Passing Through

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

A new poem today, written for lovely lady, mother of a friend from my student days some 50 years ago; she will be 97 today. I am hoping to find a publisher for a new collection of poems; if not, I will self-publish again. Whatever, I will post details on the blogs

Now, growing old is rarely if ever easy for anyone, but especially for men and women living alone without much of a support network. For many, too, there is a sense of time running out, an end to all we have known and loved.

Ah, but love never dies and the human spirit, unique in its own way to each and every one of us, is immortal.

Life as we know it allows us to pass through time (as we know it) but - as history and family history teach us - there is far more to time than any Here-and-Now; a kind act here, a kind word there, whether to a loved one or total stranger, may well reverberate across centuries, engaging with a living mind-body-spirit here, there, everywhere …

Where world religions would have it that any after-life takes us to a Heaven or Hell of sorts, I believe we make our own Heaven, our own Hell, in the course of our own lifetime; not least, courtesy of Love and Conscience.

I put it to you that, just as followers of any religion are entitled to our respect for their points of view, those of us who subscribe to no religious dogma are no less entitled to the same. As I often ask in the blogs, instead of putting someone in the wrong, even despising them for engaging with points of view other than our own … what’s wrong with agreeing to differ?

PASSING THROUGH

The years, they pass,
and childhood becomes a dream
to treasure as we grow old

among such memories as inspired us

to enjoy such seasons

of our life as mind-body-spirit

chooses to see us through

each winter of the heart to that spring

where bluebirds sing

The years, they pass,
and the Garden of Life sees changes

for better, for worse,

while mind-body-spirit sees us through

happy times and sad,

a positive thinking mindset

taking pride of place,

sure to inspire the human heart to shine,

come into its own

The years, they pass,
but nothing and no one left behind,

for first among equals

remains the Spirit of Love, inspiring us

to see past-present-future

as a continuum, no end in sight,

and love, it never dies,

passing through generation to generation

in 'live' imagination

The years, they pass, but treat us as they may,

the kinder spirit ne'er calls it a day

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

An Autobiography of the Human Race

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

We are all past-present-future in the flesh. We inherit certain genes and much of our approach to life is taken from historical figures who have made a deep impression on just as we, in how we live our lives, make an impression on others for better or worse; family, friends, casual acquaintances, even complete strangers. It only takes one moment in time when something we say or do strikes a chord in someone’s life that will play out forever.

We won’t all make the national archives, of course, but there is another, more extensive to the point of being inexhaustible archive that is the human mind-body-spirit, that key player in human nature that should never be underestimated; whoever and wherever we are, whatever our socio-cultural-religious background, gender or sexual persuasions, it is the backbone of a common humanity that has seen the human race also rise above all history has thrown at it, just as it will continue to do, even as the C-19 coronavirus continues to impact on us all.

This poem is a kenning.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE HUMAN RACE

I walk with ghosts, night and day,

a presence as real to me as my own reflection

greeted in mirrors, shop windows,

still waters in dream-places keeping memories

and sometime companions alive,

urging mind-body-spirit like voices in the ear

egging urging me on, regardless

of any obstruction fallen or placed in my way

whether by accident or design

I talk with ghosts, night and day,

and they listen without interruption, just a nod

or shake of the head occasionally,

sufficient to persuade or dissuade any thoughts

to action or inaction gathering pace

demanding I look again or press on, regardless

where inspiration has landed a hit,

missed its mark altogether, deserves discussion

or better left to gather dust

I bare all to ghosts, night and day,

far more even than to those who know me best

if only because I dare not share

any part of me that takes its cue from the dead

for fear of being misunderstood

or (worse) denied a voice, left with less of a life

to speak of than even a ghost,

reduced to a skeleton in someone’s cupboard,

exhibit for some eager archivist

I am that past-present-future making of humanity

what it will, and am called History

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018; 2020

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

No Match for Love

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

Regular readers will know that I wholeheartedly support assisted suicide when it is clearly what a person wants and there is no hidden agenda on the part of any third party. Oh, and why not; we put down animals in distress so why persist in treating human beings less humanely? Yes, there are religious arguments concerning the sanctity of human life, and I respect these, but why should anyone who subscribes to no religion be likewise bound by them? In some countries, Assisted Dying is legal, but why should anyone have to leave country and friends, let alone have to pay for the 'privilege' of dying on their own terms? So far, I can live with the fact that my quality of life has been much undermined by my prostate cancer; once the cancer becomes aggressive or my quality of life all but beyond endurance...I would prefer a say in dying that does not necessitate the the pain of  leaving not only loved ones, but my country too. Oh, and why not...?

People may argue the sanctity of human life, but what of the quality of human life? We have no say in our being born, we all deserve a say in when and how we die as and when the occasion arises. Whose life is it, anyway? 

Yes, we may (or may not) be much missed by some, but every life touches  others more than it can ever know, and whomsoever it has touched for the good, there thrives the art and poetry of Memory to nurture our posthumous consciousness, playing an active part in lending lives and human spirits  the timelessness we call eternity.

NO MATCH FOR LOVE

I try the patience

of all those who can relate to me

but cannot call me

friend since we do not empathise

with one another;

yet neither am I an enemy,

the likes of which

would see the kinder mind-body-spirit

go into free fall

To the human spirit,

I throw the challenge of a lifetime,

daring it to use me

as it will – go with my flow, turn

the tables on

any open contempt I so love

to put down

by recording its final shouts and screams

that all may listen in

No defeatist, I pursue

friend and enemy alike, inflict on them

ways of seeing

and feeling beyond all imagination,

regardless of race,

religion or gender identity,

no attempt to please,

but bring humanity to its knees, homing in

on its finer flaws

I am Pain, would triumph over all humankind

but for its capacity for love upstaging me

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

Past-Present-Future, 'Live' Art

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

In mind-body-spirit - or personal space - I am always revisiting people and places I’ve known and loved; invariably they inspire a poem. It is one of my favourite pastimes, looking back at my life and seeing how (albeit unknown to me at the time) interaction with certain people whether they be loved ones, old friends, casual acquaintances or total strangers with whom I may well have got chatting at a bus stop, on a beach, wherever…have directly or indirectly affected me, and how I have progressed (or not) since.

Each time, I go there, I see parts of whatever whole from a different perspective, but always making a connection between my Then-and-Now and my Here-and Now, while also speculating how it may yet affect any or all of my tomorrows…

Each of us are links in various chains of existence; our own, of course, but also other people’s albeit any or none made visible, even to the inner eye, at any one time.

Once, at school some 60+ years ago, our Religious Education teacher, M Partridge, was asked by a classmate what happened to anyone who did not believe in God. Why, he wanted to know, should we go to Hell over a difference of opinion? Mr P did not hesitate. “One way or another, we make our own heaven just as we make our own hell here on Earth,” he replied, “… regardless of what or in whom we believe.” “God goes by different names according to our religion, but no religion has a monopoly on God because, above all. God is Peace, something we all deserve and aspire to. (I, for one, believe that’s what Death is all about.) As for the manner of such peace, who knows…religion shapes it one way but who’s to say there aren’t alternatives we devise for ourselves as we go through life. Does that answer your question?”

It didn’t, of course, and probably wouldn’t to any 14-year-old, but it certainly gave the entire class food for thought; food on which I have chewed over time and again, alone and among friends.  Rarely do we reach a consensus, but we enjoy agreeing to differ, thereby – to my mind at least – driving home the principle that our differences don’t make us different, only human. It is a sound principle (surely) and one that, for me, has its roots in a 50 mins R E lesson in 1959.

PAST-PRESENT-FUTURE, 'LIVE' ART

I’ve strolled, with ghosts,

by rivers and streams, crossed oceans,

climbed mountains, lain

in green fields under sun, moon and stars,

recreating time and space

I’ve chatted with ghosts

about living for days passing too soon,

finding and losing track

of lesser dreams, harvesting the best,

leaving the rest to others

I’ve wept with ghosts

for missed opportunities, love affairs

lost to poor choices

made in good faith, yet proving nemeses

to all mind-body-spirit

We have made promises

to each other, my ghosts and I, some kept,

many broken or filed

among heartbeats last heard of skipping

multiple lost causes

I’ll sing along with ghosts

of joy and regret, lyrics by sun nymphs,

happy-sad ballads

orchestrated by wind and rain as if to sustain

a kinder Here-and-Now

They wait for me, my ghosts,

where I, too, will inevitably take my place

in a consciousness

loath to surrender any gifts of word-deed

inspiring a greater good

I will know them, my ghosts,

whatever truths they may yet bring home,

though but silhouettes

against a feisty sunset on any favourite places

mind-body spirit revisiting

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Urban Safari

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

I well recall walking home one night across a shabby part of London (doesn't every city have its shabby parts the tourists are steered away from?) and being captivated by a sense of  Gothic; poetry, romance, and a curious sense of fatalism....

URBAN SAFARI 

None but shuddering stones haunting

dead lawns…

Stretching from mossy rails

to graffiti trails

on silent factory walls

hear the Traveller

call for aid to ease

the burden Time has laid

on back and breast

No thought of rest, not here,

where occasional dock leaves conspire

a gentler ground

than makes this gravel sound

like another massacre…

On, on, playful night! Shedding favours

left and right,

teasing the Traveller’s jaded sight.

Glimpse, a tiger’s smile

where a pile of flowery wire flickers

like a far forest fire; city lights

beyond mass graves of missing people

plucked from welfare queues

and left to fend  without a friend

for years, their ghosts not far behind

as panic rears

Neon daubs, for stars and a generation

of paper tigers

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2014

[Note: Revised (2013) from an earlier version that first appeared in an anthology, Shadows in a Mist, Anchor Books (Forward Press) 1999 and subsequently in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

A Kindness of Ghosts

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

Many people say they find  religious festivals very depressing; everyone comes together in the spirit of their religion for only a short while, and then we all start fighting amongst ourselves again, nations as well as families; nations wherever there are meddling politicians and fundamentalist clerics trying to put one over on each other and everyone else and families divided for various reasons, not least what they see as some members creating a cultural divide between old and new ways of life.

Whatever, we can only do our best to make sure that socio-cultural-religious differences do not undermine us; there will always be peace and love somewhere and in someone that we can turn to whenever it looks like they might succeed. Alive or dead, near or far, they will always be people and/or events inspiring us to overcome even the worst this world may throw at us for as long as we leave the door of our hearts open to them and never let anyone or anything provoke us into slamming it shut for the sake of any socio-cultural-religious persuasion.

We are a common humanity whose differences (as I have said so often and will say again) do not make any one of us different, only human, regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality.

Here’s wishing you all Happy Days, not just at festive times, but always.

A KINDNESS OF GHOSTS

Seabirds, making

graceful flight;

missiles, closing in

on us

Homeowners striving

for a good tan;

refugees having to settle

for staying alive

Jagged rocks along

the seashore;

spent shells among

daisies on a lawn

Children crying over

lost sandcastles;

sorry world, weeping

at mass graves

Climate change across

land, sea and air;

nature, despairing at

our despair

Love, hope and peace

but as ghosts…

kept busy haunting our

better selves

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

  

[Note: The poem has been (very) slightly revised from a version that first appeared in CC&D, Scars Publications (US) September 2005 and subsequently in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

'Live' Art

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

Feedback suggests that readers of both poetry blogs have also enjoyed some of my gay-interest and other novels serialised on my fiction blog: http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com
Many thanks for your e-mails and comments. (I never post comments, but always read them.) 

Blasphemy and Sacrilege were originally meant to be part of a trilogy, ending with Redemption. However, illness and various other events have overtaken me and the latter remains unfinished. Hopefully, I will complete it one day. 

Meanwhile…

I was only about 12 years-old when my art teacher at school told the whole class, with various gestures to emphasis the point, that we should never, but never take art at face value. ‘Get inside the piece and take a good look around,’ he said, and went on (word for word as far as I can remember) ‘Give the inner eye a chance to explore before the head reaches any conclusions. And never quite trust those conclusions. Oh, bear them in mind by all means, but always remember that even the artist is not always sure where his or her creative experience is leading, what feelings it may invoke, quite what set the creative juices flowing in the first place and to what end, exactly. So how can we be sure? We can’t, which is why any work of art is worth returning to time and time again if only to find out what we may have missed.’

None of us had a clue what he meant at the time, of course, but as time passed, I consider those words more a real part of my education than anything learned for the sake of passing exams. Otherwise, I could never have written today’s poem…for James, artists everywhere (whatever the genre in which they work) and those of us to whom they give much pleasure and render us a shade less vulnerable for making us think for ourselves. 

The deeper relationship between any art form  and its audience is an intensely personal one, taking us on journeys of heart and mind towards an appreciation to which the chances are no   ‘outsider’ critic would give much if any credence; while any critical take is always worth considering, we should trust our instincts and never fear placing ourselves at odds with it.  (Having to play the critic myself and produce essays at university years ago almost killed off every natural instinct for the creative experience I ever had.)

Nor should we ever, of course, forget nature's achievements - wild and nurtured alike - to which the same principles apply with regard to our establishing a relationship. Artists will always borrow from nature and do their best to convey a multi-take on various aspects they seek to bring to our attention; consequently, our mind's eye is likely to take us us on an unexpected journey of discovery, not least about ourselves. 

Readers may be interested to know that I read this poem along with another (A Hymn to Nature) over the video below; if the link does not work, you can also access it on my You Tube channel at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQlJAu8Rwuc

LIVE ART

Life, a dream free to come and go
like a swallow on spring and autumn days;
harbinger of hope, bidding peace follow 
and nest among human hearts whose buds
of springtime are all but ready to burst
into leaf, begging nurture of human nature
no less anxious to fulfil its potential  
than Earth Mother hers, though its seasons
ever in dispute

Life, a dream embraced and let go
like a fairy tale cloud on light and darker days;
harbinger of love, bidding peace follow
and stay forever, feeding on the spirituality
of art’s deeper poetry all but ready
to come into its own, begging of the world
that it open its heart to Earth Mother 
and enter into an expression of spirituality  
by its own volition

Live art, a dream’s comings and goings
like a feisty moon at midnight on frosted glass,
harbinger of illusion, calling on sleepers
to make the most of an, oh, so brief sanctuary
before Apollo puts us on the spot
and demands we make a decision along lines
of whether or not we at least try
to fulfil our potential or take on the mantle
of anti-hero

Nature, forever rising above its fears;
humanity, never far from tears


Copyright R. N. Taber 2012