http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
This poem first appeared on the blog in 2010;
ten years on, I dare say its message is no less relevant to contemporaneity now
than it has ever been, all the more so for the stress imposed on us all by the
coronavirus pandemic.
Readers often contact me regarding my posts
/poems on rising above depression. Someone had pointed out that Stephen Fry’s
television documentary about his own depression aired the subject far better
than any poem can. I agree and all credit to Mr Fry. At the same time, while
success brings its own tensions, it is also an incredibly motivating factor.
Whoever or wherever we are, overcoming
depression is never easy, and will not be rushed. But knowing that you have an
army of fans out there who are rooting for you and anxious to enjoy another
performance must be very motivating. Few of us are that successful in life. It
shouldn’t matter but it does… to most of us, if we are really honest with
ourselves. Moreover, self-criticism and a (mis)perception of failure can
quickly bring us down. It can take a long time before we even recognise, let
alone start assessing our blessings and a degree of self-confidence is
restored.
OK, so maybe a poem doesn’t have the impact of a
TV documentary, but is that any reason for not writing it? I write about love,
nature, sexuality, age, Alzheimer’s, drug abuse and more. No subject is taboo
for any poet who has a passionate desire, even need, to share his/her first or
second hand experiences of life with others in a positive way. [Whether or not
that makes for a good poet is for his or her readers to decide.]
Meanwhile…
I went online at home in 1997 and my email
address has always been easy to find. During those early years, I was thrilled
to receive emails from readers who had enjoyed poems of mine they had read in
various poetry magazines and/or anthologies. Ironically, and aware that I
subscribe to no religion the editor chose this one for a Triumph House
anthology, Christian Moments (2002); Triumph House is an
imprint of Forward Press.
Years ago, while struggling to recover from a
bad mental breakdown, I would sleep badly and invariably woke early. At first
light, one summer's day, I flung open my curtains in time to watch a lark
rising, its song as clear in my ears as if I had been wearing my hearing
aids. My flagging spirits rose with the bird and marked the beginning a
of a full recovery; the latter would take a good few years yet, but this was as
good a start as any, at the same time affirming a spiritual relationship with
nature that I have experienced since childhood and never found in religion.
Human nature, too, showed its kinder side and took on a lead role in my
recovery; I could not have got through it all without the support of several
friends. Oh, and my ghosts; it was if I could hear loved ones who have passed
away whispering words of encouragement in my ears every day, striking the same
note of joie de vivre as the skylark.
The poem also affirms the spiritual nature of
love, any love, to which anyone can relate,
regardless of ethnicity, religion, gender or sexuality because love is
universal, whether it be for a person, place, pet or Earth Mother, Nature; all
of these, but a heartbeat away, and ready to help us out... if we will but let
them.
SKYLARK, 'LIVE' METAPHOR FOR THE HUMAN SPIRIT
The day I first grieved you
dark clouds passed
over the sun, and I thought
I’d never smile again,
took a long, lonely walk
in teeming rain...
struggling even to picture
your face, listening out
for your sweet voice,
but saw only a blur of lives
pushing and shoving,
heard only an awful sobbing
as the final curtain fell,
no one clapping audience
already on the move
Suddenly, the sun, it shone
on my tearful heart;
I heard a skylark singing
loud and clear,
for its homing in on me,
winging our song,
as if reassuring the two of us
that love never dies;
as if on cue, I felt you place
a hand in mine,
saw your eyes smiling at me,
agreeing a take on eternity
for such as we, partners
in time and (personal) space,
and no final curtain
Copyright R. N. Taber, 2002; 2020
[Note: This poem has been significantly revised from the
original (its genesis) as it appears under the title 'Our Song' in Christian
Moments, Triumph House [Forward Press] 2002 and subsequently in First
Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]
Labels: death, grief, human nature, human spirit, inspiration, life forces, love, memories, mind-body-spirit, nature, personal space, poetry, positive thinking, posthumous consciousness, remembrance, skylarks, spirituality