Notes on Real Time

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

Prejudice is a burden that confuses the past, threatens the future and makes the present inaccessible. – Maya Angelou

“For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.”- Nelson Mandela

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.” – Edith Wharton

Now, it is great news that professional footballer, Jake Daniels, who plays for Blackpool has told the world he is gay, and at the age of 17 years. 

Wow! He makes cowards of those like me. As regular readers will know, I had realised I am gay by the time I was 14, but was not openly so until my 30’s. My family had their suspicions, of course, but I got the impression they preferred as quiet a life as possible and I wasn't about to open up without some encouragement. Oh, I had my reasons (don’t we all?) but there is no reasoning with our fears; until we at least try to get the better of them, I guess we might as well be living in caves.

Sexuality is not a lifestyle choice but a vital part of who we are, straight, gay, whomsoever; just as others must choose to love or malign us, so, too, must we, ourselves. 

NOTES ON REAL TIME

I hid in a cave, scared
to come out for fear of hunters
enjoying such sport
with the likes of me as would serve
their boasts, see us
roasted on a spit, no reasoning a need
to dance away their years
with adept footwork, admired by one and all,
least access to heart-and-soul

Once, almost caught,
concrete jungle sounding its pursuit
of me with gleeful horn
and harrowing peals of expectation,
like church bells
at a wedding, feeding on as well as into
mixed feelings, under a cover
of joie-de-vivre, no one likely to spoil the fun,
be thought a killjoy by anyone

Finally, grown weary
of dark caves with only untried fears
for poor company,
I gave mind-body-spirit full access
to heart-and-soul,
listened intently to an intense exchange
of rights and wrongs, likely gains
and losses, the former winning (eventually)
for reasoning a need to be free

Who dares braves the worst in dream after dream,
has yet to discover the best of real time

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

Note: Needless to say, today's post-poem also appears on my other poetry blog.]

 

Hillsborough, in Remembrance OR No Justice

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

[Update Nov. 28 2019: Finally, 30 years on from the Hillsborough disaster, David Duckenfield - the only person prosecuted - was found not guilty of the manslaughter of 95 people at the stadium in 1989. Needless to say, the relatives of those killed who have been campaigning for justice all this time appeared upset and disgusted by the verdict.]

This is not a new poem but it has not appeared online for a couple of years and now seems an appropriate time to reinstate it. Although it was written in 1989, it did not appear in print until included in an anthology, ‘A Day in Time’ Forward Poetry, 2013. Why?

 I try in my poems to record as many events as possible that have made a deep impression on me and/or everyone else, for whatever reason; this one was written before I began to get poetry published on a regular basis in various magazines and anthologies, and later online. In this way, I began to build a modest reputation as a poet. Even so, it was rare indeed for an editor to accept a gay-interest poem which is why I resorted to self-publishing collections (2000-2012) that included both gay-interest and general poems by way of an attempt to convey not only that these are alternative voices of the same genre but also (to the less discerning among us) that there is more to a gay person’s identity than his or her sexuality. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, a poem is a poem is a poem just as a person is a person is a person...

A whole is the sum of its various parts, and as I have said on the blogs before, I see myself as a poet who also happens to be gay, not a gay poet; my sexuality is an integral part of who I am, but it is only a part. I have been very encouraged to hear from heterosexual readers that they enjoy many of the gay-interest poems I post while it would never have occurred to them previously to explore poems on a gay site. Hopefully, the realisation that gay people are essentially no less ordinary people than anyone else may help break put old prejudices and stereotypes to rights...so whenever straight readers email me that they have enjoyed a poem on my gay-interest blog, as a Liverpool F C supporter did only recently, I am thrilled.

Meanwhile…

It was announced yesterday that some people will (finally) be charged in relation to the Hillsborough tragedy. Among them is David Duckenfield, 73, police commander at the time, who will face charges of gross negligence manslaughter following the crush in the terrace pens of the Sheffield Wednesday stadium, Leppings Lane end at the match between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest here in the UK on April 15, 1989.

HILLSBOROUGH, IN REMEMBRANCE or NO JUSTICE

For the ninety-six fans who died

(then made to shoulder the blame)

truth will out that lay half buried

Family, friends, have long cried

for justice, and in more than name,

for the ninety-six fans who died

If police, media, playing off-side,

who else engaging with shame?

Truth will out that lay half buried

It was a bulldog spirit succeeded

in putting human flaws in the frame

for the ninety-six fans who died

Where facts and cover-ups collide,

closure but, oh, so slowly ever came

(truth will out that lay half buried)

A closer look, loose threads tied,

(ghosts looking for a football game);

for the ninety-six fans who died,

truth will out that lay half buried

Copyright R. N. Taber 1989; 2012

England, My England, Three Cheers for St George

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

A reader has emailed to say he was surprised to discover I had another blog that I write especially with other gay men and women in mind. He was even more surprised to discover that he 'quite enjoyed reading it. and will do so again.' For anyone else who may be interested, follow the link:

http://aspectsofagaymanslifeinverse.blogspot.com/

I am proud of being an Englishman and sick of being told I shouldn’t be by the so-called ‘politically correct’ brigade. During the World Cup some households have been flying the flag of St George ... but some people have complained, suggesting that it will offend people from ethnic minorities ... as if they don't have teams participating as well as England. Given that St George is also known and respected by Muslims only serves to underline the ignorance of some people.

The poem does not appear in any of my collections so far. It has already provoked some protest emails, one from a Muslim man who implied I am racist and complained that English nationalism makes people like him feel excluded. Well, I don’t think that is anyone’s intention and it’s certainly not mine. As for my being racist, regular readers will know better. I have Muslim friends and others whose culture of origin is homophobic but who have no problem with either my sense of national pride (they cherish their own national/cultural identity) or sexuality.

Regarding social exclusion, I'f say gay people have known our share. Yes, things are better now than they used to be ... for some of us. Even so, I, for my part, resent the kind of socio-cultural-religious homophobia I frequently encounter from people who choose to live in the UK because it offers them a better deal than their own country yet persist in complaining about our ‘liberal’ way of life; these may well be in a minority, but it is a significant and (very) vocal minority. Sorry, but if they don’t like how we do things in the UK (or the West generally) no one will stop them returning to their own country.

ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND, THREE CHEERS FOR ST GEORGE

England, my England, where are you now?
Once, I ran in green fields, played conkers
in the school playground with friendly peers
who hadn’t even learned to spell, let alone
discover the meaning of prejudice, bigotry,
racism and homophobia

England, my England, where are you now?
Once I’d shop for sweets in a corner shop
that’s an ugly, costly apartment block now
among other carbuncles that have sneaked
into High Streets and side roads like thieves
in a corporate darkness

England, my England, where are you now?
Once you offered safety in numbers that now
would gobble me up like a swarm of locusts,
forcing an entry to trains, planes and buses,
making it their business to expose my bones
to political scrutiny

England, my England, where are you now
that let ambition get the better of humanity
and now must pay the price for aspiring
to a supremacy sure to be brought down
for its sheer audacity, while (still) declaring
an empathy with globalisation?

England, my England, where are you now
that sucks up to hawks where once it flew
with eagles, leaves crumbs out for doves
where it feasts on cake and caviar, deceiving
itself and all of us who eagerly devour
the latest opinion polls?

England, my England, where are you now?
Falling apart, a unity bought with the blood,
sweat and tears of centuries, even politics
caving in to those who shout the loudest where
this or that smooth tongued religion assumes
the moral high ground

England, my England, my love, pride and joy;
let the locusts feed on me, my spirit dare take
its cue from a bold re-working of our history
into a 21st century that may yet see its crumbs
shared out evenly, a divided humanity declared
its own worst enemy

Where now, once my England, in a world
that’s lost its way?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009