I'm a Poem, Get me Out of Here
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Only recently, I managed to extricate myself from a contract with a poetry publisher with which I became more and more unhappy as time passed; a member of its editorial team even asked me to shorten some longer poems to fit the page. I responded that a poem becomes a living organism as soon as a reader engages with it, and what they were asking was tantamount to an amputation.
I well recall how, many years ago, my English teacher, 'Jock' Rankin asked the whole class (of teenage boys) to write a poem for homework. "It doesn't have to include any rhyme," he added for the benefit of those of us who were under the impression that rhyme was compulsory for all poems.
Yours truly wasted no time rising to the challenge, but few others submitted anything, complaining along the lines of "I don't have a poem in me, sir, it's just not me." The same cry could be heard again after some poems were read out in class later in the week, and Jock expressed disappointment in relatively few people having made the effort. "There is a poem in all of us," he insisted, "We just have to tap into that aspect of ourselves which is especially meaningful to us, and the chances are there's a poem there champing at the bit to get out. Come on, you sporty types, let's have a sporty poem from you or any of you with hobbies you love, let's see what you can do".
The response this time was an eye-opener as everyone managed to write a poem, even the more bullish and macho among us; indeed, they were the proudest and more boastful of their achievement. Gone forever was the notion that writing and enjoying poetry was 'a girly thing'.
"You see," said a well-pleased Jock, "...there are as many subjects for a poem as there are people, each one with something different to say. We may like, dislike, agree or disagree with what it has to say, but that's life, each to their own points of view. Whatever, that poem or point of view struggling to get out of us deserves to be free to say its piece, right?" "Yes, sir" everyone yelled at once.
Why then, I can't help wondering, do we not get to read and hear more poetry on a gay theme, not least because many poetry publishers seem to think it will adversely affect sales...? Oh, well, gotta keep looking on the bright side of life...if only because the alternative is unthinkable.
I'M A POEM, GET ME OUT OF HERE
Why any heartbeat
demanding mind-body-spirit
free it from its closet,
left to go wherever it will,
no slave to hypotheses,
but deserving better,
not least to find a voice,
and ways to make itself heard
by the poet within...?
What is this sound,
like the cry of a lost child
negotiating its way
all but blindly along frantic
highways and byways
whose names but posturing
as spelling lessons
in its past-present-future eager
to make itself felt...?
What is this presence
calling on inarticulate reason
for expression, as clear
at first as dawn mist reluctant
to let any sunshine
into a persona grown frantic
for a comfort zone,
offering as close a sense of safe
and sound as any...?
Why this falling apart,
now closing any yawning gaps
in a consciousness,
weathering mist and murk,
only to find itself
burning bridges across rivers
of rising passion,
anxious to find release in at least
explaining the smoke?
No end in sight - lost;
left to others to find and help me
if they can, or make time
for a poem give self-awareness
a clear heads-up
in negotiating the complexities
likely to characterise
any literal or existential soundings
taken from a human heart
Copyright R. N. Taber 2019
[Note: This poem also appears on my gay-interest blog -' G-A-Y in the Subject Field' - today.]
Only recently, I managed to extricate myself from a contract with a poetry publisher with which I became more and more unhappy as time passed; a member of its editorial team even asked me to shorten some longer poems to fit the page. I responded that a poem becomes a living organism as soon as a reader engages with it, and what they were asking was tantamount to an amputation.
I well recall how, many years ago, my English teacher, 'Jock' Rankin asked the whole class (of teenage boys) to write a poem for homework. "It doesn't have to include any rhyme," he added for the benefit of those of us who were under the impression that rhyme was compulsory for all poems.
Yours truly wasted no time rising to the challenge, but few others submitted anything, complaining along the lines of "I don't have a poem in me, sir, it's just not me." The same cry could be heard again after some poems were read out in class later in the week, and Jock expressed disappointment in relatively few people having made the effort. "There is a poem in all of us," he insisted, "We just have to tap into that aspect of ourselves which is especially meaningful to us, and the chances are there's a poem there champing at the bit to get out. Come on, you sporty types, let's have a sporty poem from you or any of you with hobbies you love, let's see what you can do".
The response this time was an eye-opener as everyone managed to write a poem, even the more bullish and macho among us; indeed, they were the proudest and more boastful of their achievement. Gone forever was the notion that writing and enjoying poetry was 'a girly thing'.
"You see," said a well-pleased Jock, "...there are as many subjects for a poem as there are people, each one with something different to say. We may like, dislike, agree or disagree with what it has to say, but that's life, each to their own points of view. Whatever, that poem or point of view struggling to get out of us deserves to be free to say its piece, right?" "Yes, sir" everyone yelled at once.
Why then, I can't help wondering, do we not get to read and hear more poetry on a gay theme, not least because many poetry publishers seem to think it will adversely affect sales...? Oh, well, gotta keep looking on the bright side of life...if only because the alternative is unthinkable.
I'M A POEM, GET ME OUT OF HERE
Why any heartbeat
demanding mind-body-spirit
free it from its closet,
left to go wherever it will,
no slave to hypotheses,
but deserving better,
not least to find a voice,
and ways to make itself heard
by the poet within...?
What is this sound,
like the cry of a lost child
negotiating its way
all but blindly along frantic
highways and byways
whose names but posturing
as spelling lessons
in its past-present-future eager
to make itself felt...?
What is this presence
calling on inarticulate reason
for expression, as clear
at first as dawn mist reluctant
to let any sunshine
into a persona grown frantic
for a comfort zone,
offering as close a sense of safe
and sound as any...?
Why this falling apart,
now closing any yawning gaps
in a consciousness,
weathering mist and murk,
only to find itself
burning bridges across rivers
of rising passion,
anxious to find release in at least
explaining the smoke?
No end in sight - lost;
left to others to find and help me
if they can, or make time
for a poem give self-awareness
a clear heads-up
in negotiating the complexities
likely to characterise
any literal or existential soundings
taken from a human heart
Copyright R. N. Taber 2019
[Note: This poem also appears on my gay-interest blog -' G-A-Y in the Subject Field' - today.]
Labels: answers, culture, diversity, eistential, human nature, human spirit, leteral, life, meaning, mind-mody-spirit, motivation, personal space, poetry, questions, religion, society
posted by R. N. Taber | 11:17
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