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.

Sunday 17 March 2024

The Old Curiosity Shop (and Slumping)


From Roger’s friend, Graham

Browsing Roger’s blog postings offers interesting snapshots through time. A shop of curiosities decked with gems formed in deep poetic musings, tattered postcards of conflicts and whimsical ephemera. Playthings of the imagination, broken artifacts of childhood and sketches of zeitgeists vanished. Garlands of dried flowers from summers past and evocations of smiling snowmen long melted. His inner eye ever seeking out that glimmer of fascination in grey streets and overcast skies. His beautiful soul always aspiring for a kinder, gentler world united by love and not divided by oceans of tears.

I must admit that I’ve never met anyone like him before or since. Such friendship is a treasure beyond riches. With the pressures and distractions of life it’s easily to lose sight of that. Certainly it comes as an overwhelming realization with the wound of loss. Healed by time, true enough, but some injuries feel deep-rooted with a dull ache resonating through months and years. I’m sad that I’m not able to call Roger today to compare notes on life’s ups and downs, make each other laugh and take off into wild flights of fancy. Just here, earthbound; trying to motivate myself…

It’s raining lightly here in Essex on a Sunday morning. Quiet with just the patter of rain and faint drone of distant traffic. A gaussian grey veil masks the sun. Smudges of blue tease with notions of fairer weather. The wide bow of the Thames estuary that I overlook reflects the sky like a dusty mirror. Sluggish and lazy. Even the raucous black-headed gulls seem muted, pensive.

I’m fortunate that I don’t have to work on Sundays. I’ll feed the birds shortly. (You’re never truly alone among avian friends.) And then a riverside jog to restore flagging spirits and vitality. I’ll prepare a vegan roast dinner, laze for a bit, and dive into the raging torrent of work emails! (This mitigates the horror of my inbox at the start of a working week.) Finally, some indulgent escapism with a movie and some un-milked chocolate.

I’ll leave you with a poem which I hope captures Roger’s enduring rallying cry to ‘rise above!’. Thanks so much for reading. Please feel free to dip in to Roger’s blog and trust to serendipity whenever curiosity overtakes you…

 

*  *  *

 

‘Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.’  Charles Dickens (Great Expectations)

‘The most important thing in life is to stop saying, ‘I wish’ and start saying, ‘I will’. Consider nothing impossible, then treat possibilities as probabilities.’  Charles Dickens (David Copperfield)

 

*  *  *

 

SLUMP or (ALMOST) IN FREEFALL…

 

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and all the people I’ve known,
wondering where have they gone?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and all the things I have done,
wondering where I went wrong?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and choices made from the heart,
wondering where fear played a part?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and lovers who promised to stay
but left within hours of a night or day

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and all the years wasted on regret
where I should have stood up to fate

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and every epiphany I’ve known,
wondering where did I go so wrong?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and growing older, weaker,
for knowing I could have done better

Slump in a chair, thinking about death,
and all the people I’ve known,
wondering if there’s a hell or heaven?

Slump in a chair, watching television,
soaking up soap opera friends,
lost the plot, left wondering how it ends

Slump in a chair, fret about being alone?
Not this time (slam on the brakes);
will get my life back, whatever it takes

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2008

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Friday 15 March 2024

Spring, Lockdown and the Joy of Birds

  

From Graham – Roger’s close friend (and tipsy cameraman)

With the burgeoning of spring comes a renewed joie de vivre. As nature’s pulse quickens, sunlight streams into my small flat, warming the skin like Apollo’s sensual kiss. Outside an ensemble of sparrows sing their odes to joy as grey squirrels frolic in the sway of radiant daffodils.

I descend three flights of stairs clutching a selection of nuts and grains. Awaiting me, in lofty foliage, an array beady eyes ogling me expectantly. An excited twitter erupts. Magpies cawing, pigeons cooing and the trills of sparrows. At the shrubbery I set out a bird-buffet. A squirrel scampers up to me and I throw him a husked peanut which he grasps like a trophy. He’s joined by a magpie, then a flurry of feeding to a stirring chorale of birdsong.

I return to my apartment happier, elevated somehow... My daily ritual feels sacred and imbued with symbolism. Some traditions believe birds to be messengers of the divine. All I know is that the illusion of separation falls away and I’m at one with nature, the universe... Offline, but connected.

Roger and I discovered the sublime joys of bird-feeding during the Covid pandemic lockdown in 2020. He’d festoon his kitchen window ledge with breadcrumbs and be amused by the argy-bargy of gobbling pigeons. (London pigeons aren’t known for their social graces.)

We explored other avenues to alleviate those gloomy lockdown blues. Our daily ‘whinge-therapy’ phone sessions played a major role in maintaining both morale and sanity. (How I miss them.) I suspect Roger had a checklist of gripes which unerringly ended with a whodunnit. A gripping saga featuring Detective Inspector Taber - hot on the heels of a dastardly dumpster desperado abusing a recycling bin.

Then of course we were utterly enthralled by the enduring mystery of toilet roll shortages here in the UK. Panic buying - with toilet paper tumbling off supermarket shelves like roly-poly lemmings. Who was stockpiling and why - a conspiracy? Did coronavirus cause one to sprout an extra pair of buttocks? Or were there hordes of marauding bog-roll bandits wiping out supplies? Or was it being commandeered to mop-up the rising deluge of bullsh*t from a familiar Downing Street residence? A stream of consciousness is one thing - but this…!?

Rog and I certainly let our wildest imaginings run riot.

Sorry, my preamble turned into a pre-ramble. I meant to offer an upbeat commentary on renewal and springtime but rather went off at a tangent! I enclose two of poems on a spring theme.

 

*  *  *


NEVER GIVE UP ON SPRING

 

Once there was a time
it seemed like winter every day,
only a watery sunshine
streaking a sky that’s leaden grey 
life barely worth living,
past and present unforgiving,
catching me out
in what I took to be a loneliness
of old age as I’d read about
in novels, rarely taking notice,
forgetting the roots
of fiction lie in such harsh reality
as now had me in its grip,
leaving me to fret that only much
the same lay ahead, cruel
twist of fate by any other name,
delivering me into a spiral
of a leaden, grey depression wherein
I could see no hope of rescue
till into that shadowy place you came,
bringing light, warmth, and joy,
sending a long winter of the heart
into a feisty, overdue spring,
lending even its shadows a touch
of wry humour so alleviating
the burden of my distress that I could
make space for a happiness
of which neither age, sex, culture,
creed or sexuality may justly
claim a monopoly since everyone
has a right (fate?) to be as you
make me, finally (blissfully) content
to let unfriendly ghosts lie,
cease berating a rose for either its thorns
or the nurture of spring rain,
but dry my tears, and live, love, laugh,
feel young at heart again…

Though society find a reason to mark
its gay lovers, be sure our season will long,
outlive theirs, and even when life
is a burden that’s grey and unforgiving,
never give up on spring

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012


*  *  *


SPRING, RITES OF PASSAGE

 

As a new leaf on a sad oak,
find a mind-body-spirit regenerating
greener centuries

As new buds on a rose bush
find all animal senses coming on heat
after a wintry frost

As new petals on a daffodil,
find emotions rising above their flaws
on a robin’s wings

As driftwood on home shores,
find young potential needing to be put
to better use than this

As seeds on a southern wind,
find life forces placing time and space
on a learning curve

As pilgrims to raison d’être,
find ghosts dead set on helping us live.
let live, have a voice

As fairy tales to a child’s mind,
find ancient legends wringing metaphors
from contemporaneity

As singing wires to cloth ears,
find rebel green campaigners messaging
the Earth’s naysayers

As ashes to ashes, dust to dust
find art and science reading the last rites
over tablets of stone

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2019. From an upcoming collection; Addressing the Art of Being Human.

Labels: , , , , , , , ,

Monday 11 March 2024

Suggestions

 

From Graham – a close friend to Roger

It’s only from space the full extent of Earth’s environmental damage can be observed. Deforestation, receding glaciers, coastal inundation and the advance of deserts. From the flattened horizon of a human perspective, few witness the blanching of a coral reef or a river choked with plastic. The devastation remains somehow abstract… deniable.

It’s difficult to deny global weather patterns are becoming more anomalous and extreme. Or refute data that tells of rising average temperatures and collapsing biodiversity.

Venus, our nearest planet, suffered the fate of runaway atmospheric heating about 1 billion years ago when she still had surface temperatures akin to earth. This calamitous build-up of greenhouse gasses created a roiling inferno. A tormented celestial augur perhaps, foreshadowing the fate of her sister planet?

Just as our Earth’s marring is only framed in the bigger picture, the solution too, must be holistic. Political elites must be pressured to think pro-action over procrastination. Corporations must prioritise preservation over profit. And even wealthy religious organisations might be encouraged to save the planet rather than souls? They could even get real and recognise that their impending Judgment Day-cum-Apocalypse will likely be man-made rather than deity-designed. Surely this is the true existential crisis and moral imperative for all to confront…?

The onus is also on individuals to be the change through the choices they make. Small personal sacrifices for the greater good of our, and future generations. The cumulative benefits of driving a vehicle less, eating less (or no) meat and dairy, and conscientious consumerism should not be underestimated. The individual is not powerless to affect change by boycotting businesses that despoil natural habitat or cruelly exploit our fellow animals. Or to see beyond that acquisitional mindset fuelled by sly advertising.

Oh, but of course, there’ll always be climate change deniers - last seen at a Flat Earth Society meeting alongside creationist preachers and conversion therapists…

Roger loved this sun-kissed cradle of life we call Earth, Gaia, Terre... ‘Earth Mother’ features widely in his nature poems and was his foremost muse. He was captivated by her kaleidoscopic raiment in the ebb and flow of seasons. He took practical steps to conserve our precious planet too. He was ostensibly vegan and passionate about recycling – to the extent of policing rubbish bins where he lived. He’d leave curt notes in communal areas for offending parties who dumped non-recylcables in the green bin. And, believe me, Roger knew how to lambast even the most shameless slattern or slob!

When Rog was more mobile we enjoyed many a stroll on Hampstead Heath; communing with mother nature, imbibing ambrosial scents of wild, iridescent flora and savouring heavenly birdsong. Sometimes (pre-vegan days) we’d enjoy an ice cream and trace meandering lakeside tracks among coruscating sunbeams. We’d invariably climb Parliament Hill and gaze down on London’s sprawling cityscape then dive into a cosy pub. The Heath was Roger’s sanctuary and connection to his beloved Earth Mother.

This next poem of Roger’s appears in Accomplices To Illusion, 2007. I find it provocative.

The fact is that no species has ever had such wholesale control over everything on earth, living or dead, as we now have. That lays upon us, whether we like it or not, an awesome responsibility. In our hands now lies not only our own future, but that of all other living creatures with whom we share the earth.’ David Attenborough

‘Anyone who believes in indefinite growth on a physically finite planet is either mad or an economist’ David Attenborough

 

*  *  *

 

SUGGESTIONS

 

They suggest we try and save garden creatures
and ocean whales before it’s too late

They suggest our luxury choices are sure to leave
the generation of 3000 with none

They suggest parents are scared of their children
and raising monsters

They suggest religious leaders pay more attention
to compassion than division

They suggest politicians aren’t listening to those
who put them there

They suggest our multicultural societies are failing
themselves and each other

They suggest we start learning the lessons wars
should have taught us

They suggest we’re but living will and testament
of a dying planet

So who are they, daring to suggest humankind look
to its shortcomings?

Among leafy choirs, anxious waves, nature rehearses
this world’s passing

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008
[Note: Revised (2008) from the original poem as it appears in Accomplices To Illusion, 2007.]

Labels: , , , , , , ,

Monday 4 March 2024

Freedom, Beacon of Hope in a Darkening World

 

From Graham – a close friend to Roger

Today marks a year since Roger passed away. It seems almost surreal how quickly this anniversary has arrived. A mutual friend, Richard, suggested we celebrate his memory at a friendly bar; recounting those joyous, life-affirming times when Roger lit up the room with his sparkling insight, his bawdy humour, or his fiery polemic. But I opted to explore remembrance through contemplation and sharing a few thoughts. Reflecting upon someone who remains close to the heart is a personal journey with many pathways...

Rog often commented on global events, particularly conflict and oppression. His poems frequently speak of a ‘common humanity’ transcending the gulf of socio-cultural-religious division. They aspire to those sublime qualities of being human; compassion, empathy and agape. A universal-spiritual connection too often lost in clamour of partisan media, sacrificed by religious fundamentalism, or obscured by sectarian hate. Yet this interconnection endures in anyone who dares question the dogma of division. It’s not through naive idealism that Roger wrote of peace and common humanity. But rather, to inspire hope in himself and others.

I know Roger would have been saddened by the recent anti-LGBT+ bill passed in Ghana. He was an outspoken advocate for equality in all societies. In his eulogy, I commented:

‘…beyond friends gathered here, Roger touched untold lives through his poetry. It was telling that his gay-interest blog was widely read in countries where the freedom to choose who we love can mean imprisonment. His poetry kindled hope in the world’s unenlightened places.’

Over the years we chatted extensively about my sabbatical in Ghana, back in 2006. At the time, I remember optimism among my gay brothers and sisters for attaining equal rights. There was hope that the egalitarian republic envisioned by Kwame Nkrumah would finally be realised for all citizens. But forward to 2022 and New Patriotic Party lawmakers are consulting with pastors, priests and imams to decide policy (?!). UN condemnation aside, it sets a dangerous precedent, and one where parliamentarians appear hellbent on a downward spiral into theocracy.

I wonder how Roger might have commented about this on his blog? Speculatively, I’d say he might draw comparisons with his own experience of anti-LGBT laws here in the UK. An era when he lived in constant fear of persecution, blackmail and violence. Recounting, perhaps, his clandestine intimacies before the law’s repeal in 1967. He once described society back then as an ‘ogre’. He might have also cited the life of mathematical visionary and national hero, Alan Turing. A man driven to suicide following prosecution and public exposure for a same-sex encounter. I think he’d question how such laws serve any national interest - or greater good?

Our sense of nationhood is often forged in the crucible of resisting oppression. Whether it’s overcoming colonial rule, women’s suffrage or the struggle for gay equality. Liberty itself flows from faith in a common humanity. Solidarity, over the politics of division and demonisation.

‘The forces that unite us are intrinsic and greater than the superimposed influences that keep us apart.’ Kwame Nkrumah

 

*  *  *

 

FREEDOM, BEACON OF HOPE IN A DARKENING WORLD

In some parts of the world,
all paths to Freedom are (still) blocked
by power-hungry rulers
living in the lap of luxury where others
go hungry, and can but dream
of running fresh, clean, water from a tap
that’s close to hand

In some parts of the world,
all paths to Freedom are (still) haunted
by fighters who lost battles,
but inspired others to continue the war
against the sickest corruption
in the highest places, best feet forward
to global markets

In some parts of the world,
all paths to Freedom (still) ringing out
loud and clear with howls
of protest punctuated with the shrapnel,
gunfire, and tear gas
that, oh, so often accompanies integrity
even in a 21st century

In some parts of the world,
all paths to Freedom are (still) littered
with human bones,
occasionally with name tags attached,
others are identified only
by such natural categories as ethnicity
and, yes, sexuality

In some part of the world,
all paths to Freedom are (still) haunted
by voices of the dead,
inspiring men, women, and children
to take greater pride
than many so-called ‘betters’ in rallying
round a flag with pride

In some parts of the world,
heterosexuality is promoted true enough
to hot-blooded stereotype,
some falling for the honeyed-up hype
of tongues, sly and zealous,
while others continue to call for a culture
of Freedom for all of us 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014; 2020

Labels: , , , , , , ,

Sunday 31 December 2023

A Farewell

 

Roger Noel Taber
21 December 1945 - 2 March 2023

Foreword from Graham Collett (a close friend)

I’m very sorry to let you all know that, tragically, Roger passed away earlier this year after battling a long period of acute illness. Despite the excellent care he received at the Whittington, and latterly, Barnet Hospital ICU’s, his lifeforce finally took flight into that great beyond…

Many of Roger’s close friends kindly visited him over those preceding weeks in intensive care. Despite his heavy sedation, we took turns to read poetry and short stories at his bedside, and hold his hand. I believe we all nurtured hope in his recovery.

I feel privileged to have shared a close friendship with Roger over 22 years. Through triumph and disaster he’s been there for me. Across this odyssey of time-space we call ‘life’ he’s been a guiding light. I’m still reconciling myself to a new, bleaker reality and feeling rather adrift. Though it’s a voyage illuminated by the glimmer of treasured memories. Such is bereavement for many of us I imagine…


To say that we only recognise the true value of something after it’s lost… well, it seems so trite; a truism even…? But it’s also an inexorable aspect to existence which tests us all in the end. All the more reason to ‘rise above’ as Roger encouraged us; carpe diem.

As an advocate for pantheist principles and nature, I hope readers will draw comfort from the notion of Roger returning to the bosom of Earth Mother... Death is but a part of that universal cycle of creation, dissolution and then, rebirth. I also hope that his beautiful poetry will continue to inspire and resonate with you all.

I aim to post Roger’s unpublished poetry on the blogs occasionally - mainly to maintain their presence online. Please bear with me on this as I have a high pressure job and little free time! Further along, I also hope to publish (either in print or eBook) Addressing the Art of Being Human, a collection spanning 2020.

I will leave you with a poem I chanced upon from Roger’s extensive archive.

Best wishes to all for 2024.
Peace, Graham x

 

FAREWELL

Think not that I am gone,
but please think this of me;
that once was a man
who so wanted to be good,
but sadly was not always
one who never, ever, meant
to be bad if sometimes
blindness took him this way;
who rose above bigotry
to embrace a born sexuality
in poetry driven, inspired
by sheer spirituality, nurtured
not by word or world,
only Earth Mother to whom
I was born, and now return
much like last autumn’s kiss,
promising this to all whom
I have loved, will surely miss,
and bequeath to birdsong

Oh, but watch and listen
for spring, that any winters
of our parting may seem
less harsh nor so long if only
for robins celebrating us,
and though this sorry world
weep as it surely will
for an elusive love and peace,
I feel privileged to rest
where doves can but create
metaphor

There, where you are...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Saturday 21 January 2023

A Walk in the Park

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

“We are not victims of aging, sickness and death. These are part of scenery, not the seer, who is immune to any form of change. This seer is the spirit, the expression of eternal being.” - Deepak Chopra

“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” – Leonardo da Vinci

“Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.” - Khalil Gibran

“We do not see nature with our eyes, but with our understandings and our hearts.” William Hazlitt

“Forever is composed of Nows.” – Emily Dickinson

Even as a child, I loved being at the heart of nature, not only for its surrounding, but also for the responses to it by mind-body-spirit, communicating sounds and poetry it would be years before I would even begin to define it as a sense of spirituality; years, too, before I felt able to go public with it through poetry. 

As my dear mother used to say, learning curves are not confined to the classroom...

A WALK IN THE PARK

Taking a long walk
in the park, sky many shades
in many moods,
spots of rain urging me pause
by a favourite tree
playing host to feathered friends
bidding me see-hear-listen,
let the indomitable Spirit of Nature
address past-present-future

Becoming more aware
of a Here-and-Now beyond 
rain and cloudy skies,
a part of me opening up, not only
to what it could see
but to feelings, asking questions
of heart-and-soul
it had not thought of asking,
confused by worldly turns of thought,
all but become a habit

Life is for all, no exceptions,
though we are sometimes made 
to feel we don’t deserve
a voice, simply for nurturing
visions of self-identity 
considered ill-suited to this society,
or that community,
for fear of any bullying powers that be;
none so blind as will not see 

Having listened to all the tree
had to say by way of putting lyrics
to the music in my head,
heart-and-soul's reawakened,
already reworking
its approach to everyday living,
less of simply tagging along 
for the ride, up for restating its position;
such is...the art of being human

Ah, but time to go home, hopefully share
all I have yet to make sense of here...

Copyright R. N. Taber (2023)

[Note: This poem also appears on my gay poetry blog today.] RT












































Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wednesday 18 January 2023

Hello, folks, from London UK

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

“Art hurts. Art urges voyages – and it is easier to stay at home.” ~Gwendolyn Brooks

“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” - Leonardo da Vinci

“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.” - Robert Frost 

“How do poems grow? They grow out of your life. “– Robert Penn Warren

Hello, Everyone, from London UK,

Reader G H has emailed to ask if the personal pronoun ‘I’ in my poems is yours truly. Well, the answer is both yes and no.  The ‘I’ is multiple voices, including mine.

Over the years, I have met many inspiring people, had inspirational tales related to me by probably as many strangers I’ve met in passing as family and friends.  Much of what I have learned, I try to pass on to readers, hence a multi-vocal ‘I’.I daresay much the same can be said for the authors of all art forms.

Feedback suggests that readers are happy with this, and can see how it fits in with the multidimensional nature of what I am trying to say in many poems.  Hopefully, I succeed more often than I fail; in either case, it often depends as much upon whether or not the reader can relate to a poem at the time as the poet’s ability to draw the reader into a poem and let him or her work through and arrive at their own take on it. Needless to say, how they finally relate to it, if at all, the poet will probably never know…

The natural world  is a constant inspiration to us all, of course, especially to the gardener who has a special relationship with nature I have always admired, even envied. More than one gardener has told me how they so look forward to spring, seeing leaves return to the trees and listening to what they have to say as they rustle in a breeze or survive a storm. Oh, yes, there is a poet in everyone...

Do feel free to email me – rogertab@aol.com - any time. I try to reply or at least acknowledge as many as possible, but only read those with ‘POETRY’ in the subject field. Sometimes, I am feeling unwell  and manage to hit a wrong key, whereupon emails disappear, so apologies to anyone expecting a reply, but has not received one. 

As regular readers well know, years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has played merry hell with my thought processes and general memory, so I am not as comfortable with new technology as I once was, not to mention that I can't always see the letters on a my p c keyboard too well these days either. 😉

Can you wonder that I sometimes struggle to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life?😉 Ah, but the struggle always brings its own reward...😁

Take care, folks, keep safe and stay positive,

Many thanks for dropping by and I hope to be back with a new poem soon,

Hugs,

Roger 




 

























Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,