A Survivor's Tale or L-I-F-E, Mixed Blessings

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

The only subjects at which I did well at school were English and History; it was, after all, a Technical High School, specialising – as its name suggests – in practical and scientific subjects at which I was next to useless. 

A hearing problem which was not diagnosed until my early 20’s didn’t help nor did my family moving house when I was still in my early teens, taking me away from all my friends.

Even so, I doubt whether I would have hated my schooldays any the less. I did not qualify for a university and moved from job to job for several years. Eventually, I did go to university and got the degree I needed to get a place at Library School to become a librarian, which I had set my heart on years earlier. 

I enjoyed Information work in public libraries for many years, although I was haunted by my sexuality still during the early years; in those days, gay folks were looked upon by most people in anything but a favourable light, to say the least. 

As regular readers know, I tried emigrating to Australia for all the wrong reasons; it was another failure. Then my mother died (1976), after which followed a bad nervous breakdown just a few years later that saw me on the dole for nearly four years. A charity organization then helped me return to work as a librarian, and the years that followed were mostly good years. I had told the world I was gay and made some good friends. 

Now retired and aged 75, I look back at my life with very mixed feelings. I never got to own my own house and my bank account has rarely been as healthy as I would have liked. On the other hand, I had Covid-19 symptoms in early January 2020, and did not need to go to hospital, and have been living with prostate cancer for ten years...

So… am I happy? Not really. Am I unhappy? Not really that either. I ask myself what I have done with my life and am none too happy with some of the answers mind-body-spirit feels inclined to give. 

On my last day at school, I confided in a teacher how awful an experience my schooldays had been, not least for my being a square peg in a round hole, to which he replied, “Well, Taber, at least you survived to tell the tale. And, believe me, the art of survival is probably the most valuable lesson in life anyone can learn. Life is full of ups and downs, learning to juggle with both will stand you in good stead, believe me.” 

So… has it all stood me in good stead? Well, yes and no. Do I have regrets? Yes, of course, and plenty of them. Do I wish I had never been born? Now and then, yes, but mostly I am as I have always been a Happy(ish) Bunny. 😉

A SURVIVOR’S TALE  or  L-I-F-E, MIXED BLESSINGS

Growing old, looking back
at life and love, pain and laughter,
all that got in the way
of the happy-ever-after ending
they promised, the tales
I devoured as a child so in awe
of the world as its fictions
would have it, beyond doors slamming
and windows misting over 

Growing old, looking back
at how far I’ve come, yet how little
any progress made
compared with hopes and dreams
of that younger self,
dead set on answering “Here!”
to the roll call of names
inspiring generations to make their mark,
on history, whatever it takes 

Growing old, left looking on
at a world to which I can barely relate
for all that has changed
by way of impacting our perspectives
on local communities,
for better or worse, richer or poorer,
no answering “Here!”
on any role-call of heroes, but happy enough
to have lived through it all 

I, Survivor, having learned my lesson well,
am still loving the learning, succeed or fail

 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: I started writing up the blog about 10 years ago. Some readers may enjoy browsing the blog archives, accessible from the right hand side of any blog post.] RT

 

 

 

 

Catcher in the Eye done Good

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

Years ago, I saw a painting in an art gallery that has made me reflect on the beauty of memory, capturing and preserving a precious moment in time. Yes, a photograph can do much the same, but a painting is so much more than a photograph; it reads aloud to the inner ear, thus inviting the inner eye to appreciate its every deliberate brush stroke in much the same sense and sensibility as one might appreciate iambic meter in a poem. As with all creative endeavour, the art lies in its artlessness, artist rewarding observer with an insight to a process that requires we tap into reserves of feeling of which the chances are we are not consciously aware.

Memory may fade, but the art-poem remains a part of us and will be sure to manifest itself in our approach to life, love, nature and human nature…; indeed, to  just about everything.

‘Oh,’ I hear some people say, ‘but that’s only if you have the imagination…’ Bollocks, to that! Imagination can and does work on our consciousness, yes, but it also works on the subconscious, possibly to even greater effect. So never let anyone lead you to believe you have no imagination; the human condition is better than that even where, sometimes, human nature fails us. 

Imagination is that Catcher in the Eye of which we may or may not be well aware but which, in any case, remains one of the sweeter mysteries of the human condition. 

CATCHER IN THE EYE DONE GOOD

Young girl with daisies
in the hair darts across a greeny field;
though brooding sheep
keep a sidelong watch on playful lambs,
the merry scene
attracts a frisky foal, prancing
at a boundary fence

Innocence

Young girl with daisies
in the hair glimpses a pretty butterfly,
gives laughing chase;
one tangent wing at a finger's tip,
angel face glowing
hope’s pink blushes, elusive happiness
caught on canvas

Copyright R. N. Taber 1974; 2001

[Note: An earlier version of this poem - under the title 'Brush Strokes' - first appears in Love and Human Remains: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

Nobody Listens to Ghosts

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

Now, readers get in touch from time to time to pour scorn on my ‘preoccupation’ with ghosts while others endorse an affinity with the past and its subsequent influences on present and future behaviour (for better or worse) both from a personal and global point of view.

I believe we are all subject to a posthumous consciousness to which we can choose to pay attention or ignore, feel inspired by past achievements (including any bookmarked ‘failure’) or simply confirm our worst suspicions.

Whatever, let the inner ear and eye have its way, and any of us may well identify a ghost at his or her shoulder urging we listen and learn.

On a personal level, it is easy if only because the ghost/s in question will have helped make us who we are; on socio-cultural-religious level, though, how many of our so-called 'betters' listen and hear, look and see...?

Maybe those of us who never listen to our ghosts need to try it sometime?

NOBODY LISTENS TO GHOSTS

Stranger

on a garden fence, watching

flowers growing,

can’t decide on the best

for the picking

and taking home, then cocks

an ear to a passing ghost,

pleading, for all our sakes, leave them

alone

Teacher

at a local school desk, watching

children growing,

can’t decide on the best

candidates for success

(perhaps even fame) then cocks

an ear to a passing ghost

pleading, for all our sakes, treat them

the same

Cleric

on a classic high horse, watching

everyone listening,

can’t decide on the most

likely to want grooming

for paradise, then cocks an ear

to a passing ghost

pleading, for all our sakes, leave them

a choice

Politician

on a popular soap box, watching

audience reaction,

can’t decide on the best

cues for winning

an election, then cocks an ear

to a passing ghost

pleading, for all our sakes, talk down

speculation

Ghosts

in passing storm clouds, watching

a world in chaos

unable to agree on the best

strategy for achieving

lasting peace, turning cloth ears

to its children

pleading, for all our sakes, come good

for us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Making sense of Numbers

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

Before I retired, I was a librarian working in public libraries here in the UK. It has been a source of great concern to me in recent years that a growing of children and young people asking for help in finding material for homework projects had such poor literacy and numeracy skills. For some adults too, of course, that may not have had the benefit of much formal education, these skills same remain underdeveloped.

It has always seemed to me that numeracy is somehow seen as the poor relation to literacy even though a grasp of number is every bit as important as a grasp of letters.

 ‘Karl’ and ‘Brett’ once wrote in to tell me how getting help to improve their numeracy skills ‘by leaps and bounds’ had considerably boosted their self-confidence. Karl says ‘Numbers were like a foreign language. I could not make any sense of them.  I was made to feel I was in a minority and was too ashamed to ask for help. I got paranoid and it felt like there was some sort of conspiracy against people like me. I didn’t realise so many people have the same problem. Now I can even work out rail and bus timetables. Before finding a really good (home) teacher I was clueless about the 2400 hours clock.’

Believe me Karl, 2400 hours timetables confuse a LOT of people.

This poem is a villanelle.

MAKING SENSE OF NUMBERS

It can feel like a conspiracy,

(the world an enemy)

this nightmare, innumeracy

Out shopping, and invariably

spending too much money;

it can feel like a conspiracy

Debts spiraling relentlessly

(affront to integrity)

this nightmare, innumeracy

I look at my friends and envy

their budgeting effortlessly;

it can feel like a conspiracy

I once confessed ashamedly

to life turning sour on me,

this nightmare, innumeracy

I found support and sympathy

and help for others like me;

it can feel like a conspiracy,

this nightmare, innumeracy

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010