Walking the Dream

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

 “There is no greater disability in society, than the inability to see a person as more.” – Robert M. Hensel

My advice to other disabled people would be, concentrate on the things your disability doesn’t prevent you doing well, and don’t regret the things it interferes with.” – Stephen Hawking

“Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.” - Helen Keller

Once overheard by yours truly: Able-bodied person to wheelchair user: “Don’t you feel bitter about not being able to walk?”

Wheelchair user: “I did once, but soon learned that bitterness is the worst kind of disability. “Besides,” the disabled person added with a wry grin, “… once you learn to walk the dream, you can start enjoying the scenery again.”

Now, I was only 12 years old at the time and didn’t understand the implications, but I never forgot that snippet of conversation. 

Growing old now, and - after a bad fall in 2012 – unable to enjoy walking as I used to and miss it terribly. That spot of earwigging, though, always springs to mind whenever I start feeling sorry for myself. After all, I can still get out and about with the aid of compression stockings and a walking stick. Even other health issues that plague me, from time to time, pale into insignificance whenever I think of what some people have to endure  all the time and do so with a strength of mind-body-spirit aenough to put a smile on their faces.

Suffice to say, disabled people are truly inspirational. 

WALKING THE DREAM

I’d walk miles by rivers, streams,
leafy woods and lively forested lands
thrilling to the sounds
of wildlife, feeling privileged to breathe
its air, tread its grounds,
invoke the freedoms to which it was born,
if only to be hunted down

I grow older, hopefully the wiser
for walking those miles, bringing smile
to a heart-and-soul
always under threat by the ways of a world
challenging mind-body-spirit
to anticipate and outwit any devilish schemes
posing a threat to our dreams

Yet, humankind faces other threats
heart-and-soul needs must learn to rise
above its tears and fears,
bring mind-body-spirit into even fuller play
than wet believed possible,
hive the lie to our life’s being as bad as it seems,
start walking our dreams 

Mobility problems and other issues
may well do their best to undermine us,
yet, heart-and-soul
not so readily backing down from any threat,
by accident or human design
likely to thwart us, hurt us, bring us to our knees,
desperately seeking peace

I walk miles by rivers, streams,
leafy woods and lively, forested lands,
thrilling to the sounds
of wildlife, feeling privileged to breathe
its air, tread its grounds,
enjoy such freedoms as invoke memories, fictions,
and walking my dreams

Mind-body-spirit, empowering us all with an ability 
to bring a whole new dimension to our reality...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Lost in Translation

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

In response to this poem, someone once complained that I 'seem to be suggesting that being gay is as natural as God intended.' Well, the poem lends itself to various interpretations (as a poem should) and if that's theirs, I am delighted to have at least giving a religious bigot some food for thought.

When it comes to the various Holy Books and the attitudes they convey towards gay, bisexual, and transgender men and women, I know many people feel the same as me; much has been lost in translation or, as often as not, deliberate misinterpretation. Too many people have too great a fondness (reliance even) on a stereotyping which not only confuses important issues but, worse, is put forward as a truth, Time and again, I have heard people trying to justifying an attitude that beggars belief, not least because it has its roots in stereotypical caricatures, especially when it concerns LGBT issues. I am not disputing everyone's right free speech, but let's at least get our facts right, yes?

We all occupy a mother’s womb. I will never believe the love there is conditional to our turning out the way some parents’ preoccupation with various socio-cultural-religious conventions try to impose as. indeed, they have done very successfully since the beginning of time. Thank goodness for a natural capacity of the human heart for rebellion against such constraints; it may well have lost a good few battles and will surely lose a good few more, but is as sure to win the war for  common humanity as day follows night.  

It was once put to me by a work colleague that poetry - no more or less than other art forms - is all about self-indulgence. I beg to differ. Poetry - no more or less than other art forms - is all about finding out who we are; nor is it a definitive 'we' or first person persona for, as the metaphysical poet John Donne points out, 'No man is an island entire of itself...' (Meditation XVII)

Whatever, be it in reading prose or  poetry, appraising a painting or a person, the chances are few if any will come to the same conclusion, and even greater are the chances of any one person reaching the right one; we are all made up of many parts. The arts - among which feedback regarding my own suggests poetry is often considered the poor relation - attempt to reach at least some of those parts, the sum of which makes us who we are.

There can be no perfect interpretation of mind-body-spirit, but we can at least try to lose as little as possible in translation, and allow for human error ...

LOST  IN TRANSLATION

When people ask where I came from;

I answer, my mother’s womb,

so why am I so haunted by a sense
of having been somewhere else,

distant, unknown, as if I’d crossed
mythical territories of time and space
just to find my way here?

When others ask if I have a ‘real’ goal
in life, I confess I’m never sure

which doors are left ajar just for me

to take a peep (our choice, enter

or not) and may let a still, small voice
out of time and space persuade me to try
the safer (better?) path

Sometimes I am even accused of sitting

on some metaphorical fence

rather than explore secret passages

of the mind, and the doors open
to tease me, dare me enter, have a go
at translating the ages-old hieroglyphics
lining Mother’s womb

Yes, I have a ‘real’ enough goal in life

if prompted by a poet’s feeling
for wrestling with the hieroglyphics

between womb and tomb,

writing up an alternative autobiography
of my life and death than trust local graffiti
on doors kicked shut

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Real-Life Heroes and Popcorn Soldiers

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

I know I have said this before but it never ceases to amaze me how, when terrible clips of deaths and injuries suffered during the war in Afghanistan are shown on TV News, some people - especially children and young people - instead of being appalled, become excited, as if they were watching a war movie!

Oh, but it’s a sad reflection on our times if we cannot get across to everyone how to discriminate between fact and fiction.

REAL-LIFE HEROES AND POPCORN SOLDIERS

Dust, sand and blood

on his boots;

dust, sand and blood

on his uniform;

blood, sweat and tears

on his face;

blood, sweat and tears

in his eyes;

only a quiet heart kept

clean if not safe;

as for more of the same,

bags of them

No dust, sand or blood

on designer shoes;

no dust, sand or blood

on custom tee shirts;

no blood, sweat or tears

in high places;

no blood, sweat or tears

in eyes glued to TV,

only the armchair soldier

biting popcorn bullets;

as for more of the same,

bags of them

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2010