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.

Tuesday 25 February 2014

O-N-E, Potential for Multiplication


Regular readers will be aware that I have a history of depression since early childhood. (In those days, depression in children was barely recognized and usually looked upon as a predilection for tantrums.) 

Today’s little poem was written while I was still recovering from a serious nervous breakdown some 30+ years ago. I recently discovered and (slightly) revised it after struggling to decipher a page of scribble in an old exercise book. It may not be one of my better poems, but served me well at a time when my self-esteem was at rock bottom and I needed to find a way back into the general swim of everyday life. 

At the time, I felt very isolated, not least because I recognized that I was not mentally fit for purpose and there was little real help to be had, especially from the medical profession. At the same time, two former work colleagues were very supportive, and for that I will always be very grateful, while writing as a form of creative therapy helped me worth through the worst of my external anxieties. In time, I was able to take on a new job, rebuild my life and look forward in hope instead of back in distress.  

Family members and some friends chose to ignore the act that I was mentally ill, as many people do because it embarrasses them and/or they haven't a clue how to proceed. Yet, we all need a support network at times, especially when we are ill.

I once worked with a colleague who could not bear to discuss anything relating to illness, and there are many who feel the same way. Human nature? Perhaps, or perhaps sheer selfishness at not wanting to get involved and expected to go the distance with someone when we would much rather stay in our comfort zone.

Whatever, I owe my support network more than I could ever hope to express in words. Thanks to them I got my life back. Isn't that worth going the distance with someone for ... ?

O-N-E, POTENTIAL FOR MULTIPLICATION

Where one is in a minority,
one deserves a voice
for its colour, creed, sex 
or sexuality

Where one is in a minority
one deserves a choice
for its colour, creed, sex
or sexuality

Where one is in a majority,
one needs to listen 
to minority voices if only
for its sanity

Where one is in a majority,
one needs to respect
issues of colour, creed, sex 
and sexuality

In a minority or majority,
one plays its part
in whatever we have to say
for ourselves

In a minority or majority,
one deserves better
than being shouted down
by anyone else

Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2014

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Monday 24 February 2014

Spinning Yarns


As a child, I loved reading myths, legends and fairy stories. As an adult, I began to realise that many are an entertaining metaphor for real life. Even so, not all magic is wishful thinking. Yet, the same imagination that fed on those stories so long ago continues to see me through the same need for escapism some 50+ years on.

The trick, of course, lies in learning to separate fact from fiction, wishful thinking from reality, naked truth from bare-faced lies....

SPINNING YARNS

Storytellers would have us believe
that once there was magic in the world,
a time when we all sang songs
of peace and love till a twilight fell
that had us playing hide-and-seek
among ruins of halcyon days confined
to make-believe

Storytellers would have us believe
that once there was chivalry in the world,
a time when men opened doors
for ladies without their being accused
of sexism, nor would a lady mind,
but take pleasure in being noticed so,
by way, too, of common courtesy  

Storytellers would have us believe
that once there was the stoicism of Penelope
who contrived to remain faithful
to the love of her life without being accused
of pandering to her man,
rather of ingenuity for putting a unique
spin on love

Storytellers would have us believe
that the old gods were jealous of each other,
interfering in the ways of humankind
that played them at their own games and won,
tore down their temples,
created a copycat Olympus
on Capitol Hill 

Storytellers would have us believe
that once there was magic in the world,
a time when we all sang songs
of peace and love till a twilight fell
that had us playing hide-and-seek
among ruins of an innocence confined
to childhood

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: While I never made it as a successful novelist, I confess have really enjoyed trying my hand at fiction from time to time; if interested, go to: http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html on my fiction blog where most of my novels (published and unpublished) are serialised.]


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Monday 17 February 2014

Summoned by Ghosts


I have learned to live side by side with ghosts. Ghosts can be good company. They are no threat and have a place in our lives. The trick is not to confuse their hopes and aspirations with our own (as we may well have done to our cost when they were alive).

Death is nothing to fear, but life must always take priority. That may sound like commonsense, but I have known people haunted by ghosts to the extent that they might almost be one of them.

There are times when we are particularly vulnerable. A sense of loss leaves us especially open to persuasive voices that may be well-meaning, but don’t always understand how our best interests can be served. When this happens to me as it does from time to time, especially at night and during early hours, I turn to Earth Mother, and invariably find the reassurance I seek.

SUMMONED BY GHOSTS

Come a late hour’s whim,
witness home hills turn to silver ghosts,
shades of midnight’s children
playing with stars, prisoners of the moon,
unable to sleep, anxious of dawn

Above, chance to watch an owl’s
graceful flight., see it circle, swoop, soar,
but can only guess at its prey,
victim, too, of a night that’s no friend
to the vulnerable, lonely…

I have wandered, asked questions
of shadows always mocking me, teasing me
with solutions, chasing grey rabbits
across dark meadows, party to a sad mind’s
convolutions...

At last, hills and sky hosting a new day,
sure to keep less welcome ghosts at bay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000

[From: Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2000.]

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Sunday 16 February 2014

The Longest Day

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

This is a favourite poem of mine, not least because it is autobiographical although I was born on the shortest day, December 21st  (that marks the winter solstice) in 1945.

I wrote the poem in the early stages of recovery from a severe nervous breakdown in my early 30's in the course of which I even tried to take my own life. As I read it again, I am reminded of that terrible period in my life and how, eventually, I came through it, discovering along the way that there is very little help or sympathy out there for people with mental health problems. Years on, feedback on this poem and others I have written about depression suggest to me that little has changed in that respect.

Now, as regular readers know, I am not a religious person, but have always thought of myself as having a strong sense of spirituality, only I take it from nature not religion. Having been wracked with mental health problems all my life, I could not have risen above them without it as a source of comfort and inspiration. 

God is all things to all people; to me God is Nature.

THE LONGEST DAY

Knocking on doors, nobody there…
Called on the phone, no replies…
Tried the local surgery (come back
in three days) and, sorry the Samaritans
are busy; went to church in desperation,
but - closed for restoration; found
a priest for advice (a kindly man) but
if I didn’t mind, he had a Bible class
at ten…

Even stopped people in the street…

Did no-one care, and where was God?
Glanced at the sun as a huge cloud
passed over, saw people run for cover
(what’s the use?). Walked on and on,
no pride or purpose; mile after mile…
Darkness couldn’t come too soon.
Glanced at the moon – and something
in the Old Man’s smile made me feel
less alone…

Lit a candle in my soul that led me home

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2014


[Note: Slightly revised from the original that was first published in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; subsequently, in an anthology, Fragments of Faith, Triumph House [Forward Press] 2002 and also read on Poetry Please, BBC Radio 4, 2005.

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Sunday 9 February 2014

Love, Enduring

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

The great thing about love is that it (unlike some people) does not discriminate with regard to ethnicity, religion, sex or sexuality. 

Nor, I suspect, would any God if we are to believe the general tenor of Holy Books without interpreting them to suit this or that particular point of view as so many clerics of all religious persuasions are frequently inclined. [While I, personally, cannot relate to religion, I can relate to nature and who's to say what we call 'God' isn't everything that is nature?]

Only people deliberately choose to discriminate against others. Thank goodness the more enlightened among humankind remains a majority (if only just in some parts of the world) and love endures. 

Be sure the love enjoyed by gay and transsexual men and women worldwide is no less natural or precious than the love enjoyed by any among the heterosexual majority; nor does it deserve that its integrity should be called into question by some blinkered bigot who enjoys the sound of his or her voice, especially when invoking a sense of power over the more gullible and/or vulnerable among us. 

It makes me so angry when I hear the less enlightened in societies worldwide trying to convince young gay people otherwise; invariably they resort to emotional blackmail, often bringing sensitive family and religious issues into play which, as far as I'm concerned, only goes to show the extent of their desperation to prove themselves right and the rest of us wrong.

Many years ago, I expressed sympathy to a couple at their daughter's funeral to which the mother thanked me, smiled and said, 'No worries, my friend. She spent years in a loveless marriage and now she's on Freedom Road where one day we'll all meet up again. Besides," she added, "Love doesn't stop when the heart does, you know, it's always a part of you. and you of it."

LOVE, ENDURING

It was midwinter, but in your arms,
a sunny summer’s heat,
on your lips, a taste of spring

Snow flurries kindly wrapped us up
in balls of cotton wool
hid us from cruel prejudices

Spring came, its songs of love and joy
flowering in our hearts,
outing us to family and friends

Come summer, we’d run hand in hand
this gauntlet and that…
of sneers, jeers, crass remarks

By autumn, we were sick of persistently
being dumped or worse
on piles of red, dead, leaves

Come midwinter, we moved in together,
resolved to give a party,
and those who came were glad for us

Seasons come and go, but in your arms
a sunny summer’s heat,
on your lips, a taste of spring


[Note: This poem appears under the title 'Love Endures' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]









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Wednesday 5 February 2014

No Stigma for HIV/AIDS

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

'When we walk away from global warming, Kyoto, when we are irresponsibly slow in moving toward AIDS in Africa, when we don't advance and live up to our own rhetoric and standards, we set a terrible message of duplicity and hypocrisy.' John F. Kerry]

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2009 and has since been requested by ‘Moira’ and ‘Simon K’ whose respective partners died of HIV-related infections.

Regular readers will know that I feel very privileged to have once been asked to write a poem (also on the blog) for DAMSET, an AIDS Educational Trust; thanks to the dedication and tireless efforts of those involved, the Trust has been responsible for creating a memorial mural in Bournemouth (near the pier entrance) to people who have died of AIDS across Dorset. Many of the tiles were designed by schoolchildren and I think it is wonderful (and not before time) that something so practical, imaginative, and sensitive has been created to promote HIV-AIDS Awareness. For years, tourists as well as local people will get the message while enjoying the tribute at the same time.

For more about DAMSET:

http://www.aidsmemorial.info/memorial/id=73/dorset_aids_memorial.html

I feel especially privileged that my poem - Autobiography of a Beach - has been included in the mural. ( See also: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKzi9VRjuq0&t=91s )

NO STIGMA FOR HIV/AIDS 

A neighbour had AIDS, and that’s why
some people speak of him
as if he were a dog that caught rabies
and had to be put down

He was a good man, some people say,
often whispering in my ear
(as if loath to confide a great sin)
that he was gay

He was a kind man, some people seem
anxious I should believe, as if
making reparation of the kind worn
on a perfectly ironed sleeve

He was an honest man, various people
are quick to cry as if
on the defensive after being caught out
in a well-honed lie

He was a lovable man, and had AIDS
although some people
won’t say that, as if in denial of a word
that deserves they get it right

A good, kind, honest, lovable man dies
of AIDS, and some people
(still) blame it on gay men as if they
have a monopoly on promiscuity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared in CC& D magazine v 212, Scars Publications (USA) 2010 and subsequently in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]





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Tuesday 4 February 2014

Global Warnings


Most if not all of us fancy we see hear voices in the wind from time to time,. Maybe we should  pause and make time to listen...  

Fanciful, you say?  Yes, of course, but sometimes what we digest can do us a whole lot of good…so long as we can keep it down  rather than throw it up because we feel guilty for fancying it in the first place. It is high time we treated the natural world with the respect it deserves, not as a communal rubbish bin; nor killing vanishing species, for whatever reason, without putting safeguards in place to ensure their survival. Humankind has a collective responsibility towards all nature or Earth Mother will take the ultimate revenge, and it may well be the likes of you and me will not be found among any survivors 

GLOBAL WARNINGS

Listen to the rain
telling tales on people
running for cover

Listen to the trees
telling tales on people.
cutting to the quick

Listen to the birds
telling tales on people
shooting them down

Listen to the fishes
telling tales on people
poisoning the seas

Listen to the worms
telling tales on people
doctoring the soil

Listen to the wind
telling tales of people
on life support

Listen to the people
marching for the planet
while we still can


Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

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Monday 3 February 2014

The Confidante


I should like to say a big thank you to those readers who email me now and then to ask how I am coping with my prostate cancer. Generally speaking, I feel fine although I get very tired some days, not that winter is a particularly inspiring month anyway.

Now, being philosophical about my prostate cancer is one thing, but I have to confess to moments of panic and low spiritedness. That’s when I turn to spending time with friends…

Looking back on my life (very selectively) I can recover peace of mind whenever I want. Writing helps. Oh, there are plenty of bad memories too, but that’s where the art of careful selection comes in. I guess it’s the same for everyone. Difficult times can make us vulnerable, edgy, and even scared. So what better course of action than to create another good memory to add to those we already have? Hey, presto! Suddenly, it is easier to stay calm, reach a more positive perspective on life, reap the finer rewards only peace of mind can bring.

It may not last long, peace of mind, but there is always recourse to the same archive of happy memories to restore it again and again for as long as it takes. Yes, probably a lifetime. Oh, and we should never forget that life is not about pleasing other people all the time, trying to be being a good friend and confidante; we need to make time for ourselves too.

We should all remember, too, that there is no shame in asking for support, physical and/or mental. Sadly some of us, especially men, seem to feel that it is an expression of weakness; on the contrary, realising that we cannot cope on our own and seeking help, even it its just means confiding our fears in someone, is an expression of inner strength, not to mention common sense. As well as or in the absence of anyone close, there are also support networks available where professional counselling can help; no need even to ask, just go on the the Internet. (Help - and computers - often available at your local public library.)

This poem is a kenning.

THE CONFIDANTE

I wait
in the wings, ever willing,
never failing to relieve
a fellow player stumbling
into everyday dramas,
comedies, darker scenarios
and Mummers' Plays
reaching out to an audience
up for empathy

I help clarify
those arguments between
mind and spirit
ever turning over choices
of words, trying
to keep to a script of sorts
reworked more times
than memory dares mull over
its mistakes

I lead
from the heart where heads
make ever-increasing
circles, a fragile conscience
debating intention,
direction, and motivation
without coming to a conclusion
most likely to earn a standing
ovation

Rely on me, a friend of the kind
arguing for Peace of Mind


Copyright R. N. Taber 2014


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Saturday 1 February 2014

Tell-Tale Mind


How many of us, I wonder, show ourselves to others as we really are rather than whom we would like them to think we are? Many people seem to think I am a strong person and very self-confident. Yet, nothing could be further than the truth. I portray a fictionalized version of myself in which I believe, because I have never quite managed to work out what it is about my real self that I can believe in.

Sometimes, when we are discussing mutual friends or colleagues with other friends and colleagues, even members of our own family with other members of the family, we are not infrequently surprised by what we hear and may even wonder if we are talking about the same person. I guess we present a different persona to different people. Yet, those personae are all the same person. So are we, I wonder, all caught up in our own fictions?

I have kept faith with my sexuality since I came out as an openly gay person many years ago, and am certainly not ashamed of being gay. At the same time, all those formative years of having to lie because being gay was a criminal offence have left their mark. In those days, I had to create an alternative persona in order to survive. On the one hand, there was the conscientious if not very bright schoolboy; on the other, there was the shy, scared teenager struggling to come to terms with an awakening sexuality and finding ways of satisfying it that would have shocked just about everyone I knew. I’d cruise for sex and love-hate every minute of it. I was like a good-bad character in a novel. My life, for years was a split reality. Even now, years on, no one knows or will ever know how much so or just how much of that split personality remains.

Oh, I am no Jekyll and Hyde, but if someone were to ask, ‘Will the real Roger Taber stand up please,’ it would be a motley collection of characters that step out of the storybook that is my life.

This poem is a villanelle.

TELL-TALE MIND 

I’d show the world what I would be
(as if make-believe pays)
but the mind, it tells tales on me

Terrified, as I confront adversity,
a sailor on angry waves,
I’d show the world what I would be

‘Be brave, go free,’ love told me,
quick to learn its ways,
but the mind, it tells tales on me

From nature, I take my humanity
(lost in a temporal maze);
I’d show the world what I would be

I have kept faith with my sexuality,
(mastering its ways)
but the mind, it tells tales on me

The heart, it seeks refuge in poetry
(from its nightmares);
I’d show the world what I would be,
but the mind, it tells tales on me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 2011


[Note: Yes, I know I’ve been oversimplifying in my preamble and not saying anything original, but readers often ask what lies behind a poem, what prompted me to write it in the first place. Besides, I am writing a blog, not an essay on the human psyche.]

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