Engaging with the Politics of Word Power

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2017. Meanwhile, I plod on with trying to compile a new collection ...

Now, we all use word power as a means of communication. Where would we be without language? Yet, too often, I suspect, we underestimate the power of words to influence us, for better or worse, depending on how and why they are targeting us. TV, Radio, advertising, social media, one-to ones with family and friends...all claiming to have our best interests at heart. Some do, of course, while others may well have ulterior motives we can easily fail to spot behind every noun, verb and pronoun employed in such a way as to try and influence, distract even do us harm as gossip past and present can bear witness.

Words alone are harmless enough, of course; it is how we use them that can make or break the toughest ego, so what chance the more vulnerable among us? Tone, body language, manipulating interpretation by use of satirical expression loaded with double meaning... all these and more can -and not infrequently are - used as weapons acceptable to society as a whole until fall-out occurs that catches the attacker/s out and demands investigation; we should remember, too, that these same weapons can be used in our defence, although the context is often far from clear, especially where an experienced wordsmith is involved.

At school, years ago, my old English teacher told the class never to take words or groups of words - in written or spoken language - at face value unless we are sure they mean us no harm; the former in particular can be so easily misinterpreted although the spoken word, too, especially if it contradicts certain points if view we may already have reached by ourselves. How we are feeling at any given time also plays a part; if vulnerable for any reason, we are as likely to take words of support or encouragement for criticism as we are to take the art of flattery and ill-motivated persuasion at face value.

How can we tell what's what? Well, there is no sure failsafe, but there is much to be said for the recipient's not jumping to conclusions without due consideration of what has been said and what may or may not have been intended; the writer or speaker, too, needs to consider in what context he or she is using certain words and look for alternatives where the intended meaning can be in the least misconstrued.

Language is far more pliable than many of us give it credit for; in the wrong hands, it can shoot us down, just as in the right hands it can prove just the pick-me-up we need. "Beware flattery most of all," my old teacher said, "Flatterers invariably have hidden motives that are unlikely to be in your best interests, whether in the longer or shorter term. Whatever, the chances are you will end up feeling misled, conned, betrayed... such is the dark side of the Politics of Word Power.

ENGAGING WITH THE POLITICS OF WORD POWER

I know not who, what, where, 

yet I feel it's here at the heart of me, 

no less a part of me than sun, 

moon, stars and rain nurturing 

a world that, when all's said 

and done, knows little for certain 

once its fine rhetoric begun working

its mischief

Mind-body-spirit, but left 

in the dark, once a force for good, 

but not here, tearful victim 

of word power putting us down 

for aspiring to better things, 

better ways than else we'd know 

but for a sense of its brighter light

leading the way

World, its rhetoric on the ear

where none so deaf as will not hear,

what any mind-body-spirit 

has to say regarding its concerns

for our being fed the poetry

of whatever it may take to gull us

into giving way to word power worthy

of Machiavelli

Wherever contemporary dogma 

wears its glad rags, a silvery tongue

ensuring innuendo hits its mark,

we need to beware winks and smiles

on the face of tigers who'd see us

in hell rather than miss the chance

take our place whenever opportunity

making a play

Trust human instinct to win the day,

get the better of rhetoric, rip its finery

into shreds and let them lie

for life's caretakers to sweep and bin,

stronger, kinder companions

to word power looking on, resolving

not to let pretty language have its way

with us again 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared under the title 'In a Word' in an anthology, In the Dreams of Angels, Triumph House [Forward Press] 2001 and subsequently in my first collection Love and Human Remains, Assembly Books, 2000; it has been substantially revised.]

Soldiering On

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

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

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

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

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

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

This poem is a kenning

SOLDIERING ON

I’ll fight the good fight

with the very best of intentions,

yet often misunderstood

for a rogue devil in the detail,

invariably missed

by thought processes less familiar

with the subtler art

of meaning as regards prime destination,

a sensitive mind-body-spirit

Losing the good fight

has been known to hurt those most

whose side I would take

against the harsher machinations

of life, love, whatever

it may be seemingly conspiring

to set us at worse odds

than mind-body-spirit intends, but foiled

by its own commonest flaws

Winning the good fight

with the very best of intentions,

and getting the better

of some rogue devil in the detail

likely to throw a spanner

in the workings of any relationship

can be easily accomplished

for not assuming what’s good for the goose

is good for the gander

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

nor less so in the nature of disillusion

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

(Other) Casualties of War..

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

A number of blog readers have expressed a wish to read some of my poems again, but don’t have access to my collections or time to browse my blogs. I have therefore started up a Google Plus site linking to new and historical posts/poems on booth bogs. The preamble to some posts may well be out of date, of course, but recent feedback suggests it doesn't bother anyone. Besides, readers can always skip the preamble and go straight to the poem.:

https://plus.google.com/118347623673930289606/posts

Now, much of human nature is about love and hate, finding peace and making war with ourselves as well as if not more so than with others. 

Among many wounds we inflict upon ourselves - and far too often leave to fester - I suspect that by far the greater are words spoken in anger that can never (quite) be retracted and words of love never spoken at all. More often than not, blame lies with a failure to communicate properly between the parties concerned; ironic, in a twenty-first century where communication has never been easier if also (perhaps for that very reason?) more vulnerable to misunderstandings and/ or misleading assumptions invariably down to expressing ourselves poorly or not at all..

When was the last time you told someone just how much you love and/or forgive them?

This poem is (yes, another) villanelle.

(OTHER) CASUALTIES OF WAR

So many words unsaid

on this life’s battleground,

comrades left for dead

False hopes seeing red,

warned not to make a sound;

so many words unsaid

Misgivings hastily shed

where love’s tears confound;

comrades left for dead

Truth but to history fed,

as better sought than found;

so many words unsaid

Honest mistakes misled

for hurt pride to compound;

comrades left for dead

Nature, by nurture misled

costs peace the upper hand;

so many words unsaid,

comrades left for dead

[From:  On the Battlefields of Love: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Lost in Translation

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

In response to this poem, someone once complained that I 'seem to be suggesting that being gay is as natural as God intended.' Well, the poem lends itself to various interpretations (as a poem should) and if that's theirs, I am delighted to have at least giving a religious bigot some food for thought.

When it comes to the various Holy Books and the attitudes they convey towards gay, bisexual, and transgender men and women, I know many people feel the same as me; much has been lost in translation or, as often as not, deliberate misinterpretation. Too many people have too great a fondness (reliance even) on a stereotyping which not only confuses important issues but, worse, is put forward as a truth, Time and again, I have heard people trying to justifying an attitude that beggars belief, not least because it has its roots in stereotypical caricatures, especially when it concerns LGBT issues. I am not disputing everyone's right free speech, but let's at least get our facts right, yes?

We all occupy a mother’s womb. I will never believe the love there is conditional to our turning out the way some parents’ preoccupation with various socio-cultural-religious conventions try to impose as. indeed, they have done very successfully since the beginning of time. Thank goodness for a natural capacity of the human heart for rebellion against such constraints; it may well have lost a good few battles and will surely lose a good few more, but is as sure to win the war for  common humanity as day follows night.  

It was once put to me by a work colleague that poetry - no more or less than other art forms - is all about self-indulgence. I beg to differ. Poetry - no more or less than other art forms - is all about finding out who we are; nor is it a definitive 'we' or first person persona for, as the metaphysical poet John Donne points out, 'No man is an island entire of itself...' (Meditation XVII)

Whatever, be it in reading prose or  poetry, appraising a painting or a person, the chances are few if any will come to the same conclusion, and even greater are the chances of any one person reaching the right one; we are all made up of many parts. The arts - among which feedback regarding my own suggests poetry is often considered the poor relation - attempt to reach at least some of those parts, the sum of which makes us who we are.

There can be no perfect interpretation of mind-body-spirit, but we can at least try to lose as little as possible in translation, and allow for human error ...

LOST  IN TRANSLATION

When people ask where I came from;

I answer, my mother’s womb,

so why am I so haunted by a sense
of having been somewhere else,

distant, unknown, as if I’d crossed
mythical territories of time and space
just to find my way here?

When others ask if I have a ‘real’ goal
in life, I confess I’m never sure

which doors are left ajar just for me

to take a peep (our choice, enter

or not) and may let a still, small voice
out of time and space persuade me to try
the safer (better?) path

Sometimes I am even accused of sitting

on some metaphorical fence

rather than explore secret passages

of the mind, and the doors open
to tease me, dare me enter, have a go
at translating the ages-old hieroglyphics
lining Mother’s womb

Yes, I have a ‘real’ enough goal in life

if prompted by a poet’s feeling
for wrestling with the hieroglyphics

between womb and tomb,

writing up an alternative autobiography
of my life and death than trust local graffiti
on doors kicked shut

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

S-word in the Sheath

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

As I grow old(er) I find myself thinking about death more and more often; not morbidly, and I don’t find the prospect too distressing. I guess I am more curious than anything else.

A non-religious person, I don’t believe in any form of life after death in the sense that many people like to imagine it. A lifelong relationship with nature gives me hope that after this winter of my life, spring will come again. 

While I have to confess I remain fearful of pain and try not to think about it, death itself holds no fear for me at all. Yes, I will miss the people, places and things I love most in this life, of course. Poets, no more or less than many if not most of us, are always up for a challenge, and what greater challenge can there be than death? At the same time, I strongly believe in the existence of a posthumous consciousness in the world (yes, ghosts if you like) continuing to make our presence felt wherever and in whomsoever it has made its presence felt during our lifetime.

Incidentally - and unrelated - I would like to thank all those readers who have been in touch to ask about my prostate cancer. Physically, I have a few problems, but the positive thinker in me remains...well, yes, positive as hormone therapy continues to keep my prostate cancer from becoming aggressive.

This poem is a villanelle.

S-WORD IN THE SHEATH

Death, it's just a word,

a poet’s metaphor,

but sheath for a sword

Still, small, voice heard

keeping our score,

death, it's just a word

Mistaken for a prey-bird
at heaven's door,

but sheath for a sword

Life' s worst fears stirred,

all love forswore,

death, it's just a word 

Any great victory averred
(denying love's lore)

but sheath for a sword

Love, immortality assured

(it's love rates our score)
death, it's just a word,

but sheath for a sword

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

[Note: This poem has been significantly revised since it first appeared in a Poetry Now (Forward Press) anthology, Worldly Words (2004) and subsequently in  A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

War Talk

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

How often, I wonder do we really think about what we are saying or even mean what we say, bearing in mind that our choice of words may well leave us vulnerable to misinterpretation?

The world  owes much to the men and women in its armed forces wherever they may be. Nor should we ever forget that we owe as much if not more to their families and friends (along with everyone else) who, time and time again, are called upon to pick up the pieces of life, love and hope whenever and wherever lives fall apart; a time of peace, for some if not most of us can be another kind of war.

“Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime.”  - Ernest Hemingway

Yet, justify it, we invariably do if only by that old stand-by, rhetoric.

WAR TALK

What do people mean when they talk about

the 'integrity' of war?

Is it a comment on the neatness of body bags

laid out in a line?

Or maybe they are referring to injured people

rising above despair?

Can it be they mean the finer principles of war

have been upheld?

(Doesn’t everyone do their best to keep friendly

fire incidents to a minimum?)

Maybe its generals court integrity for strategies

of ‘win some, lose some’?

Can it be politicians promote their own integrity

to win elections?

Maybe it’s all about being polite, discreet, about

to whom the spoils of war?

I asked a soldier who lost an arm and a leg in Iraq,

but he just shrugged

Maybe (the soldier said) I should ask the orphans

and widows…on both sides?

Lots of questions and not nearly enough answers

or (any?) right ones

Poor humanity, ever caught in a cross-fire of words,
come worst of all worlds

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2018



[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Next of Kin have been Informed, but should Refrain from Asking Questions' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Dancer At The Edge Of Time

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

Readers often ask me why I revise poems at all, especially when they have appeared in their original form in various poetry magazines and/or anthologies. I suspect it is because I did not quite manage to say what wanted to say the first time around. Years on, from a distance, I can home in on the poem and knock it into the shape. I may or may not have intended.

Our thoughts, attitudes and emotions are a kaleidoscope of mind-games whose patterns change even while retaining the same custom made model of perception we like to call insight, first cousin to imagination.

Sometimes readers prefer the original version; sometimes, I do as well. Sometimes, too, I look back at a poem and the kaleidoscope turns of its own accord; my focus on certain patterns of perception shifts, insisting the poem shift appropriately. Any resulting revision may be slight or major, but always significant; it does not cancel out the original version of a poem if only because it is an extension of it. Critics will take issue with me, of course, but it is as it is...

The old adage is so true; actions really do speak louder than words and few louder or more effectively than the art of dance.

To what extent, I often wonder, are we our own choreographers...?

This poem is a kenning.

DANCER AT THE EDGE OF TIME

On a custom-built stage,

reaching out to the mind seeking

to reason excuses for its petty

potholes that pass for smouldering

coals of body language

(potential for pretty words)

consigning empty rhetoric

to the earth above graves that rage

at our being misunderstood

Now gentle, meek and mild,

now run wild, this dance of a lifetime

they pay a high price to see

who turn up for a private viewing

expecting to see subtler steps

for Right, Left, (what's wrong?)

be spotted learning something

of what passes for ‘live art’ driving

a hard bargain with us all

Gracefully, gesturing a plea

to be discerned if rarely acknowledged

by an inner eye usually inclined

to be lazy, but given a shake now and then,

by home truths we’d rather ignore;

Dancer takes a bow. Performance over,

task all but ended, art’s love affair

with life staking its existence (and ours)

on daunting, haunting applause

Practising slow, slow, quick, quick, slow

till dead on our feet, me and my shadow

  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2006; 2012

[Note:  an earlier version of this poem appeared in Celebrations; 15 years Of The People’s Poetry, Anchor Books (Forward Press) 2006 and subsequently in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Yes, What ...?

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

I once remarked to a friend that people can be are such a puzzle, to which he promptly replied that it probably was because we are such a puzzle to ourselves.

Ah, probably...

Sometimes we find it hard to express ourselves in words; if we are fortunate enough to be painters or musicians, we can often express ourselves better through those genres, certainly our deeper feelings.

At other times, we may express ourselves perfectly yet still be misunderstood because those with whom we wish to communicate choose to put their own interpretation on what we say rather than try and understand what we mean.

But what do we mean and do we ever mean quite what we say? Oh, but how often do we wish we had expressed ourselves differently!

Our use of weeds, paint, music, whatever...these all open up pathways to meaning that all parties concerned are free to follow; sometimes we are fortunate enough to follow the same path, and meaning is established. Yet, even where meaning is not fully established, the chances are our relationship with the other party will have entered a new dimension; one we are likely to explore whether consciously or subconsciously, and in so doing discover more about each other than before the dialogue began...even if we are not quite sure what, exactly.

YES, WHAT ...?

If I’d said this, or that,

said - what?

If I’d done this, or that,

done - what?

Tortured souls crying out

their guilt, left

hanging in some limbo

to - rot?

What good purpose, that?

None.

We cannot (ever) change

what’s done,

bring back loved ones

long - gone?

No, but here in the heart,

forever

willing us to live again,

move on;

Nothing, said or done then

would - what?

Have eased whose pain,

whose guilt?

Choices, rarely plain, but

ours alone

will take us here, there,

where?

No one to blame having

chosen - wrong?

Who’s to say, play judge

and jury?

Enough, surely, to be …

what, exactly?

[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

An Elementary Take On Expressionism

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

Whenever I skip a day or two of writing up the blog, readers send emails telling me they miss me. Well, many thanks for that, and okay, you win. I’ll do my best, but cannot promise a post every day. I will continue to post new poems as and when I can.

Relatively few readers dip into both general and gay-interest blogs, but no surprises there since there is still a social divide in many parts of the world, even in the West, between heterosexual and gay people. By including both general and gay-interest poems in my collections, those readers who feel obliged to be discreet, for whatever reason, are free to be seen reading them without anyone knowing whether it is for the general or gay material or both.

Now, I appreciate that many of you do not have the time to browse the blog archives for poems, especially those of you who are unable to access a computer at home. I am delighted with and very grateful for your continuing encouragement and support. I can but hope some of this might express itself in book sales, especially regarding my new collection - Tracking The Torchbearer - in the spring. In the past, I have always sold enough copies to cover printing costs and contribute to new print runs/publications. However, I have grave doubts about even recovering costs for Torchbearer given the tough financial climate in which we are living.

A poetry publisher once implied they might be interested if I left out my gay-interest poems. Oh, but no way! [There is a literary if not moral principle involved here.] Readers will always be able to access the blogs, of course, although a good few get in touch to tell me how they enjoy accessing the various sections of my poetry collections on the bus or train, while grabbing a few minutes of peace and quiet in a favourite arm chair or even in bed.

We shall see what we shall see. I will be letting everyone know when I can start taking orders for signed copies nearer the publication of Tracking The Torchbearer.

Meanwhile...

Now, some gay friends don’t like the world ‘homosexual’ whereas I have no problem with it. Others are at perfectly ease with ’Queer’ whereas I never will be comfortable with it due to its association, for me personally, with verbal and physical abuse towards gay people years ago.

Straight friends have been known to suggest I am over-sensitive regarding various terms for gay men and women, but I guess it depends on the way in which they are expressed; even 'Queer' is acceptable to me if said with a cheeky grin and a wink. Humour may well touch a nerve, but if we can't laugh at ourselves, we might as well be dead. Even so, what a friend can usually get away with is often inappropriate coming from someone else.

It is all very well for people to say we must move with the times, and I am all for it, but some emotional and psychological as well as physical scars from times past are slow to fade; some never do. We all have an internal reality which can sometimes be as intensely painful  as it can be intensely beautiful; a dual intensity often found in human relationships and reflected in the arts.

Arguably, the ‘legitimacy’ of a word, phrase or sentence depends on the spirit in which it is delivered, not its place in some reputable dictionary and subsequent ‘definition’.

AN ELEMENTARY TAKE ON EXPRESSIONISM

Gay, homosexual, queer;
these are words we are likely
to hear anywhere
because that’s where you’ll find us
(anywhere)
though I (personally) have to say
I prefer to have it said
of me I’m ‘gay’ because it’s how
I see my sexual identity

‘Homosexual’ makes me feel
like a test tube specimen on some
research laboratory table
exploration into an explanation
for cause, even cure
where genetics (and nature)
are only too happy
to explain away the vocabulary
of sexual identity

‘Queer’ conjures bleak memories;
dark closet days and society’s misuse
of the word,
a closed-minded world of abuse
towards those of us
seeking (and finding) love
among our own sex
where small minds unfit for purpose
anxious to vilify us

Times change, its words passing
from meaning to meaning like bees
to flowers, children
to adulthood, attitudes maturing
(I’d like to say)
a peace and love enduring,
abuses of language
(people too) discovering the poetry
of sexual identity

Let the poetry natural to all of us
have its way, no matter what its critics
may have to say
about our use of rhyme, none at all
or socio-cultural expectancy...
Each poem and person to their time
and a spirit of creativity
that is no more a ‘sin’ or ‘crime’
than sexual identity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: This poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer, by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]