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].

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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.

Thursday 28 November 2013

Looking out for Christmas, Anyone?


Yes, Christmas will be with us in less than a month. However, not everyone enjoys a happy Christmas. For homeless people and others down on their luck, it is a time much like any other time...unless we can somehow make it special for them too.

Years ago, I met a homeless gay man who had been physically ejected from his family home on Christmas Day after his father discovered he is gay. This Christmas, I know of a couple on the run from their families who disapprove of their relationship because they are on opposing sides of the same religion. [If God doesn't mind, why should anyone else?]

No matter what religious festival is being celebrated at whatever time of year, a little understanding goes a long way. It is, after all, part of the pact we make with love. And what worth any religion without love in it? I am told that the God in whom so many people believe is a God of Love. Take love out of the prayer and ritual and all I imagine He sees is someone enjoying an ego trip.

We can't always expect to understand those we love and may not always agree with them, but that doesn't (or shouldn't) mean we love them less. It has always been one of humankind's greater tragedies that too many of us let socio-cultural-religious traditions dictate how we live, even love.

At the heart of every religious celebration is (or should be) love in all its shapes and forms...or what is there left that any God would have anyone celebrate?  

LOOKING OUT FOR CHRISTMAS, ANYONE?

Come, hear the bells of Christmas
though lost, alone, in the snow,
recalling times past when we’d leave
a card for Santa, hot cocoa
and a mince pie, try to sleep while
listening out for reindeer hooves
pounding across the sky, a cheery cry
ringing loud and clear for children
everywhere to hear, know (for sure)
that we are loved, no matter who
we are or how our lives shaping up,
whether or no we’re finding signs
of Christmas or much the same cruelty
(or worse) than the day before

Peering ahead down an endless road,
lost souls, alone, no place to go
till time (at last) to reclaim gifts of love
and peace, count blessings, let bells
speak for us, echo high and low, anxious
to share out the joys of Christmas,
fearful for lost souls looking for refuge
from a bitter-sweet winter snow
where no pretty flowers able to grow
yet nurtured out of sight and light
by Earth Mother, chief carer for a world
beyond even mind-body-spirit,
where all the odds stacked high against
mutual understanding or trust

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2013


[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since it first appeared in Christmas Remembered, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

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Wednesday 27 November 2013

The Other Side of Christmas


Religious festivals are, among other things, about thinking of others and not taking all we have in life for granted since, there but for good fortune, go you and I...

For those men and women (some of them gay) fighting wherever there is conflict for a better, kinder, world,  may the future hold some real progress in that direction. As for the politicians who send them there, let’s hope they won’t lose sight of those finer aims either, in spite of being preoccupied, as they invariably are, with their own personal standing on the world stage. Nor should we forget loved ones left behind while those in the thick of war risk their lives on a daily basis.

Many fight another war, this time on the Home Front; against poverty, prejudice, loneliness, depression, rejection, unemployment…

I recall, some years ago now, sympathising with a elderly neighbour who had fallen on hard times after a company in which he had been a major shareholder collapsed. " A bad business," he agreed, "but it's as the wife says, so long as we have family and [or]friends we care about and who care about us, who needs shares in anything else?"  At the time, it struck me as a rather trite comment, a way of saving face perhaps. In my 70's now, I often contemplate the wisdom of those words, and cherish the sense of well-being with which they never fail to fill me.

Unhappy people have told me how they hate being told to count their blessings because they are too few. Maybe they - and more, if not all of us - need to look (and count) again...?

THE OTHER SIDE OF CHRISTMAS

No Christmas tree in the window,
no cards or festive decoration,
no real interest in some Baby Jesus,
cause of starry-eyed celebration

As for listening out for reindeer,
deaf ears will catch no sound
or bells ringing out glad tidings
of great joy to (all?) mankind

No joy in snowflakes whirling past
like dervishes on a battlefield
assured of spoils in this, my city,
by climate change across the world

As for taking comfort and delight
in any religious celebration,
fat chance, when all its factions
primed for eternal division…

Nothing special for Christmas lunch
(but better than going hungry)
yet I dare say we’ll survive another
parody of common humanity

Some folks struggle, same folks cope
for shares in Love, Guardian of Hope 


Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

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Thursday 21 November 2013

Marking Up the Calendar


All human relationships - including friendships - have their ups and down. If they matter to us, we must work at them. Should they flag and all but fail, we must do our best to revive them. Nor can we let foolish pride get in the way.

If we want to build bridges with someone badly enough, what does it matter who makes the first move?

Sadly, sometimes we have to face the fact that a relationship was never as worthwhile as we thought in the first place.

Let’s be honest though. It is too easy to find excuses for doing nothing. Doing something, on the other hand and…well, who knows?

MARKING UP THE CALENDAR

One day to remember,
one day to forget;
one day together - another,
cruelly torn apart

One day for friendship,
one day for rage;
one day for love - another,
blotting its page

One day to be, oh, so sure,
one day to doubt;
one day so in love, - another
in a rush to get out

One day, love and peace,
promising to endure;
one day it’s spring - another
already mid-winter

One day, life’s lessons
to learn and share,
we students of life - another
finding us still there

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2007; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem - under the title 'One Day' - first appeared in Awakening of the Soul, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 & subsequently in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

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Tuesday 19 November 2013

Chariots of Fire


I am reminded of a conversation I had many years ago when I was an egocentric teenager. I asked a teacher (as one does) what life is all about. Yes, well…silly question, I know, but I thought it sounded clever. More to the point, I thought it made me appear very clever.  I received what I thought was, in turn, a very silly answer, something about its being a bedtime story for grown-ups.

Now, though, I’m not so sure it was such a silly answer, and suspect it was too profound for my little poem to do it justice.

I recall telling my mother about that conversation. She just said, “He’s a very nice man if a little eccentric/ Mind you, there is always more to eccentric people than meets the eye just as there's nearly always something in what they have to say worth giving some thought to. Now, go and do your homework…’ Another very nice person, my mother . She, too, always had something to say worth giving some thought to. 

CHARIOTS OF FIRE

Sometimes, I regret my lost youth
but for its teaching me
my place in the world, neither high
nor low for racing chariots
of fire across a playground of dreams, 
skimming time and space,
grandest of all arenas least known
to Man

It’s enough, in the end, to land safe
and sound among moon shadows
bringing we charioteers such presence
of mind-body-spirit known only
to children hungering for fairy tales, 
now lost, now finding their way
in some otherworld to take up the reins
and race each other to cheers
and jeers, highs and lows, archived
to living memory 

Can it be, I wonder, that life is, after all,
a (potentially) feel-good bedtime story?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009


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Friday 15 November 2013

Tattoo Art, a Singular Unselfconsciousness


I well recall how, in my teens, I confided to my mother that I was worried sick about an interview with a Careers Officer the next day because I couldn’t make up my mind what I wanted to be when I left school. She just shrugged and said, ‘Try being yourself and you won’t go far wrong.’ She was right, of course, but that was hard for me to admit at the time since I wasn’t being myself at all as being gay was still a criminal offence. I’ve tried to make up for it since.

Love it or hate it, most people are inclined to nurse a secret envy of tattoo art in so far as it conveys an unselfconsciousness that speaks for the self which, without meaning any offence, refuses to pussyfoot around or participate in the socio-cultural-religious sensibilities of others.

Every art form, of course, attempts the same.

TATTOO ART, A SINGULAR UNSELFCONSCIOUSNESS

I’m not the sort to strut
sidewalks alongside the latest
fashion clones

I prefer to speak plainly,  
no making a stab at diplomacy  
with awful clichés

I’ll not vote for the party
least likely to keep pre-election 
promises

I have never been in awe
of celebrities who love to preen
on camera

I like to call a spade a spade;
a ‘digging implement’ impresses
no one

I rejected religion years ago;
nature lends me a growing sense    
of spirituality

I love to share word patterns;  
as tattoos to the body, so art forms
to the mind
  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

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Thursday 7 November 2013

Giving the Lie to Glory


[Update, June 17th 2019]: Some readers have said they would like to read some of my poems again but either can’t find them on the blogs or haven’t time to look. Until recently, I was able to link posts/poems past and present to Google + but Google recently deleted its personal G+ sites, retaining only business sites.  A reader, Max, has kindly emailed me to say he misses my Google + site, but “Whenever I find a poem I really like, I make a note of any search words or phrases in the labels column and use them to find more poems …” Well, thank you Max, and I'm sure some readers will find the tip useful and time-saving. For the record, search words and phrases include  climate change, communication, creative therapy, culture, death, depressions, friendship, ghosts, guilt, history, human nature, human spirit, imagination, innocence, inspiration, love, mind-body-spirit, memory, peace, mortality, nature, past-present-future, personal space, posthumous consciousness, peer pressure, prostate cancer, religion, relationships, sexuality, society, time, war and young people, zen... among others. [Another reader has asked why I often hyphenate several nouns to imply they are one; it's because I see them as inseparable one from the other, a continuum in which we human beings are pivotal, for better or worse...

Meanwhile…

I was in a bar once where an injured soldier was being asked about his experiences in Afghanistan. Someone mentioned the word, glory, which met with excited murmurs of approval and expressions of admiration. ‘Glory?’ the young soldier exclaimed in disbelief, ‘You must be kidding! Haven’t you people learned anything?’

Good question...

November 11th is Armistice Day closely followed by Remembrance Sunday. Since we are only just into October, some people have suggested I should wait until then before posting any poem in remembrance of those who have given their lives in two world wars and subsequent conflicts worldwide as well as those bereaved families left to get on with their lives as best they can; remembering, too, those who have suffered physical and psychological injury and their loved ones who are helping them to live as full as life as possible.

Ah, but every day is an anniversary for those who bear the emotional and/or physical scars of love and loss, in times of war and peace alike.  

Armistice Day or Veterans Day or Remembrance Day, whatever  we call it is an important anniversary; an opportunity for people to come together as a nation to commemorate those who have fought to try and make the world a kinder, safer place in which to live. Nor do I exclude our enemies, most of whom were (and are) ordinary men and women fed the propaganda of unenlightened politics by those they are persuaded to look upon as their 'betters'.

'What passing bells for those who die like cattle?' - Wilfred Owen (Anthem for a Doomed Youth)

This poem is a villanelle

GIVING THE LIE TO GLORY

Sure to give the lie to glory
(for all its medals won)
who live war’s horror story

No contemplating bravery
(the job has to be done)
sure to give the lie to glory

Struggling with the futility
of a friend’s mind blown,
who live war’s horror story

Flagging up a bull for history,
red rag to a politician
sure to give the lie to glory

Proud aloud, scared privately,
in for the duration
who live war’s horror story

Blind eye, tight lip, testimony
to the injured and fallen;
sure to give the lie to glory
who live war’s horror story

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011





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Saturday 2 November 2013

Poppies, for Remembrance


Today’s poem was written in 2004 and appeared in my 4th collection the following year; it has also appeared in an anthology, The Colour of War, Forward Press, 2011.

I have written almost as many poems about the tragedy of war as I have about the inspiring quality of love, much influenced by the powerful poems of World War I poets like Rupert Brooke, Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon and Vera Brittain, to name but a few.

The irony cannot be lost on anyone. Given that the horrors of war have been passed on so graphically from generation to generation since, it neither prevented World War II nor this sorry world of ours remaining a battleground for various socio-cultural-religious-political forces worldwide.

Here in the UK, as Armistice Day approaches, many of us buy a poppy as a symbol of remembrance; the money raised goes to the British Legion, a charity that, for many years, has provided financial, social and emotional support to members of the British armed forces, veterans, and their dependants.

National anniversaries of remembrance rightly salute the dead, but the dead would not want those they leave behind or injured friends and colleagues who survive to be forgotten either. Charities like the British Legion  and Help for Heroes have stepped in where successive Governments much prefer not to tread.

Countless poppies, countless tears; hopes, shared by millions for a peaceful world while haunted by the growing sense of a twenty-first century no less inclined than any other to the rhetoric of peace.


  

Photo: Cenotaph war memorial, London (UK)


Created by ceramic artist Paul Cummins with setting by stage designer Tom Piper; ceramic poppies commemorating the centenary of the outbreak of World War scheduled to progressively fill the dry moat around the Tower of London until Armistice Day, November 11th, 2013.


Photo: In the war memorial Neue Wache (Berlin) the moving sculpture, 'Mother and her dead son' by the Berlin artist Kathe Kollwitz says it all...

POPPIES, FOR REMEMBRANCE 

In two world wars, and conflicts since, they died
for love of country, freedom and their own;
shells, mortars, bullets and bombs they defied
so we may reap the rewards they have sown

Let’s remember those who never came back,
(sitting comfortably, watching TV);
Somme, Dunkirk, Korea, Falklands, Iraq...
(So much for the lessons of history!)

The wounded, too, deserve our thanks and pride,
some forgotten, left but to fade away
in pain, loneliness, no one at their side
as fought with them so bravely, won the day

World in remembrance of hope, prayers and tears
for peace in its time to yet end its worst fears

[From: A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]



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