As Time Goes By OR Love, a (Personal) History

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

Time passes; we change, grow older, yet a loved one’s image remains much the same, ageless and timeless in our eyes … 

If we take an hourglass as a metaphor for life, time passing should never be thought of as its  gradually emptying but as its constantly in need of topping up ... with all the emotional resources available to us, especially love.

This poem is a villanelle.

AS TIME GOES BY

Brown hair, shades of grey,
whatever path I pursue;
time, ever slipping away…

Fun childhood days at play,
youth’s wild ways too;
brown hair, shades of grey

“Let’s laugh, not cry!” I say
(some wishes come true)
time, ever slipping away…

For every weepy Blues day,
golden moments too;
brown hair, shades of grey

Late, love, it came my way,
gave my heart to you;
time, ever slipping away…

Forever, love vowed to stay,
life’s tangled strands undo;
brown hair, shades of grey,
time, ever slipping away…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Youth-Middle Age-Old Age (Three poems)

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

Yesterday, I posted a poem inspired by a song sung by Doris Day. A reader has been in touch to ask, ‘It is bad enough that someone who claims to be a serious poet writes gay rubbish, which I find offensive, but to write about Doris Day is really the last straw!’

Well, for a start I have never claimed to be a serious poet only someone who takes poetry seriously; well, most of the time. I am certainly no poetry snob, and readers will know that I write on all manner of themes. Nor am I a music snob. I love Doris Day just as I love Ella Fitzgerald and Johnny Cash.  I love some classical music, but I also love some pop and adore rock ‘n’ roll. I love some opera but cannot claim to be an opera buff. With me, it’s pick’n’mix. So what’s wrong with that? If it is good of its kind, I will usually enjoy it. Why shouldn’t I enjoy Elvis Presley every bit as much as Placido Domingo or adore Shirley Bassey just as I do Diana Ross and Leona Lewis. And let's not forget the late, great Dusty Springfield or, for that matter, Mario Lanza or Frank Sinatra. I could go on all day...

If people choose to limit their appreciation to one kind of music, one genre of literature or one period of art, that’s up to them. But there are lots of people like me who love to dabble in this ‘n’ that, and where’s the harm?

So I offer no apology for offending that particular reader. What planet is he (or she) from, I wonder?

Meanwhile...

So many readers have asked me to repeat this trilogy of villanelles that has not appeared on the blog since early 2010 so here it is again. I hope new readers and those who are unable to browse the blog archives for whatever reason, quite possibly because they simply don’t have the time, will enjoy it and regular readers will also enjoy being reacquainted with it.

We all have to grow old, but to how many of us, I wonder, does the ageing process convey the wisdom that we must make the most of the best not the worst of it all...?

IN APPRECIATION OF YOUTH

Youth cries the world’s tears,

slows time’s flight,

relays Earth Mother’s fears

It will always lead the cheers

for wrongs put right,

Youth cries the world’s tears

Youth bonds with its peers,

develops second sight,

relays Earth Mother’s fears

To peace and love it steers

(Armageddon in sight)

Youth cries the world’s tears

As a mist of naivety clears,

it won't throw the fight,

relays Earth Mother’s fears

It straddles the world’s terrors,

a love poem to write;

Youth cries the world’s tears

relays Earth Mother’s fears

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

IN CELEBRATION OF MIDDLE AGE

In celebration of middle age

(after much rehearsing)

time brings us centre-stage

Like a bird freed from its cage,

we’ll fly on a poem’s wing

in celebration of middle age

Daring us turn the first page

in our history’s re-shaping,

time brings us centre-stage

Shake off cliché and adage,

give truth a rare dusting

in celebration of middle age

Inspired by youth’s raw rage,

its humanity enduring,

time brings us centre-stage

Acted out on a custom page,

a love poem in the making;

in celebration of middle age

time brings us centre-stage

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

BY WAY OF MARKING OLD AGE

By way of marking old age

(after much reflecting)

time edges us off-stage

Like a bird returned to its cage,

we’ll flex a feisty wing

by way of marking old age

Letting slip that life's last page

makes good reading,

time edges us off-stage

Let’s not pass cliché and adage

off as living…

by way of marking old age

Inspired by a well-honed rage,

its humanity enduring…

time edges us off-stage

No matter memory skips a page,

its poetry re-working;

by way of marking old age

time edges us off-stage

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

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