Spirit Lake

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

You can hear me read this poem over the You Tube video. However, several readers who cannot access You Tube on their own computers for some reason and have seen the video on someone else’s have asked me to reinstate it on the blog.  (See video below). Many thanks, by the way, for their kind comments regarding my blogs.

The original You Tube video is available at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUShMVosnFs

OR access my You Tube channel and search by title:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

The lake at Stourhead (NB ‘Spirit Lake’ is simply the title I have given to the poem that I read here and video footage) is artificially created. Following a path around the lake is meant to evoke a journey similar to that of Aeneas's descent in to the underworld; passages telling of Aeneas's journey are quoted in the temples surrounding the lake.

Read more about Stourhead on Wikipedia:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stourhead

The video is one of three shot by my close friend Graham Collett, and I wrote the poem especially for the occasion. We hope you will enjoy both.

This poem is a villanelle:

SPIRIT LAKE

World of peace and tranquility
(looking out for its own); 
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

Time playing games with history
(myth into maturity grown);
world of peace and tranquility

Dreamland lake in all its serenity
(solitude, yet not alone);
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

The very best of prose and poetry
(open minds freely shown); 
world of peace and tranquility

Watch ripples pausing at eternity
(life force unknown)
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

Each heart, wing, flower and tree
(life arts, ever windblown);
world of peace and tranquility,
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Olympic Games OR Old Gods, New Gods, and the Rest of Us

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

[Update (July 21, 2016): Congratulations to Team GB and everyone taking part in the Rio Olympics. As for those nasty people who targeted Tom Daley for homophobic abuse, I can only echo J. K. Rowling; I am not sure which is more offensive, the stupidity or the spite. Some religious groups especially need to get real; their founders would be appalled. I do not subscribe to any religion, not least because I find it too divisive and closed-minded where religion should be the very opposite, acknowledging that our differences neither put us in the wrong nor make us different, simply human. Moreover, I came to this conclusion before I realised I am gay. One of my You Tube videos makes the same point: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrTjc2373IU  Needless to say, I received a number of offensive emails after posting it.]

Now, leaders of every society like to play games with its citizens and today’s poem was written in 2000; it has nothing (directly) to do with the Olympic Games. Even so, here’s wishing good luck to everyone participating in the Rio Olympics and upholding humankind’s finer qualities of fair competition and mutual respect among winners and losers alike. To win a medal is, of course, a wonderful achievement, but as wonderful if not more so is the thrill of taking part, an incomparable memory to share and treasure over a lifetime.

If the poem invokes a sense of society falling into moral and political well as economic decay, hopefully the feeling rarely lasts; it only takes events that embrace the human spirit of the Olympic Games to raise our hopes once more and make us realise there is (far) more to life than any judgmental take on it will ever suggest.

Even so, let's not forget how Greek mythology would have us believe the old gods got up to all sorts of mischief on Olympus; all work and no play…

Mount Olympus, Greece

OLYMPIC GAMES or OLD GODS, NEW GODS, AND THE REST OF US

What will be, will be,

in this century as others gone before;

wealth and poverty, a sick lottery

of love and hate, peace and war invariably

played out by tin gods with humankind

and everything to play for, bearing in mind

(of course) that who dares wins,

no matter what their sins, and losers

will always cast the first stones

before they will admit being taken in

by substitute icons

Olympus, alive and well on Capitol Hill,

humanity, in free fall…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2016

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised and an alternative title added (2016) since it first appeared in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; rev. ed. in –format in preparation.]

Circumnavigating Homer OR Engaging with James Joyce

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

At University, in the early 1970’s, I studied James Joyce’s Ulysses. The novel left a deep, lasting impression on me, something of which this poem attempts to convey. Make of it (and 'Ulysses') what you will ...

CIRCUMNAVIGATING HOMER or ENGAGING WITH JAMES JOYCE

Charybdis, blood-sucking history;

myth, reaching out to nourish our fictions

at the breast. Eyes of the navigator...

Burning, like twin saints

Whose lips next to pluck a kiss from me?

I will suck the life from them, spew out the taste

of them - and Pallas won’t care,

my brave Ulysses, (save Mr Joyce put in a plea

for the sheer passion of absurdity)

I'll not be cheated of immortality

or heroes to wrestle the world’s straitjacket

while tin gods debate what’s right...

and what's aesthetic…

Copyright R. N. Taber 1972; 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in  Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

Ode to Apollo, Profile of a Life Force

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

I have just uploaded the second of three Stourhead videos/poems to You Tube, shot by my close friend Graham Collet and for which I wrote Ode To Apollo (see poem below). 

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Regular readers of my poetry will know that I have a strong affinity with Apollo, the sun god of Greek mythology, not least because he was reputed to be bisexual. The old gods are the stuff of mythology and legend now, but have we not replaced them with little tin gods of our own which, incidentally, have far less gravitas?

The Temple of Apollo at Stourhead stands high on a hill overlooking the gardens; it was built in 1765 by Henry Hoare as his finishing touch to the famous landscape garden. Renovation work was begun by the National Trust in 2009 before which the Trust spent months gathering historic paintings, family records, accounts, letters and visitors' diaries to find out how the monument would have originally appeared. 

The temple at Stourhead was designed by Henry Flitcroft and influenced by an engraving of a circular temple at Baalbec, an ancient Syrian city now part of the Lebanon, and the Temple of the Sun at Kew Gardens, which was destroyed in a gale during 1916. A favourite spot for romance, it was used as the location for a rain-drenched dramatic exchange between Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet in the 2005 remake of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice starring Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen. Timber from the Stourhead estate was used to form the structure of the new dome which has been covered in sheets of lead to keep it watertight. The walls inside the temple have been re-plastered and gilded plasterwork based on a description in a letter written in 1801 by Reverend Warner, the Rector of Stourton.

Rev Warner's letter states: "The roof of the Temple spreads into a dome and has a double ceiling; in the lower is the aperture, and in the coving of the other, a splendid gilt representation of the Solar Rays, which, receiving the real light of this orb by an artful construction, throws into the Temple below a most splendid reflection when the sun is in its strength."

Well worth a visit on a sunny day.

ODE TO APOLLO, PROFILE OF A LIFE FORCE

Hear old gods mocking us

behind passing clouds

as a defeated foe well might

for observing its enemies

counting the ever rising costs
of victory

Only Apollo (still) brokers

an enduring peace

without taking sides or even

an ulterior motive

besides a voyeur’s delight

in human behaviour

Where the world rides out

its storms over land,

sea and air, find fair Apollo

behind the scenes

busy negotiating its survival,

albeit conditional

Where time wings past us

at a tangent,

see Apollo rein in his chariot

just long enough

to shine hope in our faces,

the rest up to us

For every bitter-sweet smile,

a bitter-sweet tear

at Apollo’s call to nature

and human nature

for nurture, reconciliation,

and regeneration

Meanwhile, all life presses on

with the act of Being;

the Here-and-Now engaging

with us for better,

for worse, ugly or beautiful,

old gods or new

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

 

Shades of Mythology at the Cliffs of Time

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

Let us hope history will not judge the entire 21st century by its poor beginnings, certain world societies and socio-cultural-religious groups within them paying lip service to the basic human principles of mutual respect and understanding.

Yes, there are many good things going on and good people making them happen, but from where I am writing this sorry world of ours has not made a good start to the new millennium and badly needs to get its act together.

Can it be that leaders from all walks of life need to give less thought to their own egos and more to the ordinary man, woman, and child in the street to whom, invariably, relatively few can even begin to relate?  It may well be the way life is and history is made, but that does not make it right or mean things cannot be done differently, hopefully for the better, before it is too late and irreparable damage done to planet and  human condition alike.

Maybe, one day…

Meanwhile, humankind keeps busy creating  new mythologies that distant future generations will probably gloss over as metaphor - for what, exactly? 

SHADES OF MYTHOLOGY AT THE CLIFFS OF TIME

Dark angels attacking from the sea,

only to hover defiantly between a misty

earth and sky, like bats put in cages,

choice specimens to admire, touch even,

without fear (or real appreciation);

we are safe enough since they can’t fly

in our faces like the world’s vices,

invite us to turn a blind eye or join in

the euphoria, excusing themselves

(and us) with fine rhetoric, no matter

we prefer to look eyes closed, innocents

playing fast asleep

Now, all quiet. Now, a rush of wings

depriving even the inner eye of light along

with harsher cries at ears listening out

for warning sounds, hints at reassurance

(of course, what else?) urging we visit

nether regions of the spirit, view dark angels

with awe if only for drawing our attention

to some patched-up failings in personal space

where we can but watch warily, afraid,

long since repressed by adopted criteria

for a ‘civilized’ life brooking little empathy

with its conscience

Marked for having made bad choices,

(like flying with bats, safety in numbers?)

in a frantic rhythm blithely imposed

by Earth Mother, composed by artists

inspired by passion’s adventurers,

content to leave all sense and sensibility  

to its own accountability and Apollo’s 

predilection for shadow play among rocks

and hard places of a maturity eroded

by time, forever vying with Omnipresence

for a place in history, human nature sticking

to its guns

New mythologies, last spotted breaking

into old Poseidon’s lair;

twenty-first century in denial,
affecting to get real about climate change

even in the face of pleas
from Earth Mother; icecaps, glaciers,
all creatures great and small
carrying the can for its complacency
beyond belief in turning
a blind eye to happenings in a world
where it makes itself a priority second
to none,

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem under the title 'No Strategy for Surrender' appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

C'est Magnifique (In any Language)

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

Now, regular readers will know I have written many love poems, often with my late partner in mind, but not with heavy sadness or regret but immense thankfulness for the relatively short time we had together many years ago when I was still in my early 20's ....

At the same time, as always, I try to ’open up’ my poems to lift them beyond the personal so that anyone can access and follow reflective thoughts of their own. (Win some, lose some.) 

C'EST MAGNIFIQUE (IN ANY LANGUAGE)

No grief

finer than a kiss, inflicting

mortality on this body

that's barely spent with our

lovemaking, caressing

lips with secret smile, seeking

the Creator, Destroyer

in us all with Delilah’s gall,

starry-eyed Samson set up

for star pupil

No madness

in the weirdest shadows

flirting with twilight,

teasing the sun’s embers

with a scattering of stars

brighter by far than the eyes

haunting this mortal frame;

only sadness for a leaf,

that's fallen here at our feet

before its time

No tears

(a misty rain in the wind)

nor cries from the heart

but a nightingale for others

of our kind, covering us

like a death sheet as a mark

of respect for this ultimate

reckoning, proud Cassiopeia

sharing out gifts among regrets

like falling stars

Ah, c'est magnifique

Copyright R. N. Taber 1999; 2011

[Note: an earlier version of this poem  appeared under the title 'Affairs of the Heart' in the anthology, A United Voice, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 1999 and the poetry magazine Fire (17) in 2002 as well as my first major collection, Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001. Fire has since ceased publication, but can still be accessed on-line via the Poetry Library archives.]

A Mythology of Leaves

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

Regular readers will know I have a passion for nature; its trees, history, and mythology...

A MYTHOLOGY OF LEAVES

As the wind rustles leaves across earth and sky

and the moon feels its way among clouds,

hear voices of old gods telling loud and strong

of a time when they sat, oh, so proudly,

on the crest of Olympus considering the ways

of Earth’s children, found us wanting

It is Earth Mother who replies, loud and strong,

reminding them where they went wrong,

trying to manipulate humankind at their whim

like pieces on a chessboard instead

of allowing for its foibles and letting its peoples

win or lose their own battles

To the tawny owl, she calls, as it hunts its prey

and to the rabbit, trying to run away…

To the rough sleeper on the streets of a city

where few will act upon their pity

but watch and wait, playing the blame game

(old gods, in all but name)

As the wind rustles leaves across earth and sky

and the moon feels its way to dawn,

hear voices of old gods calling loud and strong

on a time long, long, gone…

while Earth Mother can but consider the ways

of a new generation, find us wanting

Come day, hear Earth Mother confide in Apollo

how humanity’s poetry rings, oh, so hollow

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