Winds of the Day OR A Take on (Collective) Responsibility

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

There have been several suspected terrorist attacks in Europe within a week, the latest in Vienna which left three people dead. The jihadist group, Islamic State, is thought to be responsible.  Our thoughts and sympathies will invariably home in on the families and friends of the dead and anyone injured (physically and/ or mentally).

So, what provokes extremist views and/ or actions in any of us? It is not good enough to suggest, as some do, that provocation excuses responsibility in the sense that we are being manipulated by forces, emotions (or people) over which we have no control.

It happens, of course; from time to time circumstances may cause us to lose control, to some extent or another, but that doesn’t mean we are excused responsibility even in the most mitigating of circumstances.

The chances are, the worst punishment for anyone unable to control themselves at any point in time to the extent we say or do something regrettable, is a sense of guilt we will never quite be able to quite shrug off; however hard we try to justify certain actions to others, we know, at heart, we have to accept responsibility.

Jihadists may well believe they are justified in killing any person or institution that, as they see it, offends their religion, but all religions preach peace and love, whatever reservations they may have about other religions, so …?

As regular readers well know, I don’t subscribe to any mainstream religion; we must agree to differ, although I am neither atheist nor agnostic in so far as I consider myself something of a Pantheist at heart.

This poem is a kenning.

WINDS OF THE DAY or A TAKE ON (COLLECTIVE) RESPONSIBILITY

From birth to grave,
we infiltrate mind-body-spirit,
vulnerable to temptation,
strong on certain other life forces
anxious for unity,
calling for clarity where confusion,
reality over illusion;
logic, though certain to have its say,
losing out to winds of the day 

Life forces, colluding
to sustain the human condition
for better, for worse,
in its sickness and in health, for richer,
for poorer, no matter who
or where, regardless race, rank, politics
religion or sexuality
nor above engaging with such hypocrisy
as shames much of humanity 

Kin to genius, invention
and progress, but (as likely as not)
inclined to muddy
the waters of our motivation with pain
for paying attention
to certain critics jealous of any ambition
as may result in fame
and fortune, while determined to get a slice
whatever it takes, at any price

We are such thought processes as following
any instructions our host may be giving

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

 

 

 

Spirit of Autumn

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

People often tell me they find autumn a sad month because it means winter is closing in, but as I have often pointed out on my blogs… after winter, spring.

Better, surely, to look forward to spring than dread winter? 

In the meantime, let us enjoy autumn for all its glorious colours and the sense of eternal optimism these are surely meant to inspire in us, an optimism that well may fail us from time to time...but, as my late mother once said, there is an eternal springtime of the loving, hopeful heart sure to inspire and help us through all the seasons of life, even the hardest of its winters...if we will but keep faith with it. When I pointed out that I was not a religious person, she simply responded to the effect that no religion has a monopoly on love and hope since we are all born with a potential capacity for both. How far we choose to apply it, she would argue, has more to do with human nature than religion. (My mother was a Christian, but like all the more remarkable religious-minded people, whatever their religion, she closed her heart and mind to no one.)

SPIRIT OF AUTUMN

Autumn leaves... 

Drifting by my window

like dreams I have nurtured

with love and care

in the garden of my life

where some flowered

in their season while others

were battered by wind and rain,

never to be seen again

Autumn leaves...

Whirling by my window

like dervishes in a frenzied

dance of life and death,

sustained by a rage to seize

the day, come what may,

on the battlefields of my life

where I have risked all to prove

a born capacity for love

Autumn leaves...

Clinging to my window

as Apollo clings to the last patch

of blue before sunset,

bids nature and human nature

rest on hard won laurels,

so-brief enough reprieve before

more rude awakenings to a world

falling on its sword

Autumn leaves...

Ripped from my window

like pages of memory best left

to whims of wind and rain

while I enjoy each dreamy leaf,

petal and blade of grass

found in the garden of my life

whose choirs heard singing each day

of my pride in being gay

Autumn leaves, tears of Earth Mother 

for any that cannot see beyond winter

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014; 2020

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

Past-Present-Future, Tales told by a Looking Glass OR Look and Listen

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

This is an early poem, written some years ago and only slightly revised some years later. 

Many thanks to those of you emailing to ask how I am getting on with compiling a new collection of poems. Progress remains slow but sure. Years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer having messed with my thought processes and want of a good night's sleep combined with the stresses we are all under due to the coronavirus pandemic ... well, they don't help. wry bardic grin But I plod on, not least because I have no choice but I genuinely enjoy writing up the blogs and compiling poetry collections, not only for the welcome distraction they provide, but because they encourage me to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life.

Now, while many of us may well look in a mirror and see beyond the image confronting us, how many of us, I wonder, actually go there?  It took me a good while to understand that being gay is an integral part of who I am and to deny it meant letting voices from my past dictate my future. Those same voices were already responsible for a serious mental breakdown (some 30+ years ago) and the road to recovery led to my deciding that it was high time I found a voice of my own and let it take me wherever …

"If you go through life only seeing what you want to see and hearing what you want to hear, much of it will simply pass you by...," thus commented my old English teacher, 'Jock' Rankin on the subject of poetry appreciation during a lesson in which the class was not responding very well to a poem by one of my favourite poets, Robert Frost, that he had read out to us.

Education is hanging around until you’ve caught on. – Robert Frost

To be a poet is a condition, not a profession. – Robert Frost

PAST-PRESENT-FUTURE, TALES TOLD BY A LOOKING GLASS or LOOK AND LISTEN

Looked in the mirror, and what did I see?

Tears where a smile should be;

walked into the mirror, and where did I go?

Back to a place I used to know;

put an ear to the mirror, and what did I hear?

Nothing I had not heard before

Looked around that place, and what did I see?

Dark shadows ganging up on me;

(nowhere to run, hide or expect sanctuary);

fear would be the death of me;

put an ear to my heart and what did I hear?

Nothing I had not heard before

Such love in my heart, and where did it go?

Out of the closet I used to know;

closet slammed behind me, what did I do?

Began making things right with you;

confronting a sorry world, what did we see?

Home truths in the grip of hypocrisy

Looking love in the eye, and what does it say?

‘Never let bigotry win the day…’;

walking out in the world, where do we go?

Wherever its kinder faces on show;

put an ear to the world and what do we hear?

Nothing we have not heard before

Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2015; 2020

Single, and Growing Old OR As Good as it Gets

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

Readers sometimes contact me and ask me how I manage to stay positive. So am posting this poem by way of reply. I will be 75 later this year, need a walking stick following a bad fall in 2011 and  have prostate cancer which has been treated with hormone therapy, also since 2011, so am constantly needing use the loo, plus I have some arthritis in my bad leg and in my neck.

I have done battle with depression all my life, even as a child. It may well be a complete stranger to many people having to contend with the physical, emotional and economic consequences of the Covid-19 coronavirus, but it and I are old adversaries. 

For years, I lost more battles with the BIG D than I won until a GP said he had no problem with patients who suffered from depression staying on an antidepressant; in the past, I had taken them until I felt better and then come off them... until the next time. What works for one person may well not work for another, of course, but I tried this approach and have not had a serious bout of depression since. 

Regular readers will know that, looking back to early January, I can now see that I had all the symptoms of what was almost certainly a milder version of the C-19 virus even if it did not feel 'mild' at the time. But it was winter, the time of colds and flu and there was little if any talk of a pandemic then. I simply put it down to a bad cold and stayed indoors. Yes, I am finding the C-19 pandemic very hard to deal with on a daily basis, but mostly due to the necessity for social distancing, not seeing friends and having to avoid public transport (I don't have car) especially as I live alone. 

Obviously, there are many people a lot worse off than me, but I can empathise with anyone who has difficulty trying to look on the bright side of life.  Growing old, for start, is definitely no picnic, but it’s only fair to point out that the same can be said of life in general. Some people in some parts of the world have a relatively easy life compared with those in other parts; some individuals appear to sail through life where others constantly find themselves swimming against an unremitting tide.

“How do you cope?” I once asked a young disabled friend some years ago. “Mind over matter,” he replied, “Think good, feel good,” he added with wry grin, and this from someone in pain 24/7. It was sound advice, and I make a point of following it. 

On bad days, the love of those closest to me, past and present, helps me through any pain and subsequent, frustration, depression ... whatever. I only wish I had done likewise back in 1979 before I suffered a mental breakdown and attempted suicide. Even so, I am convinced it was love that saved me then, and sustains me now, even though I live alone and have no partner. (I only had a partner for a short time, and that was many years ago although our feelings for each other continue to sustain me just as they did before he was killed in a road accident abroad.) As a result of my suicide attempt, I was unconscious for a good 35 hours, and I seem to recall his and my mother's voice calling me back. Both, long dead. Call it a fantasy if you like, but even the doctors said I am lucky to be alive ...

“The positive thinker sees the invisible, feels the intangible, and achieves the impossible.”

– Winston Churchill (My Early Life, 1874-1904)  

  

SINGLE, AND GROWING OLD or  AS GOOD AS IT GETS

Can’t get out and about

too easily now, a walking stick
needing to take the strain

when the rest of me lets me down,
and that’s as good as it gets

Can’t hear or see as well

as I could not so very long ago

but hearing aids and specs

get me by (now, wherever did I put

the darn things...?

New technology remains

a mystery not designed for old folks

who struggle to master

even the basics, a failing memory

chasing P-I-N or password

Growing old, no easy task,

gets harder by the day, yet a feeling

for life, love. and nature

inspires, and more than gets me by, 

cur for mind-body-spirit 

I draw upon all the love
that has seen me through the years
(in all its shapes and forms)
until it all but mends this poor frame,
and that's as good as it gets

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018; 2020

[Note: Following several requests from gay-friendly straight readers, I have also published this post/ poem on my gay-interest blog; feedback has long since confirmed that many if not most of its readers do not dip into both blogs.]

Getting the Better of Fear OR Stranger than Fiction

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

[Update - April 26th 2020: Many of us suffer from depression at the best of times. The coronavirus pandemic means we are living in the worst of times many people will have had to confront in their lifetimes so far; the toll on mental health worldwide is incalculable. Where many of us will admit to being 'stressed out' those same people often prefer to avoid the term, 'mental illness'; they see its some kind of stigma. Whatever, our mental health is every bit as important as our physical health; both are necessary for our general well-being. 

Regular readers will know how much importance I place on positive thinking, the key to mental and physical health, now more than ever as we fight not only the pandemic itself, but our fears for its potential economic and social consequences worldwide. 

Enter, the human spirit, always on hand to lead us away from negative thinking by substituting a natural optimism ... if we let it. Life is tough for everyone at the moment, especially those struggling with the virus itself or who have already lost loved ones and friends to COVID-19, but also the world population in general; everyone fears the unknown and needs must find their own way of rising above that fear.  For me, it is creative therapy, and I recommend it;; this can be the arts, gardening, physical exercise ... anything we can enjoy, that will lift our spirits, offer the human spirit an opportunity to actively engage with us and  help us to help ourselves and encourage others to do the same.

The human condition is no pushover, not least in its capacity for love; let its nemeses throw what it will at us, we will overcome them if we but engage with its spirit full-on. As I've said on the blogs many times, I'm not a religious person, and it's my belief that religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality, but whatever ... if it works for you, GO for it.

..................................................................................

Now, regular readers will know I have suffered regular bouts of depression all my life. Creative writing is the lifeline that empowers me to drag myself out of it. Okay, so some of it that may not satisfy my critics, but it helps to keep me on an even(ish) keel and feedback suggests that it helps some readers to do the same.

Depression is a form of retreat from reality when we try (and inevitably fail miserably) to run away from aspects of life we prefer not to confront head-on for whatever reason; if we end up confronting anything it is our failure to run away which, of course, only exacerbates the depression.

Depressed people need patience, understanding and help. Sadly, all three are often found wanting in modern society. Indeed, I would go so far as to say there is little more of any now than when I had a severe nervous breakdown way back in the late 1970's.

It is important to remember that depression is an invisible illness; you cannot tell simply from looking at a person that he or she is depressed. If someone you know, though, starts behaving uncharacteristically in any way, please give them the benefit of the doubt and be there for them. Depressed people are often in denial (as I was myself all those years ago) so be supportive even where someone may well reject the idea they are in need of any support. 

I suffered from depression even as a child; being an avid reader saved me from the worst of it. I never thought of reading as creative therapy, but of course it was, just as writing would become in later years.  No one considered that children might get depressed in those days, but thankfully, attitudes have changed, and about time too.

Invariably, it takes time and care for mind, body and spirit to get back into sync, but where there's a will, there really is a way ....

GETTING THE BETTER OF FEAR or STRANGER THAN FICTION

I ran like a frightened rabbit,

a once-friendly darkness all but

choking my lungs;

every exit blocked, no escape,

sentenced to death in the pages

of a novel

Panic-stricken now, desperate

to feast my eyes on one glimpse

of freedom;

finally, surrendering to despair,

I paused, all but ready to see how

my story ends

Suddenly, the faintest memory

of some long-ago spring charged

my ailing heart;

calling upon a half buried will,

I somehow managed to chase it

down the last tunnel

In fresh air and warm sunshine

I found the peace that closes eyes

and lets dreams pass

where, oh, but we would follow,

give reality the slip and be a hero

in someone else’s novel

Yet, the story is mine alone to tell,

second chance at living, promising

a kinder ending;

as for those readers burrowing

dusty bookshelves, may they too

re-invent themselves

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

[Note: This poem first appeared on the blog in 2013 under the title, 'Run, Rabbit,Run'.]

No Voice in the Classroom

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

I have been asked to post today’s poem by a young gay reader who writes, “… if I had been taught in school that being gay was not the sin my parents sincerely believe it is, I would not be the psychological mess I am now…”  I, too was a psychological mess once for much the same reason, and it took me years to become reconciled with my sexuality; I would not wish that on my worst enemy.

This was in response to a poem I posted on both blogs in July - 'When all's Said and Done' - pointing to the fact that many people across the country are objecting to legislation due next year making the teaching of LGBT issues compulsory in schools. I also received several emails upholding parental and religious views that that this is not a matter for schools, although most imply that they agree it is a matter of education.

Where better to educate than in a school, where teachers are impartial (by the very nature of their professional training) while children have to be among the least bigoted people on the planet?

At home or in a Place of Worship, these same children will be given a biased account of LGBT issues, which may or may not stay with them for the rest of their lives, unless they discover a sexuality other than that which they have been tagged since birth; never a choice, but one of many aspects that contribute to the human condition....whatever our socio-cultural-religious environment.

I posted the post/ poem below on my gay-interest blog in 2013. Sadly, it remains relevant, if not more so, six years later.

………………………………………………

I read recently that homophobic bullying is on the increase among young people. I see no end to it, especially in a multicultural society, until parents face up to the fact that there are gay people out there and a child of theirs might even be one of them.

Here in the UK we have gay-friendly legislation, but relatively few parents will entertain the prospect of any classroom discussion about gay issues. Until they get real about the world we live in, gay people worldwide will be deprived of a voice in the classroom where perhaps it most needs to be heard;  our children and young people deserve better than that. Education is a broad church and students need to be taught how life IS, not how various socio-cultural-religious groups would like it to be.

As a teenager, I agonised about being gay because I had been taught at home and church that it was unnatural and a sin. I would not wish that on any young person. If I had learned that there are gay people from all walks of life around the world, it would have made a huge difference and I would not have spent what should have been among the best years of my life feeling  confused, ashamed, angry ... and scared of family and peers discovering my sexual identity. Anyone objecting to homosexuality being included in any school curriculum should feel ashamed of themselves for failing to give their children a more complete view of life as it is.

NO VOICE IN THE CLASSROOM

We were fighting for real
when suddenly he kissed me
passionately on the mouth
and I lashed out confusedly
at my impotent alter ego

My body thrilled to his kiss
(so unexpected though it was)
but my mind flatly rejected it
for I had been taught only this,
that gay is ugly, dirty, sinful

My fist crashed into the face
I so longed to cup in my hands
and be spirited (safely) away
into corners of time and space
free of judgemental inhibitions

In a smoky mist, I saw him flee,
unable to call him back, my feet
(like my tongue) stuck fast…
his kiss continuing to engulf me
in the sheer ferocity of  its heat

That night I felt the two of us
making love with such intensity
there was no room for shame
as I braved giant waves of reality,
surfing desires denied for years

The next day I waylaid him,
stumbled over a tearful apology
as gently, warily, he drew me
into his arms, joy in our sexuality
letting all conscience go free

It was a time of stereotypes
feeding off society’s prejudices
so we never dared go public,
any world for schoolboy lovers
kept waiting on its education

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

Engaging with the Abstract

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

I have really never understood abstract art, but always been fascinated by it without knowing why. One day, at a Picasso exhibition, I commented as much to the person (a total stranger) standing next to me. “It’s not about making sense as we know it,” the woman said, “but letting it take us on a journey, wherever our senses choose to take us; it is the journey that counts, and at the same time completes the artwork. There's nothing like abstract art for giving the alter ego a wake-up call." She had moved on before I could quite digest this, but digest it I did, and have enjoyed taking more such journeys since. The mind operates along lines of its having to make sense of things' the heart, on the other hand, accepts that we don't.

Every time I engage with abstract art, it feels like it is taking me on a magical mystery tour around my inner self ...

I like to think at least some of my poems have much the same effect on those who engage with them, but maybe that's just wishful thinking ...

This poem is a kenning.

ENGAGING WITH THE ABSTRACT

I lead the mind a merry dance

across lesser known parameters

simply for their being red lines

drawn across localised elements

of human nature by ‘betters’

intent on feeding their own egos

(under the heading ‘Education’)

inviting any free, independent thought

to engage, comment, pass on

I invite the body to fly all time

and space, consort with pterodactyls

regenerating through time-space

to give poor history a pat on the back

for lending a poorer humanity

its spectrum of lost opportunities,

not only excused but redeemed

by all socio-cultural-religious dogma

ever written on tablets of stone

My task, to let the human spirit

enter into a global self-consciousness,

no matter its sensibilities fear

to see-hear-feel whatever hurt inflicted

on its own and natural worlds

by way of posing as a superior species

for its strength, intelligence,

or cunning wherever pure self-interest

put down to native ingenuity

Mind-body-spirit, actively taking part

in all that comprises abstract art

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Engaging with a Speculative Mind

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

Society - that is to say, the more vocal and 'pushy' of its so-called  'betters' - may well like to think the human condition can be moulded as it sees fit, but it underestimates the human spirit, that inner self inclined to resist all attempts to fit us into boxes for which we were not made.

By all means, let us resist ...

ENGAGING WITH A SPECULATIVE MIND

Some turn to love but for escape, comfort,

weary of a world full of pain and hate,

sick of always being told what to do (or not),

seek peace, understanding in a kind heart

Some find an escape and comfort they seek,

believe they're safe under sheltering skies;

some, disenchanted by love for its own sake,

weary of the same people, places, half lies…

If squaring up to life’s clout is never easy,

squaring up to love is harder still by far;

as for looking both in the eye with sincerity,

that demands the sureness of a guiding star

As clay to the potter's wheel, human nature

can but do its best with what's on offer ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2016

[Note: First published under the title ‘Horoscope' in A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Monday, Monday...

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

Readers are always asking for the link to my informal poetry reading on the 4^th plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square in 2010 by way of being my contribution to Sir Antony Gormley’s One and Other ‘live sculpture’ project. Be warned, though; the whole thing lasts an hour:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T  [NB: Sept 19, 2019 - The British Library confirmed today that he video is no longer available as it was incompatible with a new IT system, However, it still exists and BL hope to reinstate it and make it available to the public again at some future date.] RNT

Now, this tongue-in-cheek poem has been slightly revised since appearing in my collection and on the blog in 2007. I wrote it in 2003. Since then I have retired but…I still hate Mondays!

MONDAY, MONDAY...

Monday morning,

one eye on a glorious dawning

through paper thin curtains

covering us much like a shroud;

hearts stopping, a relentless

ticking of bedside clocks arousing it

to a semblance of beating, 

like a bored child tapping fingers

on whatsoever happens along

to distract from the business in hand

of having it knuckle down

to what’s expected, without so much

as any reward or time off

for good behavior from acting

the epitome of perfection,

if only to impress those who need

(or demand) to be impressed,

best impressions leaving the rest

struggling to keep up…

Oh, but that won’t do, have to show

who’s who, stand tall, be counted

as well worth our salt among so-called

‘betters’ - prove our daily stars

not so far out after all, even if night

skies are more likely to shoot us

in the back, leave us gibbering wrecks

after playing at sex, losing the game,

and waking up with a killer hangover,

contemplating going to work in terror,

more than likely to be gobbled up

by some mad 'n' mean gossip machine

playing you-can-tell-me-I-won’t-tell

that just may have something going for it,

beats an unholy devotion to overtime

no one gets paid or even a thank you so

by immaculate, swivel chairing gods

on six figure salaries and getting a kick

out of fiddling expenses…  

Oh, yes, and all for what? Get laid, 

(so drunk we forget anyway…)

Monday, Monday, GO AWAY

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in  A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]