve loved crying rivers for me,
or rivers run dry?

How will it be when I’m gone?
World keeps turning and life goes on.
so where does that leave me,
courtesy (hopefully) of a spirituality
come clean?

How will it be when I’m dead?
will I still compose poems in my head,
grieve a sorry world lost its way
for listening to what its ‘betters’ say
who haven’t a clue?

I’ll never know until I’m dying
but when I am, be sure I’ll be flying high
among doves with you, listening
out for every newborn baby’s crying,
and Ella singing

Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2010

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

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