Hello, folks, from London UK

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

“Art hurts. Art urges voyages – and it is easier to stay at home.” ~Gwendolyn Brooks

“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” - Leonardo da Vinci

“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.” - Robert Frost 

“How do poems grow? They grow out of your life. “– Robert Penn Warren

Hello, Everyone, from London UK,

Reader G H has emailed to ask if the personal pronoun ‘I’ in my poems is yours truly. Well, the answer is both yes and no.  The ‘I’ is multiple voices, including mine.

Over the years, I have met many inspiring people, had inspirational tales related to me by probably as many strangers I’ve met in passing as family and friends.  Much of what I have learned, I try to pass on to readers, hence a multi-vocal ‘I’.I daresay much the same can be said for the authors of all art forms.

Feedback suggests that readers are happy with this, and can see how it fits in with the multidimensional nature of what I am trying to say in many poems.  Hopefully, I succeed more often than I fail; in either case, it often depends as much upon whether or not the reader can relate to a poem at the time as the poet’s ability to draw the reader into a poem and let him or her work through and arrive at their own take on it. Needless to say, how they finally relate to it, if at all, the poet will probably never know…

The natural world  is a constant inspiration to us all, of course, especially to the gardener who has a special relationship with nature I have always admired, even envied. More than one gardener has told me how they so look forward to spring, seeing leaves return to the trees and listening to what they have to say as they rustle in a breeze or survive a storm. Oh, yes, there is a poet in everyone...

Do feel free to email me – rogertab@aol.com - any time. I try to reply or at least acknowledge as many as possible, but only read those with ‘POETRY’ in the subject field. Sometimes, I am feeling unwell  and manage to hit a wrong key, whereupon emails disappear, so apologies to anyone expecting a reply, but has not received one. 

As regular readers well know, years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has played merry hell with my thought processes and general memory, so I am not as comfortable with new technology as I once was, not to mention that I can't always see the letters on a my p c keyboard too well these days either. 😉

Can you wonder that I sometimes struggle to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life?😉 Ah, but the struggle always brings its own reward...😁

Take care, folks, keep safe and stay positive,

Many thanks for dropping by and I hope to be back with a new poem soon,

Hugs,

Roger 

“

 

Bits and Pieces

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“For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind.” -  Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Let us not look back in anger or forward in fear, but around in awareness.” – James Thurber

“Bitterness is kike cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns all clean.” Maya Angelou

“Where once estrangement has arisen between those who truly love each other, everything seems to widen the breach.” – Mary Elizabeth Braddon

“Nothing is as good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” – William Shakespeare

Now. kith and kin fall out all the time, often the closer for falling back in again. But something and someone has to give, at least try to put bits and pieces back where they belong. Easy enough, when everyone shares the same insight, but insight can become worn, even flawed if left in bits and pieces for too long. 

The old saying goes that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder.’ – but like many old sayings, is little more than wishful thinking, depending on why the absences, whose hearts and just how much it matters to all concerned in terms of peace of mind.  Sometimes we don’t try hard enough to secure the latter, or our efforts are discouraged and/or misinterpreted. 

I guess, there’s more wisdom in old sayings than aspires to meet the eye or move the tongue, such as:  ‘There’s no point in crying over spilt milk,’ – but that, too, depends on where spilt, how much, and are we prepared to wipe it up ourselves of leave it to whom we assume responsible?

No easy answers, but if it’s a question we are asking of ourselves, the chances are we need to put our personal space to rights, one way or another, the sooner the better.

BITS AND PIECES

We parted long ago,
haven’t crossed paths for years,
you, assuming why
I fell so short of expectations,
making assumptions, always safer
than asking questions

Ask not, fear not
any answers that might close in
on certain home truths,
best avoided in case tempted
to look to closely at a you-me-us
left in bits and pieces

Blame me as much 
as you will, but it requires two
to dance a tango,
watching others wondering 
why we don't care to take the floor,
nothing there anymore?

Nothing comes of nothing, nor could,
but for asking why we never did

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

Bridges

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As is the case for many, if not most of us, the paths I’ve taken in this life, more often than not with few (if any) alternatives to choose from have led me to the very edge of abyss after abyss. Even so, the choices were mine alone, and, for the most part, I cannot blame anyone but myself for my mistakes. 

From time to time, we may well face various issues over which we have little or no control, for reasons as likely to remain as much a mystery as such life forces themselves, as egg us on with no clear idea as to what or where.

Now, in my 77th year, I look back and, incredibly, can count more good times than bad, more very good times even than very bad, not least for coming into contact with some wonderful people who have helped channel life crisis after life crisis into something better, kinder and enduring.

We never forget bad times, but those of us surviving into old age need to draw on the good times to see us through the various issues we need to manage and rise above in order to keep faith with whatever it is in us that others have deemed worthy of their help and support over the years. Sadly we may lose touch with them, but it is never a case of 'out of sight, out of mind' and they continue to shape our lives for the better.

As for those whom we see - rightly or wrongly - as having failed us, we can hardly blame them for an inner eye that cannot see beyond appearances… well, can we?  Besides, appearances are often not as they seem and can lead to misunderstandings, which is why a frequent theme in my poetry has been the need for communication as a two-way process. Nor should it matter who makes the first move so long as someone does, and the other party or parties see that for what it is and responds in like terms. 

The importance of agreeing to differ rather than let any differences cause ill-feeling and subsequent division and/or estrangement; it is also why I feel unable to subscribe to any world religion and have come to think of myself as a pantheist

Needless to say, perhaps, one of my favourite songs is a recording by The Animals in the mid-1960’s of Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood; I was in my 20th year at the time and it resonates with me now every bit as much as it did then. 

BRIDGES

Life, it can get tough with us,
the more so when no one to share
all the mind’s eye gets to see
though windows on everyday scenery;
good, bad, ugly, and such beauty
as likely to motivate 
mind-body-spirit enough to reap,
nurture and harvest such hope and goodwill
as, in turn, recharges heart-and-soul 

Though the road be long or short,
mind-body spirit remains independent,
to no small degree, of any measure
of time as humanity would impose on it,
recharging its batteries
at every available opportunity arising
from taking each day as it comes,
inner eye invariably messaging personal space,
unhindered by either time or place

Many, the paths, our time is likely
to set us on while inviting us to try out 
many a potential resting place,
fulfilling a need to have us  enter, explore,
be they reeking of life, death,
or such things as much a mystery to us
as any Here-and-now seemingly
demanding atonement, suggesting the onus on us
to absolve any failings in our genes

Ah, but not all generations will hold us 
accountable for whatever life forces lead
mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers
to lose their way in such houses of many rooms
as comprise facts and fictions offering 
potential rest and shelter,
even in the worst of weathers, as we pursue
this path or that, increasingly unsure, as often as not,
whether wiser to go on or stay put

On every journey this life may take us,
whether or not from choice, longer or shorter
than such dreams as egg us on  
to explore its various houses of many rooms, 
the human heart will find ways
to enjoy home comforts and peace of mind
if only for having experienced
the best of humanity, as neither fictions nor mere blips, 
but  shaping our loves and friendships

Where mixed feelings may well confuse, even see us lost, 
invariably, find bridges to be crossed and re-crossed

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

Smoke

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 “It is better to understand little than to misunderstand a lot.” - Anatole France

“We’re all islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding.”  - Rudyard Kipling

“In the whole round of human affairs, little is so fatal to peace than misunderstanding.” - Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

Sometimes, we convince ourselves we are on the right track for achieving this or that goal; rightly or wrongly, only one way to find out. Invariably, this means communicating our aims and purpose to others, which, in turn requires bringing into play the process of communication. Sadly, we do not always communicate well, - especially with the written word alone - leaving ourselves wide  open to one of the unkindest life-death forces of all… misunderstanding.

Friends and family, for example, often  disagree . Now, agreeing to differ is one thing, but when certain perspectives on whatever it is people disagree about are distorted by misunderstandings, then any smoke in the eyes needs to be cleared, the fire put out while still manageable. 

More often than not, all it takes is a willingness to try and understand each other and talk things through, the life and breath of real communication, a life force so often killed by those of us unable to see clearly for the smoke of human egocentricities. Well, we can but try, bearing in mind that it takes more than one person to talk things through and someone has to make the first move or... 

Many if not most of us often need some signs of encouragement to make that first move; no encouragement, no positive thinking; another family member or friend lost to that old troublemaker,  Misunderstanding. 

As my mother used to say, when in doubt...don't be afraid to ask - or be quick to take offence at what you might hear, just get stuck in and talk things through.

Sadly, given that misunderstandings invariably give rise to false assumptions, those same assumptions only encourage more smoke... in which any need or desire to ask is inclined to go out of sight, out of mind.

SMOKE 

The voice is clear
so, too, its sounds falling on my ear
even as they become distorted
by other voices in my head raising
doubts, confusing me
for their incompatibility with sounds
I expected to hear, the words
in my ear all but another language to me,
a growing incompatibility

The way is not clear
to make a reply to silences in my ear,
taken me by surprise by smoke
in the eyes where the only fire lit lies
within a heart-and-soul
unable to quite believe what it’s hearing,
questions put to life forces
prompting a need to engage in discussion,
only to change direction 

Having wrestled clear
of doubts, fears and other nightmares,
I continue on my way
as first mapped out by my convictions,
disturbed, but not deterred
by smoke, in other eyes now, failing to see
the alternative reality inspiring
me to go on, in pain for leaving you behind,
unable to read your mind…

Time, barely healing its cuts from our failing
to head off tragedies of misunderstanding

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please, Listen

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Often in life, the more important and personal it is that we need to tell someone, the harder it is to find the right words; words that will not be misunderstood or fail to communicate our depth of feeling; a lesson for the learning, indeed, not least as as true love starts to flower and engaging in a relationship takes on a whole new meaning,...

Nor does the principle apply only to lovers. Expressing out trues feelings about someone or something we are anxious to communicate is a problem - if not a crisis of self-confidence - for many of us.

PLEASE, LISTEN

You lay your head on my shirt,
listening to my heart
and does it tell you all the things
I so long to say, but can never find
the words?

No? Then listen, and let my heart
tell you so...

Do you hear a love song taught me
by the birds, confessing
how I need you more, far more,
than I can say since love, it came
to stay?

No? Then listen, and let my heart
tell you so...

We were meant for one another,
soulmates forever,
life, love, dreams, looking out
for each other...
especially at times when it feels as if
the world is failing us, hope falling apart
at the seams

Now, listen and let this heart of mine
tell you how...

Come, passion’s heat, no hearth
simply smouldering,
but as lightening may well charge
Earth’s own heart in the course of fierce
summer storms

Ah, no need for words, the moment
taking us over,
our bodies engaging with each other,
in such passion and peace as bodes well
for You-Me-Us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; rev. 2021

[Note: This poem has been significantly revised since I wrote it in 2001 and included it in my collection, First Person Plural, Assembly Books, 2002.] RT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Tracks

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OVERHEARD: “They’re always right so everyone else has to be wrong. How vain or self-centred can a person be, for heaven’s sake?” 

Possibly the person in question is neither vain or self-centred in the sense their accuser implies. Sometimes people need to address their inner selves so often, in order to avoid a personal abyss, that they develop tunnel vision; not in every respect, though, only as and when they need to make some cliff-hanger of a personal decision. 

Whatever, everyone’s cliff-hangers are different; what may help one person may not help another. 

Since the person under discussion here was clearly asked for advice, or at least an opinion, with which the speaker plainly disagreed... don’t they deserve some credit for at least trying to answer, in the light of what they may well have discovered for themselves, rather than sitting on the proverbial fence? 

Now, the speaker may well be right, but doesn’t the accused deserve the benefit of doubt rather than be given a stereotypical label that may well do the rounds and prove to be unfounded in different circumstances...? 

Why did I earwig and subsequently write the poem? Well, possibly because one of my favourite recordings from the 1960’s is Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood by The Animals. Sadly, it happens to some of us all the time... 

TRACKS 

Everywhere I look,
I’ll invariably fail to see what lies
beyond certain perimeters,
narrow, though, they well may be
for reasons best accounted for
by formative years left least aware
of a mind-body-spirit
failing to master such arts of interaction
as effect true communication 

Unable to break free
of such hauntings and compelled
to follow, though they lead
into such dark, complex landscapes
of emotion and imagination
as more likely to effect tunnel vision
than lend me a key
to better understanding the finer mysteries
of human history over centuries 

From time to time,
personal space allows me glimpses
of a kinder past-present-future
than the human engine in me running
on lines meant to leave me
missing out on such key destinations
as Love and Peace,
only for me to miss my destination yet again
on such tracks as are but human 

Call me Self-centredness, that human faculty
often mistaken for vanity 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

Art Forms, Life-Forms

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People have often asked me why I write poetry. Another friend, a painter, is often asked why he paints. Why does anyone get involved in any of the arts whether it be creative writing, music, acting, dance or floristry... whatever, the answer is essentially the same. 

Any art form invariably makes the artist feel good, not only about participating by way of communicating, expressing something of the inner self that needs to make itself seen and heard, but also, in turn, being explored by inner eyes and inner ears, among any who care to look and listen. 

We may well disagree with what we see and hear in an art form, but it will invariably give us food for thought. 

Now, I know I have said as much in previous posts and the reader who emailed yesterday to tell me off for repeating myself too often makes a good point. At the same time - and the same applies to the creator and/or participant in any art form - if something is worth saying, it is always worth repeating. 

As for agreeing or disagreeing with whatever point/s are being put across within it, that is part of the art process, drawing us in. Even artists often find themselves at odds with themselves as they pursue whatever it is they are trying to say, struggling perhaps to give it form and meaning; to this end, they may well play devil’s advocate, not to confuse, but lead us to consider our own position and just where we stand in relation to... whatever. 

It may be a painting, a sculpture, a piece of music or a floral display... take any art form lightly, and we risk losing a sense of enlightenment as likely as not to influencer our lives for the better, whether minimally or substantially. 

ART FORMS, LIFE-FORMS 

During formative years,
I’d shed tears for feeling unsafe
in a world teaching me words
to help me guard against the threat
of mutual misunderstandings,
arts of communication as divided
by as many reasons swung
like axes of the proverbial kind
as human remains left behind

 Grown older and wiser
to ways of a world as excited
by the intimacy of playing
word games in any public arena
as lovers testing out dreams
in such open (or closet) scenarios
as may or not work out
for better or worse, blessing or curse.
in a private-cum-public space 

Grown old, the more so
for having had to agree terms
with strangers in my mirror,
shadows haunting dining tables,
or cosy corners for family,
friends, lovers indulging in rites,
acting parts in good faith,
so kinder worlds may yet save a heart
whose faith in one, fallen apart

Find me in all art forms, asking we consider
the good and bad of all we may yet deliver

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

An Open Letter to Readers

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Dear Readers,

No poem today as I live alone, am feeling very tired, and need to get on with some housework. However, still trying to keep one step ahead of tomorrow here... by writing a poem for New Year's Day; it is taking shape already, and I intend to finish it in time to publish on January 1st.

Writing poetry this year has been tough, given the effects of Covid-19 worldwide. More than one reader has complained that my poems "lack imagination, not least for being less concerned with poetry as an art form than with social commentary." and I have to concede that they may well have a point. However, with people losing hope and struggling to rise above that as well as the coronavirus itself, I have concentrated, for the most part, in trying to inject significant positive thinking into my poems. As I do so, it helps me, and I can only hope it helps some of you as well.

To be honest, I doubted whether I had another poem in me, having written nearly a thousand for this blog alone.  If some poems appear to lack imagination, I can only say that I have had to summon no small degree of that for every poem I have written during the pandemic; sifting through the tumult of my own emotions - from a growing sense of fear and despair to those old standbys love and hope - in I try reach out to readers in such a way that they can feel my reaching out to them, especially those who are feeling isolated and/ or lonely.

I cannot expect every reader to like every poem, and I often have second thoughts about a poem myself; as you may have noticed, I will significantly revise a poem and even replace titles from time to time. On the whole, though, I take your staying with me and the blog as an appreciation of my efforts for which I feel  both grateful and inspired. 

In the sense that I am, after all, just an ordinary Joe, trying to make the most of retirement in spite of various health issues, you, my readers, play as important a part in my well-being as the poems I write for the you-me-us that is the common multicultural and multinational humanity on which the world turns. For all its faults and flaws (and ours) it is a good world that, one way or another, will get the better of those criminal and bigoted elements that try to turn it (and us) upside down and inside out., not least by our joining forces against them whenever and wherever we can. 

Okay, no one is perfect, least of all yours truly, but personalities do clash, misunderstandings do occur and  neither bode well with regard to mending bridges. Perhaps if we talked to each other more instead of rushing to judgement and/ or being so cocksure that we are right and the other person is wrong...?

Communication  is a common theme in my poems. Too many of us don't talk to each other enough; talk, that is, to hear, to listen, and be prepared to see the other person's point of view. I write from personal experience; apart from my mother, few among my immediate or extended family were ever prepared to engage in a conversation which might not go completely in their favour, so now we are estranged, for which I'm sorry and not sorry; sorry because family should mean more than it has ever meant to me and not sorry because living without being able to engage in mutual communication as opposed to mere conversation is just too stressful. 

If I had been able to discuss my being gay with my family instead of their asking me and coming to their own stereotypical conclusions amongst themselves, I might well have made less of a mess of my younger years, and fewer mistakes. It was much the same with my deafness, at home and at work; both were a nightmare at times, not least because few people understand perceptive deafness; how much  a person hears depends not only on the pitch of another person's voice, but on local acoustics as well. As I did not see a specialist until I was twenty-one and had left home, my schooldays were a nightmare. I could not understand why I could hear a teacher in one classroom, but not in another, so would often sit at the back and hear/ learn very little. 

Even in later years, explanations would often be seen as excuses of which relatively few people took any notice, so my quality of life continued in much the same vein.

At 75, I can honestly say that, on balance, there have been more good times than bad in my life. Time . Time and again ,a flagging faith in myself and human nature generally has been restored by engaging with those such wonderful people as are not only willing to help and/or advise others, but listen to them as well; more often then not, the latter it is the best form of help one person can give another. 

Who knows? Maybe this year's having been so awful for so many of us, the true value of listening may yet be restored wherever, in the past, it has been woefully neglected; whenever it is taken on board and acted upon appropriately, may none of us take it for granted. 

A reader asks, only yesterday, how i can write about the human spirit when I do not subscribe to any of the world religions. As regular readers well know, I have never seen religion as having a monopoly on spirituality.  Where people take comfort and inspiration from their religion, I have every respect for that; it is with certain religious agendas that I have taken issue since childhood.

Back (with a poem) on New Year's Day, folks,

Hugs,

Roger

PS Enjoy the blog archives; see right hand side of any blog page.

. 

Life-saver

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A few months ago, I called a friend on the phone who has health problems, just to say hello and let him know I was thinking of and rooting for him, especially during these troubled times of Covid-19. Like me, he lives alone, but has always been far more sociable than yours truly so I was surprised and not a little guilt-ridden to hear him say I was the first person with whom he had chatted all week. “No one gives a damn if you’re on your own,” he sighed, “They are so busy getting on with their own lives, they can’t even make time to give a friend a call.” I  confessed I had friends like that, but …

“Don’t wait for them to call, call them,” I said, “It’s not a matter of their not caring, more like they cannot imagine what it’s like to be lonely. People like us need to swallow our pride and just pick up the damn phone.”

“You get lonely too?” It was his turn to be surprised.

“You bet!” I laughed, “But if I start to feel forgotten then I know I need to give a few people a nudge. The chances are, I won’t have to wait so long next time, and if I do, well, I’ll just give them another nudge …”

“What about people who have no one to call or email?” he wanted to know.

“There are organizations that recruit volunteers to befriend others. You have a computer. Look some up and maybe even think about giving it a go.”

He did, and has enjoyed being a volunteer for some time, not least for the two-way rapport in making new friends; even if it’s a voice at the other end of a phone, the chances are that voice will become a friend.

LIFE-SAVER 

It was a scary hollow of the heart
keeping me from seeing my way clearly,
a sense of dying slowly,
no one near to hold my hand, understand
the depth of my despair,
reason barely clinging to kinder memories
on the wings of a child’s prayer 

Each breath I took was but sapping
mind-body-spirit, tossing away dreams
like human waste
without a care even where they might fall,
no pride left to save,
nor reassuring voice, or comforting hands
to help lift me from the grave 

Out of nowhere, a shrill bell ringing
as if calling on mind-body-spirit to recover
any discarded waste,
time yet to recycle, put it to as good a use
as invention can contrive
if fuelled by such friendly persuasion as leans
on the human heart to live 

I answered the telephone just in time
to let a voice from the past haul me back
into a Here-and-Now
I had all but given up on, lively conversation
putting despair in its place,
filling this hollow heart with joie de vivre
for turning its back on loneliness

No longer feeling scared, alone, in free fall,
and always first to make a life-saver call

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Instinct, Minder-Mentor for Communication Skills

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Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2015.

For years, various people  - family, friends, teachers, work colleagues – would accuse me of exaggerating my hearing problem and/ or using it as an excuse for not having heard or quite understood what they are saying, the clear implication being that implying it is more likely down to my inability to concentrate or even bother to listen. I stopped trying to explain about perceptive deafness years ago; few people have either the patience or inclination to listen since they are convinced that know me better than I know myself.

The problem with perceptive deafness - for others as well as those like myself - is that our hearing is affected not only by the pitch of someone’s voice, but also by existing acoustics. I have mentioned this before, but a reader seems to have a similar problem; he or she writes: “I can hear some people quite well in a particular room or environment, but elsewhere I can hardly hear them at all. Everyone thinks I am not paying attention, at home as well as at school, but it isn’t that, honestly.” Indeed, it isn’t, and I urge this reader seek to ask their GP to refer them to an audiologist asap.

At school, I would sit at the back of some classrooms so I would be less likely to be asked questions; consequently, of course, I missed even more of the lesson for barely hearing a word. At home, my father, especially, would angrily accuse me of ignoring him time and again for the same reason. It was not much different at work at first … until the problem was finally identified by professionals; at last, I had not only an explanation, but also special hearing aids (imported from Germany) to vastly alleviate the problem.

For years, though, I honestly thought I was mentally impaired.

I have often reflected on how those inner selves that come together to create human identity are a motley crew, invariably, adapting to a variety of circumstances, performing accordingly for a variety of people in a variety of ways, depending on why we have (either consciously or subconsciously) brought them into play in the first place.

Whatever, possibly the most important lesson any of us will learn as we progress through our lives -  whoever and wherever we may be in the world, whatever our ethnicity, religion, gender or  socio-cultural agenda – is getting  to know our various selves, learn to listen and which to trust; collectively, these are often called instincts which I have heard them referred to - not inappropriately in my view - as our ‘Minders’; I get that, I really do, and always have while others may well take some convincing.

For years, I knew something was wrong with me; my instincts told me to seek help, but no one would listen until a particularly nasty case of earache caused me to see a GP who referred me to an audiology consultant; the rest, as they say, is history.

Mind you, I still need to explain my hearing impairment to some people, especially if they are softly spoken or do not speak clearly. Even as a young child, though, I discovered that I catch more of what someone is saying if he or she is facing me; without knowing it, I was lip reading. That was the easy part. Have you noticed how some people will look anywhere but directly at you when they engage you in conversation? In my case, it always has to be my fault if I misunderstand, especially now I am 70+ as they can always blame old age just as, years ago, they would blame a child’s inattentiveness. <>

There is a pub in London called The Masque Haunt. I once overheard a complete stranger comment as he looked up at the name, ‘Now, that’s life. Oh, yes, that’s life …’

This poem is a kenning.

INSTINCT, MINDER-MENTOR FOR COMMUNICATION SKILLS 

I tell people what to do

and where to go, putting them

in their place

where needs must, advise how

not to lower the eye,

but appear relaxed to all intents

and lesser purposes,

direct the semblance of a smile

to complete the illusion

I fulfil the role of showman,

 treading no boards, just dreams

(nor gently either)

inciting the coward to bold acts

likely to pass for bravery

by the less discerning observer,

appropriately applauded

by an audience with its own ideas

of entertainment…

I hunger for a share of glory,

albeit behind scenes played out

to (near) perfection

by conscience and consciousness

at centre-stage

of everyday deceptions produced 

by circumstances

and directed by those old standbys,

diplomacy and discretion

Minder-Mentor of a human condition

some call self-preservation

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Soldiering On

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

Today’s poem only appeared early last year, but I was unhappy with both title and poem in spite of encouragement from friends to publish it here. Hopefully, readers will enjoy this version; I have changed the title and completely revised the end couplet. (So why post a poem here if I’m not entirely happy with it? Well, sometimes I am too close to the poem to see rather than simply sense what is wrong or missing; this is, of course, where any critical feedback comes into its own. (Academically, I didn’t do well at school I the 1950’s/ early 60’s, but had some excellent teachers; one of the most valuable lessons they taught me was to always face up to my shortcomings and mistakes, even if only to myself.)

I dare say most if not all of us have upset someone at some time or another with an accidentally inappropriate choice of words. I can think of several occasions when it has happened to me, and I’ve not always been able to mend fences with the person or persons concerned. Some people are quick to take offence and slow to appreciate that it well may be that no offence was intended.

Many years ago, I upset my secondary school English teacher by a using poor choice of words. I apologised, and explained I meant no offence. He accepted my apology, adding a word of warning that has stayed with me these past 50+ years. “Never, but never, underestimate word power, Taber. It can make or break or break any relationship. More often than not, you’ll never understand why unless you make the effort to find out. Even then, the chances are barely 50:50 that the other person will have a clue what you’re on about and will proceed to hold a grudge likely to prey on your mind for years. Most people, you see, forget that different words mean different things to different people. As for the spoken word, well, tone and body language are everything, and half the time we’re unaware how we are using either.”

Oh, but he was so right, and I have inadvertently found myself in that the same situation time and again, not least because I am partially deaf . Believe me, though, those of us who wear hearing aids are no more vulnerable to mishearing and/ or misunderstanding  than the average hearing person. Most of us who belong to the former category can usually tell from the other person's tone or expression that we have misheard and will act to prevent any misunderstanding. Sometimes an apology-cum-explanation can clear the air, sometimes it won’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of getting through to the offended person.

Language lays traps; it is always worth remembering the old adage advising us to think before we speak (write, e-mail, whatever) or risk its damaging the best of good intentions; its misuse is a common enough mistake that most if not all of us make at some time or another, grounds enough for appeal, surely, should we accidentally put a foot wrong? Sadly, such is human nature that it is (too) often inclined to turn a deaf ear.

This poem is a kenning

SOLDIERING ON

I’ll fight the good fight

with the very best of intentions,

yet often misunderstood

for a rogue devil in the detail,

invariably missed

by thought processes less familiar

with the subtler art

of meaning as regards prime destination,

a sensitive mind-body-spirit

Losing the good fight

has been known to hurt those most

whose side I would take

against the harsher machinations

of life, love, whatever

it may be seemingly conspiring

to set us at worse odds

than mind-body-spirit intends, but foiled

by its own commonest flaws

Winning the good fight

with the very best of intentions,

and getting the better

of some rogue devil in the detail

likely to throw a spanner

in the workings of any relationship

can be easily accomplished

for not assuming what’s good for the goose

is good for the gander

I, Word Power, expert in the art of persuasion,

nor less so in the nature of disillusion

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

L-I-F-E, Misunderstandings and Infinite Horizons

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

Once asked to name my favourite song of all time, I had to confess it has to be ‘Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood, first recorded by the late, great Nina Simone and then by The Animals whose lead singer Eric Burden’s turn it was to lift it to  inspirational heights.

Why my favourite song?  I am a great fan of both Nina Simone and The Animals, but the song hits me where it hurts most. The curious thing about hurt is that it can be both awfully painful and inspirational at the same time.  (I suspect I am not the only one who has lost friends for their having misunderstood our spoken or written words.)

Rightly or wrongly, I have felt misunderstood for the greater part of my life. The fact that I have a hearing problem, left undiagnosed as a form of ‘perceptive deafness’ for years hasn’t helped, but that is no excuse. Indeed, there are no excuses. On the other hand, there is room for reparation and reconciliation if the offended party will only say why they feel offended, thus giving the other person an opportunity to at least try and clear up any misunderstandings. Too often, though, this simply doesn’t happen.  One could argue that it is down to anyone who can see they have caused offence to make the first move while, on the other hand, isn’t the offended person also morally obliged to say why they have taken offence instead of simply resorting to postures that are no less offensive if not more so for being deliberate?

Many if not most friends and family members fall out from time to time, but any friends or family members worth their salt will engage us in an exchange of views, however heated, which  - more often than not – will clear the air and effect reconciliation. Sadly, many people see taking offence as a means to ending a relationship which, for reasons best known (or unknown) to themselves they would prefer to discontinue; an act of shifting any and all all blame elsewhere that has been a socially acceptable get-out cause for centuries. Those of us to whom reconciliation is all-important will know each other well to make sure it happens, albeit probably after arguing who threw the first stone …

“Drop the people who do not value you, respect you. Life has infinite horizons. Accept yourself, love yourself, and move forward.” ― Amit Ray, Peace, Bliss, Beauty and Truth: Living with Positivity

L-I-F-E, MISUNDERSTANDINGS AND INFINITE HORIZONS

I rarely mean to say

how it’s taken what I mean,

and held against me

rarely asked to explain,

try repairing damage done

(end of conversation)

Friends all but strangers,

family members taking sides,

cue for body language;

Looks, casting aspersions

on the best of my intentions,

no one asking questions

Hurt feelings on a chatline

exchanging gossip and rumour,

(No one any the wiser);

I, left to mull (close to tears)

 a real mess-up of a diary filled

with smudges and smears

Yet, some entries in my diary

stand out, no smears or smudges

in sight, only what’s writ;

not always a misunderstood

child, teenager or senior citizen,

for embracing infinite horizons

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

Bargain Hunters or In the Market

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

How many personae do we take on during a lifetime, I wonder? More, I suspect that many if not most of us would care to admit. A friend once commented that everyone seems to have a mask for every occasion, and she may well have had a point. There is the interested face or mask we wear as and when called upon to do so, whether or not we are genuinely interested in what is being said or done, often to impress and earn admiration; most of us have a sympathetic expression, a cheerful one (a favourite)...whatever, as best suits particular circumstances.  Than goodness for those situations when we need no mask, but are free to be ourselves, with loved ones and close friends whom we do not need to impress or go along with to keep the peace...relatively few in the kind of crowded lives we so often lead, and all the more precious for that, even if human nature is such that we sometimes fail to let them know hot much we love and appreciate them.

Nothing comes completely free, of course; there is invariably a price to pay, in losing a friend or loved one either through their death or, worse, some fault of our own that results in estrangement; not always our fault, either, except in so far as stress  - in all its various shapes and forms - is to blame. Many people don't understand stress, but those who do, and can deal with the worst in others without being judgemental and still leave room for forgiveness...well, they are among the true treasures in anyone's life.

One of my greater regrets in life is that I have not only unintentionally failed people, in one way or another, but also compounded such failures by eventually recognising them without doing my best to rectify or at least try and compensate for them.  I have heard the 21st century referred to as the Age of Communication, especially with the advent of New Technology, yet my personal experience of human nature is that we are probably no more really communicative with each other now than human beings have ever been; we make assumptions, listen to gossip and make even more assumptions ..  and so the cycle of misunderstandings and missed opportunities on a personal level goes on unless or until someone breaks and mends it. Sadly, though, it takes two to break and two to mend, and it is not an uncommon trait of human nature that relatively few of us - myself included - are consistently adept at making first moves in any process of reconciliation, invariably misjudging the situation and all those involved - including ourselves.

Oh, but whatever happened to in-depth communication on that priceless personal level, and how fortunate are those better able to not only seize, but also make good the day.

BARGAIN HUNTERS or IN THE MARKET

End of Term sale;

two, even three for the price

of one mask,

bargains to keep everyone happy

for acquiring personae

that will see us go on our way

if more anxious

to take what (and who) it finds at face value

than be found wanting

End of Season sale;

more bargains to be had at prices

easy on the pocket

nor too hard on the mind-body-spirit;

whatever reservations

the human heart in stalling for time,

better to play games 

others like to play than be called out too soon 

for bending any rules?

End of Life sale;

rummaging stalls for what’s left

to keep the world

from guessing it’s been had

time and again

by personae anxious to fit hand to glove

(it takes one to know one)

but likely bargains already long gone for a song,

needs must, ego-driven

Market, closing down;

no stall holders left making their pitch,

only ghosts, anxious

to avoid seizing on human flaws

sure to incite poor choices,

but giving pride of place to the kinder side

of human nature,

for its proving the old adage that all the best things

in life are - free

Copyright R.N. Taber 2020

A Good Sign

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

The only reason I published this post/poem on my gay-interest blog - in March 2012 - is because it happens to be about two profoundly deaf gay men plus, of course, the fact that relatively few readers visit both blogs. I am not profoundly deaf, but have suffered with what is known as perceptive of 'pitch' deafness since the ge of 4 years when I contracted measles and hooping cough at the same time.  Measles alone can have a devastating effect on the hearing. My deafness was not diagnosed until I saw a specialist in my early 20's. Growing up was a nightmare because no one - including myself - realised I had a hearing problem. My difficulties were much exacerbated by the fact that acoustics played a part to the extent that I might hear a person well in one room, but not in another; I would get very frustrated which, in turn, was always getting me into trouble at home and at school.  All this was bad enough so I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like to be profoundly deaf as I know from painful experience how intolerant many among the hearing majority can be towards this form of disability.

To my shame, I confess I have never learned to sign, but once met a profoundly deaf person accompanied by a friend who was able to interpret for me; the former explained that he was happy enough, but relied on the deaf community for support as he felt excluded from the hearing majority, making the point that it would help if more people learned sign language. As far as I know, sign language is not taught in mainstream schools. I had intended to attend classes, but about that time my life took a nosedive and I never followed up that intention. Consequently, I too feel I have missed out in not having the kind of interesting conversations with deaf people as with many of their hearing counterparts. Everyone has something to say worth listening to, and deaf people are no exception. The fact that deafness is an invisible disability invariably means it receives less attention than other disabilities, and less consideration.

I know some deaf and partially deaf people don’t consider deafness a disability. I do, if only for all the stress it has caused me since early childhood. Deaf people have their own culture, and hearing people feel part of a community they often take for granted. Significant, but not total hearing loss means you belong to neither. For years, I felt a strong sense of exclusion in so far as everyone else gave me an impression of ‘belonging’ in a way with which I could not easily identify. As a child, I had neither the experience nor articulation to understand I was partially deaf; pitch or perceptive deafness is particularly confusing as so much depends on acoustics as well as the pitch of a person’s voice and, of course, whether or not they are facing you; lip reading - conscious or not - is a necessary skill for hearing impaired people.

I felt truly inspired once, some years ago now, watching two deaf gay men signing that they liked each other in a crowded Soho gay bar. I am significantly but by no means profoundly deaf, and cannot sign very well, but did not need to; it was obvious what was happening in any language. 

I was  on my own (and getting nowhere fast, as we do sometimes) and felt very humbled by these two guys as well as delighted for them. There was I, close to sulking because no one was showing any interest in me and fast developing something of an inferiority complex, and here were these two guys showing me how it’s done by the sheer force of their personalities. From where I was standing, they lit up the whole bar and put the rest of us in the shade.

I learned to rise above my hearing loss and compensate for it. Even so, when I finally acquired special hearing aids when I was 40 years-old, it made a huge difference to my quality of life. Even now, I can’t help thinking how much greater my learning experience at school and university would have been if I hadn’t been struggling to hear all the time.

Disabled people invariably have an uncanny knack and inner strength for rising above their disability. Sometimes I think we focus too much on the disability and forget the person doggedly rising above it. They have the same aspirations and desires as the rest of us; among them, many gay men and women. 

Gay people are often made to feel excluded, if not always intentionally from mainstream society where, invariably, socio-cultural prejudices come into play. Imagine then, how it must be for a disabled gay person!

A GOOD SIGN

White tee, blue eyes,
cruising a gay bar, looks around 
as he orders...

Settles on green eyes
lit with the kind of smile
an angel would gladly
die again for, crosses to sit
nearby and shyly
nods a ‘hello’ but - no reply
so gets up to go,
Green Eyes running fingers
through golden hair,
full lips pursed, exposing
a hairy chest,
stretching a downy leg
in lycra shorts...
(Blue, slowly drowning
in wildest thoughts...)
“I’m deaf,” he says quietly
in the queerest voice,
clearly making up his mind,
staking his choice;
Blue grins, winks, signs
that he’s also
up for a close encounter
of the intimate kind

Among lonely hearts
in a crowded Soho dive, two pairs
of hands come alive

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, 2012

[Note: Soho has been a very gay-friendly area of central London (UK) for many years. An earlier version of this poem appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Art, a Measure of Home Truths

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

An art teacher at my old school once told the class that we should not only learn how to look at art but how also to feel it. That was a good half century or so ago, but I am grateful for the tip to this day.

When we look at a painting, for example, it is obvious what we are looking at; less obvious is what lies behind the painting, how the painter saw his subject through inner eye and various absorbed impressions. The artist’s choice of colours and their shades, the force of certain brushstrokes, all are clues to what he or she is saying not only about his or her subject but  also about themselves.

The best art forms are not only delightful on the eye (or ear) but also draw us into them and thereby into ourselves. In this way, many art works survive centuries and a posthumous consciousness remains available to be tapped into by the discerning art lover who may not even be an expert, simply open to ‘live’ impressions. When we look at a work of art, we inevitably if subconsciously, look into ourselves ... and what do we see?

The Ancient Greeks, of course, produced one of the earliest well-developed examples of gay art. Going their own way from other ancient cultures, the Greeks considered free adult male sexual attraction to be both normal and natural. Gay people  like me were spared tortuous closet years imposed on us by public/cultural opinion; it is one of many modern tragedies that it remains the case for far too many of us worldwide.

ART, A MEASURE OF HOME TRUTHS

Studying me, it’s likely
that far more
than all you see will touch
mind, body and spirit,
sufficiently firing imagination
to give inspiration
a voice for home truths
ghosting paths of times past
and present…

Observing me closely, find
the inner eye
homing in on brush strokes,
the lighter here
and heavier there, colours
chosen for warmth
or cold, and touches of light;
dark, dreamy twilight,
moody gloom…

Seeing is not always (quite)
believing that creativity needs
an audience;
desires one, yes, if only to share
impressions of mind,
body and spirit laid bare
in such a way
as to make a presence felt
that would out

Art, a psycho-creative presence
redefining subject and audience

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Counting the Cards OR Who's Missing...?

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

I don’t send Christmas cards because I am neither a religious nor ‘Christmassy’ person. I send poems to many people, but most prefer to have a card they can put on the mantel so visitors can count and see how popular they are. It came as no surprise to me, therefore, that when I stopped sending cards. most people stopped sending one to me. After all, you can’t put a poem on the mantel…

Some people tell me I should send Christmas cards anyway (why bother with a poem?) if only to let those who matter to me know I am thinking of them or keep in touch with those I have not seen or had much contact with for a long time. 

Not seen or had much contact with for a long time? Why not seen or had much contact with for a long time…if they matter to us?

Too often I hear people say they have not contacted someone because he or she has not been in touch with them. Well, if they really matter to us, should we not try and find out why…?  A visit, telephone call, letter, email, skype…most of us have the means to get in touch by at least one or other of these means. If we don’t, something is seriously wrong that people to whom we supposedly matter and vice versa need to know about and think through. 

I recently met up with a friend who had just been choosing Christmas cards with great care so each person for whom a card was meant would know a lot of thought had gone onto choosing it. "You have to show you care, don't you?" said my friend adding, "I mean that's what Christmas is all about, isn't it, caring?"  We had been reminiscing about one particular mutual friend  I rarely see  for various reasons but we often chat on the phone and with whom I knew full well did not hear from my caring companion from one Christmas card to the next...

Staying in touch with friends is so important; the occasional phone call or email just to let them know you are thinking of them can make all the difference, especially if that person is ill or having a bad day and close to free fall. Why wait for them to make the first move? Love - in all its various shapes and forms - works both ways, and keeping in touch should not be on the occasional whim or just for Christmas and birthdays...or one day it may be too late.

COUNTING THE CARDS or WHO’S MISSING…?

Festive bells spreading

good news across a sorry Earth,

wringing comfort and joy

from all those needing to believe

in a godly saviour’s birth;

Oh, but let's  reason not the need,

they would have us all
be sure, but keep ourselves snug

by a feisty fire if only to feed heat
and light to despair

Winter solstice passed,

and now it’s the Christian’s turn

to answer questions

on flaws in natural laws exposed

by the origins of religion;

little or no harm done on days
when Apollo joins the fight

to save the heart’s weary cockles

from faltering, till cash for its meter

runs out at dead of night

Early hours, shivering

and demanding answers of a God

inclined to turn a deaf ear

on material demands like how best

to keep out the cold;

where certain spiritual sustenance

always on hand, available
in prayer, even arthritic souls 

obliged to get out of bed, trust they

won’t catch pneumonia

Spending on a charity card

to loved one, friend and neighbour;

best wish them well

on the mantel (for everyone to see)

than save for the meter

in case we should meet in the street,

since they will be sure
find a way to say how mean spirited 

folks can be in spreading festive cheer,
and point the finger

Where Xmas (or any) cards

a roll call for those who play a part

in our lives, big or small,

it should be those plainly missing

that strike mind-body-spirit 

hardest of all, and to whom the ghosts
of human love turn to investigate

reasons behind any absences 

before it's too late to even make a start
on affairs of the heart

Cause for concern about a special someone?

Go on, pick up the damn phone...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011; 2014