Getting a Life

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

Having a good clear-out some time ago, I discovered a forgotten poem among a pile of old notes and scrap paper; it is what was then an unusual departure from my predilection for rhyming verse, and possibly – if subconsciously - why I have returned to blank verse more often in later years.

As regular readers will be aware, writing poetry is as much a form of creative therapy for me as an art form. Today’s poem was written during the latter days of a nervous breakdown I had in 1979, just as I was beginning to see a glimmer of light at the end of what had been a very long, all but pitch black tunnel. By the time I had finished writing it (albeit untitled), the glimmer had become brighter, clearer, and promising better times ahead; a promise that was fulfilled although it would take some time yet.

By the way, some readers might care to take a look at my fiction blog where I have serialised several of my general as well as gay-interest novels:

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” - ― Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches

GETTING A LIFE

I used to so-dread storm clouds,

always ganging up on me

I used to slump as years flew by

wishing, hoping, regretting

I used to let one tear shipwreck 
an all but despairing self

I used to endure a so-heavy rain,

for its displaying empathy

I used to, oh, so fear a red sunset,

for signalling nights alone

I hated dawn for its insensitivity

to an ever growing distress

It took a blind child's bright smile
to change my way of seeing

I saw the moon, it has a kind face
and now let dawn embrace me. 

Storm clouds, precursors to kinder

times ahead (fingers crossed)

Inspired by nature’s kaleidoscopic
backcloth to the world stage

A single teardrop, cue for restoring

a more positive-thinking self

Heavy rain, leaving a misty rainbow,

icon of hope and peace for all

Sunsets, promises of peace of mind

and love, too, but seek to find

Come dawn's first light,a lark's song

welcoming a brave new day

Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2018

Leap of Faith OR Peace in our Time

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

Today's entry is from my gay-interest poetry blog archive for October 2016.

Apologies for the length of this post, but it seemed a good idea to publish the poem here at the same time as answering a number of queries regarding my fiction. (Some of my novels will be of special interest to gay readers.)

Since I first learned to read at 4 years-old, I have been an avid reader, especially of fiction; it offered an escape from certain realities of home life, not least an appalling relationship with my father.  At the same time, I have always enjoyed poetry; my mother would often recite dramatic poems like The Highwayman (Alfred Noyes) and The Ancient Mariner (Samuel Taylor Coleridge) at bed-times as well as or instead of reading a story.

My first poem appeared in my secondary school magazine in the summer of 1955 when I was 11 years-old; ever since, I have always thought of myself as something of a poet. At the same time, my passion for reading fiction remained my chief raison d’être throughout my childhood, teenage years and young manhood; as I became aware of being gay in a society where gay sex was a criminal offence, so the greater my need for escapism. [My partial deafness was also a factor in my hunger for fiction, given that I was constantly mishearing and consequently being misunderstood; at times, my reality was kind of hell.]

The more I read, albeit more fiction that non-fiction, the more I felt an affinity with the darker as well as lighter experiences of its various protagonists; I would often identify with the former and take heart from their (eventually) overcoming the worst of times while the latter encouraged me to develop a wry sense of humour which would carry me through many a humiliation down to both my hearing loss and being verbally abused for being gay. 

A teacher at my old secondary school was something of a mentor. I had confided in him about my sexuality as he was one of the few people in my life that I felt I could trust. I also told him about the conflict within me between distancing myself from a Christian upbringing and my feeling closer to nature than I ever did to religion. "Whatever," he said with a wry smile, have faith in yourself, Taber. Learn to trust your better instincts and feelings, and the rest will follow. What doesn't seem right to some people, doesn't make it wrong, just so long as it feels right to you." On the whole, I hated my schooldays, but I had some of the best teachers a very confused teenager could wish to have.

I wrote the poem below while thinking about my first Gay Pride march and writing my first gay novel, Dog Roses. The book was never published except on the blog. No publishers were interested, but that did not matter because by the time I had finished writing the poem, I realised why I needed to write it in the first place; it was as if the poet in me was telling me to stop thinking about exploring human nature through fiction, but get on with it, give it a go. I have no regrets about leaving a permanent job for what would now be called a zero-hours contract so I would have time to do just that. (In those days, there was plenty of work available.) I have enjoyed every minute.

For anyone interested, my gay-crime novel ‘Blasphemy’ has been published on Google Play: 

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Roger_N_Taber_Blasphemy?id=mNlsDAAAQBAJ&hl=en_GB

- although I have also reinstated it (in two parts) on my fiction blog after many requests to do so, and will not be uploading its sequel, Sacrilege, (see my fiction blog in serial form) to Google Play. For more information about my fiction, see below and:

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

Someone once described the act of Coming Out as a leap of faith. How true that is. I took that leap  om my first Gay Pride march years ago, and never looked back.  It was was truly a leap of faith; faith in myself and that I was committing to a good life, one of which I had been in denial (to most people) for far too long. On that march I experienced a new sense of completeness and personal freedom that dispelled any lingering doubts as to whether or not being openly gay was right for me. For me, yes, but I can see only too well where others are coming from who may feel it's not the right move for them, especially any gay people living in a gay-unfriendly environment. Even so, there is no feeling quite like shedding the shackles of misinformed formative years...

This poem is a villanelle.

LEAP OF FAITH or PEACE IN OUR TIME

Find G-A-Y coming out for peace with pride

against the language of bigotry

till the language of hate has no place to hide

Wherever so-called ‘betters’ presume to decide

(and judge) on matters of sexuality,

find G-A-Y coming out for peace with pride

Challenging holier-than-thou types sure to side

against love perceived as immorality

till the language of hate has no place to hide

Among voices debating Convention as guide

and role model in a token reality,

find G-A-Y coming out for peace with pride

Questioning laws passed to incriminate, deride

and silence any significant minority

till the language of hate has no place to hide

Defining all humanity wherever cultures collide

in the course of world history,

find G-A-Y speaking up for peace with pride

till the language of hate has no place to hide

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

MY NOVELS

DOG ROSES; a gay man’s rites of passage

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2011/07/dog-roses-chapter-one.html

(Gay-interest)

BLASPHEMY: a novel [Crime/Gay-interest] - also available as an e-book on Google Play.

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2018/02/blasphemy-novel-by-roger-n-taber.html (Pt 1)

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2018/02/blasphemy-novel-by-roger-n-taber-part-2.html (Pt 2)

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/blasphemy-synopsis.html (Synopsis)

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Roger_N_Taber_Blasphemy?id=mNlsDAAAQBAJ&hl=en_GB (Complete novel, Google Play)

SACRILEGE

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/sacrilege-chapter-1.html

(Crime/Gay-interest; sequel to Blasphemy, continues the adventures and misadventures of Laurence Fisher)

LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/like-theres-no-tomorrow-synopsis_3445.html

(Crime/Mystery)

CATCHING UP WITH MURDER

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/catching-up-with-murder-novel-synopsis.html

(1st Fred Winter [crime/gay-interest] novel)

PREDISPOSED TO MURDER

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/predisposed-to-murder-synopsis.html

(2nd Fred Winter [crime] novel)

MAMELON (Book One):

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/mamelon-fantasy-novel-synopsis.html

(Fantasy)

MAMELON (Book Two):

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/12/mamelon-2-chapter-one.html

MAMELON (Glossary of Names and Terms used):

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/mamelon-glossary-of-names-and-terms.html

:

Streetwise or C-l-o-u-d-s, Mind Games

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

We don’t always know what we want, and when we do, we don’t always get it, but that should not stop us even just window shopping for inspiration…like millions before us throughout history anxiously seeking inspiration or perhaps just a comfort zone of sorts, sufficient at least to see us through another cloudy day.

“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.” -  Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds

STREETWISE or C-L-O-U-D-S, MIND GAMES

Now and then life grabs us

by the scruff of the neck

and tosses us into The Street

where we lie on our backs

look a passing cloud in the eye,

demanding answers it

It soon becomes very clear

the cloud doesn’t care

what on earth we're doing there,

(nor it seems do passers-by)

so we have to face the possibility

it could well be our fault

Our flaws stand up poorly

to close examination,

lying on our backs in The Street;

time to get real, get up,

walk on, trust centuries of hope

to treat blisters on our feet

Wearily, treading the world

in anxious footprints left

by ghosts fired by desperation

to track the kinder side

of reality, live in love and peace,

secure a comfort zone

Last spotted throwing caution
to the winds, putting can
before can't and will before won't,
giving winds of change
a fighting chance to do their best
on the street where I live 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

Variations On A Theme

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

Hello from London UK.

I am fine, folks, (thanks to many of you for asking) but feeling very tired again after another restless night. [For the benefit on first time readers, I am being treated for prostate cancer and doing okay.] .

Now, my late mother was always singing around the house and there was a time I thought it was because she was happy. In later years, I realized that she sang to think herself into happy mode; singing, for her, was a kind of escapism just as reading was for us both. My mother always wanted us to be a happy family unit, which we never truly were. I mostly blamed my late father, but I dare say he and my brother would put the blame on me.

I stopped playing the blame game years ago and can see now that I was not an easy child to live with. I suffered from depression (no one acknowledged depression in children then) that brought on awful migraines. In addition, I had significant hearing loss that no one ever appreciated, including me, until I was much older. As a teenager, being removed from my childhood friends at 14 years-old and forced to live in a god-awful backwater called Hoo (in Kent) did not help, especially as it coincided with my realizing I am gay; gay relationships would not be decriminalized for a few years yet.

Yes, I was a ‘difficult’ child and youth although no one knew just how troubled I was. [My perception is that family members sit down and talk to each other even less than we did then so heaven help future generations!] The only surprise about my having a severe nervous breakdown in my early 30’s was that it hadn’t occurred years earlier. It was a messy business. By then my mother was dead and neither my father nor brother ever asked me for my side of events that took place during that terrible time. They made assumptions and I was expected to live with them. I recovered sufficiently to find another job nearly three years later, but it took me a good ten years or so to recover fully and get my life back on track. [Even so, my breakdown still haunts me just as those closet years of awakening sexuality always will.]

There was something very wistful about my mother’s singing, yet positive too; it helped her rise above the trials and tribulations of everyday family life just as writing helps me. How many of us, I wonder, find similar outlets for their frustrations? For my own part, as regular readers will know, writing as an art form comes a poor second to its means to a very effective form of self-help therapy.

VARIATIONS ON A THEME

One long-ago spring,

I heard an old flower seller

hum a song my mother

would always sing to me

whenever I felt sad

and lonely, evoking a line

from a poem about

a pretty robin left sobbing

(for all innocence?) as autumn
starts to turn

I was so innocent then,

listening to Mother singing

a song to lift my heart

though I’d often wonder

why it sounded so sad

and lonely, like the flower

in a poem, rejected

for pretty rose tree blooms
begging a poet’s eye find excuses 

for its thorns

One long-ago winter,

I heard another flower seller

hum the song my mother

still sings to me whenever

I miss her, feel so sad

and lonely for no one even

trying to see how it is;

song, mother, child, robin,

rose, poet, poem…but variations

on a common theme

Life forms, art forms, companions

to wishful thinking

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

[Note: References to ‘a poem’ in stanzas 1 and 2 relate to The Blossom and My Petty Rose Tree  found among William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience, but whether or not readers are familiar with these should (hopefully) make little or no difference to any appreciation of the poem.]

In the Company of Dolphins

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

I have been asked to repeat the link  to my poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square during the summer of 2009  as part of sculptor Antony Gormley's One and Other 'live sculpture' project. At first, I am shown being lowered by crane to the plinth and it is a good five minutes before the reading starts: http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T  [NB: Sept 19, 2019 - The British Library confirmed today that he video is no longer available as it was incompatible with a new IT system, However, it still exists and BL hope to reinstate it and make it available to the public again at some future date.] RNT

Meanwhile...

This short poem is about love and friendship and being there for loved ones and friends when they need us. .It is also about the lasting power of love and friendship.

There is a saying that what goes around comes around. We never know when it will be our turn to need help. People for whose idea of love and friendship is a one-way street (and there are plenty out there who expect us to be there for them but rarely if ever reciprocate!) would do well to remember that.

IN THE COMPANY OF DOLPHINS

I think of us at twilight’s gentler tears

on flowers in a pretty garden, glistening

like ocean spray in spring sunshine…

In the mind’s eye, I see survivors

clinging to the wreckage of a ship that

safe harbours will never greet again,

and dolphins come like guardian angels

to redeem a fate demanded by storm clouds

riding old Poseidon’s back

Now calmer seas, survivors washed up

on kinder shores, dolphins gone, task done.

Lost souls saved at godly whim?

I know not, can but let heart and mind

wish the company of dolphins to bring us

safely home…and though that be left

to this sad world’s darker poetry,

may love’s light shine through twilight’s

gentler tears on us

[From: Accomplice To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Perfect Storm

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

Now, today’s poem appeared on the blogs in 2011 shortly after a scan had revealed a tumour in my prostate, but before a biopsy confirmed it was cancerous. As I have said many times, poetry is my lifeline; it helps me confront my worst fears and rise above them, the better to tackle them rather than cave in to a knee-jerk reaction…and pretend ‘God’s in his Heaven and all’s well with the world.’ (Robert Browning)

I must say a huge thank you to those readers who have been in touch to ask how I am since. Your support and encouragement is much appreciated. Incidentally, where people initially get in touch via the  'Comments' link, I will always reply to those who give an e-address and do my best to pass on my predilection for positive thinking in the hope that it will work as well for them as it does for me.[I do not post comments, though, as it not only takes up space but also encourages trolls intent on spoiling a blog for others. Needless to say, I never respond to trolls and simply ignore them. [I will respond to even the harshest criticism, though, so long as the critic makes his or her reasons clear.]

A reader who has only just been diagnosed with prostate cancer has been in touch and is obviously very distressed and asks my advice. Apparently, it is not aggressive so he has several options, but admits to being terrified by the very presence of any cancer in his body. I can understand that only too well, but never presume to give advice; regular readers will have noticed, though, that I frequently express an opinion on this or that subject.  It is a personal decision that this reader, along with anyone else similarly affected, must come to in their own way.

My cancer is not aggressive, but at a ‘low to medium’ level according to the medics. So far, I have avoided radiotherapy because I have a weak bladder and the side-effects for both bladder and bowels can be grim. I don’t want to take the risk unless I have to. In the meantime, I have chosen to have hormone therapy which, so far, has kept my PSA count low and the cancer at bay. The hormone therapy sometimes produces nasty mood swings, and I find I need to urinate a lot so that can be (very) inconvenient, especially when out and about or travelling.  Otherwise I am fairly fit and feel fine; no heart, liver or kidney problems, rheumatism or arthritis, and no diabetes... yet. (Fingers crossed...)

Given that I was born in 1945, I count myself very lucky. As for what may be lying in wait for me around the next corner, I’ll deal with that if and when the need arises. Yes, sometimes I get scared, but fear is just one of many things we have to at least try and overcome rather than let it have its wicked way with us, and see us lose out on all the good things life has to offer.

My mother used to say, if you worry you'll die and if you don't worry you're still going to die one day so...why worry? She died of brain cancer in 1976 and remains an inspiration to me. She rose above her fears just as he helped me (time and again) to rise above mine. Hopefully, reading the poem will encourage readers to rise above their fears too.

PERFECT STORM

Black cloud
chasing me
over blue grass and green sea;
twilight’s waves
teasing me,
dumping seaweed at my feet;
Shadowy surfer
homing in on me
over weepy grass and angry sea;
I try to turn,
black cloud pinioning me
to blue grass,
a green sea clothing me
in seaweed,
shadowy Surfer
skimming every nuance of mind
and body

Black cloud
imposing
a vast, appalling darkness;
twilight’s waves
thundering me
for tearing at seaweed;
shadowy Surfer
poised to catch me up
and drag me down
where weepy grass and angry sea
issue a challenge
to throw off the black cloud
pinioning me,
let every nuance of mind and body
scale its threat,
dismiss the Surfer’s shadow
and go free

Black cloud
moves on,
its vast, appalling darkness
swallowed up
by a gentler twilight
if no apology
for its thunder or waspish seaweed
making me out
to be worth no more, no less
than a shadowy Surfer
would have me
laid out on a sandy bed,
every nuance of mind and body
killed off
by a surge of self-pity
because I dare not tread a board
or even swim

Shadowy Surfer
exposed for a Peeping Tom moon
challenging me
to go on home and try again
rather than let them win
who chased me like a black cloud
over weepy grass
and green sea, pinioning every nuance
of mind and body
to a sandy bed with seaweed
nature never meant
to be used to dress a body
for some dark deed,
thwarted, for now at least,
by another victory
for Light over Dark at the edge
of time

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

[Update (10/ 2013): I entered the Shine night-time half-marathon walk (13.1 miles) on Sat. September 28th to raise as much as possible for prostate cancer research. [I considered entering the full marathon (26+ miles) but decided that would be too much for me, especially as I am in my late 60's now.] My best friend, Graham, walked with me. (See photo below.) Between us, we raised over £700. We hope to enter again in 2014 and raise even more.

I am the one in the silly yellow hat!

[Update (4/2015): I would have been  taking part in the Shine (half marathon) Walk for Cancer again last September, along with my friend Graham, to raise money for prostate cancer research, Sadly, I was unable to participate following a bad fall in which I sustained a bad fracture of the heel and must not put any weight on my left foot. My friend, Richard, participated as a proxy for me and completed the half marathon with Graham in 4.2 hours. All my sponsors were aware of the circumstances and sponsored me anyway, possibly because I would easily have hopped a half marathon around my flat with a Zimmer frame before I walking without aids again. I am walking fairly well now, but need a walking stick and will probably always have a limp. So no half marathon for me this year.  Even so,  I hope to participate again should my ankle/foot ever be up for it.]

[Update (20/12/2015): I will be 70 tomorrow. Today, I start a new course of hormone therapy, but no complaints.  Patients can go six months on and six months off, but it is over 2 years since I had my last hormone injection so I must be doing something right. In the beginning, I found it quite hard to live with the fact that the cancer is there, but now I rarely even think about it just take each new day as it comes and enjoy it as if it were my last.[
.

Catch Me If You Can

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

Readers keep asking about my fiction blog and when any unpublished novels there are likely to appear in print. Well, I am through with being let down by literary agents and most publishers show no interest in a writer unless he or she has one so they are unlikely to appear in book form. However, I plan to upload them to amazon as e-books at a later date and will let you all know when I do so. In the meantime, you may care to take a peek at one or two of the gay-interest and crime novels I have serialised:

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

I may not be a very successful writer in terms of sales and reputation, but I do see my wring as a huge success in so far as it has helped me combat depression and get a life. I recommend any form of creative therapy for depressives worldwide; for me, it ha been writing, especially poetry, but I know people for whom crafts, gardening, composing music and /or songwriting have played much the same part in helping to keep them mentally and emotionally fit enough to enjoy life.

Meanwhile...

I am delighted that the blog has recently acquired some readers in Australia. Here’s a BIG welcome to you all. I lived there for a short time many years ago and always intended to return, but life had other ideas. Sadly, even the least expensive travel insurance for someone with underlying health problems (in my case, high blood pressure and prostate cancer) is exorbitant so I will probably never make it now. Oh, but it’s a great country, and my personal experience of the people there is a very positive one.

Meanwhile...

Today’s poem is a kenning that last appeared on the blog in 2010 so methinks it deserves an airing. Reader ‘Glen’ shares that view and I am delighted to wish him a very Happy (70th) Birthday today! (I am not far behind you, Glen...oo-errr!!)

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

Poets have striven to catch me;
But how to capture a lark’s song
bursting on the ear with mere
simile, metaphor, rhyme…
or convey a rousing waltz in time
to the rhythm of a spring breeze
playing for the coming again
of all things bright and beautiful,
all creatures, great and small?

Painters have striven to catch me,
but how to capture the blue of a sky
on a summer’s day, or its hues
of red and gold at the sun’s setting
or at its lively reawakening us
to the jewel that is life, for all its ups
and downs, hopes lost and found,
left in pieces if never past mending
in time for a happier ending?

Musicians claim to have caught me
in an embrace of song whose beauty
must surely equal the sweet lay
of a nightingale at the closing of a day
seen all that’s best in Man and Beast,
the worst forgotten, let fade away
like blood stains in some watery sky
recalling how all is rarely (if ever?) fair
in love any more than in war

Dearer by far than all we'll ever own
is creativity's setting, not its stone

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2017

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

The (Human) Jungle OR The Secret Life of a Nine-to-Fiver

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

This poem appeared on the blog in 2010 as 'Where The River Bends'. Readers ‘Petra’ and ‘Karl’ have approved the new title and suggested I repeat it to help make returning to work in rain, snow or whatever after the Christmas and New Year breaks just that little bit more bearable. True, and it used to work for me every time before I retired in 2008, and still does, especially when I'm having a bad day with various health issues ...

Oh, but isn't imagination a wonderful thing?!

THE (HUMAN) JUNGLE or THE SECRET LIFE OF A NINE-TO-FIVER

Tracking a path through a forest of pine,

nature music all around, leading me where

feisty river’s twisting here, turning there,

and I pausing at each bend to cock an ear

for a lyric like no other, hidden away

in a mystic mist hugging me as if to keep

me safe from surly giants on the prowl

though (for sure) they mean me no harm

Silver, the river, blending with mist and sun,

covering me so that I am like royalty dressed

for a state occasion, needing only a crown

to let me call this fairy tale kingdom my own

and if a part of me knows (for sure) I dream

I cannot resist but must follow, follow, for all

its twists, turns, glorious music and a lyric

I can barely make out, straining to interpret

Birds and beasts of the forest shadowing me

as if at Earth Mother’s command, she concerned

for me as I track the eternal river through

a forest of pine, alone, ill-prepared for its twists

and turns and a mist cloaking me in silver,

making me into something, someone, I am not

yet I love how it shines me against the dark

enough (for sure) to scare off any malign spirits

Oh, to walk free and safe among Nature’s own,

let my senses run wild yet still retain a keen sense

of proportion, equilibrium, a feeling for fair play

that lets the river run, the trees grow, the birds sing

and beasts live, learn, and teach before dying

about the meaning of it all; no exceptions, even

for the likes of you and I. Stop! Look and see

the concrete jungle we’ve chosen for our reality

No fairy tale ending. Magical forest and silver river

insisting I cross the damn road, get to work on time

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015