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 13 June 2012

Thought, Last Seen Hanging By A Thread

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

A new poem today.

Sometimes if not mostly, a thought is an inarticulate or partially formed feeling; follow it through, and who knows where it may take us...? Whatever, it is sure to put us in in touch with something; an idea, a passion even or simply an awareness that we would have preferred not to acknowledge ... perhaps for fear we might not be up to it?

THOUGHT, LAST SEEN HANGING BY A THREAD

Hear me crying out to humanity,
hanging by its every word
of bigotry, betrayal, hypocrisy,
in socio-cultural-religious
dispute over how its will be done
for the greater good of its own
where children with hungry eyes
despair of salvation in this life
or any next, mothers worn down
by weeping for men folk taken
off to fields of battle that will yield
no harvest but more of the same

Watch me dying for humanity
like a last leaf turning yellow
among sad branches of a history
once green and strong, ringing
out a message of peace and love
and believing every word said,
in promises made, even signed for,
while a robin’s song in winter
about spring being next on nature’s
agenda for us all is drowned out
by socio-cultural-religious ranting
raking over more of the same

Save me from poor humanity’s
petty squabbles in this or that
corridor of power, on this podium,
that pulpit, whatever...
Don’t let me hang for every word
of do-gooder speak ever uttered
in monologue, dialogue, preaching
to the hopeful or the hopeless
(as its case may be) but rise above
attempts to make us slaves
in someone else’s dream most likely
to mean even more of the same

Fly with me for humanity’s sake;
sing with birds, nest in trees,
watch the young and teach the art
of survival in a world
where all that’s natural takes pride
in the integrity of identity,
humility, selflessness, sexuality,
and other fine qualities
commonly human but often put down
by socio-cultural-religious fears
that any change means loss of face, 
preferring more of the same

Don’t leave me crying for humanity,
hanging by its every word ... 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012




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Saturday 9 June 2012

Joyriders

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

This poem last appeared on the blog in 2010 and I have been asked to repeat it today for ‘Louise P’ because, ‘I love it and it’s my birthday.  My parents as well as my two closest friends read your blog so I’d like to share it with them too as I am working away from home and have not seen them for nearly two years.’

What can I say but, it’s my pleasure Louise and here’s wishing you a very Happy Birthday!

JOYRIDERS

Crawling along a tree’s leaf,
falling among lower branches,
clambering down its trunk,
hitching a joyride on the back
of a grasshopper

Shinning down a weir’s fall,
sending ripples across a pond,
bodies into a cave
sloping down, down, towards
the earth’s axis

Balanced, oh, so precariously
on scales of well-being devised
by nature though humanity
taking credit for an improvised
morality of sorts

Voices in the head calling out
to no one in particular to explain
what humanity has against
nature giving some of us joy rides
to enlightenment

Spinning faster than a pit bull
chasing its tail to give its owner
a good laugh… until it stops,
tossing reason aside as if it were
flesh to a crocodile

Beside a weir, a fine old tree
offers joy rides on a grasshopper
to any who dare, preferring
nature’s passion to an obsession
with one upmanship

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

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Wednesday 6 June 2012

War, War, War

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

D-Day June 6th 1945 was the beginning of what was meant to be an end; an end to World War 2, that is. And, yes it was....Ah, but an end to war? Fat chance!

Today and always, out thoughts, thanks and admiration go to fighting men and women around the world; to their families as well, left to fight battles of a different if no less anxious kind on Home Fronts just about everywhere...

It is one of humankind's greater tragedies that the cost of war in terms of its suffering is always so high, while any subsequent peace never quite enough.

Our hearts go out to men, women, and children caught up in bitter conflicts around the world and to the millions of refugees displaced by them...while those in whose hands Peace lies sleeping continue to play politics.

WAR, WAR, WAR

Great grandpa died in the First World War
alongside other brave men
who thought it was the war to end all wars,
but…it happened again

Grandpa was killed in the Second World War
alongside other brave men
who thought to win a kinder, safer, world,
but…it happened again

My father went to fight in the Falklands War
alongside other brave men;
mixed feelings about why they were there,
and…it happened again

My brother was injured in the First Gulf War
alongside other brave men
who little thought they would be coming back
to fight much the same war again

My sister is on active service  in Afghanistan
alongside other men and women
for whom bravery is all but second nature,
part of a job that needs to be done

War is always in the news, its men and women
immortalised in prayer and song;
My mother always says the doves of peace
are too scared of us to stay long

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



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Monday 4 June 2012

Canaletto Revisited

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

1,000 boats, several orchestras and chamber music, Royal barges the like of which hadn’t been seen for 200 years...

The seven mile long Thames Diamond Jubilee Pageant that took place yesterday (June 3, 2012) was inspired by Canaletto’s paintings of the arrival of Catherine of Braganza to marry Charles II in 1662, when 1,000 boats took to the river to welcome here. (See below)

While no poem can do the occasion justice, but I wanted to record the event in a villanelle to include in what will probably be my final collection in 2015 when I will be 70.



CANALETTO REVISITED

On a river that flows through a city,
hear bells ring out nationwide;
celebrations for a Diamond Jubilee

All is colour, cheers and pageantry
even politics briefly put aside
on a river that flows through a city

Sure respite from global austerity,
transcending multicultural divide;
celebrations for a Diamond Jubilee

Echoes of a land of Hope and Glory
taking war and peace in its stride
on a river that flows through a city

Regard and affection for monarchy,
in Commonwealth taking pride;
celebrations for a Diamond Jubilee

A godly queen, woman extraordinary,
true rock of a man at her side...
On a river that flows through a city,
celebrations for a Diamond Jubilee

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012





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Sunday 3 June 2012

Holiday Romance

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

I was reminded of this poem as I got chatting to a couple of students in my favourite seaside resort of Brighton in East Sussex recently. Both were on holiday from Italy with a view to going to London for Her Majesty The Queen’s Diamond Jubilee celebrations this weekend. Having only met for the first time earlier in the day, they were plainly so enjoying each other’s company.

Could it be love, I wondered?

Whatever, holiday romances are meant to be enjoyed to the full.

Photo: Northumberland coast, taken by Judith Rhodes

Oh, to be young and so deliciously romantic again...!!! Ah, but you don’t have to be young, either, to enjoy romance and more.

HOLIDAY ROMANCE 

There's a shadow on the sand
that points across the sea
to a distant land - where once
you walked with me,
your hand in mine, our laughter
like spray in a summer breeze,
desire sparkling like diamonds
all around, our joy the key
to such rapturous harmony
of sea and shore as ever seen
by lovers who have surely passed
that way before

Even now, in a holiday crowd
I hear you laughing aloud
as I hoist our flag upon
a castle in the sand, dreaming
of that distant land - where once
we strayed and dared to dream,
each for the other, wage slaves
baying for the moon, knowing
our time together would be over,
too soon, and we saved all our tears
till after I had flown

Shadow on the sand placing us
2000 years on...

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.

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Friday 1 June 2012

Alcoholic Anonymous

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

Stress is never easy to deal with, and few of us can cope alone. We need help and should not be afraid or embarrassed to ask for it;ironically, when we most need help the human ego so  fears rejection that it will often go for self-destruct.

There are no quick fixes, and drug abuse of any kind is never the answer. 

Too many people are far too complacent about their daily alcohol intake. I am not unsympathetic. Even so, alcoholics, like all drug addicts ruin not only their own lives but effectively take family and friends more than part of the way with them.

Why do people become addicts.More often than not it is the old cause-and-effect syndrome. Discover why, and there is a chance the addict may yet be saved from the worst.

The modern world is fast and furious. Not everyone can keep up. We need to understand once and for all that there is no shame in asking for help. Some fool once commented to me that asking for help is a coward's way; on the contrary, it is heroic.

Oh, and never think for one minute that alcohol is not a drug.

Alcoholics Anonymous is an international organization that can help alcoholics help themselves. Here in the UK, call 0800 9177 650 (for free) or email: help@aamail.org NOW. If you think or know you have a serious drink problem, taking this small first step is a giant leap towards getting your life back.

ALCOHOLIC ANONYMOUS 

Like a fish out of water gasping for air,
clinging on for dear life to a cheap
can of beer, almost past caring any more,
glad to let myself fall though unwilling
to take you with me (you deserve better)
flailing, half-dead, but left to my own
meagre devices. May survive or may not,
each to our own choices, whether it be
win, lose, drift along woebegone, food
for fishes or some poor fisherman casting
a line from posterity’s shelf, shades
of myself before I went looking for more
(in a can of beer) bored with the sheer
predictability of family, job, hooks reeling
me into a limbo now serving me up
on a plate of a street where friends seem
to have forgotten who I am so I don’t
try to catch their eyes any more, doesn’t
come as any surprise any more, don’t
even want to think beyond the next drink ,
avoid local bars in case someone sees
(Just one more, bartender, PLEASE…)

Floating face down in a sea of algae,
not a smile to cling to, no hint of caring
in dead eyes staring straight ahead,
waves of indifference crashing on me,
putting me down, hauling me up, only
to toss me back with all the contempt
of a fisherman for minnows competing
for Angler of the Year, a title bringing
fame and beer (for years) at the local pub
where I used to drink my fill; too often
some would say - and how I find myself
here, as good as dead in the water

[Note: A slightly different version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; 2nd ed. in preparation.]

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Wednesday 23 May 2012

Wisdom is a Tree

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

Given that I often post Gay Awareness poems on both blogs, a reader ‘Marc’ has asked if I would post another here '‘because my mother suffers with depression and reads your general blog, but would never dream of reading a gay blog. My brother is gay and she wants nothing to do with him.’

Oh, but how sad for the whole family!

I feel very disappointed that this man’s mother has not felt able to be more understanding of her gay son. Feedback suggests that a growing number of readers have started dipping into both blogs during the past year or so and several parents of gay men and women have said my gay-interest poems have helped them come to terms with their sexuality. Others, of course, condemn me for "leading decent people astray" as one angry parent put it recently. I can only hope Marc's mother may eventually join the former and feel able to be no less openly loving and understanding towards her gay son than towards her other children.

Now, I have been feeling very low lately and struggling to keep a deeper depression at bay. (An old enemy since childhood, but that's another story for another post/poem.) As regular readers will know, creative writing always helps me; if I can just begin to write a poem, working on it over a period of hours, days even, gives me a sense of achievement.

It doesn’t matter if a poem or novel turns out to be good or poor; what matters is that sense of achievement, keeping my head above water in a hostile sea.  

Any creative work can help keep the pitch black depression at bay; there are many shades of grey to pass through first and a sense of creating something can restore colour to a seemingly colourless life. 

It doesn’t matter what we try; it can be writing, music, gardening, catching up with the decorating or making a paper aeroplane...Nor does it matter if we don’t finish whatever creative task we’ve set ourselves, so long as we find the motivation to try; if things don’t work out for one reason or another, we just have to dig deeper, and try something else.

Never contemplate the notion of failure. Failure is losing the will to have a go at this or that through no fault of our own but an inability to cope. Failure is not even being able to feel that we want to try, which usually means we have put ourselves through all those murky shades of grey and are well stuck in that pitch black pit we call depression; the only way out of it is to heave any sense of failure as far away as we can, give ourselves a well-deserved pat on the back for that, and then look long and hard within ourselves for the will to try something, anything that will help put our lives back on an even keel.

We shouldn’t be afraid or ashamed to ask for help either; being able to find the words to ask for help means we are half-way towards making a full recovery already.

Sadly some people don’t begin to understand depression and think we can be jollied out of it. In the end, though, it is down to us whether we sink or swim.

Did I say it was easy?

It has rained a lot lately. A tree outside my front window is a vivid leafy green and daily plays host to songbirds of all kinds. One day, it reached out to me with a life-line, and a GOOD feeling I had been looking for but hadn’t experienced for a while made me grab it with both hands...

Consequently, today’s poem...

WISDOM IS A TREE

An old tree outside my window
assures me all year round
Earth Mother’s looking out for me
because in me she’s found
someone who cares, always hears,
is always there for her
as she’s always here for me
(so speaks the tree)

An old tree outside my window
assures me every day
Earth Mother’s always here for me
and doesn’t give a damn
about sex, sexuality, creed, colour
or what age we are
if we’ll be here for her always
(as She for us)

An old tree outside my window
has many tales to tell
how Earth Mother has shed tears
for the likes of me
who sought refuge in religion,
but found no sanctuary
only a self-centred expectation
(no salvation)

An old tree outside my window
took me to its heart;
Earth Mother would not have me
thrash at life in pain
but as sun and rain nurturing
the natural world,
seeks to inspire the likes of me
(wisdom is a tree)

An old tree outside my window
has wiped my tears,
falling much like autumn leaves,
leaving my branches bare
through a bleak winter of despair
till love songs, like spring rain,
would have us rework our history
(so speaks the tree)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

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