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].
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.
This poem is the direct result of a visit to the historic Sussex town of Lewes. As always, my friend Graham Collett shot and edited the video and I wrote a poem to accompany it. I have posted the video/poem on my You Tube channel:
It was during the latter days of last summer that
Graham and I visited Lewes. We only had time to visit the castle and Anne of Cleves’ House, and we
thought you might enjoy sharing the experience.
The town is the location of several significant
historic buildings, including Lewes Castle and a sixteenth-century
timber-framed Wealden hall house known as Anne of Cleves House because it was
given to her as part of her divorce settlement from Henry VIII; although there is no historical evidence to show that she never
lived there, she may well have visited from time to time.
Both Anne of Cleves' House and the Castle are owned and maintained by the
Sussex Archaeological Society.
LEWES,
LANDSCAPE OF IMAGINATION
Looking
for creative therapy?
Visit
the landscape of imagination,
take
a journey into history;
Lewes,
spoils of Norman invasion,
Courtesy
of William, Conqueror
to
William de Warenne and spouse
on
overcoming Saxon resistance,
a
castle there to build on the Ouse,
dedicated
to St Pancras,
in
remembrance of a child martyr,
executed
for his faith
Pass
through the Barbican Gate,
get
a feel for olde England surrounds;
a
Motte and Bailey castle,
later
fortified with stone, the better
to
defend against invasion;
few
richer spoils of time to be found,
firing
the imagination,
filling
inner eye and ear with sights
and
sounds of generations
ghosting
a courtyard dominated
by
all-seeing towers
Climb,
climb, a winding stair
of
stone, labour of love, chiselled
out
of the history
of
olde England, witness to battles
and
executions,
as
well as celebrations, successes
and
failures of its tenants
over
centuries of war and peace;
echoes
of laughter and tears
haunting
East Sussex surrounds
for
a thousand years
Lewes,
meeting its past head-on,
where
Anne of Cleves, and entourage
loyal
to a discarded queen
may
well have sought out the peace
of
Tudor England’s green
but
troubled land, under a fickle king
so
desperate for a son
he
wed unwisely (six times, no less)
letting
ego-led lust have its head,
while
Anne kept hers, even acquired
a
house in Lewes
Time,
though, will wait for nothing
and
no one, least of all a poem passing
through
its eternal passages
of
fame and fortune, secrets and lies,
honourable
deaths, executions
history
may well attempt to justify
and
scholars make excuses
while
poets love to visit time and again,
bring
to the landscapes
of
imagination, inner eye and ear,
open
to whatever…
Day
done, history’s curtain drawn
across
the windows of minds anxious
to
chew on history’s bones,
reach
their own conclusions as to how
past
into present excavations
of
various ruins and other testaments
to
history’s own, for better or worse,
invest
ghosts the ilk of Anne of Cleves
and
such tenants as its castle
once
let live, love, make merry and die,
with
a singular peace…
Lewes
Copyright
R. N. Taber 2016 Note: I had problems uploading the video to You Tube so you may need to watch it again if your first attempt resulted in any distorted images.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber You can hear me read this poem over the You Tube video. However, several readers who cannot access You Tube on their own computers for some reason and have seen the video on someone else’s have asked me to reinstate it on the blog. (See video below). Many thanks, by the way, for their kind comments regarding my blogs. The original You Tube video is available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUShMVosnFs OR access my You Tube channel and search by title: http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber The lake at Stourhead (NB ‘Spirit Lake’ is simply the title I have given to the poem that I read here and video footage) is artificially created. Following a path around the lake is meant to evoke a journey similar to that of Aeneas's descent in to the underworld; passages telling of Aeneas's journey are quoted in the temples surrounding the lake. Read more about Stourhead on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stourhead
The video is one of three shot by my close friend Graham Collett, and I wrote the poem especially for the occasion. We hope you will enjoy both. This poem is a villanelle: SPIRIT LAKE World of peace and tranquility (looking out for its own); Earth Mother’s greater legacy Time playing games with history (myth into maturity grown); world of peace and tranquility Dreamland lake in all its serenity (solitude, yet not alone); Earth Mother’s greater legacy The very best of prose and poetry (open minds freely shown); world of peace and tranquility Watch ripples pausing at eternity (life force unknown) Earth Mother’s greater legacy Each heart, wing, flower and tree (life arts, ever windblown); world of peace and tranquility, Earth Mother’s greater legacy Copyright R. N. Taber 2014
A poetry
reading in 2007 took me to Shrewsbury where I engaged with a lovely audience in
a local bookshop. I did not get around to including my poem in a collection
until this year and have to say I feel more than a shade self-conscious about
posting a poem of mine alongside mention of such a fine poet as Wilfred Owen.
Wilfred
Owen (1883-1918)
Owen, a homosexual
(the word ‘gay’ was not used in this context in those days) is probably one of
the best known of the World War 1 poets. His name appears on the Great War
Memorial tablet inside Shrewsbury Abbey.
Photo: Shrewsbury Abbey
‘Symmetry’
in the grounds of the abbey is sculpture, by Paul de Monchaux commissioned by
the Wilfred Owen Association (Owen went to school in Shrewsbury) to commemorate
the poet’s life and work; it was unveiled in June 1993. The line "I am the
enemy you killed" engraved on one side is from Owen’s poem, ‘Strange Meeting’
The design is meant to convey the symmetries in Owen’s poem as well as the
trenches of 1917 and the Sambre-Oise canal in 1918.
Photo: ‘Symmetry’
On 4th November 1918, the British 32nd Division crossed the Sambre-Oise canal at Ors, in the face of strong opposition. Wilfred Owen was killed on the towpath on this side of the canal about one kilometre to the north of the bridge.
Photo: Western Front Association plaque for Wilfred Owen by the
Sambre Canal, Ors, France.
Regarding my poem, I should mention that Laura's
Tower is a folly built on the summit of Shrewsbury Castle motte around 1790 by
Thomas Telford for Laura, the daughter of Sir William Pulteney, as a
summerhouse. It is of an octagonal design in red sandstone with conical copper
roof. The river Severn flows by
…Photo: Laura’s Tower
Mount House, birthplace of Charles Darwin
A POET'S
SHREWSBURY
Follow
the market trader’s cry
across
old Shrewsbury town
where the
fickle Severn flows by
Discern
in history’s cloudy eye
scenes of
Parliament v Crown;
follow
the market trader’s cry
At Laura’s
tower, dare lift high
the hem
of Nature’s gown
where the
fickle Severn flows by
Swans
over the English Bridge fly
with
dive-bombing precision,
follow
the market trader’s cry
See
sunset’s flames lick at the sky
as if the
grand abbey burning down
where the
fickle Severn flows by
Ponder a
war poet casting the die,
Darwin
giving heaven cause to frown;
follow
the market trader’s cry
where the
fickle Severn flows by
[Shrewsbury,
August 2007]
[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber,
Assembly Books, 2012]
[Update Feb 22nd 2019]: The US bomber - a B-17 Flying Fortress known as Mi Amigo - came down in Endcliffe Park in Sheffield on 22 February 1944, killing everyone on board.
Thousands of people gathered in the park this morning to pay tribute to the fallen US airmen with the flypast due at 8.45am.
It is believed the U.S. Mi Amigo crew from the 305th Bomb Group crashed into woods to avoid a group of boys who were playing as their flying fortress plummeted to earth:
U. S. Bomber air crew (Photo from the Internet]
One of them Tony Foulds, 82, was eight years old when he saw the plane crash; it is he who has attended the crew’s memorial for years and organised today’s fly past.]
[Update May 16th 2018]: On the night of 16-17 May 1943, the RAF's 617 Squadron carried out an audacious bombing raid attacking dams serving the Ruhr valley, leaving German factories and mines badly damaged. ]
This poem is a villanelle that I wrote to mark the occasion and will
include in a final collection - Diary
of a Time Traveller - scheduled for publication in 2015 (when I will be
70).
SALUTING
BOMBER COMMAND
Where
Bomber Command once flying
the
gamut of heavens and hell;
so
many young men, so few returning
Among
birds of prey, resolutely diving
a
ghastly, deadly, smoky swell
where
Bomber Command once flying
For
many, no glorious homecoming
nor
a single passing bell;
so
many young men, so few returning
No
glory, only necessity in the bombing
and
a faith that peace will prevail
where
Bomber Command once flying
Haunting
the brave veterans surviving,
a
face for every bomb that fell;
so
many young men, so few returning
Our
thanks, far too long in the waiting,
its
last crew, a fitting memorial;
where
Bomber Command once flying,
so
many young men, so few returning
Copyright R. N.
Taber 2012
A Lancaster bomber dropped 82,000 poppies over London to remember those who died.
Hampstead Heath comprises rolling acres of green landscape in London close to where I live. I love it. Now, even Turner’s famous painting of the Heath could not do justice to this beautiful spot although he comes close. As for me, I cannot expect to come even that close in my poems! Even so, if we let ourselves feel intimidated by the great masters of any genre, we may well never attempt anything. Besides, the joy of doing is as great as the thrill of achieving if not more so. As for success, whatever form it takes, that is a nothing more or less than a nice bonus.
A path in Ken Wood (A place of Scientific Interest)
Observing nature is always an experience worth making time for, especially if we let it into our hearts, learn from it, find ways to harness its kinder side to body, mind and spirit, enjoy an intrinsic peace and tranquillity... The video below concludes my friend Graham’s visit to the Cheddar Gorge along with a poem I wrote especially to accompany it; you will hear me read the poem over the video. Some readers tell me they cannot access You Tube for one reason or another, but those that can may prefer to click on the direct link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v82obNd8N5k For more videos/poems on my channel: http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber
LISTENING OUT FOR NATURE Birdsong in the wind making promises it cannot keep to every flower, tree and blade of grass, each hair on the head of creatures great and small Tears in the wind but acid rain, humankind’s gift to every flower, tree and blade of grass, each hair on the head of creatures great great and small Joy, too, in the wind same birdsong busy serenading every flower, tree and blade of grass, each hair on the heads of creatures great and small Love songs in the wind, composed for every flower, tree, and lade of grass, each hair on the heads of creatures great and small to take heart, know it will flourish in the light of Apollo’s smile; ageless, the tell-tale wind, like our pride in every flower, tree, and blade of grass, each hair on the heads of creatures great and small exhorting us to answer its call to keep this world colourful, peaceful Birdsong in the wind, let fly to reassure every flower, tree and blade of grass, lift the heads of creatures great and small threatened daily with extinction Tears in the wind, at the passing of each season for every flower, tree, and blade of grass, each hair on the heads of creatures great and small Joy, too, in the wind, at each springtime’s returning to nurture every flower, tree, blade of grass, creatures great and small counting on nature, nature on us Copyright R. N. Taber 2012
I wrote today’s poem especially to accompany and read over the
video below that I have just uploaded to my YouTube channel. If the video here does not play, go to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqydBlronxE
Continuing my best friend Graham’s snapshot of
Wiltshire, he takes us from the Gothic splendour of Salisbury cathedral to the natural
beauty of the Cheddar Gorge; this is the first of three videos which we hope will give
you a feel for the Gorge and its splendid views. Yes, he could have waited for a sunny day,
but we both feel that a gathering storm is more atmospheric.
The poem attempts to covey something of the intimate
relationship between the human condition and the natural world. I will post
poem and video on my blog as previous feedback suggests that some of you cannot
access YouTube directly.
Two further videos of the Cheddar Gorge (and poems)
will follow during the course of this week once editing is completed. [We had
hoped to combine all there videos into one, but the resulting file proved too
big for my pc and it crashed.]
DIRT TRACK
I
found myself trudging a dirt track,
my
world, splitting at the seams,
not
caring if no way back,
nothing
there but shattered dreams
Wearily
negotiating mud and stones,
my
world, a lonely, empty place,
mind,
spirit and aching bones
closed
to the poetry of time and space
Suddenly,
the track began to open out
my
world, opening up as if on cue,
unfriendly
ghosts put to rout
by
Earth Mother looming into view
Firmly,
yet kindly she grasped my arm
and led me through time and space,
glad
captive of a fickle charm
returning
me to poetry’s birthplace,
I
had neither the heart nor will to resist,
but
submitted to all she asked of me,
to
all I hadn’t known I’d missed,
more
still the inner eye had yet to see
No matter a world splitting at its seams, I am resolved to find my way back,
Now, a street is far more than a place where people live, more even than those people themselves.
A street is part of history, stretching back through time and forward into the future.
For now and always, we are a part of all that...
It used to be a GOOD feeling if perhaps less so in recent years. (Well, that's the nature of change for you, rarely for the better when it comes to the local environment.) Even so, the street where I live now and streets where I once lived hold happy memories as well as sad ones so... thank you streets for those.
EVERY STREET HAS SOMETHING TO SAY
I’ve walked along a busy street
as the sun rises, shedding its rays like tears
for all I am not
I’ve walked along a busy street
come noon, Apollo’s heat on me like a lover
offering comfort
I’ve walked along a busy street
in a gentle twilight, its lampposts like trees
bidding me sleep tight
I’ve walked along a busy street
as the sun begins to set, felt like a movie star
on a red carpet
I’ve walked along a busy street
to my own front door, proudly acknowledging
I am a part of it
[London: Kentish Town, Oct 2010] Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
[Update Feb 6th 2019: it is 67 years to the day when her Majesty became Queen upon the death of her father, George V1 on Feb 6th 1952; she was crowned the following year.]
[Update January 14th 2018]: 2018 (June 2nd ) will see the 65th anniversary of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 11's coronation when thousands lined the streets to watch her travel to Westminster Abbey in the gold coach (Yes, real gold!) She had, of course, ascended to the throne in 1957 following the death of her father King George V1 in February the previous year.
(Photo taken from the Internet)
[Update November 20th 2017]:Today marks the 70th wedding anniversary of Her Majesty, the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. I feel sure that hearts across the world will join mine in reaching out to them with love, respect and many congratulations.] [Update, June 17th 2017]: Today marks Her Majesty's official birthday albeit a low key affair this year in the wake of the terrible tower block fire in North Kensington only days ago. It was very encouraging to see our Queen and Prince William visit the scene of the fire that consumed an entire block with horrific speed and has left many people dead and scores homeless. They spoke with and offered heartfelt words of comfort to survivors, emergency services, and those still seeking news of loved ones feared dead. I spoke to someone who was there and she told me that everyone appreciated Her Majesty making the effort to show she cared, demonstrating a willingness to share something of their trauma. Actions, after all, speak louder than rhetoric...of which there is plenty flying around in various socio-cultural-political arenas these days.] RT
King George VI died in February 1952; and as is the custom, his firstborn child succeeded to the throne. Princess Elizabeth was just 26 years old and married to Prince Philip. They had been blessed with two children by then, Prince Charles and Princess Anne. So her long reign began. The date of her coronation was June 2, 1953 (it took that long to prepare.)
Update (June 11th 2016): Today marks Her Majesty the Queen’s official 90th birthday; for other (British) royalty related posts/poems, see:
Portrait of the Queen and Prince Philip taken by celebrity photographer Annie Leibovitz to mark the Queen’s 90th birthday. Copied from the Internet)
Diamond Jubilee, 2012 (original post): Yesterday, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II addressed both Houses of Parliament here in London to mark her Diamond Jubilee just as she did during her Silver and Golden Jubilee years. She has already begun touring the UK; no mean feat at the age of 85 years nor for Prince Philip who is 90.
Now, as anyone who knows me is aware, I am no die-hard royalist, but one by default as I hate the idea of the UK becoming a a republic. However, I have always been a great admirer of Her Majesty The Queen. In this, her Diamond Jubilee year, it seems appropriate to repeat this poem that first appeared on the blog in 2010 and subsequently in my collection that same year.
Photo: from the Internet
ALMA MATER or MATRIARCH EXTRAORDINAIRE
Epitome of majesty,
walk-about among us she goes,
smiling thoughtfully
She sees what she will see
though just what, no one knows;
epitome of majesty
Watching over a family,
keeping politicians on their toes,
smiling thoughtfully
Mindful of a public duty,
regardless of any stones it throws;
epitome of majesty
Heard said, admiringly,
of private selves to some she shows,
smiling thoughtfully
Alma Mater to set us free
if but briefly from the world’s woes;
epitome of majesty,
smiling thoughtfully
[From:On The Battlefields Of Loveby R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
A reader has emailed to say he was surprised to discover I had another blog that I write especially with other gay men and women in mind. He was even more surprised to discover that he 'quite enjoyed reading it. and will do so again.' For anyone else who may be interested, follow the link:
I am proud of being an Englishman and sick of being told I shouldn’t be by the so-called ‘politically correct’ brigade. During the World Cup some households have been flying the flag of St George ... but some people have complained, suggesting that it will offend people from ethnic minorities ... as if they don't have teams participating as well as England. Given that St George is also known and respected by Muslims only serves to underline the ignorance of some people.
The poem does not appear in any of my collections so far. It has already provoked some protest emails, one from a Muslim man who implied I am racist and complained that English nationalism makes people like him feel excluded. Well, I don’t think that is anyone’s intention and it’s certainly not mine. As for my being racist, regular readers will know better. I have Muslim friends and others whose culture of origin is homophobic but who have no problem with either my sense of national pride (they cherish their own national/cultural identity) or sexuality.
Regarding social exclusion, I'f say gay people have known our share. Yes, things are better now than they used to be ... for some of us. Even so, I, for my part, resent the kind of socio-cultural-religious homophobia I frequently encounter from people who choose to live in the UK because it offers them a better deal than their own country yet persist in complaining about our ‘liberal’ way of life; these may well be in a minority, but it is a significant and (very) vocal minority. Sorry, but if they don’t like how we do things in the UK (or the West generally) no one will stop them returning to their own country.
ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND, THREE CHEERS FOR ST GEORGE
England, my England, where are you now?
Once, I ran in green fields, played conkers
in the school playground with friendly peers
who hadn’t even learned to spell, let alone
discover the meaning of prejudice, bigotry,
racism and homophobia
England, my England, where are you now?
Once I’d shop for sweets in a corner shop
that’s an ugly, costly apartment block now
among other carbuncles that have sneaked
into High Streets and side roads like thieves
in a corporate darkness
England, my England, where are you now?
Once you offered safety in numbers that now
would gobble me up like a swarm of locusts,
forcing an entry to trains, planes and buses,
making it their business to expose my bones
to political scrutiny
England, my England, where are you now
that let ambition get the better of humanity
and now must pay the price for aspiring
to a supremacy sure to be brought down
for its sheer audacity, while (still) declaring
an empathy with globalisation?
England, my England, where are you now
that sucks up to hawks where once it flew
with eagles, leaves crumbs out for doves
where it feasts on cake and caviar, deceiving
itself and all of us who eagerly devour
the latest opinion polls?
England, my England, where are you now?
Falling apart, a unity bought with the blood,
sweat and tears of centuries, even politics
caving in to those who shout the loudest where
this or that smooth tongued religion assumes
the moral high ground
England, my England, my love, pride and joy;
let the locusts feed on me, my spirit dare take
its cue from a bold re-working of our history
into a 21st century that may yet see its crumbs
shared out evenly, a divided humanity declared
its own worst enemy
Where now, once my England, in a world
that’s lost its way?