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.

Monday 25 January 2016

Wake-Up Call


I suspect many if not most of us are inclined to misinterpret images conjured up by our dream selves, failing to see them as warning signs and as good a reason as any to take a closer look at ourselves…

The dawn chorus, for some of us, can be something of a wake-up call in more ways than one, lifting spirits and appealing to a bold imagination and spirituality, but only if we let it.

Too often, we get stuck in  psycho-emotional rut of our own making and we need to listen to nature's song, tap into its freely flowing potential for positive thinking.

WAKE-UP CALL

Glad chorus
greets a dawn birthing
brave new worlds
to a Here-and-Now
custom built

Love in the air,
snakes in long grass,
good and bad
sharing our burden
of choice

Lark, skylark,
dear symbol of light
and beauty,
victim of Man’s
sheer apathy

Let us not dwell
on any fears haunting
our pillows,
all that’s between us
self-destruct

Follow the skylark,
take a cue from nature,
seize the day
for the beauty we see
in one another

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2016

[Note: This poem is a later version of the original that appears in 1st eds. of Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000 as ‘Alarm Call’; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]


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Friday 15 January 2016

Never let a Wrinkle have the Last Word


I was 70 on the last winter solstice, and more than one person has expressed well-meaning sympathy for my growing old. Well, I am happy enough...most of the time.

Yes, I get aches and pains in unexpected and often inconvenient places and, yes, my treatment for prostate cancer doesn’t exactly agree with me. Even so, whenever I start feeling sorry for myself, and lamenting my lost youth, I recall a lovely old lady in her 90s whom I used to visit when I was on the staff of a local Home Library Service. She was housebound, and suffered with severe arthritis, but had a smile for everyone. I asked her once how she coped with not being able to get out and about. "Oh, but I do," she said without hesitation. "I read, watch videos and TV, listen to the radio...and let my imagination take me places you cannot imagine. Yes, I miss walking, of course I do, and neither my eyesight or hearing are are too good these days, but imagination...well, that lasts forever just so long as we give it its head and don't let real life have its wicked way with us..."

Life is what we make it at any age.  We all want different things from life, and it is down to each and every one of us to get the most out of the time we have, on the best terms available to us, instead of constantly brooding on the worst.

Did I say it was easy?

NEVER LET A WRINKLE HAVE THE LAST WORD

Growing old can be scary,
but there’s not much we can do
about it…?

So shall we take the dog
for walkies, put the world to rights
with next door’s cat, indulge
in some chat TV, watch a DVD
and leave it at that?

Ah, but there’s more
to life than our practising
the art of killing time
even if time is no friend
(or real enemy either)

Oh, and I haven’t heard
from so-and-so for ages so time
to get in touch and find out
when we can meet up, catch up,
(maybe even make up?)

The grapevine has it
a new class is starting up;
Now, was it art, crafts
or yoga? No matter, time enough
to find out more

I’ve always wanted
to do things folks said I couldn’t,
see places they said
I really shouldn’t ‘at my age’
(Yes, even then...)

Although time does us
no favours (or is it vice-versa?)
we can put records straight,
marginalise wishful thinking
and regret

Time to wake up, get up,
make up for missed opportunities,
(at least in part) though aches,
pains, and all sorts may have lots
to say about that

Time to call on an old pal
(Will Power) to haul him out
of his comfy armchair
and make damn sure he’ll start
pulling his weight

If growing old can be scary,
there’s no end to what we can do
about it…


Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2016



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Tuesday 12 January 2016

Making Peace with Progress (On the Waterways of Britain)


I wrote today’s poem to accompany the video my friend GrahamCollett shot some time ago for my You Tube channel (a team effort). Feedback suggests that some readers cannot always access You Tube so you can watch it here (see video at the bottom of this page) and listen to me reading the poem  over it OR tune into it directly on You Tube:

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WA8VQoPgX2M

Alternatively, if the link does not work, go to my You Tube Channel and search by title:


 http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

After my being incapacitated for over a year following a bad fall in August 2014, we thought it would be a good idea to test new video software with some earlier - previously unpublished - footage  before proceeding to edit/post the next (recent) video/poem to You Tube comprising footage of The Gift Horse sculpture on the 4th plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square. Watch this space…]

The video shows a section of the Kennet and Avon Canal, a waterway in southern England made up of two lengths of navigable river linked by a canal; the name is commonly used to refer to the entire length rather than just the central canal section. In all, the waterway incorporates 105 locks, one of which you can see in the video. The two river stretches were made navigable in the early 18th century, and the 57-mile (92 km) canal section was constructed between 1794 and 1810.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the canal gradually fell into disuse after the opening of the Great Western Railway. In the latter half of the 20th century the canal was restored in stages, largely by volunteers. After decades of dereliction requiring much restoration work, it was fully reopened in 1990. Since developed as a popular heritage tourism location for boating, canoeing, fishing, walking and cycling, it is also important for its wildlife.

This poem that I read over the video (also in the Description on You Tube) is a villanelle.

MAKING PEACE WITH PROGRESS (ON THE WATERWAYS OF BRITAIN)

On the waterways of Britain
(many neglected for years)
Man and nature as one again

Compensating for acid rain,
find honest sweat and tears
on the waterways of Britain

Ever mindful of loss and gain,
(Oh, spirited volunteers!)
Man and nature as one again

A testament to industry’s pain,
toiling through its centuries
on the waterways of Britain

Hosting the occasional swan,
even water voles and otters,
Man and nature as one again

Among such, pages written
of a nation’s finer endeavours;
on the waterways of Britain,
Man and nature as one again


Copyright R. N. Taber 2016


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Monday 11 January 2016

Spring Fields, the Poetry of Anticipation


We are constantly reminded of the resilience of nature and human nature to rise above even the worst winter may throw at it. So, too, we see evidence of that enduring penchant of human mind, body and spirit for the kind of creative therapy that lifts us out of despair and carries us into spring. What happens then, of course, is no secret where nature is concerned; new life, indeed. As for mind, body, and spirit, these can but reunite and do their best to rise above the worst and wing us along with the skylark, perennial metaphor for hope renewed and dreams reworked…that never (quite) went away.

SPRING FIELDS, THE POETRY OF ANTICIPATION

When winter comes,
its days so long, cold, and dark
where do dreams fly
that once rose with the lark,
kept us company
in spring fields bringing new life
to each flower, each tree?

When winter comes,
dimming even the brightest spirit,
what happens to hopes
that once nested in the heart,
kept the mind company
in spring fields bringing new life
to each flower, each tree?

When winter comes,
poverty sure to leave its mark,
to whom do they turn,
faced with life choices as stark
as keeping the heating on,
putting food on the table, buying
clothes for the children?

When winter comes,
snowflakes like failing heartbeats,
how do they survive,
forced to beg on busy streets
for the right to be free
of winter’s worst, a helping hand
from everyday humanity

When winter comes,
its days so long, cold and dark,
drive mind, body and spirit
to image wings of the same skylark
that kept us company
in spring fields bringing new life
to each flower, each tree

Where winter comes,
companion north wind blowing,
sparing no one,
find hopes and dreams creating
a bold new tapestry
of spring fields bringing new life
and hope to ailing humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2016



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Sunday 3 January 2016

A Growing Sense of Where Reason Fears to Tread


As I grow old (born 1945) I can’t help wondering if I may well have made fewer mistakes in life had I put more trust in heartfelt sensibilities and less in the (arguably) devious designs of reason.

Whatever, what is done is done and can never be undone although (sometimes) compensated for if only in part…provided we have (or can find) the heart for it.

A GROWING SENSE OF WHERE REASON FEARS TO TREAD

Days, weeks, years,
stretching across a wasteland
like a disused rail track
where ghosts play
at mind games to confuse us
about time lines

Time lines, in a haze
of remembrance playing fast
and loose with Memory
where conscience
pulls our strings and leads us
into shadowy places

In shadowy places,
wandering as lost and alone
as a child whose parent,
but for one awful moment 
in time let fall the clinging hand
into unbearable space

An awful vacuum
this freedom once longed for
with, oh, such passion,
meant to fire the flames 
of ambition, not made scapegoat
for an untimely burn out

Responsibility, moral
obligations where bucks stop
at a scary self-searching
where none so blind as dare 
not see block any home truths
demanding a voice

Home truths, eroding
comfort zones, pulling rugs
from under feet bent
on standing up to be seen 
scoring points over alternatives
and so-called 'betters'

Alternatives, for better
or worse, we’ll never know
unless given a voice, 
allowed to speak, make a case
for setting mind-body-spirit free
from dogma's chains

Mind, body, human spirit
stretching across a wasteland
like a disused rail track
where ghosts play football 
with 'live' heads, scoring off-side
more often than not

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016, 2019














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