Now-you-see-Me, Now-you-Don't

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

I once asked a friend who died a few years ago how she managed to stay so positive even while she was suffering from cancer. Her response was inspiring and I would like to share it with you all today, especially while we are still in the grip of Covid-19. She said, "I take each day as it comes and hope for the best, the best being not only a stronger, kinder world, but also a stronger, kinder me. Too many of us forget how kindness not only makes us stronger, but spreads as well. I can't save the world, but I can do my damn best to save myself. If I die, well, at least people will remember me for being a positive thinking person, and hopefully some of that will rub off on them too." The coronavirus continues to spread around the world, albeit, hopefully, on the wane despite resurgent spikes; let's hope the sense of mutual suffering shared by a common humanity will spread more kindness in the world too; certain socio-cultural-religious groups that preach love and peace while practising a separatist agenda/ dogma might bear that in mind.

In any situation that poses a particular problem for us, there is likely to be a bigger picture than that we zoom in on with an inner eye whose view will be biased from the start. In my experience, the only way to extend our inner vision to accommodate other points of view is to to discuss it with the friend least likely to agree with you for the sake of it and unafraid of causing offence by playing devil's advocate. Some people, of course, take offence at any point of view expressed that doesn't tally with their own. (Religious orders spring to mind.) 

Friends know us better than strangers, are familiar with most if not all he parts that make what is invariably a complex whole; for this reason, a friend would always be my first port of call although I would never rule out seeking the objective opinion of a counsellor. 

It has been my experience that counsellors give 'advice' they expect you to take. Me, I never give advice, but will always offer an opinion if asked or when a friend chooses to discuss a situation with me that I feel he or she is handling badly. I can honestly say that I never take offence when people disagree with me; that goes for my poetry too, just as well as some friends always find fault with what I have to say in a poem. wry bardic chuckle

At the end of the day, of course, it is up to the person or persons immediately involved in any difficult situation to make their own choice as to how they can best resolve it. All parties need to bear in mind, too, the old truism that you can please some of the people some of the time, but not all the people all the time; those who offer well-meaning advice, only to take offence if it is not taken, would do well to remember that.  

We need to remember, too, how easily the written and spoken word alone can be misunderstood in the absence of body language. A former 'friend' once took offence at a message left on her answering machine where none was intended; instead of confronting me with it, and resolving the situation there and then, she chose to send a nasty letter and continued to harbour a grudge thereafter. I tried to make amends, but underestimated the extent of the latter so was wasting my time from the outset. Such are the complexities of human nature, including some friendships. Needless to say, I do not miss that particular 'friend' in the least.  wry bardic grin

This poem is a kenning.

NOW-YOU-SEE-ME, NOW-YOU-DON'T 

We are many parts

comprising a complex whole,

something of a riddle

to the less discerning person

preferring to home in

on sound, intonation, inflexion

of voice, whether theirs

or not, to having any bigger

picture in sight

Working well together,

as parts of a complex whole,

trying to compensate

when one fails to properly

connect, hopefully

learning its lesson where failing

to acknowledge

its place in the bigger picture

that’s human nature

Ever up against it,

all parts of a complex whole,

no ‘live’ sculpture

as Galatea to her Pygmalian

who thought he knew

everything about his creation,

yet could not see it
for a human spirit's bonding
with its human heart

I am human potential, ever present,

yet now you see me, now you don't

Copyright R. N. Taber (2016)

Give a Dream a Go

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

Once, I read something along the lines that the ‘dreams’ we most vividly recall are but leftover, half-formed thoughts inclined to either embrace us or knock us for six as we necessarily negotiate an emotional landscape that finds us close to waking up but unable (quite) to let go of whatever it is about sleep that insists we stay; cave in to the latter, and we risk making of our lives an open prison.

We are used to being told that certain political and legal moves are in all our best interests, but there is often a hidden agenda that benefits some people most if not all the time and the rest of us ... well, some of the time at least, we hope. We only have to look at what is happening in super-power countries like China and Russia, but political strategies worldwide have much to answer for as far as the principles of personal freedom are concerned. Oh, and yes, I include the UK. Whatever, though, the human heart is still a free country, and mind-body-spirit is not without certain strategies of its own to keep it that way.

Now, more than once, contemplating the day ahead over my breakfast has felt like being pulled one way or the other by complacency and positive thinking, each in the form of a viable escape plan from the other. Usually, but not always, a few slices of toast and several cups of coffee will summon a strength of mind-body-spirit resolved to let the more constructive alternative run its course.

Sleepwalking through life (with eyes wide open if eyelids drooping) is sadly, all too common; going through the motions of life instead of living it the way we want not as other people, convention... whatever...suggest we should. At the same time, we need to bear in mind that not everyone's idea of 'living' is the same, and it is unfair to compare, even more so to set ourselves up as judge and jury as so many people I know SO love to do...

Life, of course, doesn’t always give even the best of motives their head, but our options are often limited through no fault of our own. Even so, where an opportunity to improve not only our own lot but others, too, does present itself, we owe it to ourselves (and them) to GO for it, no matter what some might say or think. Some readers may argue that's just selfish, but in my experience, letting someone prevent you from doing something you really want to do can but end in tears; more often than not, any who appear to  begrudge us the opportunity are simply employing a get-out clause for not pursuing a dream of their own.

Life is rarely easy and sometimes makes demands of us we might well prefer to put on the proverbial back burner, but where there's a will, there's usually a way ... and that's where mind-body-spirit comes into its own. Yes, win some, lose some, but better surely to find ways of putting a dream to the test if only because it's how history and personal history come together and make history ...

'What is not started today is never finished tomorrow.' - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (German Playwright, Poet, Novelist and Dramatist. 1749-1832)

GIVE A DREAM A GO

Sometimes, the human body

will not (quite) emerge from shadows

(courtesy of sleep) conveniently

induced by selective half-memories

of fonder (kinder) times

when body and spirit took a stoic stand

against the more aggressive

(egocentric) interpretations of what it is

to be a practising human being

Sometimes, the human mind

can't (quite) escape a darker, weaker side

(courtesy of conscience)

invaded by selective half-memories

conveniently (almost) buried

under layers of regret, pain, wishful

thinking for turning back

the ever-spilling clock measuring out

human life in grains of sand

Sometime, the human spirit

refuses (quite) to justify being slow

to do the right thing

by all that’s integral to the integrity

even of those children

of a lesser god than it chooses to put

above reproach, especially

when available to call upon to excuse

the plainly inexcusable

Eventually (with luck) we wake

to choral music promising us heaven

of a kind not (quite)

as interpreted by various Holy Books

if only to keep us quiet

in the face of pain and regret stoically

managed but self-inflicted

all the same, especially upon others

who mean us no harm

Day dawns, and life goes on

so we need to pull ourselves together,

put the world to rights

and put any irksome misgivings down

to common misdemeanours

attributed to quirks of sleep expressing

(only human) anxieties

of a far less forgiving ego than likely

to meet the eye over breakfast

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

A Gamesman's (live-in) Apprentice

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

Here in England, the hospitality industry will be open for business again from tomorrow. Have fun, everyone, but be careful out there because the Covid-19 coronavirus has not gone away. 

I have met many people who feel their past is somehow preventing them for having a future, be it a criminal record, a history of mental illness, or quite simply an honest mistake that had unforeseen consequences of the worst kind. Having suffered a BAD nervous breakdown in my early 30’s - among other examples of social mud inclined to stick, not least my being gay - I know only too well where they are coming from.

However, I don’t believe in good luck, bad luck or… whatever. We make our own , and where good people come forward to help, there has to be something within us as well as within them to make them want to help...or not, as the case may be.

When things go wrong, whether or not through any fault of our own, we invariably need help to get back on our feet, take a positive perspective, make amends for our mistakes as far as amends may be possible, get real rather than feeling sorry for ourselves and abdicating responsibility for our future to a world that appears to ‘have it in’ for us. 

True, help is not always on hand or if it is it's not always obvious; more often than not, we have to seek it out and want to seek it out. No, not an easy task, but always well worth the effort.

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”  - William Shakespeare

“The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” 

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

This poem is a villanelle.

 A GAMESMAN'S (LIVE-IN) APPRENTICE

M-E spells how it is, and likely always will be,

the past ever catching out what its future brings,

apprenticed out to a gamesman called 'Destiny'

I love to act judge-jury over tea and sympathy,

reluctant to concede any conscience’s redeeming;

M-E spells how it is, and likely always will be

Once the past a prison, all hope of breaking free,

but a dream for one who, (upon a rude awakening)

apprenticed out to a gamesman called 'Destiny

Bad-done-good often thought beyond the ability

of even the creative mind’s more positive thinking;

(M-E spells how it is,and likely always will be?) 

Learning from our mistakes rarely comes easily,

where he or she who sets gossip tongues wagging

apprenticed out to a gamesman called 'Destiny

Call human nature a fickle creature for essentially

choosing to feed (or not) on a rare bent for forgiving;

M-E spells how it is, and likely always will be,

apprenticed out to a gamesman called 'Destiny'

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016; 2020

Ghost Riders in the Sky

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

As a child, I would love creating stories in my head from cloud ‘figures’. People would laugh and tell me I’d grow out of this fantasising. Well, some people still laugh, but I’m glad I still feel inspired by clouds years on. (I will be 75 later this year.)

They taught me a lot, those clouds; for a start, how to create and enjoy fictions without confusing them with facts although ... well, there was a time in my life when it was a close call.

It is thanks to my childhood fascination with cloud shapes that I became interested in reading, writing and... yes, people. I have written many poems and a few novels, but cannot be described as a 'successful' writer in the sense that it has neither made me rich or famous. Yet, who cares? Nor me, that's for sure. Writing (even more than observing cloud shapes) has taught me much about myself and human nature; more importantly, I have enjoyed every moment, and - as is often the way with any form of creative therapy - it has also helped to keep my old enemy Depression at bay for years.

Clouds have played no small part in making me the person I am today, and hopefully i may even pass some of this on by way of a posthumous consciousness in time and space, to be touched upon by any who may care to remember words I have spoken or written long after this life has had its way with me. For sure, there have been people in my life, long dead, who have remained a 'live' influence on and within my own consciousness, in a very positive way, and always will.  

GHOST RIDERS IN THE SKY

I’ve seen ghost riders

chasing sandmen into storm clouds,

and leaves fly

I’ve seen ghost riders

throw a sandman into a dark place,

and trees cry

I’ve seen ghost riders

pluck such as I from fragile shelters,

and no one care

I've seen ghost riders

playing cat and mouse with humanity

(winner takes all)

Ghost riders, goading 

others like me into this sorry world’s

worst nightmares

I’ve let ghost riders

drag me from my armchair, re-awaken

my consciousness

I’ve let ghost riders

rescue me from assault by prime time

TV advertising

I’ve let ghost riders

force me to face my more fragile selves

head-on

I've let ghost riders

leave me trailing behind, and found a way

back to real time

One by one, ghost riders

but a dust cloud, no trace even of a history

(except in me)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

P-O-E-M-S, Life Forces OR Poetry, Landscape of the Arts

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2015. I am only re-posting poems  that I have recently revised by changing the title, amending aspects of the poem itself if only slightly, or both; to explore the blog archives further, simply click on links you will find on the right hand side of any blog page.

Last year, a reader e-mailed to ask if I would mind if I recommend my blogs on social media. Not at all, be my guest., the more, the merrier. I should point out, though, that I no longer use social media myself. I found myself getting frustrated with a lot of 'fake news' and trolls objecting to the fact that I am gay yet write general as well as gay-interest poetry. (Do they really not appreciate there is more to anyone - whatever their gender, ethnicity or creed - than their sexuality?) I am not ashamed of being gay, but neither will I be stereotyped into any box, whatever shape or form. I am especially delighted, therefore, that some straight readers have taken the trouble to let me know they visit and enjoy my gay blog from time to time.]

Oh, and many thanks to those readers who have been in touch to say they have enjoyed some of the novels serialized on my fiction blog:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

I hope to upload them as e-books at a later date. [I had such plans for retirement, including travel plans, but have felt overwhelmed from time to time by various health issues. There were initial problems with my prostate cancer during the early days of hormone therapy in 2011 followed by a bad fall the following year which left me with a smashed heel and unable to walk for months. Last year a venous ulcer left me housebound for months and I now need to wear compression stockings. However, I am on top of all that now if still experiencing some difficulty walking, even with the aid of my trusty walking stick, and get out and about as much as I can. More recently, of course, the Covid-19 coronavirus arrived, and I am but one among millions worn down by its consequences for all of us, although I am still alive so must be glad for that ... and count my blessings rather than whinge my woes. wry bardic grin

Meanwhile ...

There are few scenes more amazing about any landscape that particularly captures the imagination than sunbeams dancing on the back of a blast of rain.

They may well strike at the heart, those sunbeams, and open it up for nature, human nature and our own self-consciousness to make of their findings what they will ...

P-O-E-M-S, LIFE FORCES or POETRY, LANDSCAPE OF THE ARTS

Glorious landscape under a rainbow;

life-force sun come again, Apollo

re-asserting a hold on humanity as old 

as the evergreen slopes of Parnassus,

a landscape of life forces ever creating  

and re-creating us 

Birdsong, a bouquet of happy hearts

sending out a message

of hope and joy, offering sad souls

some respite from pain,

dreams to aspire, well worth recalling

where any rainbow’s turning

reveals no ages-old mythical ending

likely to help compensate

for some bleak, unfulfilling spring

(summer, too?) till autumn

takes its cue from our tears, prelude

to a wintry season of longing

for a (far) kinder spring and summer

than once came upon us

like opportunist magpies to egg-birds,

leaving a trail of blood

more likely even than Joseph’s coat

of, oh, so many colours

to be misunderstood by those of us

anxiously looking to the poetry

of a common humanity for ways

to re-invent ourselves 

Let cloud faces make what they may

of all they (and we) see, hear, say,

and do, if only for sharing in a feeling 

for the poetry of humanity, its arts,

sciences, and natural forces creating

and re-creating us 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem under the title 'A Feeling for Poetry' appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Last Orders OR A Fond Farewell

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

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

Now, coronavirus restrictions are driving me up the proverbial wall and, yes, look likely to do so for some time; even as restrictions are relaxed, nothing will (ever?) be quite the same again. At least I have had time to get used to that proverbial wall in the sense that hormone therapy (for my prostate cancer)  has been driving me up it since 2012.  I have arthritis to deal with as well, in my left foot where I fractured the ankle after a bad fall in 2011 and also in my neck. I manage both okay(ish) but it ain't easy in your 70's (I will be 75 later this year) or at any age.

The hormone therapy not only makes me want to pee a lot day (and night) but also affects my memory and, latterly, my whole personality in the sense that I make mountains out of molehills where I used to things in my stride. The blogs help. As well as enjoying the company of readers from 70+ different countries, writing them acts as a form of creative therapy that encourages my old self to stay alive and kicking. I did get upset when a reader contacted me to say he had seen my gay-interest blog called 'sick' on social media, but not for long; it takes all sorts to make a world, warts 'n' all. Being gay is as much a part of me as being human while being human makes me as free a spirit as anyone; in my case, it  also makes me a poet with a responsibility, as I see it, to draw on nature and human nature in all its shapes and forms.. I rest my case...

Time is precious; past, present and future. One day, (hopefully not for a good while yet) the Grim Reaper will pay a visit, and my blogs will eventually disappear from the Internet.  Now, the blogs are the only record of my revised poems as well as many others that have not been published and are not included in my collections. I therefore intend, over a period of time, to publish revised editions of all my print novels and poetry collections in e-format so ...watch this space.

Meanwhile...

During my short time in Australia some years ago I met an elderly aborigine who attempted to explain the aboriginal concept of 'Dreaming'. In short, the Dreaming expresses a timeless concept of moving from ‘dream’ to reality which in itself is an act of creation and the basis of many Aboriginal creation myths. (It is significant that none of the hundreds of Aboriginal languages contain a word for time.) I cannot begin to express much of that myself, and would not presume to try. Even so, it is a concept I suspect any poet can easily relate to, especially one who firmly believes in a posthumous consciousness in the sense of spiritual 'presence (or ghosts) as I do.

Of all the love poems I have written, this has to be one of my favourites. A sudden need to revise the original as it appears in my collection was like a cry from the heart, reminiscent of Cathy's ghost calling to Heathcliff in Emily Bronte's classic novel, 'Wuthering Heights'. [Oh, yes, in case you hadn't guessed, I am, among other things, an incurable romantic, always have been, and make no apologies for it.]

LAST ORDERS or A FOND FAREWELL

May the last ‘live’ art I see,

be a lark dropping from the sky,

my last breath but endorsing

its love song, life force of nature

and human nature

May the last my senses inhale

be a heady fragrance of flowers,

my last dream, awake-asleep,  

recreating a collage that’s our life

in picture poems

May the last thing I ever feel

be the sensual touch of your skin,

the last of Earth we ever share

our toasting love in its finest wine,

sealed with a kiss

As the good earth calls ‘Time’

on all its children sooner or later,

so shall its ghosts call its bluff,

addressing the human spirit’s remit

for immortality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem this poem was first published under the title 'Last Orders' in an anthology, A Ray of Light, Poetry Now, (Forward Press)1999 and subsequently in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Getting the Better of Beasties under the Bed

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

Today’s poem last appeared on the blog in 2013, and caught my eye as I continue sorting poems for a new collection, hopefully later this year; it will not include most poems posted during the pandemic as I have many other  unpublished poems waiting in the wings, but they are already earmarked for yet another collection so long as I have time to collate it before the Grim Reaper comes calling. Oh, and, yes it will include gay-interest poems as do all my collections in spite of potential editors losing interest because they see gay-interest poetry as a retail risk. wry bardic grin

Many thanks to those of you who get in touch from time to time and ask about my prostate cancer.  In 2011, after being diagnosed, I opted for radiotherapy, but was unable to hold my water prior to treatment so began hormone therapy instead. I have injections of Zoladex about every 18 months and … so far, so good. I feel fine. Yes, I get tired, but that is partly because I need to get up at least several times during night for a pee so have all but forgotten how it is to get a really good night’s sleep. My memory is also affected, but I will be 75 later this year so no surprises there anyway, and writing poetry as well as doing word puzzles helps keep to thought processes in reasonably good shape. On the whole, no complaints. I have been living with prostate cancer for 9+ years now, and suspect I may well have survived the Covid-19 coronavirus back in early January when I had the symptoms but put it down to a very bad cold so just stayed indoors. Yes, I am stressed by the pandemic and its implications for all of us, but I have good reason to count my blessings.

Meanwhile...

Now, like many very young children, I used to force myself to look under the bed and in any cupboards to reassure myself there was no Beastie there waiting to pounce on me once I fell asleep.

Well, you will be pleased to know I no longer do that particular security check before settling down to sleep.  Even so, you will realise there is a Beastie of sorts that causes me some concern now and then. Yes, hormone therapy is managing my prostate cancer so far, but I am very much aware that the cancer is there inside me. Most of the time, I forget about it. Now and then, though, especially at night, I find its presence more than a shade unnerving so I do what I used to do as a child, and work a magic spell. I think of nice things, nice people, nice places, until my head is full of all things NICE that's sure to keep the nasty Beastie away. It a trick that never fails, and if I don’t get a good night’s sleep sometimes it’s invariably down to those calls of nature better answered than ignored. The same magic has seen me through the pandemic so far, too, so you might want to try it if you haven’t already; what often works for children can work just as well for adults too.

GETTING THE BETTER OF BEASTIES UNDER THE BED

There’s was a Beastie

under my bed, eyes glowing red

like a devil

in the fires of Hell,

willing me

to descend, put an end

to all living artifice,

make the ultimate sacrifice,

set the body free

(in other words, surrender

to the Beastie ?)

There was a Beastie

under my bed, looking for a way

to get into my head

and indulge its penchant

for mind games,

challenge me to defy

a necessary evil

or demand I answer why

I’ll not cave in

to the inevitable, dare me

do battle

There was a Beastie

under my bed; like a cancer

it has spread

news of its purpose

to my brain,

but there it was put to rout

(if not without a fight)

for Brain knows every trick

every Book (and more)

exposing Beasties sixk intentions

to a higher power

There was a Beastie

under my bed, face a puffy red

as it returns

to where there still burns

a welcome

for its kind if likely

to meet its match

in the human spirit, burning

more brightly than some

devilish hearth in the bowels

of metaphor

No Beastie under my bed,

for its recognising a lost cause;

though it feed on my body,

no true or lasting gratification

to be had where flesh

but a coat of many colours

lent by Earth Mother

to distinguish friend from foe

until our return

to Her womb, the likes of Beastie

denied entry

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2020

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

D-O-G-M-A, Templates for a Divided World

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

Today, the recently revised version of a poem that last appeared on the blog in 2014. To those readers who have kindly asked when the new collection will be ready, I had forgotten how much hard work is involved and have several health issues to contend with at the moment (no Covid-19 though) so am aiming for publication around mid-late September.

Now, integration is the key to a successful society so why are there so many ghettos and pockets of people from around the world determined to follow a policy of separatism wherever they settle? Here in the UK, I have expressed the view for many years that Faith Schools, for example, have a lot to answer for in this respect. Dogma of any kind is fine, just so long as it allows for  - rather than discriminates against - anyone's human right to agree to differ; if others can be persuaded, fair enough, but forms of indoctrination by way of suggesting that any alternative is sacrilegious (or worse) are tantamount to threats, and beneath contempt.

Children and young people are the citizens of tomorrow. How can they, as adults, be expected to properly integrate when so many have been encouraged to feel they have the moral high ground over those of other faiths (or none at all)?

2014 marked the 100^th anniversary of the start of World War 1, the war that was supposed to end all wars…

How much more fighting and suffering will it take, I wonder, for more of our so-called ‘betters’ across the world to understand that various socio-cultural-religious differences do not make us different, only human?

United, the human race may have a chance of surviving its Armageddon; divided, it stands little if any at all.  Common sense, you say? So whatever happened to common sense?

May more  socio-cultural-religious (and political) leader)s take note, be seen to emerge from their various boxes and rise above their rhetoric...while  the rest of us follow a basic instinct for common sense in doing our best to heal divisions within our communities... as (surely?) only to be expected of and deserving a common humanity.

World religions have as much if not more to answer for than the vagaries of world politics; both profess to promote peace and a common humanity ... while the divisions they create in the process across that same humanity are  as unsubtle any suggestions that we apply a sledgehammer to crack a nut.

Everyone is entitled to their own personal space and human nature is a diverse entity as a result. Why, oh, why can't more people  accept that, and agree to differ instead of letting loose poison various slings and arrows of antagonism and discontent...? We are all, each and every one of us, part of a common humanity, after all.

This poem is a villanelle.  

D-O-G-M-A, TEMPLATES FOR A DIVIDED WORLD

Unsubtle divisions,

tablets of stone;

our world religions

Dark contradictions

(sure conviction)

unsubtle divisions

Unholy conditions

(dogs at a bone);

our world religions

Fine godly lessons

few clerics learn;

unsubtle divisions

Posturing politicians

(daughter, son);

our world religions

Holy constitutions,

bloodily written;

unsubtle divisions,

our world religions

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared under the title 'Divided We Fall' in an anthology, Have Your Say, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2004 and subsequently in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Love, Testament to Life OR Au Revoir, Mon Amour

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

There will be no blog entries for a week or so after today while I make time to start preparing a new collection; it is now ten years since Tracking the Torchbearer appeared under my own imprint. (Oh, and, yes, they did sell well and I even made a profit albeit a small one.) I also need to start work on new editions of earlier collections as a number of poems have since been revised, often only slightly, but always significantly. Only one (U.S.) publisher has expressed any interest so far, but messed me about so much that I withdrew my submission; others did not want to include gay-interest as well as general poems, and I will not compromise on this. Being gay is an integral part of who I am, but it is only a part, and we are all the sum of our parts. I may not publish  print editions again, though, but upload as e-books, but time enough to cross that bridge as and when I come to it. Hopefully, some of you will enjoy exploring the blog archives in my absence.

I will try and post a new (or revised) poem from time to time, although, like so many people around the world - not least those of us who live alone - I have to confess to lockdown fatigue at the moment. As I suspect I had the milder version of Covid-19 back in early January, and count myself fortunate, everything I do still seems to be taking much longer.

Take care, folks, and many thanks - as always - for the pleasure of your company.

Meanwhile ...

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016. At the time, a reader who had been browsing blog entries and emailed to ask why on earth I should think anyone reading a general poetry blog would be interested in a gay relationship. Fair enough, except that poetry is about human nature as well as the natural world; most of my gay-interest poems only appear on my gay-interest blog, but I happen to think the occasional entry here is not as inappropriate as ttis reader plainly thinks. Like it or not, there are many LGBT men and women in the world, and we are no less human (or naturally so) for that. Why must so many people rush to judgement on others, a judgement often based on shallow stereotypes? Being gay is an important part of a gay persons' whole identity, but it is only a part; what about those other parts that make us who we are?As for why I publish the poem here, I guess I live in hope that stereotypical and bigoted attitudes will eventually bee seen as fake news; there are many gay-friendly straight people out there who don't have a problem with a person's sexuality because it is the whole person they are happy to call a friend. Besides, there is nothing wrong or unusual (or immoral) about the ages-old principle of agreeing to differ ... is there?

Regular readers will know that my partner was killed in a road accident many years ago. He was not my only love, but the only person with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life, no reservations whatsoever. Sadly, we did not have long together, but his love has inspired me (and my poetry) ever since.

Now, there is nothing romantic about death, but neither is death any match for love.

I will be 75 years old this year. For me, it has never been so much the case that that time heals as that any brush with mortality makes life all the more precious while the pain of loss serves to remind us that we are, indeed, very much alive. It is a philosophy that has also served me well since I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February, 2011. 

"Why should I fear death? If I am, death is not. If death is, I am not. Why should I fear that which cannot exist when I do?" - Epicurus 

LOVE, TESTAMENT TO LIFE or AU REVOIR, MON AMOUR

I have kissed Death on the cheek as it slept,

let a flow of memories course my veins

while Hope, past a grieving heart, it crept,

ghost rider tugging gently at the reins

I have kissed Death on the lips as it rested

where nature's tides may flow no more

but neither its finer spirit’s growth arrested;

songs of love and peace, no talk of war

Life called out my name as I would leave,

its firm, kind, touch wiping away a tear,

prising my fingers but gently from its sleeve,

for conceiving its eternal watchtower ...

Fear not as Death calls, or where it takes us; 

be sure of waking among Memory's flowers

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2007; 2020 

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in my collection, Accomplices to Illusion, Assembly Books, 2007; this post also appears on my gay-interest blog today..]

Nature v Human Nature (Winner takes All?)

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

‘It’s a life for a crust!’ my mother would often exclaim with mixed amusement and stoicism to us kids.

More than half a century on, and growing old, I understand only too well what she meant.

An earlier version of this poem has appeared on the blog before; in 2000, at the turn of the century, it was published in an anthology the same year and has resulted in a number of emails from readers (of all ages) to say how much they can relate to it. Some years on, I have to say I don’t find much changed for the better ... 

Oh, well, c’est la vie.

My maternal grandfather would often say "Better a plodder than a plonker be." Oh, and why not? We plodders are (on the whole) a happy breed if struggling sometimes to rise above the chaos of battles between nature v human nature. We try to make the best of things, refuse to be cowed (for long) by the worst, and trust common sense will (eventually) impose a benign order (of sorts) on our surroundings ... whoever and wherever we may be in a century that has come far, but still has as much to learn about as from nature and human nature, not least regarding the (all-inclusive) art of nurture.

NATURE V HUMAN NATURE (WINNER TAKES ALL?)

Can’t get on a bus, schoolkids

won’t walk half a mile;

stuck on a train, points failure,

(blame the weather);

arrive at work later than usual,

half the staff phoned in sick;

Start to get things done - and

the IT system goes down;

mad rush to meet Management’s

deadline, only to discover

it's been extended yet again;

no relief (or lunch break);

long afternoon, more than ready

to make the Home Run, left

fuming how quirks of modern life

always ganging up on me

Soon, feet up, relaxing (I wish!)

but family strife, no easy life;

a stressful stroll through streets

paved with fool’s gold,

feeling old, and youths sneering

at wrinklies in designer gear;

cyclist hurtling along the pavement

sends shoppers running for cover;

resentment boils over. I stand firm;

cyclist takes a nasty tumble;

a cop across the street rushes over,

takes my details, warns me

I’ll get a letter, says folks my age

really should know better ...

Oh. and when did mind-body-spirit

ever let age get the better of it?

Peace at last on a quiet hill as dusk

settles on this, my cruel city;

world without pity, but so beautiful;

kite flier, taking on a rough wind

with laughter, joy and pride, proof

(as if any needed) of humanity's

predilection for turning a blind eye

and/or deaf ear as and whenever,

the better to give mind-body-spirit

every chance of making good

and breaking free of what 'society'

would have us take for gospel,

since that’s the way it is, we can take

or leave it ... except we can't, won’t,

because humanity has a conscience,

that would have the last word

Much as a swallow will fly warmer climes,

shall the human heart wing kinder times  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2020

[Note: An earlier version under of this poem first appeared under the title ‘Citizen 2000’ in an anthology, Through Life’s Window, Poetry Today [Forward Press] 2000 and subsequently in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

Humanity, "Come on Down!" OR L-I-F-E, Make-or-Break Connections

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

More than once, readers have written in to ask why I don’t post more ‘nature’ poems instead of (often, it’s true) composing what has been called ‘so-called’ poetry that - in the words of one reader only recently - “…is just social comment.” I confess I take exception to the word ‘just’; besides, the arts are littered with social comment so why should I not join the fray?

Literature, music, art, ballet, sculpture … whatever … if anyone thinks it’s all entertainment, and nothing else, they are missing out on the whole of what any art form is about; there are parts to many if not most things - including human nature – and it is standing back to see-hear it as a whole that really counts.

Demonstrations here in the UK and the U.S protesting about the needless death of George Floyd, an unarmed African-American while being forcefully restrained by a police officer in Minnesota, have caused pain and anger beyond description; nor has either been appeased by precious little attempt at government level to pour oil on troubled waters. As for building bridges, well, hope springs eternal …

HUMANITY, “COME ON DOWN” or L-I-F-E-, MAKE-OR-BREAK CONNECTIONS

No matter the colour

of a person’s skin, their gender

or sexuality,

we all deserve no more (or less)

than to be treated

fairly if not equally at (and by) all levels

of human society

All mind-body-spirit

asks of the world is that it play fair,

be kind,

not impose such grim rites of passage

as racism, sexism,

hate crime against same sex relationships,

all stereotypes

Humanity is diverse

and that is how it needs to be or we

would want to know

how to make it (far) more interesting;

a common humanity

needs to respect such differences as it asks

to make us human

Take away respect

and we but give the worst of human nature

both nod and wink

to kill as well as give birth, ley anarchy loose

on streets that understand

any protesters would rather march in peace,

and be heard

The arts call on us

to pull together, be kind, give understanding

a chance to pave

the way for good intentions instead

of leaving them blocked

by socio-cultural-religious taboos, made to fear

recriminations

Human history

tells many a sorry tale of its wars and injustices,

but love, too,

reconciliation, grounds for hoping

that certain leading “Betters”

may yet touch base with those expected to settle

for the status quo

Any Here-and-Now

needs to be, open to change, and all its peoples

will never always agree,

but that’s where human nature comes

into its own, the jewel

in its crown, its capacity to hear and listen, look

and see

Human nature, get off your throne, earn your crown,

“Come on Down”

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

[Note: For any readers who may not be aware, "Come on down!" is a catchphrase from the television game show The Price Is Right; this poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today..]