A Good Sign
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
The only reason I published this post/poem on my gay-interest blog - in March 2012 - is because it happens to be about two profoundly deaf gay men plus, of course, the fact that relatively few readers visit both blogs. I am not profoundly deaf, but have suffered with what is known as perceptive of 'pitch' deafness since the ge of 4 years when I contracted measles and hooping cough at the same time. Measles alone can have a devastating effect on the hearing. My deafness was not diagnosed until I saw a specialist in my early 20's. Growing up was a nightmare because no one - including myself - realised I had a hearing problem. My difficulties were much exacerbated by the fact that acoustics played a part to the extent that I might hear a person well in one room, but not in another; I would get very frustrated which, in turn, was always getting me into trouble at home and at school. All this was bad enough so I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like to be profoundly deaf as I know from painful experience how intolerant many among the hearing majority can be towards this form of disability.
To my shame, I confess I have never learned to sign, but once met a profoundly deaf person accompanied by a friend who was able to interpret for me; the former explained that he was happy enough, but relied on the deaf community for support as he felt excluded from the hearing majority, making the point that it would help if more people learned sign language. As far as I know, sign language is not taught in mainstream schools. I had intended to attend classes, but about that time my life took a nosedive and I never followed up that intention. Consequently, I too feel I have missed out in not having the kind of interesting conversations with deaf people as with many of their hearing counterparts. Everyone has something to say worth listening to, and deaf people are no exception. The fact that deafness is an invisible disability invariably means it receives less attention than other disabilities, and less consideration.
I know some deaf and partially deaf people don’t consider deafness a disability. I do, if only for all the stress it has caused me since early childhood. Deaf people have their own culture, and hearing people feel part of a community they often take for granted. Significant, but not total hearing loss means you belong to neither. For years, I felt a strong sense of exclusion in so far as everyone else gave me an impression of ‘belonging’ in a way with which I could not easily identify. As a child, I had neither the experience nor articulation to understand I was partially deaf; pitch or perceptive deafness is particularly confusing as so much depends on acoustics as well as the pitch of a person’s voice and, of course, whether or not they are facing you; lip reading - conscious or not - is a necessary skill for hearing impaired people.
I felt truly inspired once, some years ago now, watching two deaf gay men signing that they liked each other in a crowded Soho gay bar. I am significantly but by no means profoundly deaf, and cannot sign very well, but did not need to; it was obvious what was happening in any language.
I was on my own (and getting nowhere fast, as we do sometimes) and felt very humbled by these two guys as well as delighted for them. There was I, close to sulking because no one was showing any interest in me and fast developing something of an inferiority complex, and here were these two guys showing me how it’s done by the sheer force of their personalities. From where I was standing, they lit up the whole bar and put the rest of us in the shade.
I learned to rise above my hearing loss and compensate for it. Even so, when I finally acquired special hearing aids when I was 40 years-old, it made a huge difference to my quality of life. Even now, I can’t help thinking how much greater my learning experience at school and university would have been if I hadn’t been struggling to hear all the time.
Disabled people invariably have an uncanny knack and inner strength for rising above their disability. Sometimes I think we focus too much on the disability and forget the person doggedly rising above it. They have the same aspirations and desires as the rest of us; among them, many gay men and women.
Gay people are often made to feel excluded, if not always intentionally from mainstream society where, invariably, socio-cultural prejudices come into play. Imagine then, how it must be for a disabled gay person!
A GOOD SIGN
White tee, blue eyes,
cruising a gay bar, looks around
as he orders...
Settles on green eyes
lit with the kind of smile
an angel would gladly
die again for, crosses to sit
nearby and shyly
nods a ‘hello’ but - no reply
so gets up to go,
Green Eyes running fingers
through golden hair,
full lips pursed, exposing
a hairy chest,
stretching a downy leg
in lycra shorts...
(Blue, slowly drowning
in wildest thoughts...)
“I’m deaf,” he says quietly
in the queerest voice,
clearly making up his mind,
staking his choice;
Blue grins, winks, signs
that he’s also
up for a close encounter
of the intimate kind
Among lonely hearts
in a crowded Soho dive, two pairs
of hands come alive
Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, 2012
[Note: Soho has been a very gay-friendly area of central London (UK) for many years. An earlier version of this poem appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]
The only reason I published this post/poem on my gay-interest blog - in March 2012 - is because it happens to be about two profoundly deaf gay men plus, of course, the fact that relatively few readers visit both blogs. I am not profoundly deaf, but have suffered with what is known as perceptive of 'pitch' deafness since the ge of 4 years when I contracted measles and hooping cough at the same time. Measles alone can have a devastating effect on the hearing. My deafness was not diagnosed until I saw a specialist in my early 20's. Growing up was a nightmare because no one - including myself - realised I had a hearing problem. My difficulties were much exacerbated by the fact that acoustics played a part to the extent that I might hear a person well in one room, but not in another; I would get very frustrated which, in turn, was always getting me into trouble at home and at school. All this was bad enough so I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like to be profoundly deaf as I know from painful experience how intolerant many among the hearing majority can be towards this form of disability.
To my shame, I confess I have never learned to sign, but once met a profoundly deaf person accompanied by a friend who was able to interpret for me; the former explained that he was happy enough, but relied on the deaf community for support as he felt excluded from the hearing majority, making the point that it would help if more people learned sign language. As far as I know, sign language is not taught in mainstream schools. I had intended to attend classes, but about that time my life took a nosedive and I never followed up that intention. Consequently, I too feel I have missed out in not having the kind of interesting conversations with deaf people as with many of their hearing counterparts. Everyone has something to say worth listening to, and deaf people are no exception. The fact that deafness is an invisible disability invariably means it receives less attention than other disabilities, and less consideration.
I know some deaf and partially deaf people don’t consider deafness a disability. I do, if only for all the stress it has caused me since early childhood. Deaf people have their own culture, and hearing people feel part of a community they often take for granted. Significant, but not total hearing loss means you belong to neither. For years, I felt a strong sense of exclusion in so far as everyone else gave me an impression of ‘belonging’ in a way with which I could not easily identify. As a child, I had neither the experience nor articulation to understand I was partially deaf; pitch or perceptive deafness is particularly confusing as so much depends on acoustics as well as the pitch of a person’s voice and, of course, whether or not they are facing you; lip reading - conscious or not - is a necessary skill for hearing impaired people.
I felt truly inspired once, some years ago now, watching two deaf gay men signing that they liked each other in a crowded Soho gay bar. I am significantly but by no means profoundly deaf, and cannot sign very well, but did not need to; it was obvious what was happening in any language.
I was on my own (and getting nowhere fast, as we do sometimes) and felt very humbled by these two guys as well as delighted for them. There was I, close to sulking because no one was showing any interest in me and fast developing something of an inferiority complex, and here were these two guys showing me how it’s done by the sheer force of their personalities. From where I was standing, they lit up the whole bar and put the rest of us in the shade.
I learned to rise above my hearing loss and compensate for it. Even so, when I finally acquired special hearing aids when I was 40 years-old, it made a huge difference to my quality of life. Even now, I can’t help thinking how much greater my learning experience at school and university would have been if I hadn’t been struggling to hear all the time.
Disabled people invariably have an uncanny knack and inner strength for rising above their disability. Sometimes I think we focus too much on the disability and forget the person doggedly rising above it. They have the same aspirations and desires as the rest of us; among them, many gay men and women.
Gay people are often made to feel excluded, if not always intentionally from mainstream society where, invariably, socio-cultural prejudices come into play. Imagine then, how it must be for a disabled gay person!
A GOOD SIGN
White tee, blue eyes,
cruising a gay bar, looks around
as he orders...
Settles on green eyes
lit with the kind of smile
an angel would gladly
die again for, crosses to sit
nearby and shyly
nods a ‘hello’ but - no reply
so gets up to go,
Green Eyes running fingers
through golden hair,
full lips pursed, exposing
a hairy chest,
stretching a downy leg
in lycra shorts...
(Blue, slowly drowning
in wildest thoughts...)
“I’m deaf,” he says quietly
in the queerest voice,
clearly making up his mind,
staking his choice;
Blue grins, winks, signs
that he’s also
up for a close encounter
of the intimate kind
Among lonely hearts
in a crowded Soho dive, two pairs
of hands come alive
Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, 2012
[Note: Soho has been a very gay-friendly area of central London (UK) for many years. An earlier version of this poem appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]
Labels: communication, culture, deafness, human nature, human spirit, life, love relationships, mind-body-spirit, personal space, poetry, religion, society
posted by R. N. Taber | 09:43
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