http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
A reader asks why I am not posting an anniversary tribute to those who died and were injured during the terrorist attacks in London, 7th July 2005. No, I have not forgotten. (Has anyone?) I have referred him to a previous post:
https://rogertab.blogspot.com/2012/07/remains-of-day-or-77-remembered.html
Now, today's
poem first appeared on the blog in 2011, at about the time my prostate cancer
was confirmed. I have revised the preamble accordingly as we are now nine years
on, but not the poem since a much earlier revision.
Yes, my
prostate cancer saga continues, and I have to say it has helped a LOT in seeing
me through the stresses and strains of the Covid-19 coronavirus. A lasting
memory from my schooldays is of Mr Partridge, our Religious Education teacher,
telling the class that we never know our strengths and weaknesses until they are
tested, and inevitably we find out the hard way. I think his words hit home
because, at sixteen, I was already discovering signs of both ... the hard way.
l recall
my biopsy in February 2011 and having to wait a month before returning
the hospital for the results. It wasn’t too unpleasant an experience and,
anyway, it was necessary to find out what kind of tumor is trespassing in my
prostate. I was not too worried because my instincts (and
body) were telling me that any cancer there is not aggressive. Moreover, some
prostate cancers are often so slow to develop they are best left well alone. It
is a fact that more men live with prostate cancer than die from it.
The
reason I am telling you all this is because I have found that cancer is still a
taboo subject with many people, possibly because they are inclined to think the
worst and associate it with death. Me, I have every intention of living to a
ripe old age. (Here I am at 70+ so not a bad start.) Even so, death, in my
experience, is an even more taboo subject for open discussion. Yes, I
fear pain. But why should death itself be any less creative a
process than birth? Let’s face it. We haven’t a clue, nor will we until our
time here is up. Religion may have the answer for some people, but not for
yours truly.
I have
always been philosophical about these things. For me, the hardest part was not
being in control of events. Yes, I hoped the cancer would not turn out to be
aggressive and I'd be fine. At the same time, I knew it was but wishful
thinking. I had to at least consider the prospect that my
biopsy results might be less than favourable. Whatever, I couldn't
do much about it, either way, so there was no more point in my worrying then than
there is now. My plan then was (just as it has been ever since) to keep my
nerve and stay positive. Never plain sailing, as many bad days (and nights) as
good ones ... but ... well, I'm still here to tell the tale so I must be doing
something right. Changing my diet to exclude all meat and dairy was a good start.
Having
paid for my funeral with Age UK some time ago, made a will, and told everyone I
am up for organ donation if I am not too old for it, I can now relax and enjoy
myself on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, the Pipes of Pan in one ear and the
voices of my late partner, mother, and friends past and present
telling me to be sure and make the best of things, not the worst.
AN UNKNOWN QUANITY
I need
answer to no one
nor keep
within the confines
of
certain rules or dogma
as laid
down in any handbook,
manual or
legislature;
no one
tells me when to come
nor seeks
me out
unless no
one else on hand
or at the
end of a phone
I may
press at the edge
of a
crowd, yet it will not part
to let me
through, though
I’ll
usually find my own way
with
comparative ease;
when
people hear my name;
though it
be but a whisper,
they may
well rush to lift-off
on wings
of a prayer
Neither
hunter nor hunted,
I wing
lark skies, tread the earth
but
softly, sail high seas
in pitch
blackness, no need
of guide
or compass
nor
instincts failing or emotions
affecting
my destination,
my
intention but to make a riposte
of sorts
to all life forces
Call me Death, and never fear me,
'live' poetry that's human history
Copyright
R. N. Taber 2003, 2020
[Note: This poem is a kenning, written in 2003. An earlier version was first published in an anthology, A Gathering of Minds, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 and subsequently in my collection, The Third Eye, in 2004. I am posting it for no other reason than it gives me as good a feeling to (slightly) revise years on as it did to write it in the first place. ]RT
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home