The Gambler OR 'If' Revisited

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

The poem below first appeared on the blog in 2016; along with other recent posts, it has been removed from the archives and (significantly) revised in order to re-publish here today. For anyone interested, though, there are many poems in the archives that will remain there so feel free to browse any time; I am only removing any that I feel, years on, need some revision (either the poem itself, its title ... or both.)

I am no gambler in the sense that I rarely bet for financial reward, but line most people I have nursed ambitions, followed my heart, fought my share of battles as a direct consequence, and ... yes, won some, lost some. Years ago, I had three driving ambitions; to look the world in the eye as a gay person, be a librarian and a poet. I have managed all three, but it took time for mind-body-spirit to take each proverbial bull by its horns and reconcile myself to as well as accept responsibility for any consequences. While nothing in my life has worked out quite as I had hoped, I remain, at 74, content enough to have,on balance, won more wars with mind-body-spirit than battles lost; it is how I deal with the threat of Covid-19 ... as just another battle in just another war ... and what will be, will be. 

Now, I get angry when people comment along the lines of someone’s having no ambition, just as I get angry when, as often as not, it is the same people who criticise another person's lifestyle and/ or sexual persuasion; it is none of their damn business.

Ambition means different things to different people and cannot be measured in terms of ‘success’ or ‘failure’; far too often these things are measured in terms of fame and/or fortune without taking into account someone’s success as a well-meaning, decent person; in the latter category, you will often find some of the poorest people in the world. 

Gambling on our potential to make a success if an idea or even a relationship is a win-win; even if circumstances conspire against us, we will have done our best; others might not see it that way, but if we are honest with ourselves, we know the truth of the matter. Yes, we may wish we had done certain things differently, made different choices … but, that’s life … and hindsight is not something we should beat ourselves up over. Hopefully, we will not only learn from our mistakes, but also pass them on to help others avoid them too; if there is a silver lining, the latter has to be it.

At the same time, we are all but human, fallible, and not infrequently vulnerable. Few things goad a person into taking a misguided path in life (if - initially, at least - for all the right reasons) than self-criticism for failing to live up to someone else's expectations, especially if that person is a loved one.  We think we need to 'prove ourselves'.  Sadly - as in the case of many a gambler for purely financial gain -we not only risk losing ourselves, but also much of if not all we hold dear along the way.

My late mother, to whose words of wisdom I often wish I had listened to more while she was alive - she died 40+ years ago just months before my 30th birthday - would often say when I confided this or that life plan running circles in my mind - "Always have a plan B, dear, just in case if things don't quite work out as you hoped." Fortunately, I did listen some of the time, and many a Plan B has been a lifesaver.

This poem is a kenning.

THE GAMBLER or 'IF' REVISITED

I can be a friend or foe, take me as you will

to a corner of your heart and let me stay

to whisper sweet words of love and desire

in your ear, bring precious respite

from life’s trials, wars and sleepless nights

for worry, fear, dread of what the day

may yet devour. I can light your darkness.

Only, dare dance with me on the shadow line,

win some, lose some? 

I can be a friend or foe, take me as you will

into a corner of your mind and let me stay

to whisper unkind words of lust and desire

in your ear, rarely offering any respite

from life’s trials, wars and sleepless nights

for worry, fear, dread of what day may bring,

rain or shine. Enough. Time to go along 

with whatever inner forces insisting we have
something to prove? 

Yes, the human whole comprises such parts

as may be taken for partner, friend or foe;
whatever, it insinuates the self, feeds on it, 
driving mind-body-spirit for good or ill,
has no respect for any self-awareness of 'easy'

money as fool's gold, while neither taking 
every dreamer for a fool who feels the need

to live for such tomorrows as may never come
but just might, if ...

Call me Ambition. neither saint nor sinner,

but self-styled winner (or loser)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note: This post/ poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today; an earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Dirty Dancing' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

When Winter Comes OR Mind-Body-Spirit, Never Say Die

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

Many of us, enjoy the colours and subtle nuances than falling leaves in autumn all the more because needs must we brace ourselves for what could well be a hard  winter ahead weather-wise. 

Others may well face a testing winter of the heart, wherever they may be, regardless of time and seasons. Some may well argue it’s a case of the survival of the fittest, and there is a lot of truth in that, but the physically weak can also be emotionally strong; strong enough even to rise above  wintry blasts of depression, anxiety, everyday concerns …

We have but to give a natural lust for life its head and the chances are its predilection for positive thinking will, in time, rescue us from the pull of negative forces, bypass even the most heroic stoicism, and allow an innate optimism, Hope’s much loved bed-fellow, to once again play a leading role in our lives.

Wherever we may be in the world, whatever its weather patterns, day will always follow night just as winter will always follow spring on the calendar of nature and human nature alike; the latter, though, needs must find a way to turn on the power of mind-body-spirit to save its natural optimism from dying just long enough to rediscover that raison d’être which has to be as good a metaphor for spring as any other.

WHEN WINTER COMES or MIND-BODY-SPIRIT,  NEVER SAY DIE

Oh, but when winter comes,

I look around and see trees stripped bare,

and petals in tatters where flowers

once lifted this heart now close to tears

for having watched the swallows fly south

that once greeted its spring

Oh, but when winter comes,

I look around at snowfall on the ground,

see children playing, laughing,

making merry with each other instead

of being glued to social media in a world

whose seasons rolled into one

Oh, but when winter comes

find the days grow shorter, nights longer,

all the more so for a prevailing

north wind wailing like some lost spirit

of summer trying to find its way back home,

familiar landmarks wiped out

Oh, but when winter comes,

I’ll see robins give the lie to defeatism 

in as sweet a song as ever there was

to fill a sad heart with hope for a future

beyond any wintry landscape’s implying

positive thinking is a cruel hoax

Oh, but when winter comes,

I’ll get together with friends, make light

of any feelings of empty days

or lonely nights for hearts beating in time

to what is, after all, but an overture to spring

composed-performed by nature

Oh, but when winter comes,

may divided societies around the world

yet join hands and dance

to the music of its time, fan any flickering

peace-liberty-fraternity into a flaming spring, 

season of second chances...

Copyright R N Taber, 2017

S-E-L-F, Opening Up (After Closing Down)

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

As regular readers know only too well, I have suffered with depression all my life and still take 25mg of a (fairly) mild anti-depressant. Prozac helped me through a very bad time once, but (like another strong anti-depressant I tried) left me feeling exhausted all the time so I switched to the (far milder) one I take now.

It is important to find an anti-depressant that suits you and always read the information leaflet for possible side-effects. Even so, never rely on anti-depressants to see you through. A positive attitude and any form of creative therapy you enjoy remain a must-have and must-do. (Creative therapy can be anything from gardening, walking, writing, pottery... anything in which success is measured by the enjoyment achieved by simply doing it, not results.) Creative therapy is no quick fix and requires a huge effort if always an effort worth making. Always easier said than done, never try and do it all on your own. 

I suffered from depression even as a child although depression in children was not recognized in those days. For years, I would be prescribed antidepressants until I started to feel better, and then come off them. This, I now realize was a mistake. I was scared of becoming dependent on them so it was music to my ears when a GP suggested that patients prone to depression should stay on an appropriate antidepressant and dosage all the time. I suspect my life would have taken a hugely significant turn for the better had I been given this advice a long, long, time ago. 

A friend who suffers from depression has paid a lot to visit counsellors but they don’t help everyone and it all depends who you see and how good (or bad) they are. I think it is important to get feedback from a counsellor; too many just sit back and let you talk, which is not a bad thing, but I personally would need positive feedback to feel it was worth parting with my money.

My friend says she hasn’t the self-confidence to do anything new whether it's meeting new people, studying a subject in which she is genuinely interested etc. She says she 'cannot' do anything new until she gets her self-confidence back. I sympathize, but take the opposite view. I believe we only get our self-confidence back by doing things, setting ourselves realistic targets etc. These need not be too ambitious to start with, and if they don’t work out quite as we hoped we should not see it as a failure but give ourselves a pat on the back for giving it a go…and try something else.

Many people think I am a strong person because (most of the time) I manage to beat depression. Believe me, though, when I say I am not strong. It is (very) heavy going. I make the effort because the alternative is even worse to contemplate. 

True, it isn’t always easy to find someone to listen; certain family members and friends won’t recognize the danger signs and will fail to appreciate a depressed person’s depths of personal crisis, handing out well-meaning platitudes like a plate of biscuits to make matters (much) worse. Even so, never give up; there is invariably someone who can help if we let them and are honest with them about how we feel. Talking to a pet can help, too, if only because the worst seems so much less bad once we give it a voice.

There is no shame in feeling less able to cope. Putting on a brave face is never a good idea. (No one can read minds.) For example, if  I had only opened up to someone - a teacher or counsellor perhaps - about my sexuality (among other things) much earlier, I may well have been spared years of anguish, culminating in a bad nervous breakdown and suicide attempt in my early 30's.

S-E-L-F, OPENING UP (AFTER CLOSING DOWN) 

Envelopes unopened;

scared to look, acknowledge even;

feelings like flowers left

at a grave if only to give the dead

a raison d’être

Profiles of the Great

interrogating me wherever I go

about my response to the cost

of living, voices chanting dark spells

at every checkout

Fear, clammy hands

on matchstick arms, humanity

strutting its hour on stage

(art of least resistance) chalking up

mock victories

Words, like mandarins

in white coats supervising a trainee

working from a manual

on staying bottom of the class without

really trying 

Envelopes, daring me…

Fingertips fumbling with terror

(Can I really do this?)

No stigma in old wounds ruling out

perfection

N-O-W, opening up...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem – under the title ‘Prozac Nation’ - appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Disaffected Youth, Wasted Lives

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

The majority of young people are decent, honest, and hardworking, but there is also high unemployment among young people and that leaves some disaffected with society so they join gangs or become targets for radicalization; violence and/ or drug abuse and / or criminal behaviour becomes a way of life until something (or someone) happens that helps them back into mainstream life and a more positive, fulfilling sense of personal identity.

While there is no excuse for violence, it is high time politicians, religious and community leaders among others (parents, too) looked more closely at its roots and took responsibility where society is failing so many of its young people. Some do, but rhetoric is not enough; actions really do speak louder than words. 

This poem is a villanelle, written in 2014 so its content is nothing new; what is new are successive cutbacks in spending (here in the UK at least, since the financial crisis of 2008)) on such related national and local Government budgets as make provision for policing, extra curricular activities in schools, youth centres, apprenticeships, grants for professional and vocational training places etc. I rest my case ...

DISAFFECTED YOUTH, WASTED LIVES

Got my hands on a knife, a gun,

spread the word,

didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Shouting at just about everyone,

no one heard;

got my hands on a knife, a gun

Needed to prove I was someone,

earn street cred;

didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

At first it gave me a buzz, was fun,

but all that disappeared;

got my hands on a knife, a gun

A gangster movie set let me down,

(mustn't show I'm scared)

didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Macho mates weep to see my crown

dripping blood ...

Got my hands on a knife, a gun,

didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: This poem is a villanelle, written in 2010 so its content is nothing new; what is new are successive cutbacks in spending (here in the UK at least since the financial crisis of 2008) on such related national and local Government budgets as make provision for policing, extra curricular activities in schools, youth centres, apprenticeships, grants for professional and vocational training places etc.]

Ego in Denial

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

A loud, talkative if successful businessman attached himself to me during an overnight stay at a hotel years ago, and offered me this advice over countless pints of lager: ‘In business, you have to aim high, be a real go-getter, stay focused on what you want and go for it, no matter what…or who. And shall I tell you what’s so great about life at the top, young man? It’s that you don’t need anyone, but everyone needs you, depends on you, for whatever reason. There's no feeling like it because you don't need anyone, you're top dog.'

Regarding the latter point, I could see he had all but convinced himself it was true. Even so, methinks he did protest just that little too much, and needless to say I was no more impressed with him or his 'advice' than than I would be now, some 30+ years on.

As for sexuality, it has been my experience that gay-friendly straight men are 100% confident in their own sexuality so have no problem with anyone else's while the average homophobe nowhere near shares that same self-confidence, resorting to discriminatory bluster to cover their own backs, so to speak....

Thank goodness for alter ego forever nudging us towards home truths, ego would prefer to ignore.

This poem is a villanelle.

EGO IN DENIAL

Don’t need anyone telling me

the best way to get by.

(Loneliness feeding on me.)

Voices cruelly, mockingly,

demanding, why…?

Don’t need anyone telling me

Choices, always goading me

to expose a white lie.

(Loneliness feeding on me.)

Who's to stop me running free,

though a sandman try?

Don’t need anyone telling me

Scathing home truths would see

I get real, brave up, deny

loneliness feeding on me…

Love, it’s a life-and-death poetry

milking rhyme and reason dry;

(Don’t need anyone telling me;

loneliness, feeding on me...)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'The Hungry Heart' in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Bitter Harvest

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

In reality, there is no such thing as easy money. Even a huge lottery win is rarely roses all the way and more often than not leaves a trail of heartbreak. Someone recently mentioned that betting is easy money (he had just won £50 on a horse.) Ah, but how many bets had he lost over years, I wondered? Even so, I resisted the temptation to ask and risk throwing cold water on an old man’s elation.

Many years ago, during a period of mental illness, I became addicted to fruit machines and probably wasted thousands of pounds over a period of several years. Fortunately, I am cured now and have a life. Gambling is no less addictive than drugs, smoking or alcohol. It can destroy people and their families. At the time, I was caught up in the protracted aftermath of a nervous breakdown. That’s when addiction strikes, when we’re at our most vulnerable. It can happen to anyone. So never give up on an addict, yeah? The challenge is trying to prevent addicts giving up on themselves.

It is an appalling indictment on contemporary society, especially given the stresses and strains of modern living, that there are relatively few rehabilitation centres or other avenues of help for addicts or those less obviously in the grip of mental illness. They may be the last to admit, it but they need friends and family to stand by them and be willing to go that last mile.

If you know an addict (drugs, gambling, whatever) please, please, be there for them. You won’t get much if anything by way of thanks, but no one can beat addiction without support from someone who cares that they should. Sometimes, yes, it’s a losing battle for everyone concerned, but we have to try…for all our sakes.

Did I say it was easy?

Every day, I hear someone say in the street, media, library, bus or train...words to the effect that there’s ‘easy’ money for the taking if we only play our cards right.  No, I don’t think so, not unless those 'cards' happen to be in sync with the kinder or at least more responsible elements of mind-body-spirit.

BITTER HARVEST

Public faces reaping

more respect than many

have earned the right

to expect in modern times;

paper tigers wandering

corridors of power, seeking

an easy prey, a nose

for more; bits and pieces,

(when put together)

likely to create an incomplete

jigsaw 

People come and go,

all history in the making,

fortunes for the taking;

winners, losers,

gamblers paying respects

to palaces of pleasure,

Stock Exchanges,

After Hours bars ringing

with a cacophony

of celebration, despair,

whatever...

Worldwide, trails

like snails’ slime tracking

the best and worst

of us, no discrimination;

looking to the future,

(things sure to get better)

Family of Man living

up to old myths, bearing

fruits to feed a world 
last observed harvesting 
lemon trees

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Alcoholic Anonymous

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

Stress is never easy to deal with, and few of us can cope alone. We need help and should not be afraid or embarrassed to ask for it;ironically, when we most need help the human ego so  fears rejection that it will often go for self-destruct.

There are no quick fixes, and drug abuse of any kind is never the answer. 

Too many people are far too complacent about their daily alcohol intake. I am not unsympathetic. Even so, alcoholics, like all drug addicts ruin not only their own lives but effectively take family and friends more than part of the way with them.

Why do people become addicts.More often than not it is the old cause-and-effect syndrome. Discover why, and there is a chance the addict may yet be saved from the worst.

The modern world is fast and furious. Not everyone can keep up. We need to understand once and for all that there is no shame in asking for help. Some fool once commented to me that asking for help is a coward's way; on the contrary, it is heroic.

Oh, and never think for one minute that alcohol is not a drug.

Alcoholics Anonymous is an international organization that can help alcoholics help themselves. Here in the UK, call 0800 9177 650 (for free) or email: help@aamail.org NOW. If you think or know you have a serious drink problem, taking this small first step is a giant leap towards getting your life back.

ALCOHOLIC ANONYMOUS 

Like a fish out of water gasping for air,

clinging on for dear life to a cheap

can of beer, almost past caring any more,

glad to let myself fall though unwilling

to take you with me (you deserve better)

flailing, half-dead, but left to my own

meagre devices. May survive or may not,

each to our own choices, whether it be

win, lose, drift along woebegone, food

for fishes or some poor fisherman casting

a line from posterity’s shelf, shades

of myself before I went looking for more

(in a can of beer) bored with the sheer

predictability of family, job, hooks reeling

me into a limbo now serving me up

on a plate of a street where friends seem

to have forgotten who I am so I don’t

try to catch their eyes any more, doesn’t

come as any surprise any more, don’t

even want to think beyond the next drink ,

avoid local bars in case someone sees

(Just one more, bartender, PLEASE…)

Floating face down in a sea of algae,

not a smile to cling to, no hint of caring

in dead eyes staring straight ahead,

waves of indifference crashing on me,

putting me down, hauling me up, only

to toss me back with all the contempt

of a fisherman for minnows competing

for Angler of the Year, a title bringing

fame and beer (for years) at the local pub

where I used to drink my fill; too often

some would say - and how I find myself

here, as good as dead in the water

[Note: A slightly different version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; 2nd ed. in preparation.]

High Seas Rescue

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

Now, I've met many people who have managed to turn their lives around in a constructive, positive way, survived high seas and made it to a safe shore. In my edition of the Book of Life, they and their like are real heroes.

True, getting the better of the darker self it’s never easy...and all more heroic for that.

HIGH SEAS RESCUE

Once I didn’t give a damn

about where I was or who I am,

even less what I was doing

or where I was going, the kind of life

I was generally leading…

no time for forward planning

or positive thinking,

content just to get high on drugs,

and binge drinking, no matter

the cruise liner I am on is sinking;

suddenly a cry, ‘Abandon ship!’

dived into the dark high seas of hell

and woke up in hospital

Among the survivors, only I

lived to tell the sorry tale of a life

that had no meaning,

everyone in it long past caring

about what I was doing

or where I was going, the kind of life

I was generally leading…

no time for forward planning

or positive thinking,

content just to get high on drugs 

and binge drinking, no matter

I’m close to hitting self-destruct

and time running out

Those wasted years made me

the kind of person I try to be now,

telling everyone I meet how

life only has purpose and meaning

when you’re kind and caring,

make time for forward planning

and positive thinking…

say ‘no’ to getting high on drugs

and binge drinking,

offer a helping hand to others as you

would have them do,

if only to be saved from drowning

in those killer seas too

[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]