Where Freedom Keeps its Word

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

Today's poem first appeared on my gay-interest blog in June 2012; anyone interested in the original post is welcome to visit that blog's archives (listed on the right hand side of any blog page.)

Same sex marriage is about to be legalised in Northern Ireland, having lagged behind the rest of the UK for about 5 years. Catholics will not be happy, but surely Freedom of Choice should be every person's right?Similarly abortion in N. I. is being be decriminalised; it is every woman's right to know and choose what is best for her own body. The Democratic Unionist Party (D.U.P) have maintained throughout the shambolic Brexit debate in Parliament that nothing should be signed up to that makes N. I. different to the UK, but there have been differences for years.

Family should provide sanctuary for all of us, but this is not always the case. Love should not be a hiding place from family and friends, but something we are proud to share with them.  Nor does being unable to enter into such pride mean being ashamed; too often, it simply means being scared and/or unwilling to light a slow-burning fuse of confrontation that can only end in tears and worse.

I well recall how, years ago when anti-gay legislation here kept me in a cold, dark, closet; a love far removed from any feelings for family and friends was the only sanctuary on hand. Gay or straight, if we choose a partner of whom our families disapprove - for whatever reason - it can and does cause so much heartbreak for everyone concerned. We may well disapprove of another's choice, that is our prerogative, but it is really none of our business so we can at least respect it and do our best to be reconciled to it...surely? If we don't, can't or won't...that says more about us than anyone with whom we might take issue on...whatever.

Half a century on, I am estranged from my remaining family and have very different friends. It isn't a question of playing any blame game either, just the way it is. In some parts of this mad, mad world of ours, little has changed as far as LGBT rights are concerned; in law, yes, but while there may be  legislation for bad attitude, certain prejudices and hate crimes -  among them, homophobia and racism - remain alive and kicking even in so-called 'civilised' countries.

WHERE FREEDOM KEEPS ITS WORD

We’d hide in craters of the moon

so no one would see our tears,

make love in craters of the moon

where no one could hurt us;
what eyes can't see, hearts less likely
to fret over

We’d surf the Milky Way on stars

empathising with our history,

welcomed by old gods and heroes

who had seen it all before,
saddened to see so much of humanity
as divided as ever

We’d come to Earth now and then

but found no comfort there,

humanity (still) refusing to engage

positively with its prejudices lest it lose
the argument

The day came, we quit the sanctuary

of night skies for high noon,

let the world know all we’d learned

from old gods and heroes, let ourselves
be seen and heard

Reassured by Apollo’s ready smile,

we showed the world our tears,

shared secrets about moon craters

where none could hurt us but in our own
hearts and minds

Be sure, time will return us to space,

where Freedom keeps its word;

humanity (still) refusing to engage

positively with its prejudices lest it lose
the argument

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

All through the Night

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

This poem appeared on my gay-interest blog in May 2012;  anyone interested can access the original post via its archives as listed on the right hand side of any blog page.

It is, in part, a love poem; the narrator could be anyone who finds comfort and inspiration in losing the love of their life. Yes, it is also partly about me, but as I have said  many times, my use of the first person plural is primarily meant to give the reader direct access to the poem as well as being a global persona; it is easier to engage with any piece of writing when made to feel you are addressing him or her directly.

I wrote this poem after the love of my life died some years ago. What does it matter that it was a gay relationship when all that matters is that it was a relationship between two people who loved each other and had high hopes of spending the rest of their lives together? As it happens, we only had a short time together, but our love sustains me still, haunts my favourite dreams and whispers words of love and encouragement in my ear whenever I am feeling low.

As I grow old and having to sleep alone, there is no room in my heart for sadness, only that once upon a time I fell in love and was loved in return. Moreover, having suffered regular periods of depression all my life, that love is the best defence against it.; time and again, it rescues me from the abyss where depression likes nothing better than to dump it victims. Love, of course, comes in all shapes and sizes; special people, places, even songs and pieces of music all play their part in helping to lift us when we are feeling so down, there seems to be no way up.

So when certain people from various socio-cultural-religious backgrounds try to tell me that gay people don’t know the meaning of either spiritual or physical love, I have only one reply..."Bollocks!" No love that is a part of us ever dies because it comprises the better part of us that we pass on to others among the better things we say and do...and so it goes on, and on, long after we, too, are gone.

You're right, this is not a gay poem as such, and why should it be? Love doesn't discriminate so why should we...or a poem?  Some would argue that falling back on memories - for sanctuary, inspiration, whatever - is simply a form of escapism from the harsher realities of any Here-and-Now - and they may well be right, but ...so what? There are worse forms of escapism than love to save us from so awful a free fall as that which configures depression.

ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT

A bird sang in my garden as twilight fell;

what species it was, I could not tell,

but its song filled my darkening soul with light

and saw me all through the night

Came moon and stars to keep me company

and the bird, still it sang, as if just for me,

a song showing pictures of us to my inner sight

that saw me all through the night

Closer, dawn, new-old fears of another day

stubbornly failing to (quite) fade away;

moon and stars abandoning me to such a plight

as haunting me all through the night

Among the sun’s first rays, Apollo’s smile;

the bird, typically, came that last mile,

spreading peace and hope enough in a leafy sky

for a time to live and a time to die

Among even love songs heard or yet to hear,

none will sound sweeter to my ear

than of a bird whose species I couldn’t  make out

that once sang in my garden all night

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appears under the title 'Empathy' in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

I-D-E-N-T-I-T-Y, Parts of a Whole

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

A reader has emailed to ask why I frequently refer to mind-body-spirit as a whole in my poems (and subsequently in the Labels column for the purpose of word searches) rather than mind, body and spirit as separate phenomena if only for convenience or (as I see it) paying lip service to convention.  The poem below is by way of offering an answer. 

We are all of us different, each in our own way, and it is our differences that make us human.The inner eye discerns this, that, or nothing at all; the body has different demands depending on how we prefer to define our sexuality; the human spirit turns on how the sum of those differences occupies our personal space whether (or not) inspired by socio-cultural-religious conventions written on tablets of stone. 

Like the human heart, the mind-body-spirit is a free country; sadly, for many people, it is only truly accessible by way of personal space, that part of us where Freedom really keeps its word; people may well do their best to intrude, even force an entry should we not wish to let them in, but no one can altogether usurp or even destroy it however much they might try. 

Those who would (and do) exploit our weaknesses, invariably underestimate our strengths; strengths supplied by mind-body-spirit as a whole, not its parts. Whether we identify as Gay, straight or transgender, human nature is likely to harass us from time to time because it is a complex organism for which there is no standard template; fortunately, that whole comprising mind-body-spirit provides an open-all-hours sanctuary from its worse aspects while encouraging us to appreciate and enjoy its kinder side. Moreover, something about it is clearly capable of infiltrating human thought in the form of remembrance after it ceases to occupy the human form; death as loss, is hard on all of us, but as a posthumous consciousness it may well continue to inspire is ... if we let it.

We are, each and every one of us, the sum of our parts; it is, of course, the whole that really counts; we should not dissect to make a point, homing in on any those parts with which we may take issue, although human nature being what it is, we are often inclined to do just that.

This poem is a kenning.

I-D-E-N-T-I-T-Y, PARTS OF A WHOLE

I am Mind, part of a whole

bent on solving crises,

finding ways to neatly avoid

the slings and arrows

of human nature, rise above

even its worst flaws.

look on the bright side of life,

through thick and thin, stay true

to a kinder philosophy

I am Body, part of a whole

whose every heartbeat

is listening out for like souls

made to run the gamut

of prejudice, discrimination,

and, yes, even worse,

finding solace in those sins

certain world creeds and cultures

oh, so love to hit out at

I am Spirit, part of a whole

where personal space

provides the ‘live’ poetry of peace

and love insisting Mind

and Body direct the inner eye

where it needs must go

to avoid jumping to conclusions

comprising circumstantial evidence

provided by stereotypes

I am Mind-Body-Spirit, the person

often dissected for being human

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Christmas, Glossing Over Missed Opportunities

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

At this time of year, people often tell me they are so looking forward to Christmas because they see it as a reason for celebration and renewal, usually more in a temporal than religious sense, as if Christmas will make everything bad in their lives so much better, keeping up the momentum until New Year, and then…?

Too often, the bubble of make-believe is burst soon enough as January arrives with all the indifference to human potential of a Grim Reaper.

We may not be altogether masters of our own fate, but life is what we make it. Mind and body may well be subject to external influences, sometimes of the worst kind, but the human spirit is better than that, and deserves to be given its head. The inner self knows us better than we think we know ourselves, and more of us need to listen rather than turn a deaf ear in favour of false (if attractive) promises the world often makes but has no intention of keeping.

Christmas, like all religious festivals is too often seen as signposting a sanctuary or at least some respite or escape from the harsher elements of life threatening to overwhelm us. Rarely, in my experience, will religion remove the threat for long; we need to build on the spirit and spirituality of peace and love (religion may have its share of both, but no monopoly), not be afraid to ask for help, and make a better life for ourselves on terms we will not flinch from meeting, no matter whether they are unacceptable to those who think they know us better than we know ourselves.

CHRISTMAS, GLOSSING OVER MISSED OPPORTUNITIES

Rain soaking the shirt, jeans;

body responding freely

to Earth Mother’s call to live,

let live, and get real

Face upturned, glad to be out

getting wet, mind distracted;

domestic crises, work targets

and assessments wreaking

havoc (with the best intentions)

stifling that very inspiration

meant to persuade, encourage,

leaves us feeling like flies

feeding on garbage left out

for the bin men, fodder for stray

cats, dogs, homeless folks, waiting

for Christmas

Oh, we may have a job, home,

mortgage etcetera - but a life

to call our own…?

Some may beg to differ, thinking

through yet another staff rota

at supper or marking homework

once guests (finally) gone home

to snug beds, 1001 nights and more

besides of cramming heads,

misting-up eyes, asking questions,

stirring up more lies and half lies

meant to persuade, encourage, only

to leave us feeling like flies

on garbage left for the bin men

to dispose

Christmas comes, Christmas goes;

it’s the inner self knows best

how to make the most of a potential

too precious to waste

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Waiting for Christmas' in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time, Assembly Books, 2005; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

The Zen of Personal Space

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

Sometimes we get lost in a scary, all but surreal landscape of conflicting emotions through which we cannot see our way clear to any safe haven. 

At such times, we need to call upon the inner self to step back from it all, create our own space, set mind, body and spirit free of temporal concerns just long enough to at least draw us a map that will guide us back into the real world..

We all need to take care that certain socio-cultural-religious obligations don't make such demands on us that mind-body-spirit is left screaming, "Please. just let me BE!" while other things (and people) that matter to us simply pass us by...

THE ZEN OF PERSONAL SPACE 

Looking for a shortcut to nowhere,
found a pretty little road
that turned out to be nothing more
than a dead end at a ring of dark water,
no way round

Tossing stones in a ring of dark water,
nothing much else to do
but watch ever-widening circles
pass out of sight like poetic  shadows
in a weepy, leafy, light

Among poetic shadows in a leafy light,
a face darting in and out
like the Cheshire Cat in a classic take
on escapism from the chaos of our reality
into sheer pandemonium

No escape, only ever-widening circles
across a ring of dark water,
subject to the swing of a human arm,
measure of a human eye, raging of a beast
left impotent by despair

Surely, plaintive cries growing weaker
like ripples on a ring of dark water
chasing The Cat into the same nowhere
that’s begging a shortcut, brief respite 
for mind-body-spirit

Past-present-future engaging the senses
to suss the integrity of  imagination,
let ripples in a leafy light lent us by whim
or other of nature 's moods suggest a way yet 
to cross a ring of dark water


Copyright R. N. Taber 2013 [Rev. + Alt title 2/19]