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.[
.

Death of a Princess

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

On August 31^st 1997, Diana, Princess of Wales was tragically killed when a car carrying herself and Dodi Fayed crashed in Paris. 

Many readers who appear to have difficulty accessing You Tube directly for one reason or another have asked me to repeat the link to a my friend Graham's video of the memorial in Hyde Park along with two  poems I read over it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_iX3LzGK4k

Meanwhile, here is a new poem written in memory of a remarkable woman; a devoted mother whose beauty, charm, and capacity for compassion won hearts and minds wherever she went; traits she has clearly passed on to her children.

She wasn’t without flaws, you might say, so tell me then...who isn't?

DEATH OF A PRINCESS 

Brought to its knees

the day she died, the world

asked questions,

demanded answers,  cried

itself to sleep

Media loved to play

the blame game, but no one

(quite) convinced

by speculation compromising

its integrity

Crowds played out

the performance of a lifetime

at the palace gates

while its key players left

them to it

Hysteria over a flag

left flying high and crying out

for half-mast

lent tunnel vision an air

of plausibility

Elsewhere, a family

resolved to protect its own

devising new ways

of doing the walk and talking

the talk

Diana, on an island

of dreams, inviting royalty

and ordinary people

to rise above tears like petals

between showers

Brought to its knees

the day she died, the world

still asks questions,

demands answers,  cries

itself to sleep

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Who Speaks Up for the Trees?

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

A reader has been in touch to say she would never travel on the London Underground again following the tragic events of July 7th 2005 in which she lost a close friend. Similarly, she would never visit the USA because ‘... it has to be a high profile target for terrorists.’

While I can understand and sympathise with how she feels, terrorists can strike anywhere at any time. We can but remain hopeful that we will leave our homes for work or whatever and return safely. Besides, if we give in to our fear of terrorists and their misguided belief that they are entitled, for whatever reason, to force their views on others by means that confirm the existence of evil in the world… they have won.

Dare I suggest that Earth Mother, too, should be on her guard against those set n destroying the environment? There is an eco terrorism that I suspect is as great a threat to us all as its human counterpart, if not more so in the longer term. (I have always had the mind-body-spirit of an eco-warrior if not the bare-faced nerve to put my eco-convictions to the test - yet.)

WHO SPEAKS UP FOR THE TREES?

We are two so-splendid trees
standing tall at the edge
of a wood, conspiring with song
and laughter, symphony
and poetry made to run the gamut
of a blessed serendipity

All loves, hates, jealousies,
in shades of evergreen
on the finest canvas ever seen 

only to be redefined
by all humankind along along lines
of well-meaning insanity

Would-be giants, sentinels
of a civilization
protective of its own, pawns
in a civilization feeding
on ages of rewriting human history
and its blood stained pages

Inciting song and laughter,
music and poetry,
humanity acknowledging a duty 

to save our woodlands
for generations while selling off trees

to property developers

Who looks down at twin logs
and sees us as we were
or hears leafy winds whispering
names of any cut down

in their prime here, there, everywhere,

no matter the time of year?

Oh, but the world may yet rue
its short sightedness
in scarring nature's face (or worse)
forgetting we were here first,
and how who laughs last so often laughs
the louder and longest

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

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

Love's Take On Multiculturalism

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

I received the oddest email yesterday. A reader had some kind words for my poems but asks, ‘What is the point unless you can be counted among the great poets?’

This reader has answered his or her own question.  There is every point in writing poems if even just one person enjoys reading them.

So I am not a ‘great’ poet.  Do I care?  It is more than enough for me that both poetry blogs are read daily worldwide. Whenever and wherever I give poetry readings, they are always well received, and that's more than good enough for me.

Some cultures still persist with a taboo on mixed-culture relationships. This is especially hard on those people, especially young people, living in a modern multicultural society.  Love has no time for such taboos, and only asks that we respect its global identity.

It is no betrayal of culture, family or whatever to fall in love. Love brings shame on no one, and I include gay relationships. Those who see it as some kind of shameful betrayal are not only out of step with love, but out of step with their culture for interpreting it by book rather than by heart; parents and other family members need to remind themselves that, where any cultural responsibilities appear to override their love for children and siblings, any potential for shame lies not within that culture but within themselves. 

LOVE’S TAKE ON MULTICULTURALISM 

As I put my lips to yours
they part to let my flame enter you,
its heat moulding us
into a live love-sculpture portraying
the true meaning of life

As the flame goes to work
on firing a peace offering to all those
who reject our love,
the raw scars of suffering peel away
like layers of an onion

As we dive and swim freely
where waters of the womb have risen
to offer us sanctuary
from wildfires threatening extinction,
we head for infinity

We reach a sandy shore,
our healing selves embraced by palms
whose leaves caress
where cruel hands would not long since 
have denied us a hearth

Oh, heaven, this splendid place;
if a dream, as real and far more likely 
to inspire angel choirs
than conflict among opposite numbers
in temporal divisions

Sadly, we must rise and leave
to make our way in this 'modern' world,
still a slave to its past
for all its fine rhetoric about fair play
in a free society ...

Yet, we have found a place

where no socio-cultural-religious spite

can keep us apart,

though it pounce on, and spit us out

for breaking its 'rules'

Find us among arts and streets,
recreating love’s custom made models,
nor a finer take on life
than sex, sexuality, race, age or creed
reworking its humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Dusty

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

I loved listening to Dusty Springfield from her time as a relatively demure looking young woman with The Springfields to her days at the top of her professional tree, by which time she has acquired all the sophistication and charisma of a pop icon.

Who cares that Dusty was gay? Has a person’s sexuality anything to do with his or her ability to perform in any genre or our appreciation of it and them?  All I can say is it is a very narrow-minded, bigoted person that answers ‘yes’ to that question. 

My being a Dusty fan has nothing to do with the gay ethic and everything to do with her talent and my eternal gratitude to her for having shared it with millions of us fans around the world..

Dusty is greatly missed by many while her distinctive voice will surely continue to enchant and lift our spirits to dizzy heights for many years to come.

Photo: Dusty Springfield 

DUSTY

Among the greats of pop history,

songbird flying high,

a much-loved legend called Dusty

Eyes like a picture postcard sea

voice like an angel’s cry,

among the greats of pop history

Drawn to Soul’s darker mystery

(tears in a wistful sky...)

a much-loved legend called Dusty

Find gay and charismatic artistry

chancing passion’s die

among the greats of pop history

Where passion’s fruits fall but softly

as dreams pass by,

a much-loved legend called Dusty

In a wintry mist we call immortality,

rediscover summer’s fire;

among the greats of pop history,

a legend called Dusty

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Shirley

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

Jan 8th is Dame Shirley Bassey's birthday. I have been a Shirley Bassey fan for many years. One of my favourite numbers is probably a lesser known song called I Reach for the Stars. (Check it out on You Tube, folks.)  It is a beautiful song; as always, this incredible lady does it more than justice.

It was a great thrill to see how electrifying this amazing woman continues to be at the recent Jubilee concert that was part of her Majesty the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee celebrations.

No poem can do justice to Dame Shirley Bassey’s unique talent, but I hope this villanelle will go some way towards expressing express my personal admiration and gratitude for years of first class entertainment.

Photo: Dame Shirley Bassey [Internet photo.]

Update (April 2016): A 20ft high gold-painted statue of Dame Shirley Bassey by artist Marc Rees, Caenarfon Castle, 2016. [Internet photo]

SHIRLEY

Feisty tigress from The Bay,

inimitable mistress of popular song,

stealing our hearts away

Burning passion holding sway,

heartfelt feeling for right and wrong;

feisty tigress from The Bay

Gesturing for love to have its say

where tears for its fears, too, belong,

stealing our hearts away

Bringing life to shades of grey,

to wintry spirits the delights of spring,

feisty tigress from The Bay

A voice, lifting the darkest day

like a sunburst where clouds still cling,

stealing our hearts away

Go the stars, the Bassey way,

a rare privilege just to be tagging along;

feisty tigress from The Bay,

stealing our hearts away

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: 'The Bay' refers to the Tiger Bay area of Cardiff, South Wales, where Shirley Bassey was born.]

Kylie

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

[Update: Nov 14th 2020: Kylie Minogue has become the first female artist to top the UK albums chart in five consecutive decades. She broke the record with the release of her new studio album 'Disco', released last Friday (November 6) and entered the Official Charts at Number One. Well done, Kylie.]

Update (30/5/18): A belated Happy Birthday to Kylie who was 50 years young on May 28th. 

Update (25/2/2016): Congratulations to Kylie and fiancé Joshua Sasse on their recent engagement.

Meanwhile ...

Hello everyone!

I can’t keep away at the moment although I am busy with other things. I have nasty infections in both ears so cannot wear my hearing aids. It is very stressful and there is no point in my seeing as much of friends as I usually do because I can barely hear what is being said!

It can get lonely when you live on your own as I do. When I write up the blogs, I feel less isolated and in contact with a whole range of people across the world. It is a GOOD feeling.

Meanwhile...

In the past, I have posted poems inspired by my favourite singers such as Doris Day and the late, great, Ella Fitzgerald. Several readers have asked if I have any more poems like this so I am posting one today. (I will post another tomorrow, too, for the incredible Shirley Bassey.) I am also working on a villanelle for the late, great, Dusty Springfield.

At nearly 67 years-old, I am probably one of Kylie Minogue’s oldest fans. I only hope that if she ever gets to read it, she will enjoy this villanelle written especially with her in mind. (It is especially nerve-wracking trying to write a poem for a special person or event as I just never know how it will be received, but I guess that goes for any poem...)

Photo: Kylie Minogue (taken from Internet)

KYLIE

Sunshine bursting free
of wintry skies,
a woman called Kylie

Lark on a dawn spree,
spreading happiness,
sunshine bursting free

Modest in her bravery
sharing her fears,
a woman called Kylie

Awe-inspiring artistry
come to entertain us,
sunshine bursting free

A haunting personality
deserving applause,
a woman called Kylie

To life’s darker tapestry,
bringing fair reprise;
sunshine bursting free,
a woman called Kylie

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012