Regret, Companion to the Fool

 

 Roger, 1945-2023. A note from his friend Graham

 

Welcome from the ‘Essex Riviera’ at night. Thank you for reading.

Job, a minor contributing author to Bible canon, suggests that ‘wisdom comes with age’. Although I’m fairly sure that accumulating years merely confers experience and wrinkles. It’s rather retrospection that informs better choices.

Roger always promoted the idea of agreeing to differ. Even where diametrically opposing opinions clash. It’s the difference between a feisty debate or a blazing row. It is the discipline of healthy discourse, rather than viewing an opposing opinion through the distortion of ad hominem. In a wider sphere, it’s the difference between coexistence and war.

It is an uncomfortable truth that, as with most friendships, Roger and I had our occasional arguments. Even to the extent of hitching up petticoat tails and flouncing away in high dudgeon! Looking back, especially now that he’s passed away, I regret those occasions. They evoke a sense of self-recrimination, and rightfully become somehow absurd under the shadow of mortality. Most of our arguments occurred in the early days of our friendship. Predominantly over my awful timekeeping. I was in my early 30s and so blasé about punctuality. It annoyed him intensely - and rightly so. Mea culpa.

In so many ways, Roger made me a better person. He encouraged me to read great works of literature. He offered constructive criticism with my early attempts at poetry. A mentor really - as well as a best friend. We agreed on most things. But there were contentious issues at times.

The toppling of Edward Colston’s statue by student activists on 7 June 2020 in Bristol, being an example.* Yes, it’s true that destruction of public property is, on the face of it, criminality. And true, reinterpreting history for a political agenda is also problematic. (In this instance relating to Black Lives Matter.) However Roger’s disapproval of ‘vandalism’ by students seemed to me at odds with his core ethos on decrying hypocrisy. It looked like a sop to a politically conservative viewpoint (or perhaps it simply highlighted our generational divide). He regarded the removal of the bronze cast (by John Cassidy, 1895) as a version of mob-rule (ochlocracy). The destruction of ‘art’, Roger suggested, was a prelude to another Kristallnacht** and the horrors that followed in its wake. It remains a valid viewpoint.

But was it really ‘criminal damage’ or mindless destruction in this case? There’s something inescapably symbolic, and subjective, about placing a figure on a pedestal in a public space. It implies moral virtue. Specifically, Colston (1636–1721), a pious, ‘Christian’ man and MP, made various grandiose gestures to charities like Almshouses - to great public acclaim (virtue-signaling in modern terms). A self-publicising philanthropist. Although, his effigy emanates that unholy stench of hypocrisy. As an investor in the slave-trade, he weighed the lives of enslaved Africans as little more than chattel. Does this eugenicist worldview inspire civic pride among Bristol’s multi-ethnic community…?

It seems befitting that Colston’s effigy was cast into the depths of Bristol Harbour. A watery grave shared by so many of those rebellious West Africans aboard trans-Atlantic slave vessels. Karma perhaps. Nowadays, let’s face it, Colston would be languishing in prison for people smuggling and modern-day slavery - rather than occupying the elevated position to which his blood-money afforded him. In my opinion, ridding the public space of him was an act of cleansing. And a collective gesture of moral aestheticism. It is surely valid to question the legitimacy of those figures who are held aloft as pillars of society? (As are the motives of those local civic leaders who strive to keep them there.)

With hindsight though, I realise both our opinions were valid. Both grounded in history and both informed by moral conviction. Opposing interpretations…

I think the point I’m trying to make is that obstinacy (or hubris) has a price to pay. It can be an obstacle to making amends with someone dear to our heart. And to some extent the conceit that accompanies a fervently held opinion deafens a person to other perspectives and blinds them to another’s legitimate counter-argument. It mutes expressions of regret and stifles the words ‘I’m sorry’. It is the genesis of regret. In my experience, a degree of humility is easier to live with than regret.

 

‘A man is not old until his regrets take the place of his dreams.’ Yiddish proverb

 

Notes:

* It was quite a heated disagreement. I think my indignance stems from visiting Cape Coast and Elmina slave castles in Ghana, 2006. Both housing churches to administer blessings and hear the prayers of men like Colston. And their depravities regarding enslaved female Africans resulted a fair-skinned, biracial local population that continues to this day.

** Nazi thugs destroying Jewish homes, hospitals schools and businesses in Germany, 1938.

 

* * *

 

REGRET

I move with favour or prejudice
among men, women, children;
To whomsoever calls me out, I will
always answer, no one denied
the music I bring, Blues I sing;
Rich, poor, famous, infamous, saints
and sinners… welcome to tap into
a wisdom some say down to Fate,
lessons learned too late

I touch without favour or prejudice
the loose thread missing a button
that old sock, empty vase in rooms
yawning with boredom for what’s
on TV and must have heard that CD
a thousand times (surely?) though
any sound better than none and
(finally) settling for a plaintive purr
by a lap tray set for one

I bury without favour or prejudice
forgotten dreams, misspent ideals,
wishful thinking on falling stars…
meant to light a kinder, better world;
alas, not meant to be though we
mull over old letters, photos, poems,
home videos… as dead as the cat
whose meows we miss and listen for
at every mealtime

I move without favour or prejudices
among life’s pleasures and losses

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015. From the collection ‘Accomplices to Illusion’.

My World

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"I am in blood/Stepped in so far, that should I wade no more,/ Returning would be a tedious as go o'er." - thus speaks Macbeth in Shakespeare's play.

"Confessions may be good for the soul, but they are bad for reputations." - Thomas Dewar

Now, an old friend once confided that he wished he had lived his life differently, done certain things differently, made fewer mistakes. He then gave a long sigh and said, "We are who we are, I guess, and who can we blame for that but ourselves? Others play their part, no doubt about that, but at the end of the day..." I have to say I empathised completely.

Much as I deplore Vladimir Putin's intentions against Ukraine, I cannot help but wonder whether or not he, too, empathises with Macbeth?  To some extent or another, I suspect many, if not most, of us can?

As my English teacher pointed out at the time my class was studying the play, we all make many a mistake where even apologising and trying to make amends means precious little, in real terms, to those on the receiving end. 

Whether 'stepped in blood so far...' or no, it's not so much vanity that often prevents us from attempting a retreat, as fear of experiencing physical and/ or emotional consequences not dissimilar to whose we have inflicted.

As my mother would say, nothing ventured, nothing gained...except consequences.

MY WORLD

I had left without going anywhere,
done damage without lifting a finger,
enough to have said things
I could not, would not ever take back
for lack of moral courage
in me, refusing, time and again to confess
that of the you-me-us
to whom I have always aspired, the ‘me’
 is but a fantasy

I was never the person I believed in,
whom others took for someone born to be
a loser in the greater scheme
of humanity, letting them down by putting
a false smile on my face,
for making out all’s well in a world waking
to nightmares. day after day,
small comfort in sweet dreams every night
of getting it right

Too late to go back, set out again,
driven by broader, kinder, fairer objectives
towards those with whom
I cannot agree to differ without losing face,
not an option for the likes
of such as I, raised to believe it’s better to go
on the attack than wait
for the long arm of diplomacy to reach out
too late...

Precious little peace in a world so mindful of me,
my own worst enemy

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

Home Games, Own Goals

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It is not uncommon for many if not most of us to rail against fate when life doesn’t work out as we had planned/ hoped it would; a train of thought that can prey on the mind with even greater force as we grow old. Whatever manner in which we choose to contemplate dying, there is no getting away from the fact that it involves departing the known for the unknown, leaving those closest to us, hoping and/ or praying that their love which has sustained us in life will continue to do so in death. 

Those who subscribe to a religion tell me that this is where Faith comes into its own. Now, that well may be, but - as regular readers know - I subscribe to no contemporary world religion and see myself as a pantheist rather than either atheist or agnostic. It doesn’t matter who’s right or wrong; what matters is whatever leaves mind-body-spirit feeling at ease rather than fearful. 

An old schoolfriend, the last time I visited him before he died, confided that he was less scared of dying than full of regrets for being, as he saw it, one of life’s losers. He had been a closet gay person all his life, having grown up, as I had, in the grip of a society that was essentially homophobic. Hopefully, I managed to convince him that his life as a teacher had touched many young lives for the better, cause for celebrating a life rather than regretting it. 

Oh, how I empathised, though. While I had eventually emerged from that particular closet myself, and doing so had brought a welcome relief from years of loneliness, it would always fall short of the stuff of which dreams are made. Never had I envisaged growing old alone, for example, as I do now. Yet, I don’t think of myself as one of life’s so-called ‘losers’ albeit no ‘winner either… 

So, how do we measure our losses and gains? Not in material terms if we have any sense (no disrespect to the ethos of legitimate wealth intended.) Suffice to say, perhaps, there is far more to the idiom ‘to each one’s own’ than any dictionary can supply. 

I once read life being described as a ‘beautiful game’. Certainly, it can be… sometimes.  I guess it depends on whatever motivates the player/s. Such is the complexity of human nature, it is always worth remembering that ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder; yet another idiom to bear in mind, of course, is that ‘One man’s meat is another man’s poison.’ Whatever, while our mind-body-spirit may well let close family members and friends access certain parts, its whole remains ourselves to know (for better, for worse) and no one else. (True, there are many among us who will argue that God sees and judges us for all that we are, but these are the same people who may well also argue that we are His creation…) 

To err may well be human, but all we human beings are vulnerable, no more so than to the various pressures imposed on us by our own hopes and dreams, nor any less so by such expectations of those who matter most to us others as persistently haunt mind-body-spirit. We can but let mind-body-spirit find its own way in life, remind ourselves that we are loved and do our best to let that love be its greater driving force while remaining true to ourselves.

HOME GAMES, OWN GOALS 

Fate, all things to all people,
often the butt of games we choose
to play rather than lose face
by accepting our share of any blame
for whatever fault it may take
to make a loser of any one of us, have us
fall or give us a break

Fate, at whose whim some argue
the world turns, for better or worse
as the case may be, no telling
how a dice may fall, Lady Luck mistress
to creatures great and small,
as likely as any deity in time’s watchful eye
to have us rise or fall 

Fate, all things to all consciousness,
any excuse better than none as it mulls
past-present-future, warts ‘n’ all,
leaning on its strengths to put any failings
aside, encouraging the world
to see it for such potential as supplies history
with all but the last word 

Fate, cat-and-mouse games teasing us
to make the most (or least) of humanity’s
common quest for purpose
and meaning enough to let mind-body-spirit,
wherever, whomsoever,
(and whatever form it takes) have the measure
of its own joie de vivre 

Win some, lose some, the games people play
come what may…

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

M-E, Margins for Error OR In Denial

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Today’s poem first appeared in the blog in 2013. 

Many thanks to those of you who have been in touch to encourage me in compiling a new collection; the first draft id ready for proofing.I have made one last attempt to interest a mainstream publisher and will know if they are interested within the next six weeks or so; in the past as you know, I have met with a wall of resistance to publishing a collection that includes gay-interest as well as general poems. Time, though, surely, to wake up to the fact that there is more to any of us than our sexuality … or maybe they just don’t like how I write?

Whatever, I will self-publish again if necessary.

Meanwhile … 

Why is it that even in these hard times of coronavirus around the world, there is always a selfish minority refuse to play their part in helping to safeguard the majority. I di not drive so rely on public transport; time and again I see people pulling their masks down over their nose, sometimes mouth as well, to engage with either their mobile phone or laptop. Everyone knows that that Covid-19 id spread by droplets from the nose and mouth, especially in an confined environment … so, whu? 

I look around and sometimes wonder...if we can’t keep faith with each other, what hope for our keeping faith with ourselves? Whatever, it is down to us, no one else. 

We may blame fate, our therapist, even God...but when push comes to shove there is no lasting escape from our having to take responsibility for our own choices. Nor are we entirely to blame for making wrong choices. No one (thank goodness) is perfect. Even so, it can't help to get to know ourselves as we are rather than we (or others) might have us be...?

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”
― William Shakespeare

“The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson 

This poem is a kenning 

M-E, MARGINS FOR ERROR or IN DENIAL

Come, child
where I lead, don't be afraid;
listen to the murmurings
of your heart, exercise the finer
learnings of your mind;
start to care, understand why
I, too, am always here
for you, trying to be fair,
even kind

See, child
where I walk and let's talk
you and I, exchange 
home truths before they fester
and die in the bowels
of a soul bent on proving
its very existence
by resisting temporal
magnificence

Hear, child,
any wise words of your own;
feel free to ignore mine
if you suspect they threaten
your ivory tower
of pretension, no protection
against a world its own
worst enemy for a divided
humanity

Hear me, mind-body-spirit, in pain
for a heart in denial yet again... 

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Know the Voice, Can't Place the Face' in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

 

Bargain Hunters or In the Market

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How many personae do we take on during a lifetime, I wonder? More, I suspect that many if not most of us would care to admit. A friend once commented that everyone seems to have a mask for every occasion, and she may well have had a point. There is the interested face or mask we wear as and when called upon to do so, whether or not we are genuinely interested in what is being said or done, often to impress and earn admiration; most of us have a sympathetic expression, a cheerful one (a favourite)...whatever, as best suits particular circumstances.  Than goodness for those situations when we need no mask, but are free to be ourselves, with loved ones and close friends whom we do not need to impress or go along with to keep the peace...relatively few in the kind of crowded lives we so often lead, and all the more precious for that, even if human nature is such that we sometimes fail to let them know hot much we love and appreciate them.

Nothing comes completely free, of course; there is invariably a price to pay, in losing a friend or loved one either through their death or, worse, some fault of our own that results in estrangement; not always our fault, either, except in so far as stress  - in all its various shapes and forms - is to blame. Many people don't understand stress, but those who do, and can deal with the worst in others without being judgemental and still leave room for forgiveness...well, they are among the true treasures in anyone's life.

One of my greater regrets in life is that I have not only unintentionally failed people, in one way or another, but also compounded such failures by eventually recognising them without doing my best to rectify or at least try and compensate for them.  I have heard the 21st century referred to as the Age of Communication, especially with the advent of New Technology, yet my personal experience of human nature is that we are probably no more really communicative with each other now than human beings have ever been; we make assumptions, listen to gossip and make even more assumptions ..  and so the cycle of misunderstandings and missed opportunities on a personal level goes on unless or until someone breaks and mends it. Sadly, though, it takes two to break and two to mend, and it is not an uncommon trait of human nature that relatively few of us - myself included - are consistently adept at making first moves in any process of reconciliation, invariably misjudging the situation and all those involved - including ourselves.

Oh, but whatever happened to in-depth communication on that priceless personal level, and how fortunate are those better able to not only seize, but also make good the day.

BARGAIN HUNTERS or IN THE MARKET

End of Term sale;

two, even three for the price

of one mask,

bargains to keep everyone happy

for acquiring personae

that will see us go on our way

if more anxious

to take what (and who) it finds at face value

than be found wanting

End of Season sale;

more bargains to be had at prices

easy on the pocket

nor too hard on the mind-body-spirit;

whatever reservations

the human heart in stalling for time,

better to play games 

others like to play than be called out too soon 

for bending any rules?

End of Life sale;

rummaging stalls for what’s left

to keep the world

from guessing it’s been had

time and again

by personae anxious to fit hand to glove

(it takes one to know one)

but likely bargains already long gone for a song,

needs must, ego-driven

Market, closing down;

no stall holders left making their pitch,

only ghosts, anxious

to avoid seizing on human flaws

sure to incite poor choices,

but giving pride of place to the kinder side

of human nature,

for its proving the old adage that all the best things

in life are - free

Copyright R.N. Taber 2020

L-I-F-E, a Compendium of Mind Games

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As I grow old, I am reminded how true it is what they say about recalling times past more graphically than the day before. Some of my memories are peopled with family, old friends, lovers and colleagues, even those I only ever knew as friendly faces with whom to pass a pleasant evening at a local bar after a long day of getting nowhere fast.

I do not summon these ghosts, rather vice versa, as if to heap me with regret and/or unanswerable questions as to why we no longer see each other. Did we simply drift apart or was there never any question of our staying in touch anyway? In the latter case, why should I recall them at all? What is it about certain people that they leave such a lasting impression on us? I suspect it tells us less about them than about ourselves if we care to probe further which is perhaps why we rarely do…in case we don’t like some of the answers we may come up with?

A prevailing image of memory I have is of two cruise liners; one, carrying us along with those who have truly meant something to us in life (for good or ill) and another carrying those we recall for reasons we cannot or prefer not to articulate. So they - and we - journey across time and space, passing each other from time to time like ships in the night, each with its ‘live’ cargo of assorted shadows.

L-I-F-E, A COMPENDIUM OF MIND GAMES

As I walked into a crowded room,

everyone stopped talking,

stared at me as if I were a stranger

and had no right to be there,

an uninvited guest, gatecrasher, someone

sure to disturb their peace

I approached someone I once knew

to kick-start a conversation,

cue for everyone to start blowing

pretty bubbles of words

that hit the ceiling, burst, spilling questions

on each and every one of us

‘Tell me, how are things in your world

since last we got together?

Why must Time so hoard its past

as if it were a collector 
gathering evidence to prove a point,

as if world history 
isn’t always reminding us of our hits, 
near misses, successes

and failures, kindly meant interference

in other people’s affairs 
as likely to end in tears as assumptions 
that not even the best laid plans 
of mice and men are as guaranteed to see 
the cold light of day as any tall tales that come
and go like furniture and fittings

Silences tickling my ears, like no-answers

to a single question dripping me

like raindrops, leaving puddles in my wake

as I negotiate paths opening up

to let me pass, courtesy of people I’d loved,

let slip away or simply forgotten

No welcome hugs, kisses on each cheek,

only looks probing my thoughts

from bubble faces soaking me in memories,

half memories, pretend memories

for all I know, pulling at lesser heartstrings,

sleepwalking me into other selves

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

The Gatekeeper's Song

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While we are all sitting on fences, tearing them down or maybe even trying to mend some, I wonder what The Gatekeeper thinks about it all...?

THE GATEKEEPER’S SONG

They turned their backs on me

or was it I who ran away…?

Memory, it so likes to play tricks

on us, rather than let us see

what really takes place in corners

of the heart we rarely seek out,

for fearing what we may find

in holiday snapshots and behind

words in letters read in anger,

birthday cards left unsent, never

recognising the danger of years

passing so quickly till we’ve only

such poor excuses and regret

as conscience cares to permit shine

in darkest corners of the mind

where, yes, we’d so return a while,

have love take us that last mile

where stubborn feet still refuse to go

though heart and soul never left,

and would set us free, let us see all

the heart deserves to know

No, not free from nature's finer ties

(never that) but, rather, set out

in tablets of stone, supposedly less

likely to break than any we shape

in a clay that may please human eyes

for moment in time, but hardens

(not as we imagined) to a perspective

on dark corners where sometimes

pain seeks solace, yet finding none

in unused icons of human hearts

left but to gather dust like old photos

Better, surely, to air home truths

(even after years of running away)

if only to deny the world its pleasure

in exposing us along tired lines

of letting live but to die another day,

no matter where any blame let lie

nor we (or they) be straight or gay?

Time to open the gate before it’s too late

to live to love another day…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010, 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; slightly but significantly revised, 2019.]