Swan Lake

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

I have started posting my most recent YouTube recordings. If interested, you should be able to access my YouTube capers at any time from my YouTube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber 

Treatment for my prostate cancer means I have to rest a lot either side of an active day out at the moment, but it is well worth it. Brighto, for example, has always been an inspiration for me since I was a kid, and it only takes an hour to this seaside town on a fast train from  London.

Meanwhile...

This villanelle has not appeared on the blog since 2007 and is here today especially for ‘Roseanne’ and who says, ‘I adore ballet and am training to be a ballet dancer.’

Here’s wishing you every success, Roseanne.

Me, I loved Tchaikovsky’s music long before I knew he was gay. (They don't tell you that at school.) What has sexuality to do with talent, anyway, or greatness for that matter? [After all, there have been many great gay men and women throughout history.]

SWAN LAKE

A love story on stage;
nerve strings of its composer
turning each page

As a bird flies its cage,
so music in glorious colour;
a love story on stage

Let dance, our pain assuage;
ensemble, solo, or pas de deux
turning each page

See art display the courage
of humankind’s old enemy, fear;
a love story on stage

Performance, paying homage
to the divided heart of its creator,
turning each page

Dancers, their talents engage
to read into art all human nature;
a love story on stage
turning each page

[NB.  Written after a brilliant performance by the Harlow Ballet Association at The Playhouse, Harlow, April 2007.]

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Classic Somerset

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

I remain very positive about my prostate cancer, but can’t deny it gets a little scary sometimes. Right now, writing up the blog, I feel fine. (Yes, I do, really!) I expect to have good days and bad days, but remain determined that the latter shall be kept to a minimum. Physically, I am in good shape and have no pain whatsoever. The battle is more of a mental one; living with the knowledge that the cancer is there inside me. I will take my cue from Monty Python and, yes, look on the bright side of life... Should I falter, a long, leisurely stroll on lovely Hampstead Heath, barely fifteen minutes walk from my front door, invariably restores me to positive-thinking mode.

Meanwhile...

While I am pleased that my new novel seems to be holding its own, I have no illusions about myself as a writer of fiction. I am not a great novelist and never will be, but I’m glad some people think I tell a good story. I certainly can’t compare myself with  writers of the world's classic fiction. All my novels, published and unpublished are available in serial form on my fiction blog. For more details, go to:

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

Now, one of my favourite novels as a child was Lorna Doone by R. D. Blackmore and it was from was this romantic adventure novel that I developed a love for Somerset. It is some years since I visited Doone Valley, but some friends have recently returned from visiting it while staying with relatives in the surrounding area. I felt inspired to take down the novel from my bookshelf, blow away the dust from its cover and devour it as eagerly as when I was a child.

Some readers may be interested in other poems I have written about Somerset that I also included in my 6th collection On the Battlefields of Love (2010). You will also find them on the BBC Somerset site:

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

Oh, but how can I worry about my prostate cancer when spring is here in the UK? There is so much out there to enjoy, not least in beautiful Somerset, and enjoy it I will...

This poem is a villanelle.

CLASSIC SOMERSET

Doone valley, classic fiction

creating timeless images;

one writer-poet’s inspiration

For those with a predilection

for turning nature’s pages;

Doone valley, classic fiction

At Badgworthy Water, listen

out for evil Carver’s rages;

one writer-poet’s inspiration

At Earth Mother’s invitation,

share a Love of Ages;

Doone valley, classic fiction

Celebrating Lorna and John,

(birds sing their praises);

one writer-poet’s inspiration

Cream teas, timely invitations

to revisit R. D’s pages;

Doone valley, classic fiction,
one writer-poet’s inspiration

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011; slightly rev. 2021

[Note; An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

A Common Garden Snapshot

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

After a great evening yesterday, I just had to come and tell you about it. Now, I am no artist, not least because I don’t think visually, and have the greatest admiration for those who do. So I was thrilled to be invited to a private viewing of 'Authorized’ by artist James Howard. It is his latest solo show, and  a very exciting experience.

The show proved to be very different from anything of his that I have seen before, yet still characteristically sharp, satirical, entertaining and (very) thought provoking.

Regular readers will know that I have enthused about this young man's work before. I have known his parents for years and will continue to watch his creative talents develop and evolve with great interest. His work reflects ways of seeing and feeling that arouse all the observer's senses as if waking them up after a restless sleep. One cannot help but come away from his 'Authorized' with one's own outlook on life and art (and perception of self) under review.

Find more about James Howard at: http://luckyluckydice.com/

Enjoy! [Above all else, any art form best comes into its own once it is not only shared but also enjoyed.]

Meanwhile...

Friends  often comment that I rarely take photographs even when on holiday or passing through new places. My camera is my mind’s eye and it encourages me to write poems.

I get a feeling for places, people too, that I frequently shape into a poem that I can share with others just as they might share their holiday snaps. Such was the case when I visited Scarborough to give a poetry reading there a few years ago. By way of illustration, the second poem is one I wrote about this very pretty and friendly town on the Yorkshire coast.

Welcome to my garden. [Sadly, I don't have my own where I live in London although I do look out over one.]

A COMMON GARDEN SNAPSHOT

Leaves, strewn about in the mud
like underwear torn from a washing line
by a freak wind

Lies, piling up like dead leaves
providing sustenance for the very earth
that nurtured them

Hearts, now joined together,
now ripped apart, like stale bread fought 

over by sparrows

Hopes, tossed like underwear
on a cruel wind over hungry graves ready
to gobble us up

Chase the wind, stumble in mud,
retrieve underwear for a washing machine
or stand by and watch?

Choices, a gathering of sparrows
debating how best to survive a bad winter
through to spring

Graves, wearing hard won badges
of flowers and dead leaves, each sure to be

telling tales on us ...

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber. Assembly Books, 2007]

A Shared Antipathy For Beer Can Rings OR Marine Life Under Threat

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

Regular readers will know I have always loved Brighton (East Sussex) and been a regular visitor there for more than fifty years. I often go there on my birthday even though it is in December; I started writing this poem there on my 63rd birthday and finished it on the train back to London.

Several readers have kindly contacted me to say how much they enjoyed the poems I read in Brighton for YouTube last December.

[Find these and others at: http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber ]

Thanks for that, folks. Encouraging feedback is always gratefully received, especially as I find reading outdoors quite hard since there are always so many distractions.

I included today’s poem in my latest poetry collection. Regular readers will also know that all my poetry titles are listed on amazon.co.uk (with some readers’ reviews) if anyone is interested. They can be ordered at any UK bookstore. Alternatively, (signed) copies of most of my collections are available (now FREE + Postage) to overseas readers as my collections are only on sale in the UK. [Contact: rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog Reader’ in the subject field.]

My poetry books contain a mixture of gay-interest and other poems, divided into themed sections for easy reading; there are about 20 – 25 poems per section so readers can just pick one and then try another section another time. [I should say that my critics complain I crowd my books with too many poems. I take their point, but readers seem to enjoy having six or seven little poetry books in one. So I think I’ll stick with my readers rather than pander to the critics for my next collection in 2012.]

On the whole, Brighton beach is kept remarkably clean and tidy; all the more remarkable for the way some people simply toss their litter away where they stand (on the beach or even in the sea; both present a danger to wildlife) rather than find a waste bin.

This poem is a villanelle.

A SHARED ANTIPATHY FOR BEER CAN RINGS or MARINE LIFE UNDER THREAT

We kept the most curious company,
watching waves clear beer cans rings away;
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me

A spring twilight glowing beautifully,
footprints unable though longing to stay;
we kept the most curious company

I wondered, what do they think of me?
Could we converse, whatever would we say,
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me?

Clouds, lamenting pollution, I dare say,
crab and gulls much the same of the sea;
we kept the most curious company

On one thing we’d be sure to agree,
the world doesn’t see things nature’s way;
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me

A sudden rush of waves hit me angrily,
a smoky dusk making a meal of us per se;
we kept the most curious company;
clouds, a crab, two seagulls and me

[Brighton, East Sussex (UK), May 2008]

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

PS The use of 'per se' in the 6th stanza is yet another example of the liberties I often take with 'hidden' rhyme; i.e. sounds that are similar but not an exact rhyming match.

Passers-By, a Collage

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

Life is rarely as dark as it sometimes may seem in our personal space just so long as we always make room there for love, in all its shapes, forms and consciousness.

While it may sometimes seem that even love has forgotten us, we need to remember that, although loved ones may be far away, even dead, moving on does not mean leaving anyone behind and their love will continue to sustain us through good times and bad  ... if we let it.

We also need to consider future generations and how the human condition can be much improved - mentally and physically - by paying closer attention to environmental as well as social issues; at the root of the latter often lies an inability to grasp that we are a common humanity whose differences do not make us 'different', only human. Moreover, we need to act in the Here-and-Now or any future generations that may yet emerge will never forgive us. [Yes, I know I have said this before, but as my old English teacher, 'Jock' Rankin ,used to say, if something is worth saying, it is worth repeating.]

PASSERS-BY, A COLLAGE

Time, it’s passing by me,
all alone;
stress, getting worse each day;
love, it’s all around me.
yet closed to many (still) refusing 

to answer for any tears let fall or accept

any blame

Society, it’s hacking me
to pieces,
(human remains everywhere);
among those left for dead 

by religions whose agendas pass
for dogma spelling out our sins, for better,

for worse

Politics, it’s smothering me,
so weary
of hearing its lies and half-lies,
to satisfy appetites

for power feeding on such promises 
as likely to win votes as lead its paymasters 

by the nose 

Hope, always there for me,

urging me

to stay (for the better part)

on the brighter side

of life, notwithstanding a fascination

with its darker side, innate as it well may be,

and only human

Differences, ever hacking
into each other,
if only to be first among equals;
history, busy reworking
ages-old myths as likely as likely as not 

to confound, let generations naively deploring

lessons unlearned

Time, it’s passing by me,
listening out
for the timbre of each heartbeat;
love, it’s all around,
and would heal even those among us

allowing self-pity to consign its essential integrity

to free fall

See-Hear, a common humanity
with a duty of care
to all creatures great and small,
or risk the well-being

of future generations put in jeopardy

by a collective failing to acknowledge and act on early

warning signs

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012, rev.2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

A Harper's Song

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

As requested by a number of readers, the link below is to my informal poetry reading on the 4th plinth in London's Trafalgar Square; it was my contribution to sculptor Antony  Gormley's One and Other 'live' sculpture' project which involved 2,400 people doing their 'own' thing' for one hour 24/7 over 100 days during the summer of 2009:

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...

My mother once told me that the best thing a parent can do for his or her children is to encourage them to think for themselves, believe in themselves and stand on their own two feet. Oh, but that is all so true!

Ah, but she never said it would be easy for either parent or child. She certainly had a hard time with me and I am just so grateful she persevered. Although she died in 1976 at the age of 59, I like to think she would be pleased if not proud I’ve come as far as I have. True, this may not seem very far to some people, but to paraphrase the legendary Neil Armstrong, one person’s small step is another person’s giant leap.

A HARPER’S SONG

A child is born and its very first cry
plays on the heart like a harp to the soul;
instrument for a lifetime, you and I,
following every note’s rise and fall

A child is born and its eyes upon us
read the words in our hearts like a poem
about life’s great joys and its mysteries
if sometimes, the challenge, a battle hymn

A child is born and we’ll tell everyone
of this jewel come to light that is ours,
and may it shine like the morning sun
nurturing earth’s songbirds and flowers

Be there cheers or tears, let the harper play
and the child, like a flower, find its way

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

Spring is a Girl in a New Dress

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

Okay, so spring isn’t quite here in the UK yet but...it’s just around the corner so let’s get a little ahead of ourselves, yeah?

SPRING IS A GIRL IN A NEW DRESS

Among bluebells, she skipped
wearing a matching dress,
smelling of rain, singing a song
about love, joy and peace;
laughing, she took me by the hand,
led me a dance as lightly
as a cheery breeze, teasing leaves,
caressing a dove’s feathers,
running exciting fingers across time
and space as lovers might to each other,
keeping the dream ... alive

I asked her name, and her voice
(like a tinkling of bluebells)
oh, so subtly, caressed my heart
like the dove’s wing
while parading a glowing pregnancy
at Earth's battered gate
though half expecting to be kept out
for reconstructing its wintry world
by keeping the Sandman to his word
in demonstrating a capacity for peace,
keeping hope … alive

A glittering shower of sunny rain
brought an offer of shelter
from a friendly tree, leaves of green
already playing host
to assorted couples, some foreign,
but when I turned, that girl
in her new blue dress was gone;
I searched awhile, soaked through
to the skin before sensing how it was
the very quality of my sadness lifting me,
making me feel ... alive

Come sunshine, showers, joy, sadness,
spring wears a new dress just for us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem under the title 'Spring is a Girl in a Blue Print Dress' appears in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]