Self-Belief OR Destination, Otherworld

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

“The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself.” -  Mark Twain

“The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.” - ― Michel de Montaigne

“Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are.”- Marilyn Monroe

“One of the greatest regrets in life is being what others would want you to be, rather than being yourself.” - Shannon L. Alder

“Until you value yourself, you won't value your time. Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it.” - M. Scott Peck 

“Be faithful to that which exists within yourself.” - Andre Gide

“People may flatter themselves just as much by thinking that their faults are always present to other people's minds, as if they believe that the world is always contemplating their individual charms and virtues.” - Elizabeth Gaskell

Foe a variety of reasons, many of us suffer with low self-esteem, sometimes all our lives. I have to admit to being one of the, although I have made real progress over the years in rising above such feelings. Born and raised during the bigoted 1950’s, I was made to feel an inferior person from the time I realised I am gay, at the age of 14. Regular readers will know that I spent years in a lonely closet, rarely confiding in anyone that I was gay until ‘coming out’ to the world in my late 30’s.

Noe was my lack of self-esteem due solely to a rampant homophobia. I am not a very practical person, but found myself in a Technical High School which specialised in practical subjects like woodwork, metalwork, and technical drawing, at all of which I was next to useless and would make the kind of errors that inevitably caught a teacher’s eye; they would, in turn, bring it to the attention of the whole class. Oh, I would laugh it off, but inwardly feel positively sick.

As regular readers will also know, I had a poo relationship with my father, constantly having a go at me for “having my head in a book’ and making me feel a lesser person for that, especially as compared with my older brother who was practical, sporty and all the things my father expected of a son. Rightly or wrongly, I felt psychologically bullied and hadn’t yet learned to effectively stand up for myself without provoking an almighty row.

We are who we are and should not feel a need to justify how we identify ourselves to anyone. Being made - intentionally or otherwise - to feel less of a person by anyone, especially during our formative years or in the workplace, wherever … it can take years, if ever, to shake off a sense of inferiority.

I feel a greater sense of freedom these days, having learned mu lessons the hard way but cannot help wishing I had especially come across the Elizabeth Gaskell quote (above) during my younger years as a bookworm. 

SELF-BELIEF or DESTINATION, OTHERWORLD

Being told this, told that,
and failing to achieve a good result,
gave mind-body-spirit
a sense of falling apart, being unequal
to perspectives on me
I couldn’t work through or begin to share
however hard I’d try,
until I started listening to that voice within
reminding me I'm my own person

All but persuaded to find
my own way in a world confusing me
every step I’d take,
urging I do this or maybe rather do that
to get anywhere,
be the Someone those expecting far more
of me may rest assured
that, if only I’d listened to all they had to say,
I’d have chosen to go a ‘better’ way 

Time and again I’d feel lost,
unsuited and confused by worldly ways
others fell into with ease,
until I stumbled on home truths no-one
had led me to believe,
till mind-body-spirit made time and space
to replace the 'me'
I'd see through other eyes with my very own,
no less from without as from within

I saw a world judging me neither sinner nor fool,
made my peace with heart-and-soul 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2023

[Note: This post-poem also appears on my gay-poetry blog today.] RT

My Mentor is a Tree

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

Today’ poem is not strictly autobiographical, but the story it tells is one to which I could only too easily relate when told me by a friend many years ago; apart from having taken some poetic license, I tell it here much as it was told to me then. 

“Courage is fire, bullying is smoke.” Benjamin Disraeli 

There is no shame in asking for help. Nor is it ‘grassing’ to expose a bully, just common sense. You might even be doing them a favour; anyone shown the error of their ways stands a good chance of becoming a better person. 

It is not only children who get bullied, of course.  Here in the UK, a National Bullying Helpline offers help and advice regarding bullying in the workplace, bullying at school and online harassment; details online.

 

 MY MENTOR IS A TREE 

A local park, solitary tree
child looking up who should be
at school;
Tall, grown old, branches
reaching out by way of expressing
mixed feelings 

Small and sad, schoolboy
crying over a family photograph,
takes a penknife
to scratch a tell-tale heart
on rough bark, rain clouds closing in,
world growing dark 

Tree submits - no defence
against human nature when all’s
said and done;
Child climbs, terra out mind,
bully-fear soon starting to fall away
like autumn 

A hovering skylark lets out a cry
to chicks-in-the nest making ready
to fly...
Tears for Mum, Dad, and pal
teddy bear as well, but ready to leap
into freefall 

Earth Mother whispers in an ear,
“Look! Beyond a runny nose, a way
to live, FREE
of bully-fear. Tell someone,
then see the rats, how they do run,
their turn...  

So, I did just that, found a voice
to tell family and school, bullies outed
and humiliated,
all inhumanity but heading for a fall
once mind-body-spirit reasons ways to get
the better of it. 

It’s still there, the tree. Sometimes,
I revisit, whenever alien forces dragging
me down;
Sometimes, too, a skylark joins us,
with a peace song for all nature’s children
of whom I’m one  

Copyright R. N. Taber 1998; 2021

 

[Note: The origin of this poem is ‘Heaven Can Wait’ that I wrote in 1998 and which appears in my first collection, Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; it would be incorrect to call it a ‘revised’ version as I have made substantial changes, so have chosen not to use the same title.] RT

Buddy Joe

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

I posted this poem on my gay-interest blog some eight years ago; you can find it in that blog's archives for January 2011. (Archives are listed on the right hand side of any blog page.)

As is the case here in the UK, it has been 'acceptable' and legal for LGBT people to serve in armed forces around the world for some years, but many still choose to remain closet for fear of losing the  respect of their colleagues as much as various reprisals and bullying that invariably go unreported.

The poem was inspired by a conversation with a veteran of World War 2 whose partner has been killed in action. In those days, of course, same-sex relationships were illegal. During the since I wrote it,  I have had similar conversations with young (and older) men (usually in gay bars) who have lost partners on the battlefields of Iraq or Afghanistan. [No, I wasn't necessarily cruising. I guess I have the sort of face people feel they can open up to.] Two of these guys were serving soldiers.  Same-sex relationships may be legal now, even in the armed services, but as one guy put it, 'Let on you're gay in the army and you're fu**ked up good and proper.'

I was only glad to be in the right place at the right time so they could pour their hearts out as only one can to a complete stranger.

I am posting it here today because I had a similar conversation not so long ago with serving army officer. He made the point - and rightly so - that it gay people are good enough to fight and die so the rest of us can carry on with our lives in pace, how come they are not considered (by many) good enough to command our respect simply on the grounds of their sexuality?

Same sex relationships have been practised for aeons, so isn't it high time the rest of the world got real and ceased attacking the likes of your truly, often on the grounds of unfounded stereotypes and fake news by way of innuendo and gossip, not to mention the occasional exposure in the press, most of which are blown up out of all proportion? Yes, there are gay people who set a bad example to the rest of us, but can any die-hard heterosexual claim, hand on heart, that the same is not true of certain heterosexuals the world over? As my closet officer friend commented, "...we come in for more abuse than so-called Islamic State, for chrissake, I ask you!"

A person may not agree with or even approve of another's sexuality, but what business if it of theirs anyway, and whatever happened to agreeing to differ?

BUDDY. JOE

The day buddy Joe left town,
my heart missed a beat, I nearly died;
I prayed for his safe return
at our secret place - and cried

No one knew how buddy Joe
and I shared a love the law forbade;
my grief I dared not show
for the dreams that once we made

Buddy Joe went to fight a war
in a land of which he’d scarcely heard;
of many others gone before,
the powers-that-be gave little word

The day of buddy Joe’s return
my heart missed a beat, I surely died;
as they lowered his coffin down,
for once my tears no cause to hide

No one knows how buddy Joe
and I indulged a passion the law forbade;
the world has another hero…
I can but grieve the dreams we made

To life restored, piece by piece,
and if sometimes taking a wrong turn,
I'm the richer for love and peace
that to Joe I’ll always look and learn

Copyright R. N. Taber 2006

Stormy Weather

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

[Update: 26.9.2019: Only six years have passed since I published this post/poem on the blog, but during that time bullying has raised its ugly head time and again on social media. Boys, especially, are inclined to suffer in silence, probably having been raised to think it isn't macho to tell tales out of school, but no small number of girls as well. Bullies are sick; reporting them is actually helping them to focus on what and who really matters in this life. So never suffer in silence. Tell a parent, teacher, best friend...someone you can trust to help you find the moral courage to do whatever needs to be done to expose the bully for the cowardly scum he or she is, and put a stop to it if only to prevent them putting someone else through the hell they are putting you through.] RNT

The main reason I am on the blog today is to recommend tyDi's great song/ video on You Tube  about some of the worst aspects of modern life that continue to plague many of us, especially young people, homophobic bullying among them. In case you haven’t found it yet, I urge you to go to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CseffFUSAkg

I am 67 years old, and yet it wasn’t so different when I was young. What does that say about the world we live in, eh?  Even so, change is happening and people are becoming more aware of bullying and how it can drive people over the Edge of Reason into the Abyss. More importantly, come what may, love and the better, kinder, side of human nature continue to assert themselves over bigotry and ignorance.

Now, while I’m here…

I find writing increasingly stressful at the moment as my cataracts are getting worse. This poem is an early piece that appeared in several poetry magazines, 1996-1998, before I included it in my first major collection. Regular readers may be surprised to see that I made more (conventional) use of upper case letters at the start of lines in those days. I wrote it one stormy day while sheltering from the rain in a bus shelter.

I suspect the ‘rush of images had as much to do with seeing Derek Jarman’s amazing film 'The Garden' (1990) a few days earlier as a sense of nature ‘rushing’ me into…what? Writing a poem, maybe…

STORMY WEATHER

Cloud faces grimace;
lifelines leafing
through pouring rain;
fantastic canvas
leaping at the eye;
rooftops dripping
(sweat of heavens);
rhythm of children
braving a temporary
freedom

A rush of images
as ever seen;
Van Gogh, Jarman
each to their own
spirited inspiration;
distant thunder
rumbling our fears
while (reprieved)
we try to pass it off
as living

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2017

[Note: This poem has been slightly but significantly revised from the original version as it appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000]

Hitting Home OR Dead to Rights

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

Our emotions may not always play fair, but cannot and should not be tolerated once they it starts cutting up rough. Love is no excuse, and has no place in domestic violence.

Indeed, there is no excuse for domestic violence in any shape or form, physical or psychological, and no matter who the perpetrator ;nor is there any shame in facing up to a situation and asking for help.

Victims need to confide in a close relative or friend. Perpetrators need to seek professional advice.

Whatever, no one should suffer in silence out of fear or a sense of misguided loyalty, even love. Get support (various sources available on the Internet) and summon the willpower to walk away from it. Let the abusive partner stew in his or her own juice. Forget the dream and face up to reality.

The only answer to domestic violence and physical/psychological bullying is zero tolerance. My father was a psychological bully, less so than many, I dare say, but it's not always a matter of degree; what matters are scars left on the victim, no less unsightly for being invisible to the naked eye.

Sadly, few family members can bring themselves to discuss such issues, even between themselves, thereby risking any damage being done spilling over into a tragedy worthy of media headlines.

Whatever, people need to speak out before the local coroner gets in on the act.

HITTING HOME or DEAD TO RIGHTS

Flung open the door, smile on the face;
fist at the jaw, fallen to the floor, waiting
for more...

Eyes closed, mind shut tight to it all,
homing in on a single happy time, before
things fell apart

Breaking heart in pieces on the mat,
angry tongue making the lips bleed if only
for a bad day at work

Blows lessen, cease, but not the terror;
left sick with humiliation for this wannabe
love relationship

You go upstairs, slam the bedroom door,
down later for supper, expecting to make up
for temper tantrums

Tomorrow, a rose and any tear but yours
on these so-bruised cheeks, after forgiveness,
compassion or passion?

When I pray, even God asks why I stay,
and if I confess no idea, a dear familiar voice
calls me a liar

Wherever I once found it in me to love you,
I must find much the same to leave you, or be
like your rose...

Left dying, in a smashed vase

Copyright R. N. Taber ,2003; rev.2011


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