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 31 December 2018

Resolution OR Addressing Mind-Body-Spirit

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

Here we go again in 2019. Some of us will have made New Year resolutions which most of us will either fail to keep or forget we made them anyway, which is why I never make any.

All of us, though, can and must do our bit to make the world a kinder, happier, more peaceful place, and it doesn’t require any New Year resolution because it comes naturally to us, and if it doesn’t, it damn well should. True, whatever one person says or does may not, in the grand scheme of things, make much difference, but like a stone thrown into a pond, it will make ripples, and as we watch those ripples spread let’s imagine thousands of pebbles thrown into thousands of ponds all over the world … for that’s where hope has a head start over despair. Nor does any religion have a monopoly on spirituality; the human spirit is bigger than that, accessible to anyone who seeks within themselves for the better side of human nature and is willing to play their part in whatever they may find there.

RESOLUTION or ADDRESSING MIND-BODY-SPIRIT

I can but do my best
in the worst of circumstances
created by a society
whose betters presume
to lead the way,
expecting the rest of us
to follow blindly, nettles
beyond grasp for a preoccupation
with straws

I struggle to do more
in the lesser of circumstances
created by a mindset
nurtured from first cradle
to final grave
by those ever anxious
to catch us out
with home truths incompatible
with their own

I will fight for you,
whenever, wherever circumstances,
threaten your space,
infiltrating mind-body-spirit
with a view
to exposing the flaws
in that sense of freedom
inexplicably giving us the edge
over closed minds

I am an affinity for humanity in you,
seasons of the heart running true

Copyright R N. Taber 2018

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

Wednesday 19 December 2018

Celebrations ringing True, ringing False

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

Sometime next year, hopefully in the spring, a selection of my general and  gay-interest poems will be published by Austin Macauley (London and New York); it is the first time a mixed selection of new and revised poems will be so widely available in bookstores around the world, and I am hoping it will fare well enough to allow for a follow-up volume. Here is no money in poetry, of course, but your support can only help give it a stronger voice in the modern world. I am 72 now, and have been living with prostate cancer for nearly eight years so may well be living on borrowed time. One day, the Grim Reaper will come calling, and I dare say my blogs will eventually descend into some digital Black Hole …

Ah, but still looking on the bright side of life here, and not ready for the G R just yet.

Meanwhile …

Every year for some years now, I have sent gay and gay-friendly straight friends a poem instead of a card as I am not really a Christmassy person and do not subscribe to any religion. Well, Christmas is almost upon us and I would like to take this opportunity to thank you, my readers – whatever colour, creed or sexuality, wherever you are and whether you dip into just one, both. or even all three of my blogs - for letting me into your lives.

CELEBRATIONS RINGING TRUE, RINGING FALSE

Christmas, ringing out loud and clear,
carol singers at the front door
mistletoe and ivy in the living room,
customised fir trees everywhere
dressed up with fairy lights signalling
festive cheer

Christmas, ringing out loud and clear,
children, live portraits of delight
embracing the stuff of winter dreams,
home comforts and joy everywhere,
all dressed up in laughter if only to hide
splitting seams

Christmas, ringing out loud and clear,
mums and dads denying the cost,
refusing to put a price on getting away
from a world in pain everywhere
all dressed up in promises of another day,
another year

Christmas, ringing out loud and clear,
celebrating the birth of a boy
believed by Christians to be the Christ
reaching out to a world in despair
in peace and love superseding any dogma
anywhere

Christmas, ringing out loud and clear,
disturbing the rough sleeper
fearful of waking to cold, snow, hunger,
home comforts but chinks
in curtains wrapping up my brother’s keeper
in make-believe

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018



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

Monday 3 December 2018

Ghosts in the Tower

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

At 73, I have difficulty getting around London these days since a bad fall in 2011. As it happens, the accident occurred very near the Tower of London although I had not been visiting it that day. It later transpired that I had badly fractured my left ankle and would need to learn to walk again. At the time, several kind passers-by stopped to help and waited with me for an ambulance to arrive. I was in a lot of pain, ye I spite of everything, I experienced an uplifting sense of camaraderie not only with those kind strangers but also with what I can only describe as a sense of kindred spirit emanating from the Tower itself.

Call me fanciful if you like (who am I to argue?) but that same kindred spirit stayed with me throughout one of the worst years of my life which left me housebound for months and often despairing of ever being able to get out and about again. (I was, after all, 68 years old at the time.)

Now, I can walk again, if with some difficulty, with the aid of my trusty walking stick and mange wo get out and about pretty well, all things considered. Yes, I have good days and bad days, and on the latter, it is that same human spirit, positive even in adversity, that continues to see me through.

Now, today’s poem has been significantly revised since it first appeared on the blog several years ago.

Among ghosts at the Tower is said to be Anne Boleyn, beheaded in 1536 for treason against Henry VIII; her ghost supposedly haunts the Church of St Peter ad Vincula in the Tower, where she is buried, and has been said to walk around the White Tower carrying her head under her arm. Other reported ghosts include Henry VI, Lady Jane Grey, and the Princes in the Tower. In January 1816, a sentry on guard outside the Jewel House claimed to have witnessed an apparition of a bear advancing towards him, and reportedly died of fright a few days later.  There have been various nameless and formless apparitions reported more recently, by night staff at the Tower. 


GHOSTS IN THE TOWER

In the bowels of London’s tower,
beats the pulse of its history,
feisty ghosts reliving every hour

Though tempted, we do not cower
from a fear that's legendary
in the bowels of London’s tower,

Here, mortals high and low flower
like lotus, spoils of eternity,
feisty ghosts reliving every hour

Ambition, lights and dark of desire,
past-present-future of a city
in the bowels of London’s tower,

Where ravens fly and tourists gather,
a city (still) aspiring to glory
feisty ghosts reliving every hour

Pages in its history coming together
to engage with us (intimately)
in the bowels of London’s tower,
feisty ghosts reliving every hour

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010


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

Sunday 22 July 2018

Here-and-Now, Do-or-Die

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

Now, we often complain that time waits for no one, but better (surely?) than it should stand still, especially when life dumps us between a rock and a hard place? 

Time is no cure-all for the worst wounds life inflicts, but it can make them if not less hurtful, at least more bearable.

Time, after all, effects change and change is what life (and humanity) is all about; whether that change is for better or worse, is not down to Time but to each and every one of us…in our own lives and in the wider world. 

After a bad nervous breakdown in 1979, I felt trapped in a No-Man's Land from which, for a long time, I envisaged no escape, all but gave up on having any future to speak of; employers are understandably wary of any prospective candidates for interview whose CV so much as hints at a history of mental illness. 

I was very fortunate to find an organization willing and able to help me, and started a new job four years later. In the meantime, the support of friends and a penchant for creative writing helped me rise above the worst, and get real again. I started a new job in 1983 and stayed there (in spite of reducing my hours so I would have more time to write) until I retired in 2008.

While recovering from my nervous breakdown, I discovered how not to judge my future by its past. All any of us can do, I suspect, is take the best of our Here-and-Now and do our damndest to shape and reshape it into something we can not only live with but, better still, take personal satisfaction in the making of... So I gave it a go, and not only survive to tell the tale but, better still, continue to enjoy customising my Here-and-Now as best I can.

HERE-AND-NOW, DO OR DIE 

Let's not judge a future by its past
or Time's remit to fly,
scream "Foul!" for our trailing last

Whoever swaps slow lane for fast
risks passing life by;
let's not judge a future by its past

Beware should old Memory’s blast
hurt and make us cry,
scream "Foul!" for our trailing last

Better feed on the present than fast,
forever asking, "Why?"
Let's not judge a future by its past

Let's not fly our colours at half mast,
(or each day, we die)
scream "Foul!" for our trailing last

Grab whatever feel-good lifeline cast
(if not always at first try);
let's not judge a future by its past,
scream ‘Foul!’ for our trailing last

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008, 2019

[Note: This poem has been significantly revised since it first  appeared on the blog in 2008.]

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

Saturday 30 June 2018

Hillsborough, in Remembrance OR No Justice

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

[Update Nov. 28 2019: Finally, 30 years on from the Hillsborough disaster, David Duckenfield - the only person prosecuted - was found not guilty of the manslaughter of 95 people at the stadium in 1989. Needless to say, the relatives of those killed who have been campaigning for justice all this time appeared upset and disgusted by the verdict.]

This is not a new poem but it has not appeared online for a couple of years and now seems an appropriate time to reinstate it. Although it was written in 1989, it did not appear in print until included in an anthology, ‘A Day in Time’ Forward Poetry, 2013. Why?

 I try in my poems to record as many events as possible that have made a deep impression on me and/or everyone else, for whatever reason; this one was written before I began to get poetry published on a regular basis in various magazines and anthologies, and later online. In this way, I began to build a modest reputation as a poet. Even so, it was rare indeed for an editor to accept a gay-interest poem which is why I resorted to self-publishing collections (2000-2012) that included both gay-interest and general poems by way of an attempt to convey not only that these are alternative voices of the same genre but also (to the less discerning among us) that there is more to a gay person’s identity than his or her sexuality. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, a poem is a poem is a poem just as a person is a person is a person...

A whole is the sum of its various parts, and as I have said on the blogs before, I see myself as a poet who also happens to be gay, not a gay poet; my sexuality is an integral part of who I am, but it is only a part. I have been very encouraged to hear from heterosexual readers that they enjoy many of the gay-interest poems I post while it would never have occurred to them previously to explore poems on a gay site. Hopefully, the realisation that gay people are essentially no less ordinary people than anyone else may help break put old prejudices and stereotypes to rights...so whenever straight readers email me that they have enjoyed a poem on my gay-interest blog, as a Liverpool F C supporter did only recently, I am thrilled.

Meanwhile…

It was announced yesterday that some people will (finally) be charged in relation to the Hillsborough tragedy. Among them is David Duckenfield, 73, police commander at the time, who will face charges of gross negligence manslaughter following the crush in the terrace pens of the Sheffield Wednesday stadium, Leppings Lane end at the match between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest here in the UK on April 15, 1989.

HILLSBOROUGH, IN REMEMBRANCE or NO JUSTICE

For the ninety-six fans who died
(then made to shoulder the blame)
truth will out that lay half buried

Family, friends, have long cried
for justice, and in more than name,
for the ninety-six fans who died

If police, media, playing off-side,
who else engaging with shame?
Truth will out that lay half buried

It was a bulldog spirit succeeded
in putting human flaws in the frame
for the ninety-six fans who died

Where facts and cover-ups collide,
closure but, oh, so slowly ever came
(truth will out that lay half buried)

A closer look, loose threads tied,
(ghosts looking for a football game);
for the ninety-six fans who died,
truth will out that lay half buried


Copyright R. N. Taber 1989; 2012


Labels: , , , , , , , , ,

Thursday 17 May 2018

Tracking the Torchbearer

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

This is not a new poem but one that several readers have asked me to repeat on the blog.

In 2012, the year the Olympic Games came to London and Her Majesty The Queen celebrated her Diamond Jubilee,, I produced a new collection, Tracking the Torchbearer; overall, it tries to capture something of the spirit of The Games rather than focusing on sporting events. (I had not long been diagnosed with prostate cancer so it was a welcome distraction!)

The book comprises 100+ poems in seven themed sections - including a gay section - for easy reading. Among poems on love, nature and contemporary society I have included others on such themes as the so-called Arab Spring, a tribute to trapped miners in Chile and their dramatic rescue, earthquakes in Christchurch, New Zealand and the earthquake/Tsunami off the coast of Japan as well as a record of happier occasions like a royal wedding and Her Majesty the Queen's Diamond Jubilee.

Regular readers will know that I publish my poetry collections under my own imprint, not least because most if not all poetry publishers seem to disapprove of poems on a gay theme appearing alongside poems on other themes and/or believe it to be a non-commercial proposition. I am delighted to have proved them wrong. Not only do my books sell well (for poetry) but gay and straight readers alike frequently get in touch to say they enjoy them; new readers among the latter usually express surprise at  enjoying ‘even’ my gay-interest poems, and some even start dipping into both blogs.

Oh, yes, I get some complaints and hate mail for supposedly ‘promoting’ a gay lifestyle, but not a lot, and it doesn’t bother me in the least.

I have to confess I am not much of a sports person, but what I love about sport is that it is open to everyone to actively participate or simply watch and enjoy. Ethnicity, religion, sex and sexuality all but cease to be the kind of artificial dividing lines some bigoted people insist upon drawing; all that matters is the person and his or her personal achievement in taking part, just as it should be in all aspects of life. People matter, end of... (One reason I will never understand so-called 'good' people who are intolerant of anyone who does not subscribe to their way of thinking, especially with regard to religion and sexuality; take the humanity out of religion and what is left is nut an empty shell for appearances' sake.)

Visiting 135 cities in 20 countries, covering 137000 kms in 130 days, I like to imagine the Olympic torch as bringing people together in a world where are neither gay-friendly nor gay-unfriendly people, homosexuals or homophobes…just people; a Family of Man that, like all families, will have its ups and downs, its share of falling out and making up, but always there for each other when it really counts. (Oh, but I wish…!)

Here's a BIG HUG from your truly because, as I write the blogs, I have a wonderful sense of your being there; it's a wonderful feeling and helps me a LOT in dealing with my prostate cancer. (So far, so good with the hormone therapy!)

It was the founder of the Olympics, Baron Pierre de Coubertin, who said "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not winning but taking part."

We should be proud to be part of a common humanity, not fighting over our differences. As I have said many times on the blogs, our differences do not make us different, only human. Indeed, we could - each and every one of us -  learn much from living by the basic principles of sportsmanship.

The poem is a villanelle.

TRACKING THE TORCHBEARER

Cheers, not just for those who win,
but everyone playing their part
in the race to show we’re human

Old gods who saw the Games begin
see new gods playing their part;
Cheers, not just for those who win,

Torch lit, world crowds making a din,
all set to make a start...
in the race to show we’re human

Politicians worldwide putting a spin
on an overloaded apple cart;
Cheers, not just for those who win

As old gods would get under the skin,
so new orders falling apart
in the race to show we’re human

Apollo, struggles even to raise a grin,
Earth Mother fast losing heart;
Cheers, not just for those who win
in the race to show we’re human

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011; 2018

[Note; An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]


















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

Saturday 12 May 2018

Agenda for a Cull OR Witnesses for the Prosecution

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

 “Each spring, the Canadian government authorizes fishermen to club or shoot to death hundreds of thousands of baby seals for their fur,” writes the Humane Society of the United States. This is a reference to the fact that the vast majority of harp seals killed are between one and 3.5 months old. However, some context might be in order. "Those rotisserie chickens at the grocery store were likely alive for only 40 days. The average pack of bacon comes from a pig that was only on earth for four months." - National Post, April 2018

I’m so glad I have been a pescatarian or some years now, almost vegan since being diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2014. (Why 'almost'? I haven't yet been able to give up fish completely.)

This poem is a villanelle.

AGENDA FOR A CULL  or  WITNESSES FOR THE PROSECUTION

Seal pups dying,
a culling to complete;
ice caps crying

Bargains wing
around the tourist beat;
seal pups dying

Come spring
craving summer’s heat,
ice caps crying

The done thing
to hit alt-control-delete;
seal pups dying

Words but piling
coals on the global heat;
ice caps crying

G8 (still) trying
to make ends meet;
Seal pups dying,
ice caps crying...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007. 2018


[Note: An earlier version this poem first appears in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

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

Saturday 28 April 2018

In the Face of One--eyed Jacks

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

Since the early days of the so-called Arab Spring, civil war has caused untold suffering to the Syrian population. Anti-government protests had been ongoing in the Syrian city of Hama since March 2011, when large protests broke out in the city, similar to others elsewhere. In July, the Government sent the Syrian Army into Hama to control protests on the eve of Ramadan, often referred to as the ‘Ramadan Massacre.’

Ever since, both security forces and “rebels” have carried out numerous large-scale operations, resulting in mass executions, killings, arrests, kidnappings and torture across Syria. Many families and elderly people are suffering above all from the shortage of electricity, water and lack of food/ medical supplies; frequently they no longer have a home. There are blackouts several times during the day, and gasoline is rationed. No one knows when or where the next bomb will fall.

There has to be a diplomatic solution although the neutral observer may well feel prompted to ask  whether - in the murky world of politics - that old saying, ‘where there’s a will there’s a way’ is not more aptly applied to expediency than to will … on anyone’s part? If inhumanity is a vicious circle, it is one that's drawn and expanded by human beings.

This poem is a villanelle.

IN THE FACE OF ONE-EYED JACKS

Watch inhumanity boxing clever
as the toll of dead and injured grows;
world’s cyclopean eye on Syria

As face-saving excuses endeavour
to explain away as its politics allows,
watch inhumanity boxing clever

Freedom, a dirty word, all the surer
for (ever) wiping its poor bloody nose;
world’s cyclopean eye on Syria

A century’s children living in terror,
all innocence cheated of its tomorrows,
watch inhumanity boxing clever

No stranger to either war or massacre,
(cue for United Nations to strike a pose)
world’s cyclopean eye on Syria

May humanity yet endure, be the leader
sheer common sense alone sure to choose;
watch inhumanity boxing clever,
world’s cyclopean eye on Syria …

London: April 2018

Copyright R N. Taber 2018 

[Note: A cyclops is described in ancient Greek and Roman mythology as from a primordial race of giants, each with a single eye in the centre of the forehead; the word "cyclops" literally means "round-eyed" or "circle-eyed".  – Wikipedia]

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

Thursday 26 April 2018

Where History Hangs its Head OR S-H-A-M-E, Ghosts of Past-Present-Future

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

[Update April 26th 2018: This is not a new poem but one that was inadvertently deleted and which I feel deserves to be read. Some people consider the classic villanelle form dated, even irrelevant to modern life. Well, we must agree to differ. 

In my experience, its use of repeated lines (as with any repetition) helps the reader to remember the poem; remembering, in turn, invites further thought. Encouraging any audience to think on about whatever he or she is saying has to be (surely?) what motivates any author of any art form.] RNT

[Update April 22, 2017: Tragically, history - like the worst of human nature - has a nasty habit of repeating itself: http://www.newnownext.com/cnn-chechnya-gay-concentration-camps/04/2017/

So will the politicians of the world unite and DO something about these atrocities? 

Sign the petition? (I did.) You don't have to be gay (just human) to recognise and be sickened by any appalling inhumanity towards anyone.

Readers (gay people among others subjected to various prejudices) often email me. Many want to know  why I suggest being gay is still a problem in the twenty-first century. It isn't...so long as you live in a gay-friendly environment among gay-friendly family and friends and have a gay-friendly workplace. Not everyone does, of course...] RNT

Now, January 27th marks Holocaust Memorial Day when the world, as always on that day, rightly remembers the horrors of the Nazi death camps. In April (23rd/24th)Yom HaShoah commemorates the six million + Jewish victims of the Holocaust. Too often, though, I hear people gloss over the fact that millions of non-Jews suffered the same tragedy. 

“Although the term Holocaust victims generally refers to the victims of a systematic genocide of the Jewish people in Nazi Germany, the Nazis also murdered a large number of non-Jewish people who were considered subhuman (Untermenschen) or undesirable. Non-Jewish (gentile) victims of the Holocaust included Slavs (e.g. Russians, Poles, Ukrainians and Serbs), Romanis (gypsies), lesbian, gay, bisexual and trans (LGBT) individuals;] the mentally or physically disabled; Soviet POWs, Roman Catholics, Jehovah's Witnesses,] Spanish Republicans, Freemasons, people of color (especially the Afro-German Mischlinge, called "Rhineland Bastards" by Hitler and the Nazi regime); the Deaf, leftists, Communists, trade unionists, social democrats, socialists, anarchists, and every other minority or dissident not considered Aryan (Herrenvolk, or part of the "master race") Taking into account all of the victims of persecution, the Nazis systematically killed an estimated six million Jews and an additional 11 million people during the war.” - Wikipedia.

Once, on Holocaust Memorial Day, at the public library where I was working, staff created a ‘Holocaust Tree’ and anyone could (as many did) tie a personal message or comment to its branches. Before I went to lunch, I noticed that someone had written, ‘Remembering all the gay people who perished in the death camps.’ By the time I returned from lunch, it had been removed. As a poet who also happens to be gay, I was having none of that, and replaced it with the same message. It was a busy day, though, and I did not see it removed a second time. Needless to say, I replaced it, and no one removed it again. 

We must not forget them, those victims, none of them, nor should we (ever) forget that history is a continuum; we must guard against its repeating itself, wherever, and in whatever shape or form, as best we can…speak up and act, not bury our heads in the Politics of Convenience and turn a blind eye, as so many did with The Holocaust.

Nazism was a terrible thing. It is one of the 21st century's greater tragedies that right wing extremism worldwide continues to grow while actively, often violently expressing its prejudices against others - anti-semitism, homophobia, racism ... Even so, wherever the body may be silenced, be sure the free mind-body-spirit of love and peace will shout all the louder down the Corridors of Time ... in the perennial hope that certain people may yet start listening.

This poem is a villanelle/

WHERE HISTORY HANGS ITS HEAD or S-H-A-M-E,  GHOSTS OF PAST-PRESENT-FUTURE

For Jews, Slavs and others, no pity 
shown the victims of Nazi genocide;
roll call for a sickening inhumanity

For their cultural-religious identity,
thousands in the gas chambers died;
for Jews, Slavs and others, no pity 

Same sex lovers corrupting Society
(cried  Nazis targeting us with pride);
roll call for a sickening inhumanity

Roma, too, targets of a Nazi bigotry
for which so many suffered and died;
for Jews, Slavs and others ... no pity

An indelible blot on pages of history
(nor Earth Mother 's tears ever dried)
roll call for a sickening inhumanity

Holocaust, haunting human memory
(no want of inhuman acts worldwide);
for Jews, Slavs and others, no pity;
roll call for a sickening inhumanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016






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

Saturday 14 April 2018

A Senior's Take on the Spirit of Spring

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

Finally, it looks as though spring is not only poised to arrive here in the UK but even stay long enough to run a steady course through to whatever meteorological delights summer may (or may not) have in store for us.

A teacher at my old secondary school some sixty years ago once put it to the class in passing that the seasons are a state of mind. He moved on without explaining what he meant, and I for one thought no more about it…until recently.

Spring is often late, very late, here in the UK as I do battle after battle with the slings and arrows of outrageous old age. I have good days and bad days. Invariably, it is a case of win-some-lose-some, but on a good day recently I found myself looking out at grey skies and having to tolerate  dreary silence, not a hint of birdsong.  I felt depression creeping on and resolved to have none of it. Instead, I enjoyed a wallow in the bath, put on a favourite shirt and played some favourite music. Instantly, I felt a new person, invigorated, full of the joys of…yes, springtime. Outside it was cold and pouring with rain, but I didn’t care…so maybe my teacher all those years ago had a point after all?

Spring may not last long, but it is from its spirit of positive growth and renewal that we all, each and every one of us, need to take our cue for life over a lifetime, no matter our ethnicity, religion, sex or sexuality. while also respecting others who choose likewise, but take off in other directions. Well, don't we...?

A SENIOR’S TAKE ON THE SPIRIT OF SPRING

As I look out of my window;
I often see him there, swinging
on a wooden gate

Patches of sunshine creating
rainbows in fair  hair straggling
a blue shirt collar

Faded blue jeans, testament
to carefree playtimes when life
was a bundle of laughs

Face wreathed in smiles, one
for every songbird on the fence
dividing alley and garden

You catch me watching, wave
an eager hand, beckon me come
and be a part of it all

Part of all what, I’d ask of life
as I do now, distanced light years
from any springtime?

No answers then. Now, I know
better than to ask, a part of it all
for better, for worse

Images pass in and out of view
kaleidoscoping seamless seasons
of mind-body-spirit

Ah, but the child I was still waves
to me, last seen swinging on a gate
into an eternal spring

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018


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

Thursday 1 February 2018

Skeleton in the Cupboard

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

I was researching my family history some years ago and went for a drink afterwards with someone likewise engaged. He asked me why I was doing it and I confessed it was a form of therapy to help me recover from a bad nervous breakdown; it was still (relatively) early days.  When I asked him the same question, he laughed and commented to the effect that he was hoping to find a few skeletons in the family cupboard. “Mind you,” he added almost as an afterthought, “I’m not sure I like the idea of someone raking over my bones,” and tossed me a knowing wink, whereupon I felt faintly uneasy and changed the subject. We passed a cheery enough hour together, and parted promising to meet up again…which we never did.

Given how we all perceive each other differently, that the media are inclined to put across a view of us altogether differently again should the opportunity arise and various ad hoc reports are likely to be biased if not suspect, depending on time and context…ca we really expect to reach a balanced view of any life history?

Hopefully, the average family history mole will arrive at a balanced perspective, but I can’t help wondering how he or she would feel about someone burrowing into their personal history…?

SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD

I cannot see, hear or speak,
but I know things, feel things, keep them
close to my chest, archive them
so any who care to rummage the files once
the archivist has moved on
may yet discover what it was that I hid
behind closed doors who thought
the better part of valour to keep them shut
on pain of hurt wherever

I can neither defend my actions
nor ever explain, but I feel them, keep them
close to my chest, archive them
to a living and posthumous consciousness
in which we all have a share,
whether or not we choose to pass on
anything of what has been gained,
learned or lost from experiencing the nature
of experience as it is

I will never see, hear or speak
to any who know things, feel things about me
for researching my history
out of a sense of responsibility, curiosity
or simply an affinity with people
suspected of slamming doors on closet lives,
choosing to forget their footprints,
handprints, DNA, even nervy (scary?) scrawl
remain open access

I am a silent witness to all life throws,
for better or worse, in sickness, health, death
and wherever else angels (it’s said)
may well fear to tread if dearly wanting
to prise open closed doors,
research archives history would prefer left
to gather dust for fear they expose
hidden truths, they from whom so much hid
for love of them

I am called many things by many people
struggling to differentiate between good and evil,
erring on the side of the former
wherever possible if only by comparison
with its global counterpart’s capacity
for one-upmanship in every area of human life,
leaving much the same paper
and online trails for any dedicated followers
of home truths to follow

For every family's history in my every bone,
someone exposing secrets of their own...


Copyright R. N. Taber 2018

[Update: Dec. 5th 2020:  This poem appears in the Genealogists’ Magazine for December 2020. For more information about the Society (London UK) : http://www.sog.org.uk/about/contact-the-society]


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

Monday 22 January 2018

Finding Neverland


This poem was written while I was recovering from a bad nervous breakdown in the early 1980’s. I found it buried under various documents for which I no longer have any use, and thought some readers might be interested.  Writing - especially poetry - helped me through that breakdown to a new job nearly 4 years later, one that would take me to retirement in 2008.

FINDING NEVERLAND

Oh, to ride a cloud
out of Nowhere, carrying me
Somewhere

Somewhere,
all varieties of plant and animal
in harmony

Somewhere,
no acid rain or polluted oceans,
only beauty

Somewhere,
no hint of war or double dealings,
only peace

Somewhere,
no hate crime grabbing headlines,
only love

Somewhere,
no socio-cultural-religious dogma,
only humanity

It’s cloud nine
to Somewhere, only ever dumps us
back Here

Here, there…
round trip to Neverland where hope
springs eternal

Copyright R. N. Taber 1983; 2018





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

Tuesday 16 January 2018

A Positive Take on Adversity or L-I-F-E. No Waiting Game

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

I have read poems at voluntary self-help groups from time to time. Many of the people who attend are on welfare and/or have mental health problems and/ or alcohol or drug related problems. These are fine people, trying to help themselves and each other with precious little help or encouragement from outside the group. It is inspiring to see them pulling together in adversity and learning to take responsibility for themselves and each other; a lesson the less enlightened among us would do well to learn instead of preferring to pass judgement on others.

Help, encouragement, reassurance...these ARE all out there, but rarely will they simply knock on our door; we need to knock on theirs and find the words to ASK. I well recall how my mother once told me that life is no waiting game, how we have to get out there and live it, and that means meeting each other at least halfway.

 A POSITIVE TAKE ON ADVERSITY or L-I-F-E, NO WAITING GAME

Coming together, supporting each other,
toes in the Sea of Life, getting a feel for the swim
rather than drown

Making an effort to come down to a shore
where seaweed and shells on shifting sands spread
rather than stay in bed

A part of a life tide’s natural ebb and flow
yet frightened of its fickle nature, all highs and lows
but a Hall of Mirrors

Alone, it is hard to bear the happy sounds
of children laughing, applause for ice cream chimes,
hints at kinder times

In good company, easier by far to break free
of shadows stalking us, driving us to seek sanctuary
in cages of our history

Together, let’s imagine wings, flex and fly,
take heart from songbirds rejoicing seashore and sky,
no matter where or why

As rough or fair as any sea passage may be,
let us look to fellow voyagers, let a creative empathy
reconstruct our history

Coming together, supporting each other,
getting a feel for wings rising above, learning how
to trust in Nature’s love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared  under the title 'A Feeling for Seagulls' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2007; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]


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

Monday 1 January 2018

One World, Mixed feelings, a Thousand Cuts

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

[Update July 3rd 2018]:Every now and then readers email to ask why I post both gay-interest and general poems on my Google+ site. [Google have since removed personal posts from that site.]A reader wrote only yesterday to insist they are separate genres. Well, everyone is entitled to their point of view, but I see them as alternative voices of the same genre, A poem is a poem is a poem regardless of content just as a person is a person is a person regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality. Similarly, one voice, one world. As I have said before, our differences don't make us different, only human.]

In 2016, National Theatre head Rufus Norris and artist Jeremy Deller were behind a project taking place across the UK with men dressed as World War One soldiers. Each carried a card with the name of the soldier they represented and his age - if known - when he died. This ‘living memorial’ involved about 1,500 voluntary participants appearing in public spaces across the UK; the project, entitled We're Here Because We're Here, was commissioned by 14-18 NOW, the UK's arts programme for the World War One centenary.

Gay people go to war too, of course, always have and always will even if they have had to keep their sexuality under wraps. (Why under wraps? Nature does not discriminate so why should human nature; human nature is better than that...isn't it? Oh, world religions may discriminate but I sincerely doubt any God would, and I don't say that because I am gay but simply as a human being with a strong sense of spirituality that I chose to take from nature rather than any religion even as a child.)

Now, I do not believe in a life after death as such, but neither do I believe in some eternal nothingness. Nature tells me there is a never-ending sense of renewal. My own feelings assure me we live on in the lives - not just the memory - of others. So what of those who never knew us and what will happen to those memories when family and friends who shared them are all dead?  No one knows, of course, and although I do not subscribe to any religion, I envy those who do if only in the sense that it must be very comforting to feel assured that this life is not all there is for us.

Ah, but we are all influenced by other people; in turn, we, too, influence others by what we say and do. In this way we create a ‘presence’ that even death cannot wipe away as if we were but a smudge on the temporal landscape. In this way, at least, we continue our paths through ‘live’ time and space if only in spirit.

There is an old saying, 'Where there's life, there's hope' - and life is everywhere...

This poem is a kenning.

ONE WORLD, MIXED FEELINGS, A THOUSAND CUTS

Death caught my hand one day,
and led me through a cold, dark place
where a part of me wanted to stay;
the cold, it stripped all my pain away;
the dark, it hid tears on my face
for the part of me so wanting to stay;
temptation, an end to endeavour,
but sure to make me suffer for a part
of me that’s come to...nothing?

Broken heart, telling me straight
while peering over Death’s shoulder
at that part of me wanting to die;
suddenly, a welcome light appears,
inciting a rush of heat to the body,
sufficient to allay even secret fears;
I succumb to a familiar embrace,
hear a loved voice reciting the poetry
of that part of me I cannot face

Enter, the life force of humanity,
its responsibility to liberty, equality
and fraternity, no excuses
(in any socio-cultural -religious name)
for undermining the principles
of democracy by silencing its voices
among which sexuality has no less
right to be heard and heeded as any other
in a world found wanting

I am Hope, homing in on world history,
inspiring free spirits, century to century

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2016

[Note: This is not a new post, but one that was accidentally deleted; the poem has been significantly revised since it first appeared on the blog in 2010.]

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