Alternatives OR My Life, My Choices (No one Else's)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

Today's poem is from my gay-interest blog archives for September 2010.

Several readers have contacted me about my poem 'Only Human' about the guilt many Catholics are made to feel for being gay. Opinion was divided for and against and only marginally the former. One person wrote, ‘…you should be ashamed of yourself for attacking the Holy Father, you along with gay and transgender s**t heads everywhere. As for saying you are not disrespectful of religion, it is not the impression anyone would have from reading your blogs. How dare you share your sick mind and spirit with others…?’

Well, the reader is entitled to his or her opinion of course…and so am I. I have always thought it's a great pity more people aren’t prepared to agree to differ rather than insult or fight each other.

Meanwhile…

Most people who wrote in were sympathetic to my point of view whether or not they agreed with it. One person, though, said ‘It is typical of a gay man to turn his back on God. Go on, admit it. You would be too ashamed to face Him…that’s why you can’t handle religion, because you know God disapproves of your lifestyle.’

Oh, dear, Roger’s in hot water again…

For a start, I certainly don’t believe it is ‘typical’ of a gay man or woman to turn their backs on God; many gay people have succeeded in reconciling their sexuality with their religion in spite of innumerable obstacles placed in their paths by the less enlightened among heterosexual family members and friends, not to mention religious leaders who use religion not only as an excuse but also as a weapon to defend their bigotry.

While I take issue with many aspects of religion, I respect all those who are prepared to enter into its basic humanitarian rather than just theological principles; that is to say, keep an open mindedness and open heartedness without which dogma and ritual are little more than play acting.

Everyone is entitled to believe in what or whom they will or nothing and no one at all. But lose our capacity for humanity and its respect for those with whom we can but agree to differ and we may well find ourselves but play acting in the longest running soap opera of all…

There are always alternatives, even if only sometimes rock and hard place. Moreover, maturity entitles us to make our own choices, not have them made for us by those who like to think they always know what’s best for us, and for whom the sum total of those same alternatives is invariably their ultimate nemesis.

We don't have a choice about being gay, it has to be in the genes or there would be no accounting for gay people worldwide from all manner of socio-cultural-religious backgrounds. No, choice comes if, how and when we decide to openly acknowledge being gay or live a lie. Some societies make this all but impossible, in which those circumstances, it may well be enough to acknowledge our sexuality to ourselves and those closest to us (who may need a little time to get used to the idea). Meanwhile, those gay people who have the moral courage to go a step further and knock on that gay-unfriendly society's door  to be let in deserve our praise, admiration and gratitude since that is the only way bigotry will be defeated.

ALTERNATIVES or MY LIFE, MY CHOICES (NO ONE ELSE'S)

I looked for God in heaven
but did not find Him there,
looked again, in sun and rain
for Earth Mother

Some say it’s, oh, so pagan,
as bad as being gay;
I just see myself as someone
looking nature’s way

God is many things to many,
interpreting His conditions
for the good of all humanity
according to its religions

The sun rises, sets, rises again
and no one takes issue
nor that moon and stars shine
or songbirds sleep as we do

Let nature sue for harmony,
hear our confessions,
and we feed less on acrimony
spread by world religions

To wake, sleep and wake again
may or may not imply rebirth
and, yes, each to his or her own
but we share a common earth

Who looks for God in heaven
and does not find Him there
has but to look in sun and rain
for Earth Mother

See, too, nature assert its power
where humankind gone too far

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

[Note: From: Tracking the Torchbearer: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

G-O-D, Live Metaphor OR What's in a Name...?

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Various religions have their own ideas about God, me, I found a sense of peace and spirituality in nature and, for all I know, maybe God is there. Maybe God IS nature...

Does it really matter where we look, how we find or even what we call God?

We are all human beings, created in much the same way to share this sorry planet of ours. So why oh, why, is it that more people can’t put their differences aside and be happy to share what they have in common?

As I gave said before and regular readers will know only too well (I often repeat myself) our differences don’t make us different, only human.

This poem is a kenning, first published in Italy (2006) and subsequently in my collection.

G-O-D, LIVE METAPHOR or WHAT’S IN A NAME...?

Call me what you will, I mean well

though my better intentions mistaken

for gross interference in the ways

of man, woman and child. Navigator

rather than manipulator am I, ready

to guide, lead, through a maze of super

highways, slip roads, dirt tracks,

if suspected of conspiring with nature

against civilization

Call me what you will, I mean well

though my better intentions mistaken

for confrontation with man, woman

and child over some trespass or other

against commandments set in stone

by those rewriting to their own design,

crossing humanity’s thin red line,

always ready to point s finger of blame

in my direction

Call me what you will, I mean well

though my better intentions mistaken

for retribution, sporting with fragile

emotions, playing false at devotions,

wrecking the well laid plans of mice

and men without so much as offering

any explanation, feeding on the likes

of Faith, Hope and Charity to sustain

an enduring loyalty

Call me what you will, I mean well

whatever G-O-D made to spell

Copyright R. N. Taber 2006; 2013

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears under the title 'What' in a Name?' in The Sound of Silence, TATL (Italy) 2006 and subsequently 1st eds. of Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

The Last Long Hauler Out Of E-Bay

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Some people like to hedge their bets regarding what if anything they might face once they have ‘shuffled off this mortal coil’. (That’s straight out of Hamlet, of course. Good ole Shakespeare. Sounds so much better better than just being dead, doesn’t it?)

Me? Well, I was never much of a gambler so I guess I’ll just have to take my chances with nature…

THE LAST LONG HAULER OUT OF E-BAY

Bid for a ticket,

now halfway to (Heaven?)

angels rushing by - no

less anxious than I to see

the end of the line

Looking down, I see

people on hands and knees

in poverty and pain - far

more anxious than I to see

if God’s at home

Looking out, I feel

a devil’s breath on my face,

smell incense burning

like a pot-pourri of roses

and grow anxious

Bid for a ticket,

now halfway to (Heaven?);

angels rushing past - no

less anxious than I to make up

for lost time

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Beyond Belief

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An earlier version of today’s poem first appeared in an anthology, Echoes of War, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 and subsequently in my collection the following year.

Now, regular readers will be aware that have revised some poems since they first appeared in my collections and on my blogs. Some readers say they prefer the original version, but most prefer the revised version. All ask why I posted/published the original version if it was likely to be revised later. Well, at the time I wrote it, I saw it as a complete poem not the genesis for another. Years on, I read some of my earlier poems and can see where they fail, to one degree or another, either because they don’t say quite sat what I meant to say or don’t say it at all.

Once I get back inside a poem, I can see where the cracks need filling, not merely papered over. Writing a poem from the outside working inwards is very different to writing from the inside and working outwards.  Yes, the original is written from within the poet, but he or she only created the poem head and heart have shaped; the poem itself, as a developing organism,  needs to have say in that development.

Creating a poem is one thing and, yes, sometimes it is enough, but not always; any further development will comes late so long as the writer leaves room in the poem for that, and I always do. Moreover, I have always had a sense of this with my poems so always kept in mind that I would need to publish new editions of my collections at some point to allow for and include revisions/developments in some poems.  [Revisions that appear on my blogs will appear in new editions after 2015.]

From time to time, someone gets in touch to say he or she enjoyed both an original and revised revision of a poem, but especially enjoyed comparing the two.  One reader wrote to say they found it ‘intriguing’ to look inside my head and see how an original version of a poem led into the later version.  

While I dare say critics will see some of my poems as failures (they may well be right) I see them as relating to the person/poet I was at the time I wrote them. Hopefully, I have changed with passing time (hopefully for the better); similarly, my poetry. Readers are welcome to form their own opinion. Whatever, having written something, it make sense to share it, surely? So I have published my collections since 2001 and feedback, plus the changing nature of my own personal space. will result in new editions after the publication of a final collection - Diary of a Time Traveller in 2015 - when I hit 70.

Now, there is more than one take on aspiration, and somewhere along the line we have to make choices; sometimes it may seem as if the choice is whether or not we are prepared to let someone else make that choice for us. But isn’t that just passing the buck?

Whatever, few things on this earth are anywhere near as simple as we try to make them appear, certainly not that complex network of communications, missed communications,  mixed messages and calls for commitment that comprise the human mind.

BEYOND BELIEF

Some say he sought freedom,

preferring martyrdom to repression;

others point to sentiments

expressed pertaining to the zeal

of a fundamentalist

waging war against the world

armed with Holy Word

Some say he followed a star,

near blinded by its glorious light;

others call him a Messiah

come in peace with a fire in his belly

no one could extinguish,

a measure of anguish fuelling

growing desperation

Some say, he was brainwashed

as a child, taught how the finest ends

justify appalling means,

suicide as a political statement

absolving conscience

from the agony heaped on body bags

at a roadside

Some call him a Dark Angel

that did not know him as well as she

who knew his fears,

saw tears fall, final choices made,

sent alone, small and scared

to brave The Word, bomb the world,

no one spared

Ashes, poor apology for a sorry world

and its every word

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2004.]