An Unknown Quantity

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

and/or my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBo01eRFBKY

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