Alice Maud Taber OR Remembering My Mother

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

[Update: 22nd March 2020] Today is Mothers' Day, and likely to prove very upsetting for many people. The COVID 19 coronavirus pandemic continues to spread and take its toll on the vulnerable and elderly in societies worldwide. While social distancing is necessary to help slow the spread of the virus sufficiently to help medical and emergency services teams to cope, not visiting Mum today of all days won't be easy.]RT 

My mother was one of the least judgemental people I have ever known and would have applauded transgender men and women for finding the moral courage to be true to themselves and look the world in the eye. (Far too many people worldwide rush to judgement without giving a second thought to how it must feel to live in a body that cannot truly relate to the gender assigned to it.

It is some years since my mother died on June 2nd 1976. [She was born 100+ years ago on July 16 1916; a hundred years to the day, a friend came to lunch and we toasted her over a glass of Baileys Irish Cream Liqueur.]

She was a remarkable woman, my Mum. She would talk to anyone and anyone would talk to her regardless of any artificial class barriers. Above all, she was a very understanding and forgiving person, traits of human nature that - in my experience - rarely go hand in hand in people and which, sadly, are anything but common in my own family. (I like to think I am a very understanding person, but struggle with forgiveness although I usually get there in the end.)

Throughout my childhood, my mother would often tell me story poems instead of a traditional story at bedtime. (She could recite 'The Highwayman' (Noyes) and 'The Ancient Mariner  ' (Coleridge) by heart!) Even as a young man, I used to love to hear her reciting poetry.

We cannot celebrate death, but celebrating a person much loved and a life well lived is always a privilege.

   

My mother at 21 (1937)

My mother at the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, 1971

ALICE MAUD TABER or REMEMBERING MY MOTHER

         (1916-1976)

Always there for me, believing in me

more than I believed in myself, knowing me

better than I knew myself,

loving me more than I loved myself

although I could never  give you

what you wanted, be what you wanted,

live or love how you wanted...

subscribe to your fantasy of family unity;

we did our best by each other, assisting

one another through life’s maze of emotional

twists, turns, and dead-ends; me, unable

to grasp for years how conflicting loyalties

were tearing you apart...

Yours, a divided heart never truly made whole;

we whose demands you loved to meet

always failing it. Yet, even now, years on

since a tumour took its toll, you are (still)

one to whom this poet turns, always striving

for some peace of mind, heart, and soul

(imagination’s impossible goal) - learning 

to read between lines to which you gave

life and meaning. Only, then I wasn’t listening

(youth thinks it knows everything.)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2011

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original version that appears as the dedication poem in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Mother Love

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

[Update March 11 2018]: Today is Mother's Day here in the UK so I am posting this poem for sons and daughters everywhere.]

When I was in Brighton the other day, I kept thinking (gladly and fondly, not in the least sadly) of the times my mother used to take me there for day trips when I was a child. Someone contacted me to ask what I am  thinking about for much of the time as I stroll along the beach in the video. Now you know:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZLV23r6NdQ&t=12s
(For anyone interested, find more videos at: http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber )

Now, today's poem has appeared in several poetry publications since 2001 and, for obvious reasons, is a favourite of mine. I wrote it for Mother’s Day here in the UK as a tribute to mothers worldwide, not least my own mother who died at the age of just 59 during that long, hot summer of 1976. I was 30 years-old then, and still miss her. She was OK with my being gay while confirming my gut instinct that I should not broach the subject with other family members.

Now, mother love isn’t just about mothers of course; there are many women (and men) who, for various reasons, may be called upon to take on the maternal role to children other than their own; like birth mothers across the world, they, too, rise to the challenge and well deserve our love, admiration, respect and gratitude.

Ah, but we should never forget (as I fear we often do) that mothers are only human; we should give them some space sometimes, and never take them for granted.

MOTHER LOVE

I hear an angel crying
for the joy of a child newly born;
a lovely, gentle human being
to live and love, laugh and mourn
through tears of its own;
I hear an angel singing for the joy
of a child newly grown;
a lovely, gentle human being
risen above worldly troubles down
to human foibles

I see an angel winging
for the joy of someone’s passing;
a lovely, gentle human being
taken at last, well deserving of rest
among the best - lark risen
like an angel, a measure of joy
at a new dawning, on wings
of song, a lovely, gentle motion
at Earth Mother’s bidding, glorious
to behold

Mother love, through grief
as well as joy, a gentle tale told us
at each bedtime like a quilt
to keep us warm, we children
of Earth, much as orphans
in a storm ever seeking sanctuary
from acid rain as the worst
of human nature pours divisions
on a world ever challenging its faith
in Everyman

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2012

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