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.

Saturday 30 October 2010

Halloween Landscape (Two Poems)

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

It doesn't have to be Halloween for mind-body-spirit to stray into a Halloween landscape. Indeed, there are times when can feel like we are an everyday part of it, and it of us. As for its ghosts, they are ours, too, nor all meaning us any harm; on the contrary, the majority represent a posthumous relating to loved ones that will comfort and inspire use is if only we will let it.

HALLOWEEN LANDSCAPE

One Halloween, I sought the dead
among trees all but stripped bare,
only to recover the living instead

Heart heavy, legs weights of lead,
I took my cue from bleak despair;
one Halloween, I sought the dead

By a wicked moon, too easily led,
I let Death's voices lure me there,
only to recover the living instead

My ghosts happy to see me, I fed
on that like a king to banquet fare;
one Halloween, I sought the dead

Too soon, an owl’s wings overhead
flapped like a shroud over us there,
only to recover the living instead...

Unafraid, where once I'd have fled,
I felt inspired by dawn's first glare;
one Halloween, I sought the dead,
only to uncover the living instead 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

[Note: This poem has been revised since appearing under the title 'Fair Game' in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

RECONCILING WITH EARTH MOTHER

Come Celtic revels,
witches and warlocks abroad
casting ancient spells

Voices, coaxing me
to take wing, soar like a bird
come Celtic revels

The world, it but calls
upon me to fall on my sword,
casting ancient spells

Earth Mother, she fills
my heart with a loving word,
come Celtic revels

Human spirit, unafraid
of some self-titled time lord 
casting ancient spells

Be sure, it will not be I
lets Earth Mother go unheard,
come Celtic revels
casting ancient spells

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007 





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Wednesday 27 October 2010

Blue Remembered Hills

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

To the reader who asked how I managed to get an entry on wikipedia as he is a writer and wants one too, I honestly have no idea. A friend emailed me a few years ago to say that she had discovered it while browsing. I occasionally update it myself to include later publications as the original entry only included those up to The Third Eye (2004).

Meanwhile…

I dare say few among us have no regrets where love, even life, has not turned out quite how we’d hoped…

How many of us, too, have poised on the brink of a second chance and let something or someone get in the way of making the right decision…?

More than once in my life I have let nature decide for me although it has sometimes taken years before I understood just how precariously I was placed at the time or how Earth Mother saved me from the ultimate abyss, even if it meant I had to descend a good way down before discovering light enough in me to fight the darkness threatening to overwhelm me.

'Into my heart an air that kills
   From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
   What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
   I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
   And cannot come again.'  - A. E. Housman (from A Shropshire Lad)











BLUE REMEMBERED HILLS

I saw blue hills clash with clouds,
a gentle rain sweeping down
on where I stood, a misty haze
like memories rushing in
where angels dread in this head,
this heart, this soul, drenching
the spirit with regrets thought long
since withstood, now exposing
those half-lies we told, rushing in
on us threefold, tearing the veil
of deceit we wove with contempt,
no home truth exempt, shown up
for what we are, less than we were,
even in the womb, our fate left
to chance though joined even then
by mists sweeping out of Eden

O, for a gentle rain now where blue
remembered hills clashing with
clouds to bring thunder, lightning,
frightening us with angry faces
descending with spears to make good
(fat chance) the lives we took
when first we chose to lead them
a rare dance across hill, vale,
town and country, hiding out in a city
rather than submit, admit they
were right, we were wrong, love’s
sweet confusion but illusion,
forced in the end to part with words
that sweep down upon me now
where I wait for a clashing of clouds
and rising tide of memory to abate

Earth Mother, poised to set me free...
(or maybe too late for that already?)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004

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

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Tuesday 26 October 2010

Whose Footprints...?

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

This poem was read on BBC Radio 4’s Something Understood programme in November 2005. It first appeared on the blog in 2008 and has been requested today by ‘Declan’ for his wife Caitlin as it is her birthday.

Happy Birthday Caitlin!

Apparently, the family live in Somerset so might also enjoy my Somerset poems for Watchet, Dunster and Porlock, three historic villages on the coast that I have included in my latest collection On The Battlefields Of Love (2010); you can also find them by clicking on the BBC Somerset link:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/local/somerset/hi/people_and_places/arts_and_culture/newsid_8144000/8144465.stm


WHOSE FOOTPRINTS...?

Footprints in the grass
might belong to anyone
enjoying a stroll
in quiet woods whether
mulling over problems,
making decisions
or wishing away pain
in the rain

Footprints in the grass
pass a huge oak and pause,
listen out...
for Nature’s cheerful voice.
Only, no birds singing,
or a grasshopper,
just more rain clawing
at the skin

Footprints in the grass,
like old friends fallen out,
desperate to put
things right...
suddenly, veering off
the beaten track,
a spring in each step, no
turning back

Baggy clouds starting
to break up; sun shining
through; birds singing
and, yes, grasshoppers too;
a gentler rain, flowers
opening their hearts
like hopeful footprints
in the grass

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2010

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appeared in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

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Tuesday 12 October 2010

The Secret Garden

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

This poem has not appeared on the blog although I posted it on my gay-interest blog back in January 2009.

Gay or straight, we are all entitled to some privacy and deserve respect, not condemnation, for personal decisions we make for reasons that are perhaps best known only to ourselves. A straight couple who read the poem in my collection have asked for this poem to be posted on the blog. They, too, have problem with prejudice. Both are Muslims but one is a Sunni and the other a Shia, branches of Islam historically opposed to each other. As a result, they are in hiding from family and friends.

Few important decisions that we are called upon to make in this life are easily made. Yes, we might think someone has made a wrong decision but it is their decision to make and their life that will be affected by it…not ours. Some people, instead of judging others, would do well to wonder how others judge them.

We all, each and every one of us, need support and encouragement to feel GOOD about ourselves. Only in this way can we do our bit, privately and publicly, for the general GOOD of our particular society and help make the world a better, kinder place; one in which people count for who they are, regardless of colour, creed, sex, sexuality, age or position in life with regard to wealth, poverty, career, vocation or whatever…

For humankind to deserve surviving its custom made slings and arrows, it needs to demonstrate its humanity. As I have said before and will almost say again…take humanity out of any socio-cultural-religious equation and all that’s left is Ground Zero.

THE SECRET GARDEN

Mouth on mine
devouring a lonely heart,
imploring me to start
living again and forget
we were but strangers
in the rain, shy glances
at shop windows
regretting missed chances,
non-starter romances

Hands on my body,
driving lonely avenues,
past secret gardens
blooming with flowers,
fruits of light showers,
lonely hours keeping busy
rather than let feelings
of intimacy get the better
of me; a native sexuality
more a part of me than
hand thrust in glove,
whose familiarity brings
warmth, sensuality
words can never explain
any more than strangers
like us, seeking to come
in from the rain

Penetrating the silence
of my soul, a driving force
I never thought to know
again, bringing truth and life
to my secret garden,
songbirds leading the world
in heavenly celebration
of such perfect harmony,
as you and me

Sexuality, as deserving a flower
as any of due nurture


Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

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Monday 20 September 2010

The Message OR Aspiring to Peace on Earth

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

[Update. June 5th 2017]; In the light of the latest terror attacks in the UK, the Prime Minister has said that we should be less tolerant of Islamic extremism. I would add that we also need to stop walking on eggshells in the name of so-called political correctness for fear of causing offence to an ever growing Muslim population. Political correctness is - quite rightly - meant to prevent abuse of people for their socio-cultural-religious ethos, NOT ti excuse intolerable behaviour in anyone.]

[Update, June 19 2017: In the wake of the attack on Muslims leaving a mosque in the Finsbury Park area of London in the early hours of this morning, it is more important than ever to cherish the freedoms we value, especially everyone's Human Right to follow the religion of their choice...or no religion at all, as I do. Terrorist and Far Right acts and propaganda would divide and destroy communities worldwide; the majority of peace loving humankind must show we are bigger and better than that.] RT

Today's poem also appears on my gay-interest blog since it is, of course, not only gay people but all decent human beings who are threatened by a depraved view of Islam as practised by terrorists in its name.  

As regular readers know, I subscribe to no religion. Nor would I call myself an atheist as I like to think I have a strong sense of spirituality ... that I take from nature, nowhere else. However, I have open-minded, open-hearted friends of all faiths, including a Muslim friend. It is my experience that the majority of ordinary men and women, whatever their belief or non-belief, are ready and willing to take others as they find them and don't let religion - or any other differences - get in the way of being kind or even establishing lasting friendships … however much some of their leaders, deliberately or otherwise, might encourage them to do so.

Tragically, it is the fundamentalists (in any religion) who shout the loudest and not only make themselves heard but are exploited by a world media who would have us believe they are 'typical' Muslims, Christians, Hindus ... whatever.

Sadly, it has been my personal that the majority of religious people (of any religion) are intrinsically homophobic. However, I am glad to say I have also encountered a good many exceptions; hopefully, these will eventually prevail over the bigoted majority.

Whatever, these are as worrying times for gay people as anyone else. For example, a local newspaper in Tower Hamlets, a borough in the London’s East End that has a significant Muslim population, recently reported what reads as a very disturbing case. A teenager, apparently described by teachers at his school as “devout, humble Muslim” was recently acquitted on the charge of murdering a school student support office last November amid allegations that the victim was a “predatory paedophile”. The 17-year-old defendant admitted wielding the kitchen knife that fatally injured the man but said he had feared being raped or killed by him; he also admitted taking a knife with him in case the man tried to force him “into sexual acts”. Subsequently, he was unanimously cleared of both murder and manslaughter by the jury:

http://www.asianimage.co.uk/news/united_kingdom/8353101.A_Level_pupil_is_cleared_of_murdering_student_officer/

My problem with this case is that, as the article reads, whether or not the victim was an alleged paedophile or gay man, if the student thought he might be sexually assaulted, why visit the man anyway and take a knife with him  ... ? Does this not give the green light to the view that 'It's okay to kill a gay' as I heard two schoolboys discussing on a bus only the other day? Worse, could it not also be interpreted as fueling the misconception, commonly expressed by the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority, that gay is synonymous with paedophile?

Whether shaped by the Far Right or fundamentalist extremism, a deplorable narrow-mindedness would appear to be on the rise in the US and Europe, along with others factions easily influenced by some of their worst sentiments. Yes, they may well win battles in the years ahead…BUT...they cannot and will not win the war against those who uphold the principles of a common humanity. Humanity is bigger and better than anything they may choose to throw at us.

This poem is repeated on both blogs.

THE MESSAGE or ASPIRING TO PEACE ON EARTH

The message of Islam is peace
though some people have other ideas;
beware, who dares undermine this

It’s of love the Koran teaches
though some people play on its tears;
the message of Islam is peace

To the world, its prophet reaches
though some people play on its fears;
beware, who dares undermine this

The truth about Islam is kindness
a prophet’s wisdom across centuries;
the message of Islam is peace

May religion, its martyrs embrace,
reject paltry egos poisoning its prayers;
beware, who dares undermine this

We are a common humanity, no less
for its religions and secular philosophies;
The message of Islam is peace;
beware, who dares undermine this

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

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Tuesday 14 September 2010

Crocodiles In The Water

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

I wrote this poem some years ago after a conversation with a young student whose family in his home country have to walk miles every day to fetch clean water. He was genuinely shocked that we, here in the West, take the simple, everyday act of turning on a tap so much or granted.

After the poem appeared in various print and online publications, readers wrote in whose various countries of origin were mostly in Africa (but also, latterly, Iraq) to say much the same thing.

We are living in the 21st century, for goodness sake! The West should be ashamed that we do not do more to provide basic amenities for poorer people world-wide.

We must do more: http://www.megree.com/e/3

Thhis poem is a villanelle.

CROCODILES IN THE WATER

A common slaughter,
Third World dying
for want of clean water

Children’s laughter
turns to crying,
a common slaughter

Each young-old grafter
grown sick of trying
for want of clean water

At some capital altar,
disciples denying
a common slaughter

A 21st century arena
found sadly lacking…
for want of clean water

Through gold teeth, eager
summit tipplers belying
a common slaughter
for want of clean water

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

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Monday 6 September 2010

No Storybook Hero + In Praise of Sea Thrift (2 Poems)

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

[Update Dec 1, 2017]: A reader (from Cornwall) has emailed to ask what inspired my fantasy novels, Mamelon 1 and  2 . Well, the plain and simple answer is that there in me - as quite probably in most if not all of us? - a Peter Pan character likely to spend the best part of a lifetime trying to get out and hoping (usually in vain) that no one will notice. Anyone interested will find my Mamelon novels on my fiction blog where a brief synopsis precedes each:
Meanwhile...

As requested by ‘Jane’ (also in Cornwall) I am repeating a poem (the second below) and some comments I posted on my gay-interest blog back in June which prompted protests from several readers in Cornwall. No offence was intended. I simply wrote how it is, for me personally at any rate. Much as I love visiting what has to be one of the most beautiful parts of the UK, I have never found it very gay-friendly.

As I mentioned in a previous post, when Cornwall held its first ever Gay Pride march in Truro, August 2009, I emailed the organisers to wish them well, only to receive a nasty reply telling me to stay away as they wanted no truck with gay activists. I hadn’t intended to participate or so much as implied that I might…and replied that I am no activist, just a poet.

I had friends in Cornwall once but - surprise, surprise - they have moved away.  I wouldn't mind betting that no one among the gay community there is anywhere near as as intolerant and insensitive as it would appear are the heterosexual majority. Fat chance of a gay poet making much of an impression there! Only recently, a reader emailed to say they had offered a Cornwall library one of my poetry titles after receiving one as a present but had already bought one. The library declined to accept and it appears that a member of staff made a point of referring to the fact that my collections include gay material. As a librarian working in public libraries for many years, I was quite upset. I guess this just goes to show how the UK has a long way to go before it is united against homophobia. While I won’t be put off visiting beautiful Cornwall, I won’t be popping into any of its libraries either…or engaging with the locals in any gay-interest debate.

No gay activist, me, honestly. I’m just an Ordinary Joe who also happens to be a poet who, in turn, also happens to be gay.

NO STORYBOOK HERO

When I listen to the waves,
they always tell the same stories
told by leafy choirs
long, long ago…how one day
I’d be riding a white horse
to fame and glory….
Only, life never took me that way,
but in other directions
despite objections from alter ego,
friends and family;
I wasn’t meant be a hero of the kind
that rides out storms, surfs
giant waves, climbs snowy peaks,
charges to the rescue,
bugles blaring, just in time to save
the goodies from the baddies
the way they manage it in movies
and all-time best-sellers

Life, it found another role for me,
an Ordinary Joe in the street,
trying to make the best of things,
struggling to make ends meet
nothing to lose, everything to prove
because I’m gay 

I was never cut out for the kind 
of grand heroics
found in lively tales of derring-do,
though knock me down
and l will bounce right back
like a smiley clown,
(better applause than tears)
get on with my life as best I can,
take it on the chin
like a ‘real’ man, play my part,
from the heart, for who I am,
no hero leapt out of fantasy fiction
but an Ordinary Joe fighting
old prejudices, siding with the trees
against a world feeding myths,
lies and stereotypes
to its children who, in turn, hopefully
know better than to listen

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007, 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, 2007] 


Sea Thrift

This poem is a villanelle:


IN PRAISE OF SEA THRIFT

Guardians of our history,
looking out for us
among rocks by the sea

Shadows once the enemy,
now protectors,
guardians of our history

As natural as we to nudity,
rising, falling waves…
among rocks by the sea

Lovers, like fishes set free
from glass cages,
guardians of our history

Witness Apollo frantically
planting kisses …
among rocks by the sea

Careworn, fickle humanity
tearing out its pages,
guardians of our history
among rocks by the sea

[Cornwall, June 2009]


Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

[Note: This poem appears in my collection Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012]]





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