The Wrestler
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Poems on the blog are read world-wide and some readers have asked if translations of my collections or any selections of my best poems are available. Sadly, the answer is no. Apart from the fact that I cannot afford the services of a professional translation service, poetry requires that a translator is able to enter into the spirit of a poem, not simply translate it.
Meanwhile…
Whenever I say to parents that any education about sex and relationships should include gay sex and gay relationships, the are either horrified or agree in such a manner that I know they are against the idea and are merely paying lip service to so-called 'political correctness'. (For all that the latter was brought in for all the right reasons, it is abused to the extent that it has a lot to answer for all the same.)
Do any parents honestly believe there are no gay boys and girls at their child’s school, and if there are they present a threat? More to the point perhaps, how can they be sure their child isn’t gay? The last person most young people will confide in about such matters is a parent, however close they may be.
Years ago, I’d sometimes engage in friendly wrestling matches with a boy at school who was very mature for his age (the same as mine) and always won hands down. I never really minded if only because I fancied him like hell although I was careful never to let my feelings show. Ours was a boy’s only school and there were plenty who would have made my life a misery. As it was, my friend never suspected. [At least, I didn't think so at the time…]
‘You’re stronger than me,’ I once accused him ruefully.
‘Not at all,’ my friend replied with a knowing grin, ‘I’m just better than you at playing mind games.’
True. Ah, but it would be a few years on before I fully grasped what he meant.
This poem is a kenning.
THE WRESTLER
More than once I’ve leapt
into a ring and wrestled Father Time
even though I know
he will best me in the end while
daring to hope Earth Mother
will spare me long enough to find
and hit a nerve designed
to let me off the hook till reconciled
with outward appearances
I know him for what he is;
no kind father, Time, rather a beast
in a body resembling a man,
but closer to the animal kingdom,
protective and destructive
at one and the same turn of identity
tipping the scales of reason,
wrestling with me to wild applause
for settling old scores
Education, the only antidote
for societies still obsessed with crime
against so-called morality
committed in shadowy corners
or shrubberies of the mind
that so-called decency would never
tread…for fear of being
caught out by me (to whom history
is fickle, it has to be said)
Call me Shame, up for fixing any game,
ever wrestling Time to clear my name
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
Poems on the blog are read world-wide and some readers have asked if translations of my collections or any selections of my best poems are available. Sadly, the answer is no. Apart from the fact that I cannot afford the services of a professional translation service, poetry requires that a translator is able to enter into the spirit of a poem, not simply translate it.
Meanwhile…
Whenever I say to parents that any education about sex and relationships should include gay sex and gay relationships, the are either horrified or agree in such a manner that I know they are against the idea and are merely paying lip service to so-called 'political correctness'. (For all that the latter was brought in for all the right reasons, it is abused to the extent that it has a lot to answer for all the same.)
Do any parents honestly believe there are no gay boys and girls at their child’s school, and if there are they present a threat? More to the point perhaps, how can they be sure their child isn’t gay? The last person most young people will confide in about such matters is a parent, however close they may be.
Years ago, I’d sometimes engage in friendly wrestling matches with a boy at school who was very mature for his age (the same as mine) and always won hands down. I never really minded if only because I fancied him like hell although I was careful never to let my feelings show. Ours was a boy’s only school and there were plenty who would have made my life a misery. As it was, my friend never suspected. [At least, I didn't think so at the time…]
‘You’re stronger than me,’ I once accused him ruefully.
‘Not at all,’ my friend replied with a knowing grin, ‘I’m just better than you at playing mind games.’
True. Ah, but it would be a few years on before I fully grasped what he meant.
This poem is a kenning.
THE WRESTLER
More than once I’ve leapt
into a ring and wrestled Father Time
even though I know
he will best me in the end while
daring to hope Earth Mother
will spare me long enough to find
and hit a nerve designed
to let me off the hook till reconciled
with outward appearances
I know him for what he is;
no kind father, Time, rather a beast
in a body resembling a man,
but closer to the animal kingdom,
protective and destructive
at one and the same turn of identity
tipping the scales of reason,
wrestling with me to wild applause
for settling old scores
Education, the only antidote
for societies still obsessed with crime
against so-called morality
committed in shadowy corners
or shrubberies of the mind
that so-called decency would never
tread…for fear of being
caught out by me (to whom history
is fickle, it has to be said)
Call me Shame, up for fixing any game,
ever wrestling Time to clear my name
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
Labels: bigotry, common, human, humanity, identity, life, love time, mind-body-spirit, nature, personal, poetry, positive thinking, sexuality, society, space, spirit, young people
posted by R. N. Taber | 07:50
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