http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2015.
Now, coronavirus restrictions are
driving me up the proverbial wall and, yes, look likely to do so for some time; even as restrictions are relaxed, nothing will (ever?) be quite the same again.
At least I have had time to get used to that proverbial wall in the sense
that hormone therapy (for my prostate cancer) has been driving me up
it since 2012. I have arthritis to deal with as well, in my left foot
where I fractured the ankle after a bad fall in 2011 and also in my neck. I
manage both okay(ish) but it ain't easy in your 70's (I will be 75 later this
year) or at any age.
The hormone therapy not only makes
me want to pee a lot day (and night) but also affects my memory and, latterly,
my whole personality in the sense that I make mountains out of molehills where
I used to things in my stride. The blogs help. As well as enjoying the company
of readers from 70+ different countries, writing them acts as a form of
creative therapy that encourages my old self to stay alive and kicking. I did
get upset when a reader contacted me to say he had seen my gay-interest blog
called 'sick' on social media, but not for long; it takes all sorts to make a
world, warts 'n' all. Being gay is as much a part of me as being human while
being human makes me as free a spirit as anyone; in my case, it also
makes me a poet with a responsibility, as I see it, to draw on nature and human
nature in all its shapes and forms.. I rest my case...
Time is precious; past, present and
future. One day, (hopefully not for a good while yet) the Grim Reaper will
pay a visit, and my blogs will eventually disappear from the Internet.
Now, the blogs are the only record of my revised poems as well as many
others that have not been published and are not included in my collections. I
therefore intend, over a period of time, to publish revised editions of all my
print novels and poetry collections in e-format so ...watch this space.
Meanwhile...
During my short time in Australia some years ago I met an elderly aborigine who
attempted to explain the aboriginal concept of 'Dreaming'. In short, the
Dreaming expresses a timeless concept of moving from ‘dream’ to reality which
in itself is an act of creation and the basis of many Aboriginal creation
myths. (It is significant that none of the hundreds of Aboriginal languages
contain a word for time.) I cannot begin to express much of that myself, and
would not presume to try. Even so, it is a concept I suspect any poet can
easily relate to, especially one who firmly believes in a posthumous
consciousness in the sense of spiritual 'presence (or ghosts) as I do.
Of all the love poems I have written, this has to be one of my favourites. A
sudden need to revise the original as it appears in my collection was like a
cry from the heart, reminiscent of Cathy's ghost calling to Heathcliff in Emily
Bronte's classic novel, 'Wuthering Heights'. [Oh, yes, in case you hadn't
guessed, I am, among other things, an incurable romantic, always have been, and
make no apologies for it.]
LAST ORDERS or A
FOND FAREWELL
May the last ‘live’ art I see,
be a lark dropping from the sky,
my last breath but endorsing
its love song, life force of nature
and human nature
May the last my senses inhale
be a heady fragrance of flowers,
my last dream, awake-asleep,
recreating a collage that’s our life
in picture poems
May the last thing I ever feel
be the sensual touch of your skin,
the last of Earth we ever share
our toasting love in its finest
wine,
sealed with a kiss
As the good earth calls ‘Time’
on all its children sooner or later,
so shall its ghosts call its bluff,
addressing the human spirit’s remit
for immortality
Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, 2019
[Note: An earlier version of this
poem this poem was first published under the title 'Last Orders' in an anthology, A Ray of Light, Poetry
Now, (Forward Press)1999 and subsequently in First Person Plural by
R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home