Teller of Tales, Second to None

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

What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in the Corridors of Power, just about anywhere in the world! 

There is a saying, ‘Truth will out’ and it invariably will, if only in bits and pieces for us to make of them what we will, our own bias making no less a contribution to our interpretation of those same bits and pieces as whatever personal agenda various sources releasing them may be following. 

As England prepares to enter a second lockdown on Thursday, the local gossips are having as much a field day as party politicians. As ever, I can’t help recalling what my mother used to say of national politics and local gossip alike, “Never rely on one source, and always try to keep an open mind.”

This poem is a kenning.

TELLER OF TALES, SECOND TO NONE 

I mingle with the rich and famous
every day, but am rarely in the public eye
although you may glimpse me
on the telly now and then helping to set
the scene for an interview,
a silent witness never anything to say there
and then, although the chances are
you’ll hear more from me, and openly,
no anonymity 

Politicians have always had my ear,
along with icons of sport and other masters
of their art, whether he or she
be a movie star or small screen celebrity,
writer of novels, poems, recipes
to try at home or travel tales sure to tempt
even a diehard stay-at-home
to roam beyond house and garden, by courtesy
of imagination 

I rub shoulders with kings and queens,
help lift the lid on various world intrigues
(if better late than never);
I can travel past, present and future as easily
as hailing a cab, catching a bus,
free to fly air corridors, saol oceans wide,
summon emotions good and bad,
play such games with the human psyche anyone
engaging with me 

No more sworn to secrecy than bound by time
or place, your everyday bookcase

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pictures in an Exhibition

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

A reader from Switzerland has emailed me to ask - as people often do - why a poet writes fiction. Well, there is poetry of a kind in fiction too. I needed to try my hand at writing novels, partly because I knew I would enjoy it (as I did) and partly because i suspected it would bring me closer to an understanding of human nature...as it has; as, indeed, do all the arts, each in their own way. Take fiction; it is not all about plot, but creating characters, good and bad. The writer needs to explore the various interrelationships of mind, body and spirit. Hopefully, this has also made me a better poet... but that, of course, is up to you, my readers, to decide.

Most of my novels - published and unpublished - remain in serial form on my fiction blog. Each serial is preceded by a separate synopsis post. It wa my original intention that as each complete novel  would be published to Google Play in e-format and removed from the blog. but a number of readers have emailed to say they cannot access Google Play. For this reason, I will be publishing my gay-interest crime novel 'Blasphemy' to the blog again while continuing to make it available on Google Play. All my novels on the blog are listed at:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html 

It seemed a good idea to publish today's poem here (see below) at the same time as answering a number of queries about publishing my novels (and poetry collections) as e-books to Google Play over the next few years, thereby, making those that have only ever been on sale in the UK available to readers worldwide. UK sales were not too discouraging; first (and only) print runs sold quite well. Even so, I am definitely more of a poet than a novelist, although I enjoy writing fiction, and sheer enjoyment has to be as good a motivation as any.  [Few publishers have shown much interest in my fiction and not all those serialised on the blog have been published in print form; copyright to each, though, remains exclusively mine.]

A librarian in public libraries most of my working life, it would both amuse and sadden me to see hot-blooded heterosexual readers hovering  near the counter until no one else was waiting before presenting any gay-interest items (a novel,  DVD, biography of a gay icon etc.) to be issued or discharged. Many libraries have now installed issue/discharge machines that will spare them any such embarrassment. Yet, why be embarrassed?  Imagination is an Open House. I can only put it down to human nature’s preoccupation with a ‘guilt by association’ ethos and habitual inclination to jump to conclusions.

I wrote this poem while thinking about writing my first novel, ‘Dog Roses; a Gay Man’s Rites of Passage.’ The book was never published except on the blog. No publishers were interested, but that did not matter. By the time I had finished writing it, I realised why I had so needed to write it in the first place. Putting aside aspirations of fame and fortune (just as well) I needed to stop thinking about exploring human nature through fiction as with poetry, and just get on with it, give it my best shot. I have no regrets; it provided no less as rewarding an experience as poetry but via different routes and from different angles. (As for so much as a hint of talent, well, that’s something else altogether…and up to you to form your own opinions.)

I used to regret not being able to paint, draw, compose or play music... until it came home to me how all the arts share a common source; the writer, composer, painter, whatever. needs must get as close to human nature as any gardener or farmer to the very soil we feed and which, in turn, feeds us. How far the analogy can be carried, of course, depend as much on the nature of the soil or genre as that of any of us reaping its rewards; reader, listener, observer, all have no less a part to play than whomsoever's hands planting whatsoever seeds.

This poem is a villanelle.

PICTURES IN AN EXHIBITION

Exploring the human condition,

its good, bad and ugly

life forces stranger than fiction

Any flaws demanding attention,

(for all a subtle simplicity)

exploring the human condition

Nature, its greater contribution

side-lined by humanity;

life forces stranger than fiction

Exposed, a common retribution

(reasoning a moral propriety)

exploring the human condition

Satirised, a political observation

of this life’s tragicomedy;

life forces stranger than fiction

Society, pictures in an exhibition

for whomsoever cares to see;

exploring the human condition,

life forces stranger than fiction

Copyright R. N. Taber 1997; 2016

Among Slaves

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

Here in the West, we often take our freedom for granted; (relative) freedom of speech, (relative) freedom of movement, the (relative) freedom to protest and more all come under the general heading, Democracy.

We have only to look at recent events in the Far East and North Africa to understand that we should never take any freedoms for granted.

The poem is a kenning. It last appeared on the blog in 2009, and if anyone is interested in hearing me read it, just click on the link below which will take you to my (very) informal poetry reading on the 4^th plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square, July 14^th 2009. I included Among Slaves (without alternative title) among other poems as my contribution to sculptor Antony Gormley’s One and Other ‘living sculpture’ project. However, I should warn you that it lasts an hour. [The entire web stream showing all 2,400 people doing their ‘own thing’ for an hour (each) on the plinth is now archived in the British Library; to access all 100 days 24/7  simply remove Roger_T from the end of the link.]:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T [NB.Sept 19, 2019: Today, the British Library confirmed that the link blow to the 4th plinth reading in 1999 is no longer available as the video is incompatible with an updated IT system. However, I am assured that the video still exists, and B L hope to make it available to the public again one day. Fingers crossed, and watch this space.] RNT

AMONG SLAVES

I am that breath of wind in the hair

inviting the human spirit to confess

its foibles, rise above its troubles,

show the world what it’s made of

though its back forced against a wall,

those vultures, prejudice and fear,

homing in to pick clean the bones of

fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers

lured by false witness here

I am that first kiss of rain on the face,

drawing on the human spirit to open

its heart as a flower its petals to the sky,

lend its beauty to the eye so we do not

pass by but pause to reflect on the how

and why of its being, and ours, reasons

to deny the vultures a victory, let nature

tell a story bitter-sweet of humanity’s

attempts to compete

I am that first angry tug at the sleeve

urging the human spirit to turn away

from its prejudices and fears, confront

our lesser selves head-on and expose

them for what they are, though it test us

the more by far...take people as we find,

respecting their privacy, acknowledging

their integrity, learning from a natural

ingenuity to survive

Among slaves of time, I am eyes and ears

who call me Freedom and wipe my tears

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]