Echoes of a Season Past

ROGER TABER - POETRY READING
21 March 2017 – Part 2

From Roger’s friend, Graham

Greetings from autumnal Essex, UK,

I’m sharing the second part of Roger’s poetry reading. Again, I’ve embellished the recording with imagery (including the occasional cheeky pun). I’m grateful to the photographers who’ve shared their work (public domain license) on the Pixabay, Pexels and Unsplash websites. Wikimedia has also proven really helpful.

Here’s the link: https://youtu.be/hs3aTILOdtU. Or find it by searching ‘roger taber poetry’ in YouTube if you prefer.

I was reflecting on my previous comments about performance poetry being more expressive than printed form. How it reveals the intensity, passion and human frailty of the poet. And yet, conversely, a soundtrack could be interpreted as the author’s impressing of a particular perspective on his work. I wonder if poetry, art or music is really more about multiple viewpoints…? And written verse, perhaps, remains more accessible to those differing interpretations. Either way, I still think the recording adds an interesting facet to Roger’s published work.

The selection contains some personal favourites – ‘Suggestions’ and ‘The Poet’s Song’ among them. I read the latter at Roger’s funeral as part of a eulogy. Although it’s not sombre - rather a celebration of the artform. After all, ‘look on the bright side’ was his mantra. Even on his poetic postcards from the abyss.

Inevitably, the project has left me with a sense of retrospection. Roger died back in March last year although, for me at least, his presence lingers. His connection to the world endures somehow in a continuum of past-present-future. Like a pebble cast into water, his life-force resonates through a sea of time…

Memory’s warming embers ever glimmer in the shadow of grief.

Thanks for reading/listening.

G x

 

*  *  *

 

‘I am hopelessly in love with a memory. An echo from another time, another place.’
Michel Foucault

‘No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away.’
Terry Pratchett

‘As long as there are memories, yesterday remains. As long as there is hope, tomorrow awaits. As long as there is friendship, today is beautiful.’
Billy Joel

 

*  *  *

 

ROGER TABER - POETRY READING
Tuesday, 21 March 2017

PART 2

The Master Baiter
W-A-R, Crucible Of Remembrance
Spring Magic
Logging On To Life
Imagination, Painter Of Dreams or Masochist
National Trust Outing
Suggestions
Shades Of Comic Genius
Engaging With Nature or Living With Prostate Cancer
Patchwork
Ode To Apollo or Profile Of A Life-force
Heartbeat or Waking Up To The Power of Positive Thinking
Poems By Passing Clouds
The Poet’s Song
In Good Company

(CC) R. N. Taber 2017

Lewes, Landscape of Imagination

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

This poem is the direct result of a visit to the historic Sussex town of Lewes. As always, my friend Graham Collett shot and edited the video and I wrote a poem to accompany it. I have posted the video/poem on my You Tube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

or access direct at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p6LfIGu7gd4

or see below

It was during the latter days of last summer that Graham  and I visited Lewes. We only had time to visit the castle and Anne of Cleves’ House, and we thought you might enjoy sharing the experience.

The town is the location of several significant historic buildings, including Lewes Castle and a sixteenth-century timber-framed Wealden hall house known as Anne of Cleves House because it was given to her as part of her divorce settlement from Henry VIII; although there is no historical evidence to show that she never lived there, she may well have visited from time to time.  

Both Anne of Cleves' House and the Castle are owned and maintained by the Sussex Archaeological Society.

LEWES, LANDSCAPE OF IMAGINATION

Looking for creative therapy?

Visit the landscape of imagination,

take a journey into history;

Lewes, spoils of Norman invasion,

Courtesy of William, Conqueror

to William de Warenne and spouse

on overcoming Saxon resistance,

a castle there to build on the Ouse,

dedicated to St Pancras,

in remembrance of a child martyr,

executed for his faith

Pass through the Barbican Gate,

get a feel for olde England surrounds;

a Motte and Bailey castle,

later fortified with stone, the better

to defend against invasion;

few richer spoils of time to be found,

firing the imagination,

filling inner eye and ear with sights 

and sounds of generations

ghosting a courtyard dominated

by all-seeing towers

Climb, climb, a winding stair

of stone, labour of love, chiselled

out of the history

of olde England, witness to battles

and executions,

as well as celebrations, successes

and failures of its tenants

over centuries of war and peace;

echoes of laughter and tears

haunting East Sussex surrounds

for a thousand years

Lewes, meeting its past head-on,

where Anne of Cleves, and entourage

loyal to a discarded queen

may well have sought out the peace

of Tudor England’s green

but troubled land, under a fickle king

so desperate for a son

he wed unwisely (six times, no less)

letting ego-led lust have its head,

while Anne kept hers, even acquired

a house in Lewes

Time, though, will wait for nothing

and no one, least of all a poem passing

through its eternal passages

of fame and fortune, secrets and lies,

honourable deaths, executions

history may well attempt to justify

and scholars make excuses

while poets love to visit time and again,

bring to the landscapes

of imagination, inner eye and ear,

open to whatever…

Day done, history’s curtain drawn

across the windows of minds anxious

to chew on history’s bones,

reach their own conclusions as to how

past into present excavations

of various ruins and other testaments

to history’s own, for better or worse,

invest ghosts the ilk of Anne of Cleves

and such tenants as its castle

once let live, love, make merry and die,

with a singular peace…

Lewes

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Note: I had problems uploading the video to You Tube so you may need to watch it again if your first attempt resulted in any distorted images.

Spirit Lake

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

You can hear me read this poem over the You Tube video. However, several readers who cannot access You Tube on their own computers for some reason and have seen the video on someone else’s have asked me to reinstate it on the blog.  (See video below). Many thanks, by the way, for their kind comments regarding my blogs.

The original You Tube video is available at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUShMVosnFs

OR access my You Tube channel and search by title:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

The lake at Stourhead (NB ‘Spirit Lake’ is simply the title I have given to the poem that I read here and video footage) is artificially created. Following a path around the lake is meant to evoke a journey similar to that of Aeneas's descent in to the underworld; passages telling of Aeneas's journey are quoted in the temples surrounding the lake.

Read more about Stourhead on Wikipedia:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stourhead

The video is one of three shot by my close friend Graham Collett, and I wrote the poem especially for the occasion. We hope you will enjoy both.

This poem is a villanelle:

SPIRIT LAKE

World of peace and tranquility
(looking out for its own); 
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

Time playing games with history
(myth into maturity grown);
world of peace and tranquility

Dreamland lake in all its serenity
(solitude, yet not alone);
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

The very best of prose and poetry
(open minds freely shown); 
world of peace and tranquility

Watch ripples pausing at eternity
(life force unknown)
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

Each heart, wing, flower and tree
(life arts, ever windblown);
world of peace and tranquility,
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

A Poet's Shrewsbury

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

A poetry reading in 2007 took me to Shrewsbury where I engaged with a lovely audience in a local bookshop. I did not get around to including my poem in a collection until this year and have to say I feel more than a shade self-conscious about posting a poem of mine alongside mention of such a fine poet as Wilfred Owen.

Wilfred Owen (1883-1918)

Owen, a homosexual (the word ‘gay’ was not used in this context in those days) is probably one of the best known of the World War 1 poets. His name appears on the Great War Memorial tablet inside Shrewsbury Abbey.

Photo: Shrewsbury Abbey

‘Symmetry’ in the grounds of the abbey is sculpture, by Paul de Monchaux commissioned by the Wilfred Owen Association (Owen went to school in Shrewsbury) to commemorate the poet’s life and work; it was unveiled in June 1993. The line "I am the enemy you killed" engraved on one side is from Owen’s poem, ‘Strange Meeting’ The design is meant to convey the symmetries in Owen’s poem as well as the trenches of 1917 and the Sambre-Oise canal in 1918.

Photo: ‘Symmetry’

On 4th November 1918, the British 32nd Division crossed the Sambre-Oise canal at Ors, in the face of strong opposition. Wilfred Owen was killed on the towpath on this side of the canal about one kilometre to the north of the bridge.

Photo: Western Front Association plaque for Wilfred Owen by the Sambre Canal, Ors, France. 

Regarding my poem, I should mention that Laura's Tower is a folly built on the summit of Shrewsbury Castle motte around 1790 by Thomas Telford for Laura, the daughter of Sir William Pulteney, as a summerhouse. It is of an octagonal design in red sandstone with conical copper roof. The river Severn flows by

…Photo: Laura’s Tower

Mount House, birthplace of Charles Darwin

A POET'S SHREWSBURY

Follow the market trader’s cry

across old Shrewsbury town

where the fickle Severn flows by

Discern in history’s cloudy eye

scenes of Parliament v Crown;

follow the market trader’s cry

At Laura’s tower, dare lift high

the hem of Nature’s gown

where the fickle Severn flows by

Swans over the English Bridge fly

with dive-bombing precision,

follow the market trader’s cry

See sunset’s flames lick at the sky

as if the grand abbey burning down

where the fickle Severn flows by

Ponder a war poet casting the die,

Darwin giving heaven cause to frown;

follow the market trader’s cry

where the fickle Severn flows by

[Shrewsbury, August 2007]

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Saluting Bomber Command

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

[Update Feb 22nd 2019]: The US bomber - a B-17 Flying Fortress known as Mi Amigo - came down in Endcliffe Park in Sheffield on 22 February 1944, killing everyone on board.

Thousands of people gathered in the park this morning to pay tribute to the fallen US airmen with the flypast due at 8.45am.

It is believed the U.S. Mi Amigo crew from the 305th Bomb Group crashed into woods to avoid a group of boys who were playing as their flying fortress plummeted to earth:

U. S. Bomber air crew (Photo from the Internet]

One of them Tony Foulds, 82, was eight years old when he saw the plane crash; it is he who has attended the crew’s memorial for years and organised today’s fly past.]

[Update May 16th 2018]: On the night of 16-17 May 1943, the RAF's 617 Squadron carried out an audacious bombing raid attacking dams serving the Ruhr valley, leaving German factories and mines badly damaged. ]

This poem is a villanelle that I wrote to mark the occasion and will include in a final collection - Diary of a Time Traveller - scheduled for publication in 2015 (when I will be 70).

SALUTING BOMBER COMMAND

Where Bomber Command once flying

the gamut of heavens and hell;

so many young men, so few returning

Among birds of prey, resolutely diving

a ghastly, deadly, smoky swell

where Bomber Command once flying

For many, no glorious homecoming

nor a single passing bell;

so many young men, so few returning

No glory, only necessity in the bombing

and a faith that peace will prevail

where Bomber Command once flying

Haunting the brave veterans surviving,

a face for every bomb that fell;

so many young men, so few returning

Our thanks, far too long in the waiting,

its last crew, a fitting memorial;

where Bomber Command once flying,

so many young men, so few returning

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

A Lancaster bomber dropped 82,000 poppies over London to remember those who died. 

On Hampstead Heath

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

Hampstead Heath comprises rolling acres of green landscape in London close to where I live. I love it.  Now, even Turner’s famous painting of the Heath could not do justice to this beautiful spot although he comes close.  As for me, I cannot expect to come even that close in my poems! Even so, if we let ourselves feel intimidated by the great masters of any genre, we may well never attempt anything. Besides, the joy of doing is as great as the thrill of achieving if not more so. As for success, whatever form it takes, that is a nothing more or less than a nice bonus.

A path in Ken Wood (A place of Scientific Interest)

More about the Heath at: http://hampsteadheath.net

This poem is a villanelle.

ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH

Glittering pools of light
among acres of grass,
swans in graceful flight

Crest to climb, fly a kite
on a city made of glass;
glittering pools of light

Ducks a common sight,
geese making room to pass,
swans in graceful flight

Trees voicing nature’s right
to co-exist in peace;
glittering pools of light

Though dog owners bite
and parents fuss,
swans in graceful flight

Of leafy goings-on at night,
it but whispers…
Glittering pools of light,
swans in graceful flight

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Listening Out for Nature

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


Observing nature is always an experience worth making time for, especially if we let it into our hearts, learn from it, find ways to harness its kinder side to body, mind and spirit, enjoy an intrinsic peace and tranquillity...

The video below concludes my friend Graham’s visit to the Cheddar Gorge along with a poem I wrote especially to accompany it; you will hear me read the poem over the video.

Some readers tell me they cannot access You Tube for one reason or another, but those that can may prefer to click on the direct link: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v82obNd8N5k

For more videos/poems on my channel:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

LISTENING OUT FOR NATURE

Birdsong in the wind
making promises it cannot keep
to every flower, tree
and blade of grass, each hair
on the head of creatures great
and small

Tears in the wind
but acid rain, humankind’s gift 
to every flower, tree
and blade of grass, each hair
on the head of creatures great
great and small

Joy, too, in the wind
same birdsong busy serenading
every flower, tree
and blade of grass, each hair
on the heads of creatures great
and small

Love songs in the wind, 
composed for every flower, tree, 
and lade of grass, each hair
on the heads of creatures great
and small to take heart, 
know it will flourish in the light
of Apollo’s smile;
ageless, the tell-tale wind, 
like our pride in every flower, tree, 
and blade of grass, each hair 
on the heads of creatures great
and small exhorting us
to answer its call to keep this world 
colourful, peaceful

Birdsong in the wind, 
let fly to reassure every flower,
tree and blade of grass,
lift the heads of creatures
great and small threatened daily
with extinction

Tears in the wind,
at the passing of each season
for every flower, tree, 
and blade of grass, each hair 
on the heads of creatures great
and small

Joy, too, in the wind,
at each springtime’s returning
to nurture every flower,
tree, blade of grass, creatures
great and small counting on nature,
nature on us
  
Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Dirt Track

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

I wrote today’s poem especially to accompany and read over the video below that I have just uploaded to my YouTube channel. If the video here does not play, go to:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqydBlronxE

or visit:  http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber 

Continuing my best friend Graham’s snapshot of Wiltshire, he takes us from the Gothic splendour of Salisbury cathedral to the natural beauty of the Cheddar Gorge; this is the first of three videos which we hope will give you a feel for the Gorge and its splendid views. Yes, he could have waited for a sunny day, but we both feel that a gathering storm is more atmospheric.

The poem attempts to covey something of the intimate relationship between the human condition and the natural world. I will post poem and video on my blog as previous feedback suggests that some of you cannot access YouTube directly.

Two further videos of the Cheddar Gorge (and poems) will follow during the course of this week once editing is completed. [We had hoped to combine all there videos into one, but the resulting file proved too big for my pc and it crashed.]

DIRT TRACK

I found myself trudging a dirt track,

my world, splitting at the seams,

not caring if no way back,

nothing there but shattered dreams

Wearily negotiating mud and stones,

my world, a lonely, empty place,

mind, spirit and aching bones

closed to the poetry of time and space

Suddenly, the track began to open out

my world, opening up as if on cue,

unfriendly ghosts put to rout

by Earth Mother looming into view

Firmly, yet kindly she grasped my arm

and led me through time and space,

glad captive of a fickle charm

returning me to poetry’s birthplace,

I had neither the heart nor will to resist,

but submitted to all she asked of me,

to all I hadn’t known I’d missed,

more still the inner eye had yet to see

No matter a world splitting at its seams,
I am resolved to find my way back,

sow-nurture-reap new dreams,

the Poetry of Life keeping me on track 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Every Street has Something to Say

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

Now, a street is far more than a place where people live, more even than those people themselves.

A street is part of history, stretching back through time and forward into the future.

For now and always, we are a part of all that...

It used to be a GOOD feeling if perhaps less so in recent years. (Well, that's the nature of change for you, rarely for the better when it comes to the local environment.) Even so, the street where I live now and streets where I once lived hold happy memories as well as sad ones so... thank you streets for those.

EVERY STREET HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

I’ve walked along a busy street
as the sun rises, shedding its rays like tears
for all I am not

I’ve walked along a busy street
come noon, Apollo’s heat on me like a lover
offering comfort

I’ve walked along a busy street
in a gentle twilight, its lampposts like trees
bidding me sleep tight

I’ve walked along a busy street
as the sun begins to set, felt like a movie star
on a red carpet

I’ve walked along a busy street
to my own front door, proudly acknowledging
I am a part of it

[London: Kentish Town, Oct 2010]
  
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Alma Mater OR Matriarch Extraordinaire

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

June 9th is Her Majesty The Queen's official birthday.

(see also : https://rogertab.blogspot.com/2016/04/majesty-evergreen.html

[Update Feb 6th 2019: it is 67 years to the day when her Majesty became Queen upon the death of her father, George V1 on Feb 6th 1952; she was crowned the following year.]

[Update January 14th 2018]: 2018 (June 2nd ) will see the 65th anniversary of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 11's coronation when thousands lined the streets to watch her travel to Westminster Abbey in the gold coach (Yes, real gold!) She had, of course, ascended to the throne in 1957 following the death of her father King George V1 in February the previous year.

(Photo taken from the Internet)

[Update November 20th 2017]:Today marks the 70th wedding anniversary of Her Majesty, the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. I feel sure that hearts across the world will join mine in reaching out to them with love, respect and many congratulations.]

[Update, June 17th 2017]: Today marks Her Majesty's official birthday albeit a low key affair this year in the wake of the terrible tower block fire in North Kensington only days ago. It was very encouraging to see our Queen and Prince William visit the scene of the fire that consumed an entire block with horrific speed and has left many people dead and scores homeless. They spoke with and offered heartfelt words of comfort to survivors, emergency services, and those still seeking news of loved ones feared dead. I spoke to someone who was there and she told me that everyone appreciated Her Majesty making the effort to show she cared, demonstrating a willingness to share something of their trauma. Actions, after all, speak louder than rhetoric...of which there is plenty flying around in various socio-cultural-political arenas these days.] RT

King George VI died in February 1952; and as is the custom, his firstborn child succeeded to the throne. Princess Elizabeth was just 26 years old and married to Prince Philip. They had been blessed with two children by then, Prince Charles and Princess Anne.  So her long reign began. The date of her coronation was June 2, 1953 (it took that long to prepare.)


Update (June 11th 2016): Today marks Her Majesty the Queen’s official 90th birthday; for other (British) royalty related posts/poems, see:

http://rogertab.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/majesty-evergreen.html

http://rogertab.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/a-poem-for-baby-hrh-prince-george-of.html

http://rogertab.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/death-of-princess.html 

Portrait of the Queen and Prince Philip taken by celebrity photographer Annie Leibovitz to mark the Queen’s 90th birthday. Copied from the Internet)

Diamond Jubilee, 2012 (original post):

Yesterday, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II addressed both Houses of Parliament here in London to mark her Diamond Jubilee just as she did during her Silver and Golden Jubilee years. She has already begun touring the UK; no mean feat at the age of 85 years nor for Prince Philip who is 90.

Now, as anyone who knows me is aware, I am no die-hard royalist, but one by default as I hate the idea of the UK becoming a a republic. However, I have always been a great admirer of Her Majesty The Queen. In this, her Diamond Jubilee year, it seems appropriate to repeat this poem that first appeared on the blog in 2010 and subsequently in my collection that same year.

Photo: from the Internet

ALMA MATER or MATRIARCH EXTRAORDINAIRE

Epitome of majesty,

walk-about among us she goes,

smiling thoughtfully

She sees what she will see

though just what, no one knows;

epitome of majesty

Watching over a family,

keeping politicians on their toes,

smiling thoughtfully

Mindful of a public duty,

regardless of any stones it throws;

epitome of majesty

Heard said, admiringly,

of private selves to some she shows,

smiling thoughtfully

Alma Mater to set us free

if but briefly from the world’s woes;

epitome of majesty,

smiling thoughtfully

[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

T

England, My England, Three Cheers for St George

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

A reader has emailed to say he was surprised to discover I had another blog that I write especially with other gay men and women in mind. He was even more surprised to discover that he 'quite enjoyed reading it. and will do so again.' For anyone else who may be interested, follow the link:

http://aspectsofagaymanslifeinverse.blogspot.com/

I am proud of being an Englishman and sick of being told I shouldn’t be by the so-called ‘politically correct’ brigade. During the World Cup some households have been flying the flag of St George ... but some people have complained, suggesting that it will offend people from ethnic minorities ... as if they don't have teams participating as well as England. Given that St George is also known and respected by Muslims only serves to underline the ignorance of some people.

The poem does not appear in any of my collections so far. It has already provoked some protest emails, one from a Muslim man who implied I am racist and complained that English nationalism makes people like him feel excluded. Well, I don’t think that is anyone’s intention and it’s certainly not mine. As for my being racist, regular readers will know better. I have Muslim friends and others whose culture of origin is homophobic but who have no problem with either my sense of national pride (they cherish their own national/cultural identity) or sexuality.

Regarding social exclusion, I'f say gay people have known our share. Yes, things are better now than they used to be ... for some of us. Even so, I, for my part, resent the kind of socio-cultural-religious homophobia I frequently encounter from people who choose to live in the UK because it offers them a better deal than their own country yet persist in complaining about our ‘liberal’ way of life; these may well be in a minority, but it is a significant and (very) vocal minority. Sorry, but if they don’t like how we do things in the UK (or the West generally) no one will stop them returning to their own country.

ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND, THREE CHEERS FOR ST GEORGE

England, my England, where are you now?
Once, I ran in green fields, played conkers
in the school playground with friendly peers
who hadn’t even learned to spell, let alone
discover the meaning of prejudice, bigotry,
racism and homophobia

England, my England, where are you now?
Once I’d shop for sweets in a corner shop
that’s an ugly, costly apartment block now
among other carbuncles that have sneaked
into High Streets and side roads like thieves
in a corporate darkness

England, my England, where are you now?
Once you offered safety in numbers that now
would gobble me up like a swarm of locusts,
forcing an entry to trains, planes and buses,
making it their business to expose my bones
to political scrutiny

England, my England, where are you now
that let ambition get the better of humanity
and now must pay the price for aspiring
to a supremacy sure to be brought down
for its sheer audacity, while (still) declaring
an empathy with globalisation?

England, my England, where are you now
that sucks up to hawks where once it flew
with eagles, leaves crumbs out for doves
where it feasts on cake and caviar, deceiving
itself and all of us who eagerly devour
the latest opinion polls?

England, my England, where are you now?
Falling apart, a unity bought with the blood,
sweat and tears of centuries, even politics
caving in to those who shout the loudest where
this or that smooth tongued religion assumes
the moral high ground

England, my England, my love, pride and joy;
let the locusts feed on me, my spirit dare take
its cue from a bold re-working of our history
into a 21st century that may yet see its crumbs
shared out evenly, a divided humanity declared
its own worst enemy

Where now, once my England, in a world
that’s lost its way?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009