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

A Light at the End of the World

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

For those with any kind of cancer in their system, it is a scary time. Having lost loved ones and friends to various cancers, I count myself fortunate that prostate cancer, unless it becomes very aggressive, is rarely terminal on its own account. Even so, living with it from 2011 - when I was 65 - into the heart of a coronavirus pandemic has given me some panicky moments. 

For many people, 2020 has been a tragic year, losing loved ones and friends to Covid-19. Someone recently commented on losing her mother to the coronavirus, that “I feel as if it it’s the end of my world…” 

I know that feeling well, but whenever it hits me, I recall something my mother told me many years ago when my grandfather died. “Always remember,” she said, “that love never dies. Whenever you feel the need to be with someone you have lost, close your eyes, picture them as you best remember them, and engage with them as if they were still here…”  

I confess I was sceptical, but have tried it many times since, and it always works, especially with my mother who died some 40+ years ago. Those we love and who inspire us never stop loving or inspiring us. 

There can, of course, be no substitute for the physical presence of those we love, whether we are separated by mortality or simply distance, but if love is what makes our world go round, it is always there, ready to support and comfort us, even (or especially) at such dark times as our world may seem to have ceased to turn. 

Try it, and see…? 

 A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE WORLD

Allied to mortality am I,
no friend to mercy or compassion,
nor soul to keep me
from carrying out my worst intentions;
though my kinder host
will have it say, I’d have the last word
be mine, and mine alone,
only to be robbed of the greater epiphany
by such life forces as resist me 

I will seek out the innocent,
and drain the very life from them
without a qualm,
nor showing favour to any nobility,
age, gender, sexuality,
status or lack of it in the eyes of the world;
rich or poor, beggar or thief,
all are equal when my push comes to shove,
but the Spirit of Love resisting me 

My victory may well be assured,
but never complete, trust human nature
to see to that,
with its lust for life and affinity with love
in all its shapes and forms,
bringing to mind-body-spirit such a passion
for the meaning of things,
leave a trail for others to follow, as likely as not
a leading light in their darkness 

I am that cancer forcing mind and body to submit,
but even I cannot kill the human spirit

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

Butterflies, Catching the Light

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

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2013; it was inspired by a lovely lady who fought cancer and won a reprieve of several years before it finally caught up with her. One summer, she told me that, if it was to be her last, she would enjoy it to the full, not content to simply pass through like a butterfly, but with every intention of seeing out another autumn … winter … and spring … 

Indeed, no passing butterfly, she, but a true Child of the Earth. When I was first diagnosed with prostate cancer in February 2011, she was and continues to be my inspiration.

To all those having to endure cancer any any other illness, we can but take a tip from the butterflies and make the most of any light in our lives while we can; hopefully, it will inspire us to beat any odds against us and see more of our seasons through ... and never underestimate the power of the human spirit to let us do just that.  As regular readers know, I am not a religious person except in so far as I am a pantheist, but no religion has a monopoly on spirituality, and it's that which inspires the life force in me that, in turn, invariably inspires my poems.

BUTTERFLIES, CATCHING THE LIGHT

Why think of dying on a lovely

summer’s day?

Not a cloud in the sky; birds full

of mischief and joy;

a scarecrow swinging in a breeze,

making us dizzy;

children laughing at grown-ups

too busy blowing on

dandelion clocks to care how

the young may

perceive the rapture of one foolish

moment, finer by far

than capturing a rare butterfly;

light in the eye

like a spread of buttery sunshine

on bald spots 

in the hair, token of forever things;

Peace, Hope,

wings of a kind, like words a child

might find

once tucked into bed and favourite

stories read;

heavens, in perfect harmony with

greenest pastures

though a cancer in the body catch

us unawares

to keep, like the rarest butterflies,

on display

Why think of dying on a lovely

summer’s day?

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

Riposte to the Darker Side of Nature

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

While only some of my poems are semi-autobiographical, all are personal to some degree or another while I try to leave space enough for the reader to move about within them. 

Today’s poem is a particularly personal poem, given my non-aggressive (so far) prostate cancer, it is also an explanation (of sorts) to those well-meaning, religious minded people who have expressed genuine disbelief ,if not horror, that it hasn’t compelled me to seek out the God of Holy Books.

For a start, I have every confidence in the hospital team responsible for my (hormone therapy) treatment.  Moreover, only as a very young child did I ever enter into any conception of a personified God. My mother did, and I believed her until I was old enough to make up my own mind, convinced at an early age that we make our own Heaven or Hell here on Earth.

As regular readers know, I turned to nature for spiritual reassurance many years ago. Nor do I honestly think it had anything to do with feelings of alienation as I proceeded to confront my sexuality. Possibly, what some call 'God' is nature although I dare say they would argue that He (or She?) created nature for human beings to enjoy. (Yes, enjoy, not attack and destroy.)

Who knows? Each to his or her own, I say. Oh, and isn’t it high time we all started respecting each other’s beliefs, life choices, natural instincts (like sexuality) and stopped fighting amongst ourselves over who may be right and who may be wrong?  Too many people so love to take the moral high ground, they lose sight of morality in the process. It has to be one of life’s greater ironies that sickness and disease provide a common humanity with the one common denominator likely to bring all sides together…if only until it has run its course.

My mother used to tell me that whenever the going gets rough, the only way to think is positive. It was GOOD advice, especially for a young gay lad growing up in a predominantly gay-unfriendly society. (I never make an issue of being gay, but neither do I see any reason to hide the fact, hence a gay-interest as well as general poetry blog because a poem is a poem is a poem just as a person is a person is a person ... regardless.)

RIPOSTE TO THE DARKER SIDE OF NATURE

Gripped by fear,

I could but direct it elsewhere,

yet it keeps returning,

this awful cancer stalking me

like a predator

Away, dark fear,

and let me get on with my life.

Go, feed elsewhere.

I’m only human, but no easy

prey for a predator

Seized by doubt,

I can but trust positive thinking

will yet prevent

this awful cancer turning me

inside out 

Away, negativity,

always the first to undermine me

wherever I lend an ear  

to voices arguing the wisdom

of my choices

Let me not resist a need

for comfort food and fiercer hugs

than ever before

to restore poor self-confidence,

give love its head

Come, Earth Mother,

and never let go of my free hand

as with the other I’ll sign

to mind-body-spirit and the world

we’re not done

Yes, I will survive

whatever this cancer throws at me,

instincts insisting I embrace

all a feisty spirituality has to give

in its place

Let nature have its way;

together, we will no more concede

any disease its V-Day

than see human beings put down

just for being gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

On the Incredible Self-Empowerment of Naming Things

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

Like many men, I was terrified of getting prostate cancer in my later years. Shortly after my 65^th birthday, in the spring of 2011, I was, yes, diagnosed with prostate cancer and began hormone therapy.

Although I feel fine (most days) I have had some really weird dreams. The one on which this poem is based was so vivid that I got out of bed in the early hours and made a few notes before I could forget the whole thing. Sometimes I can get back into my dreams, but not on this occasion. As soon as my head hit the pillow again, I was fast asleep. If I had another dream, I don’t remember it.

I eventually woke up around 7:00 am in a cold sweat, vaguely disturbed yet also oddly elated. I felt as if I had ridden the gamut from youth to old age in a matter of seconds and been washed up on a sunny beach, my trusty white steed and me. (I love walking by the sea…)   

Above a louder and even more splendid than usual dawn chorus, I fancied someone was calling a name. In the cold light of day, I couldn’t hear what name, but somehow knew it wasn’t mine; not this time anyway. 

I sat up in bed and said aloud, ‘I have prostate cancer.’

Perhaps that is what the dream was all about, giving my ‘illness’ a name so I needn’t be afraid of it anymore?

Some hours later I caught a train and soon found myself walking by the sea in Brighton (East Sussex). I have done this so many times for so many years, yet those so familiar surroundings seemed like something out of a dream that day, and I felt so much the more reassured for it.

Naming our fears helps us confront them, all the better to get on with living without being distracted by a sense of constantly doing battle with an invisible enemy.

ON THE INCREDIBLE  SELF-EMPOWERMENT OF NAMING THINGS

I rode a pale horse to a castle of sand

gate left wide open,

drawbridge down, so carried on 

and banged at the door,

noise resounding like the weeping

of some tortured wretch

No one answered as I called a greeting

and the door groaned ajar;

not a friendly soul in sight, I entered

the Great Hall where a banquet

called for celebration of someone’s life

(alive or dead?)

Trestle tables were piled high with food

of every description,

yet no one ate from a single silver plate

or drank from silver goblets;

every throne-like chair remained emptier

than a beggar’s pockets

My horse bucked and reared as if sensing

a curse had been laid upon us;

I lost my grip and tumbled to a stone floor

as cold as an icy moat;

frantic, I heard the wretch let fly my name,

among waves of terror

I swam centuries before finally recovering

my surfboard, soon lay panting

at the gate of a sandcastle left wide open,

listening to that wretch weeping,

wondering who it it could be, how on earth 

they knew my name

Suddenly, I saw him and it was like looking
in a mirror, an expression of misery

I could not bear so leapt into the saddle, 
and rode out of the gate, its legend
(C-A-N-C-E-R) less scary for connecting me
with a positive mindset

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2013

[Note: Regular blog readers will know that I have revised this poem several times. So why post it before I am happy with it? I suspect it has to do with my being too close to the subject. Whatever, email feedback has both prompted and shaped any revisions, for which I am grateful, and can only hope this  latest will be the last. It only goes to show, I guess, that a poem is a 'live' art form in the sense that it is capable of metamorphosing as it passes from reader to reader and back to the poor poet who has to try and make sense of it all...]

Perfect Storm

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

Now, today’s poem appeared on the blogs in 2011 shortly after a scan had revealed a tumour in my prostate, but before a biopsy confirmed it was cancerous. As I have said many times, poetry is my lifeline; it helps me confront my worst fears and rise above them, the better to tackle them rather than cave in to a knee-jerk reaction…and pretend ‘God’s in his Heaven and all’s well with the world.’ (Robert Browning)

I must say a huge thank you to those readers who have been in touch to ask how I am since. Your support and encouragement is much appreciated. Incidentally, where people initially get in touch via the  'Comments' link, I will always reply to those who give an e-address and do my best to pass on my predilection for positive thinking in the hope that it will work as well for them as it does for me.[I do not post comments, though, as it not only takes up space but also encourages trolls intent on spoiling a blog for others. Needless to say, I never respond to trolls and simply ignore them. [I will respond to even the harshest criticism, though, so long as the critic makes his or her reasons clear.]

A reader who has only just been diagnosed with prostate cancer has been in touch and is obviously very distressed and asks my advice. Apparently, it is not aggressive so he has several options, but admits to being terrified by the very presence of any cancer in his body. I can understand that only too well, but never presume to give advice; regular readers will have noticed, though, that I frequently express an opinion on this or that subject.  It is a personal decision that this reader, along with anyone else similarly affected, must come to in their own way.

My cancer is not aggressive, but at a ‘low to medium’ level according to the medics. So far, I have avoided radiotherapy because I have a weak bladder and the side-effects for both bladder and bowels can be grim. I don’t want to take the risk unless I have to. In the meantime, I have chosen to have hormone therapy which, so far, has kept my PSA count low and the cancer at bay. The hormone therapy sometimes produces nasty mood swings, and I find I need to urinate a lot so that can be (very) inconvenient, especially when out and about or travelling.  Otherwise I am fairly fit and feel fine; no heart, liver or kidney problems, rheumatism or arthritis, and no diabetes... yet. (Fingers crossed...)

Given that I was born in 1945, I count myself very lucky. As for what may be lying in wait for me around the next corner, I’ll deal with that if and when the need arises. Yes, sometimes I get scared, but fear is just one of many things we have to at least try and overcome rather than let it have its wicked way with us, and see us lose out on all the good things life has to offer.

My mother used to say, if you worry you'll die and if you don't worry you're still going to die one day so...why worry? She died of brain cancer in 1976 and remains an inspiration to me. She rose above her fears just as he helped me (time and again) to rise above mine. Hopefully, reading the poem will encourage readers to rise above their fears too.

PERFECT STORM

Black cloud
chasing me
over blue grass and green sea;
twilight’s waves
teasing me,
dumping seaweed at my feet;
Shadowy surfer
homing in on me
over weepy grass and angry sea;
I try to turn,
black cloud pinioning me
to blue grass,
a green sea clothing me
in seaweed,
shadowy Surfer
skimming every nuance of mind
and body

Black cloud
imposing
a vast, appalling darkness;
twilight’s waves
thundering me
for tearing at seaweed;
shadowy Surfer
poised to catch me up
and drag me down
where weepy grass and angry sea
issue a challenge
to throw off the black cloud
pinioning me,
let every nuance of mind and body
scale its threat,
dismiss the Surfer’s shadow
and go free

Black cloud
moves on,
its vast, appalling darkness
swallowed up
by a gentler twilight
if no apology
for its thunder or waspish seaweed
making me out
to be worth no more, no less
than a shadowy Surfer
would have me
laid out on a sandy bed,
every nuance of mind and body
killed off
by a surge of self-pity
because I dare not tread a board
or even swim

Shadowy Surfer
exposed for a Peeping Tom moon
challenging me
to go on home and try again
rather than let them win
who chased me like a black cloud
over weepy grass
and green sea, pinioning every nuance
of mind and body
to a sandy bed with seaweed
nature never meant
to be used to dress a body
for some dark deed,
thwarted, for now at least,
by another victory
for Light over Dark at the edge
of time

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

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

[Update (10/ 2013): I entered the Shine night-time half-marathon walk (13.1 miles) on Sat. September 28th to raise as much as possible for prostate cancer research. [I considered entering the full marathon (26+ miles) but decided that would be too much for me, especially as I am in my late 60's now.] My best friend, Graham, walked with me. (See photo below.) Between us, we raised over £700. We hope to enter again in 2014 and raise even more.

I am the one in the silly yellow hat!

[Update (4/2015): I would have been  taking part in the Shine (half marathon) Walk for Cancer again last September, along with my friend Graham, to raise money for prostate cancer research, Sadly, I was unable to participate following a bad fall in which I sustained a bad fracture of the heel and must not put any weight on my left foot. My friend, Richard, participated as a proxy for me and completed the half marathon with Graham in 4.2 hours. All my sponsors were aware of the circumstances and sponsored me anyway, possibly because I would easily have hopped a half marathon around my flat with a Zimmer frame before I walking without aids again. I am walking fairly well now, but need a walking stick and will probably always have a limp. So no half marathon for me this year.  Even so,  I hope to participate again should my ankle/foot ever be up for it.]

[Update (20/12/2015): I will be 70 tomorrow. Today, I start a new course of hormone therapy, but no complaints.  Patients can go six months on and six months off, but it is over 2 years since I had my last hormone injection so I must be doing something right. In the beginning, I found it quite hard to live with the fact that the cancer is there, but now I rarely even think about it just take each new day as it comes and enjoy it as if it were my last.[
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