A Poet's Blog: Roger N.Taber shares his thoughts & poems...

Thoughts and observations by English poet Roger N. Taber, a retired librarian and poet-novelist.- "Ethnicity, Religion, Gender, Sexuality ... these are but parts of a whole. It is the whole that counts." RNT [NB While I have no wish to create a social network, I will always reply to critical emails about my poetry. Contact: rogertab@aol.com].

Name:
Location: London, United Kingdom

Sadly, a bad fall in 2012 has left me with a mobility problem, and being diagnosed with prostate cancer the same year hasn't helped, but I get out and about with my trusty walking stick as much as I can, take each day as it comes and try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. Many of my poems reflect the need to nurture a positive-thinking mindset whatever life throws at us.

Wednesday 14 April 2010

Paradise On Hold

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

Like many of my poems, Paradise On Hold has also appeared in an anthology; in this case, This Is Our Moment, Poetry Now (Forward Press), 2000. It was also included in the May 2006 issue of Ygdrasil: Journal of the Poetic Arts that featured a selection of my poems. I am posting it today especially for ‘Susan from Birmingham’ and ‘Greg from San Francisco’ who emailed me to say I am getting ‘too political’ and would I please post another of my nature poems. I was delighted to receive several complimentary emails after it first appeared here on the blog back in June 2008. [Oh, but it seems like only yesterday! Where does the time go eh?]

Meanwhile, I continue to experience in my relationship with nature, an ever growing sense of peace and love I never found in religion, supporting my personal view that religion has no monopoly on spirituality.

Yes, nature can be harsh but so, too, can religion, not least in its various dogma which must bear no small share of responsibility for a divided world.

PARADISE ON HOLD

Let spring drift
into summer, its greens turn
red and gold;
let poets make of seasons
all they find;
it's Nature rules, and even poets
grow cold whenever  winter calls
on lonely hills

Soon, daffodils,
in their turn, and ours, too,
if the way of things
running true. Who knows?
For each flower
let grow, its seasons come
and go where human nurture
of a mind to follow

Yet, for each seed
blowing in the wind, a threat
to all its kind...
Let the world wreak its worst,
the good earth
will do its best, though
it share or kills in the light
of human ills

In life, in death, let there
be flowers...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001, 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appears in the aforementioned publications and in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000]

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Saturday 20 March 2010

Leaves From A Journal

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

[Update (March 2016): A German reader has been in touch to ask if my poetry collections are available in German.  Sadly, no. Eventually, revised editions of my books (published and unpublished in print form) will be available in e-format.]

For many if not most people - in whatever walk of life, and wherever - family is always at the heart of their consciousness and daily lives. Not so for all of us though. Apart from my mother, I have never felt as connected, in terms of mind-body spirit, to my family as to close friends; they are my family. Some of those to whom I relate and identify as soulmates have died, but stay with me still; invariably, I hear them whisper words of wisdom, comfort and moral support in my ear whenever I need any or all of those things the most. Moreover, over the years, I have met many people in the same boat, estranged from their families over differences in religion, sexuality, politics...whatever.

When, oh, when will more people realise and accept that our differences do not make us different, only human?

Meanwhile...

‘Jenny and Alan’ readers from Birmingham asked me to include this poem in a collection after reading it on the blog back in 2007. I was delighted to oblige and hope you and they will find lots to enjoy in whole collection.

Family Group (in bronze) by Henry Moore (1950). [Photo from Internet]

This poem is a kenning.

LEAVES FROM A JOURNAL

I am a mother, keeping things together
even as they are seen to be falling apart
at the seams, nothing as it seems to eyes
homing in from this street, that fence…
failing to see through slats in blinds down
for the duration (a ritual celebration?)
Mother love, putting out feelers for ways
to end wars between brothers and sisters,
in-laws and neighbours

I am a father, home owner, mortgage
repayments having to take priority over
designer gear, latest PlayStation,
school trips, not to mention new cars
smarter, faster, than the one before,
sure to put theirs next door in the shade
and, no, we can’t just pile more credit
on cards unless you feel like explaining
bankruptcy to the neighbours

I am a child, weary of the rows between
Mum and Dad, sibling rivalry that’s not
half as bad as everyone’s making out…
and who cares if the neighbours have cash
to flash for vacations in prime locations,
digitals galore telling tales sure to have us
wagging tongues, scaling rungs...?
Sure, it’s okay to have this ‘n’ that, but not
if it means we keep scaring the cat

As spring to a branch, autumn to its tree,
I make, I take, I am family 

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

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Monday 1 March 2010

Mind-Body-Spirit, Humanity's Flexible Friend


Someone recently commented to me that, “I have no problem with gay people as such. But, like all those who choose to flout convention, they are attention seekers and would probably change their tune quick enough if they didn’t get any.”

I couldn’t believe my ears, especially as it was clear the guy was sincere. I put to him that sexuality is in the genes and has nothing to do with deliberately choosing to flout convention or be a focus of attention.

He would have none of it. “Where would society be without its conventions,” he demanded. “Without golden rules to live by, you’d have anarchy.”

Funny, I had never thought of myself as an anarchist…until now! Yes, of course we need golden rules to live by. At the same time, thank goodness for some golden exceptions, among which sexuality is but one ...

'Conventional people are roused to fury by departures from convention, largely because they regard such departures as a criticism of themselves.' – Bertrand Russell 

“Few people are capable of expressing with equanimity opinions which differ from the prejudices of their social environment. Most people are incapable of forming such opinions." – Albert Einstein (Essay to Leo Baeck, 1953)

"It is not the strongest of the species that survives nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one   that is most adaptable to change." - Charles Darwin

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, HUMANITY'S FLEXIBLE FRIEND

I know my place, would teach
others, though some refuse to learn,
take me for an enemy, refuse
to see I have their well-being at heart,
would prefer not to toss them
like flotsam and jetsam on such waves
as mother-god Society enjoys
making for those who dare question
if its integrity fit for purpose

I know my place, would teach
others to know theirs, better by far
to tread in footprints already
leading the way across snow and ice
than take another, untested path,
making out it will lead somewhere
when there’s no real guarantee
it will lead anywhere at all, followers
as like as not heading for a fall

I know my place, would plead
with others to know theirs, trusting
to be led by my moral compass
into the quiet waters of expediency,
leaving politics and religions
free to hoist colours flapping madly
in a breeze, rightly keen to please,
condemning certain rites of sexuality
likely to put humanity on the spot

My place, rejecting any re-invention
of society's old stand-by, convention

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2010; 2016

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Tuesday 9 February 2010

Summer Wishes, Winter Dreams

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

In winter, there are always memories of summer to keep us warm and see us through the darkest, coldest, cruellest days… as we anticipate other summers and longer, warmer, kinder days.

Forget log fires and central heating. Lovers can always escape the cold in each other’s arms…so it’s lucky for gay people like me that love doesn’t discriminate any more than weather! It’s just a shame that we can’t always escape bigotry so easily. Yes, life is a lot easier for gay people in some parts of the world…but only some…and rarely that easy, wherever.

Brrrrrrrrrrr. Things can only get better, yeah?


SUMMER WISHES, WINTER DREAMS

Tangled legs on a spread of clover
mouths kissing, arms embracing;
sun nymphs dancing on naked bodies,
breasts bared to the sky, mischief
in each golden eye, making the most
of precious moments, playing to
an audience of doves in the branches
of a guardian tree

Half-remembered lovers ghosting us 
but fleetingly - cannot reach, touch,
yet watch and yearn, burn like candles 
in the wind till snuffed out, freeing us
to be who we are, no mere shadows 
of who we were before we lay here 
together, embracing a brave new future
in the lap of summer

But vaguely aware of doves applauding
in the ears or the passing of past loves 
getting in our eyes like smoky cloud trails
as we are transported by the smileys
on the faces of such as we, discovering 
(as if for the first time) the ecstasy 
of being in perfect harmony with each other
and nature

Inspired to respond to Earth Mother's 
love poetry as naturally as seeds in the air,
nurturing the world, sending it word
that love, like truth, may yet win through
whatever some people think or say
as others vie with ghosts to go one better,
swept along on a tide of inspired togetherness
and sexuality

Be sure love will have the last laugh
on its critics as summer will follow spring,  
autumn fires warm us on its colder days
wherever we are, doves cooing, sun shining 
either side of storm or snow, showers 
that would see flowers grow another day,
open their hearts by way of urging all humanity
to do the same

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2012

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

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Friday 18 September 2009

Nightfall

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

An inquisitive child, I would often wonder how and why day shifts into evening and evening into night.  As a teenager, I simply took it for granted. At university, I discovered its poetry. Now, just before drifting off to sleep, I often wonder what other people make of it all and what, if anything, it means to them...then morning arrives, time to get up and get on with life, all why's and wherefore's put aside or I suspect little else would ever get said or done.

NIGHTFALL

Shadows, heading
towards the edge of a day
that’s closing down,
monitor going to sleep
but not quite yet

Time to savour the fruits
of far kinder words selected
from friendly clouds
than spiteful mouths electing
to cause us hurt

Leafy hues above us
singing songs, balm to sores
of broken promises,
resurrecting hopes meant
save us...from?

Sunset's last throes
like ripples on a village pond
once a stone flung
to smash the circles,
kill the magic

Ghosts, a felt-presence
far beyond the edge of a day
that’s closed down,
monitor gone to sleep,
cue for restart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

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Saturday 20 June 2009

Arthur Atkins (Painter-Poet) Liverpool, UK/ San Francisco (1)

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

I love Liverpool but rarely get an opportunity to visit these days. Among many places of interest there is a wonderful little bookstore called News From Nowhere.

Only recently, I got chatting to a young Liverpudlian (in a pub, where else?) initially about the bookstore. He seemed genuinely interested in my poetry and was even familiar with some of my better known poems. However, he was even more interested to hear about Arthur Atkins, not least because he shares the same surname. While he thinks it is very unlikely that he is related to the painter, he promised to do a genealogy search and confirm.

Arthur Atkins is something of a romantic figure to me and one of my heroes, so much so that I dedicated Love and Human Remains - volume one of my poetry quartet of the same name - to him.


Arthur Atkins in Bruce Porter's studio, spring 1898

William Arthur Atkins - known as Arthur - was an English artist, raised in the Liverpool area. He studied art in Paris but never exhibited in Europe. His paintings were frequently on show in the San Francisco Bay area of California before his untimely death at the age of 25. One of a group of painter-poets responsible for an arts magazine called The Lark that was published in the San Francisco area during the late 19th century, this remarkable young man has long been an inspiration to me. His grave overlooks the same Piedmont hills he loved and painted, although now encroached upon by urban spread. A friend of mine in the US (also a painter) owns several of his paintings and has made contact with descendants of Arthur's immediate family.

ARTHUR ATKINS
(1873-1899)

Spirit of Liverpool, 
burning bright like autumn leaves 
in the glare of day,
an amber glow at twilight,
kaleidoscope of each season's 
poetry and art in the discerning eye
of body-mind-spirit...
the Candle Holder, 
blending with shadows, discovering 
here, there, everywhere, 
what the naked eye 
cannot see, visions of the mind 
anticipating eternity

Braveheart, ventures 
to France, Italy, exploring new paths 
of creativity,
imploring mind-body-spirit
let artistic expression 
go free, establish its identity; 
in a New World society
busy chasing gold tales, find art 
and poetry marking out
their own trails across landscapes 
of a land in its youth, 
not least by a young man's
passion for truth

Where life's candle long since snuffed out, 
a painter-poet's passion lives on 
as its art and nature wills in each leaf that falls
among crowded Piedmont hills

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2017

[Note: an earlier version of this poem appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; rev. ed. in e-format in preparation.]

UPDATE: More about Arthur at: 
http://rogertab.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/arthur-atkins-2.html

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Wednesday 14 January 2009

Last One Home Is A Green Pig

Whatever happened to childhood? Given that we carry much of those early years into maturity, we may well ask why adulthood often resembles a green pig…


LAST ONE HOME IS A GREEN PIG

Spots of rain on the pavement
heading home, marked out
like hopscotch and whose turn
to throw the slate?
A hop, skip and jump, anxious
to land well clear, stay ahead,
aware that last one home
is a green pig;
Rain comes faster than an enemy
at the gate, wiping out all effort,
obliging someone - to
pocket the slate;
What next, computer games?
(No one at home likely
to insist we must
take turns);
For slate, read mouse, dying
to score (Oh, the lives little
people play and always
up for more!);
Sun’s out; pavement dries
to a smug grin, like
the face of a pig
coloured green

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

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