Tracks

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OVERHEARD: “They’re always right so everyone else has to be wrong. How vain or self-centred can a person be, for heaven’s sake?” 

Possibly the person in question is neither vain or self-centred in the sense their accuser implies. Sometimes people need to address their inner selves so often, in order to avoid a personal abyss, that they develop tunnel vision; not in every respect, though, only as and when they need to make some cliff-hanger of a personal decision. 

Whatever, everyone’s cliff-hangers are different; what may help one person may not help another. 

Since the person under discussion here was clearly asked for advice, or at least an opinion, with which the speaker plainly disagreed... don’t they deserve some credit for at least trying to answer, in the light of what they may well have discovered for themselves, rather than sitting on the proverbial fence? 

Now, the speaker may well be right, but doesn’t the accused deserve the benefit of doubt rather than be given a stereotypical label that may well do the rounds and prove to be unfounded in different circumstances...? 

Why did I earwig and subsequently write the poem? Well, possibly because one of my favourite recordings from the 1960’s is Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood by The Animals. Sadly, it happens to some of us all the time... 

TRACKS 

Everywhere I look,
I’ll invariably fail to see what lies
beyond certain perimeters,
narrow, though, they well may be
for reasons best accounted for
by formative years left least aware
of a mind-body-spirit
failing to master such arts of interaction
as effect true communication 

Unable to break free
of such hauntings and compelled
to follow, though they lead
into such dark, complex landscapes
of emotion and imagination
as more likely to effect tunnel vision
than lend me a key
to better understanding the finer mysteries
of human history over centuries 

From time to time,
personal space allows me glimpses
of a kinder past-present-future
than the human engine in me running
on lines meant to leave me
missing out on such key destinations
as Love and Peace,
only for me to miss my destination yet again
on such tracks as are but human 

Call me Self-centredness, that human faculty
often mistaken for vanity 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

Dotting I's and Crossing T's

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

)I recall various classmates of 1961 becoming very feisty and argumentative when asked to comment on certain lines in T. S. Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral. 

When asked to explain so many different arguments and points of view, the class became feistier still and even more argumentative. 

Everyone was clearly enjoying themselves, possibly because most of us hadn’t expected to enjoy the poem, not least for having had to read it for homework over the previous school holidays. 

No less aware then now as to how differences of personal opinion and interpretation can touch base with passions in us with which we may or may be overly familiar, it was my first major experience of seriously thinking about it. 

We need to hear and respect different points of view if only to help us formulate a critical response to them.   

DOTTING I’s AND CROSSING T’S

World, all but falling apart
seemingly losing heart, its peoples
coming together
now and then, but only in times
of crises, personal space
and sensitive global consciousness
then left to divide again,
crying over potential healing undone,
dying to review Square One 

World, looking all but dead
on its feet, weary of its weepy days,
anxious to revive kinder ways,
bridge chasms widening, deepening,
invariably by courtesy
of a global consciousness dead set
on reaping the better part
of nature-nurture in the sowing, reaping,
and saving of its own future 

Humanity, playing the world
with its demand for new technologies,
would have us tell tales
on each other, create such histories
of one-upmanship as embrace
all the politics of progress ever needed
to take credit where it’s to be had,
while any getting too close to home truths
dubbed vulnerable to fake news 

No matter how we dot its ‘i’ or cross its ‘t’,
it only takes one ‘y’ to redefine humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Game Changer

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

Crowds of protesters and trolls on social media continue to rubbish the current pandemic as fake news of a hoax. What is it with these people? Agreeing to differ is one thing, denial in the face of indisputable evidence is something else … along the lines of which, as this is a public blog, I will refrain from speaking my mind any further.

People are dying; these are someone’s family members, best friends, kind neighbours … a cruel reality behind faceless statistics.

If people want to protest about society letting them down one way or another, yes, by all means go ahead, but a pandemic is bigger than any society, bigger than any of us; it is a worldwide threat with the potential to destroy all creatures great and small, humankind included, unless a vaccine is found.

That a vaccine will be found, I have no doubt although how long it may provide immunity remains open to speculation, especially given the changing nature of some viruses, and this one is new to even our most eminent scientists (not to mention doctors, sociologists, and other professionals expected to pick up the pieces.)

A reader writes that I should not criticise conspiracy theorists “…as you have done in the past if only because they are a positive force as opposed to the pathetic complacency that so often characterises human behaviour.” He or she may well have a point, but dare I suggest that any life force can effect change for the (much) worse as well as for the better?

GAME CHANGER

Out of the blue
it strikes without warning,
heedless of the cries~
of men, women, children
living their lives
by reasonably flexible rules,
no time for fools
blind to woods for their trees,
will do as they please 

Suddenly, all-change;
screaming brakes applied
around the world
any ambition, aspiration.
put on hold,
humanity left exposed, scared,
its powers-that-be
at pains to appear less uncertain,
frantic for a solution

Plainly, no quick fixes,
the road ahead, likely to be
as tough or tougher
than any recorded in history
while history, too, proves
that where there’s a will, a way
can be found, humanity's,
flair for invention rewarding us
with kinder tomorrows

A plague unlike any we've ever seen,
Covid-19 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

 

 

 

 

 

Teller of Tales, Second to None

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

What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in the Corridors of Power, just about anywhere in the world! 

There is a saying, ‘Truth will out’ and it invariably will, if only in bits and pieces for us to make of them what we will, our own bias making no less a contribution to our interpretation of those same bits and pieces as whatever personal agenda various sources releasing them may be following. 

As England prepares to enter a second lockdown on Thursday, the local gossips are having as much a field day as party politicians. As ever, I can’t help recalling what my mother used to say of national politics and local gossip alike, “Never rely on one source, and always try to keep an open mind.”

This poem is a kenning.

TELLER OF TALES, SECOND TO NONE 

I mingle with the rich and famous
every day, but am rarely in the public eye
although you may glimpse me
on the telly now and then helping to set
the scene for an interview,
a silent witness never anything to say there
and then, although the chances are
you’ll hear more from me, and openly,
no anonymity 

Politicians have always had my ear,
along with icons of sport and other masters
of their art, whether he or she
be a movie star or small screen celebrity,
writer of novels, poems, recipes
to try at home or travel tales sure to tempt
even a diehard stay-at-home
to roam beyond house and garden, by courtesy
of imagination 

I rub shoulders with kings and queens,
help lift the lid on various world intrigues
(if better late than never);
I can travel past, present and future as easily
as hailing a cab, catching a bus,
free to fly air corridors, saol oceans wide,
summon emotions good and bad,
play such games with the human psyche anyone
engaging with me 

No more sworn to secrecy than bound by time
or place, your everyday bookcase

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comfort and Joy OR Feeling is Believing

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

This poem first appeared on the blogs in 2010. [I do not intend to repeat all earlier poems, but readers are welcome to explore the blog archives as indicated in the far right column of any blog page.

Now, I always write love poems with my late partner in mind even though he died years ago. 

Hopefully, readers will always find time and space enough within themselves to get in touch with their own deeper feelings. In this sense at least, all religious faiths and festivals have something in common. 

Love has the capacity for rising above the worst life and nature may feel inclined to throw at it, including winter, a winter of the heart as well as of the meteorological kind.

Yes, here I go again. The message of all religious faiths and festivals - is one of peace and love; who hears  and acts upon it, is another matter.

Long, long live love … and let's not discriminate against LGBT folks just because it offends some heterosexual 'norm'; in a common humanity, diversity is part of what should be an all-inclusive norm, not an exception to any rules laid down and spread by any religious dogma as a socio-cultural-religious 'norm'. God is love, after all.

Long, long live peace, too, wherever it is given even half a chance.

As for peace of mind, we can but try for it, and once we find, be sure to share it, if only to take  comfort and joy from watching the ripples spread ...

Gay or straight, there is more to anyone than his or her sexuality; certain individuals, organizations, and communities (parents, too) - worldwide - would serve themselves and others by far better for keeping that in mind.

COMFORT AND JOY or FEELING IS BELIEVING 

I could hear bells ringing,

choir voices singing,

snow falling like manna 

from heaven for kids 

and snowmen while I gazed 

from a window,

nose against the pane,

never felt so alone

Suddenly, I saw you there,

sunshine in the hair,

so near, and yet so far …

a dear, familiar grin

daring me enjoy the comfort 

of togetherness

and share in festivity

than bare self-pity

Loneliness ebbing away,

I came out to play 

that wonderful winter's day;

you threw snowballs,

missed, and we kissed…

your lips so sweet 

and warm, grey-blue eyes 

forgiving me for living

Where snow piles your grave,

that winter's night,

we made love while bells 

rejoiced us and angels 

chorused all the pleasures 

of togetherness

that is the joy of festivity,

defying self-pity

Not once a year but every day,

love finds a way 

to bring such comfort and joy

as embraces us all,

nurturing the more positive

side of human nature,

heart and soul of a humanity

celebrating its diversity

If God is Love, and love acts thus,

where does bigotry have a place?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, 2020

[Note: This poem also appears on my gay-interest blog today; an earlier version appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; it was originally written as a Christmas poem, but feedback suggested this made it come across as less all-inclusive] RNT

L-I-F-E, Management Issues

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2014.

Isuspect Covid-19 s more of a struggle for people living  in big cities than in rural areas, especially for those of us who live alone?

Perhaps it is because I am growing old, but I take far less pleasure from living in London than I used to.  Even so, my life is here.  While I take much pleasure in its wealth of leisure facilities and history as and when I can, I remain acutely aware that I am passively complicit in this mad world of ours going about an everyday business that leaves much to be desired...

London, like so many cities and suburbs is overcrowded and the air quality leaves as much to be desired as the neighbourliness and sense of community that once existed, and now has become yet another endangered species wherever it remains, as it does, even in certain pockets of modern society. (West can learn much from East in this respect.

I suspect we all run a familiar gamut (to one degree or another) in cities and large towns across the world. In recent years, fake news and social media make a significant contribution to personal anxieties and a sense sometimes of being on a treadmill 

Whatever, all we can do is take each day as it comes, nurture a positive-thinking mindset, and make the best of what life offers rather than whinge about the worst ...

L-I-F-E, MANAGEMENT ISSUES

Manic streets, paved with eggshells

(Oh, so politically correct...)

Big Issue drumming up passing glances

(Equal Ops prime suspect.)

Beggar and dog at the supermarket

(On the outside, looking in…)

Tailbacks on the home run, a nightmare

(No respect for Car is King.)

Blind man making his own way home

(Small change for a pickpocket...)

Arthritic bag lady taking up a park bench

(Move along, security alert!)

Hey, I bet that one’s a terrorist, see?

(Looks foreign to me...)

Thin is sexy or so we’re asked to believe

(Gorging on glossy magazines...) 

School kid mugged for a smart phone

(Better not to get involved...)

Teenage lovers sharing well-used needles

(What about HIV-AIDS?)

Shoplifters killing off the High Street

(Business as usual...)

.

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of the poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007. For any overseas readers, who may not know, The Big Issue is a newspaper sold on the streets of the UK and other countries by homeless people; it gives them a regular income, and more importantly helps restore their self-confidence while preserving their self-respect: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Big_Issue ]

The Crusher

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

This Age of New Technology is an Information Age like no other (so far) with information available to us at the press of a button. How much of this, though, is reliable or even correct? Although it is a good 50+ years since I left school, I well recall being taught how to discriminate fact from speculation, points of view from an extended imagination which only just falls short of pure fiction.

Often, I hear people tell me they like to speak their minds, and I am all for it. More often than not, though, they are repeating parrot fashion something they have heard or read about with which they happen to relate; relating, however, and agreeing are not the same thing. We need to investigate further in order to reach an informed conclusion.

While many of us have strong opinions on various subjects, we need to respect that others may agree to differ. Better still, we need to be able to support out opinions with information gained from reliable sources. At the same time, we should not dig our heels in to such an extent that we cannot be drawn into alternative arguments which may lead us to reach an altogether different conclusion.

If a closed mind is a dull mind, an open mind is a lively one although sitting on the proverbial fence is not an option and we need to feel confident about deciding where we stand, and be prepared to be counted; that way, the human animal remains free and primed to resists any attempts to cage it by  misleading information or propaganda. 

Where seeing is believing then sadly so, too, is deceiving at times, no one spared, neither political nor religious leaders, while social media targeting the likes of you and me as well.

THE CRUSHER

I will crush you in my grip,

but slowly, relishing the torment

of each victim fallen

into a trap of his or her own making

but deserving better (perhaps?)

than finding me there, rendering

any bid for freedom

no more or less than a pathetic

waste of time

If I show mercy now and then,

be sure it is but part of a dark design

intended to give more false

an impression even than I gave you,

who thought you knew better,

leaving yourself underestimating

your defences, vulnerable

to attack on all sides, quick thinking

your only recourse

I cherish any advantage over you,

relish reminding you time and again

of what deaf-blind vanity

has given you to me like a sacrifice

to Gods of Desire on hand

to enjoy their wicked ways with you,

only to toss their leftovers

where I wait to chew away at live flesh

on the bones

Call me Fake News, active and scary

in world societies believing in me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016, rev. 2021

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since it last  appeared on the blog under title 'Enemy at the Door' 2016.] RNT

x

Promises, Promises...

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

Several readers have been in touch to question the wisdom of my repeating historical posts on Google Plus.  I had the idea after readers said they would like to read some of my poems again but did not have time to browse the blogs. Feedback suggests that my contribution to Google Plus is quite popular so I will continue, especially as I am not too well these days so not often up to writing new poems. (Even so, I hope to post some new poems from time to time.) Meanwhile, I hope readers will enjoy at least some of the poems I put on Google Plus, perhaps even take an interest in the historical nature of various preambles. Most post will remain on Google + for five days and return again every few months in the hope of catching new readers and keeping the attention of regulars.

Now, if life is a manic roller-coaster ride, love has to be its saving grace, for all its ups and downs. Since we have no choice but get used to the idea that we come into the world  to live and die , we can at least make the best of what falls in-between,  and if that involves entering into a contract of mutual responsibility with Earth Mother as well as the rest of humankind, so be it…

Easier said than done, of course, in a world where only too often nature is perceived as a slave to what humankind so likes to justify as ‘progress’…

PROMISES, PROMISES...

Among angry hills,

where I was promised to worms,

a storm burst

and I stumbled on slopes

of grassy mud

to which I promised every last drop

of my blood

if they would see me safely home,

and then the sun

came out again, opening my eyes

to birds’ wings

and other miracles of nature;

I got headily drunk

on a misty rain, bare feet stalling

where ragged stone

and thistles bent on re-aligning

my personal integrity, demanding  

I do… what, exactly?

Something, someone,

purpose, reason, sense of resurrection

once mist and rain

finally done, restoring the sun

to its crowning glory

though bits of sky haunted still

by clouds emulating

rocks, thorns, unicorns in scattered shapes

and various personae

yelling in the ears to keep running,

running, running…or miss

the last train, promising to get me

to the station on time,

deserves (surely?) promising

in return to see these feet

safely home, tucked up in bed

by nightfall, eyes closing, peace

(of sorts) descending

In dreams, weeping hills touch gently

upon mutual responsibility

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2014

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original version as it appears in  A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.

Rumour

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

I confess no poetry editors have ever shown an interest in today’s poem, yet it has always been well received at poetry readings and even stimulated lively debate.  So many people seem to have been the victim of rumour at some point in their lives or know of someone else who has fallen foul of gossip. Far too often, seemingly ‘harmless’ gossip has become exaggerated beyond recognition by the time it has run its course.

Now, it can be a sad as well as wonderful feeling when a reader makes contact to say how a poem of mine has affected them deeply because they can relate so intimately to it. A reader got in touch with me in 2005 to say how he had borrowed my collection form his local library and this particular poem brought back vivid memories. It appears that he had been forced to move away from his childhood home after neighbours circulated nasty rumours about him; these resulted in his being physically as well as verbally assaulted in the street and his house was also vandalised.  The rumours were unfounded, but even after a local newspaper printed a true version of events, completely exonerating him, tongues continued to wag and the harassment continued.

I am pleased to say that I have heard from this reader since. He has made a new life for himself and his family and his wife recently gave birth to their third child.

Tragically, not every victim of vicious rumour has a happy ending. I personally know of one who committed suicide.

Oh, but if only some people would think before they start apportioning blame to others for this or that before they have all the facts…!

RUMOUR

Closed, the curtains now,

graffiti on the sill;

no cheery sounds in every room

just gloom and an eerie chill;

no laughing at the budgerigar

or thinking about a new car

but cowering in fear at a banging

on doors, the yelling

of good neighbours

out in force...after rough

justice

Empty, the garden now,

daisies on the lawn;

no kids playing on the old swing

and the satellite dish has gone;

no dog chasing next-door’s cat

or neighbours at the gate

converging like wolves

on fresh meat, working up

a thirst...too late

to make a killing; the law

struck first

Media in on the act,

and prime TV;

parents puffing their points

of view, kids enjoying

the party...

All quiet now. Werewolves

slinking from the scene.

(Can’t get it right every time

and who's to say

what might have been? A job

well done.)

Budgie gets to keep its cage;

history skips a page…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2010

[Note: This poem has been (slightly) revised from the original as it appears in  First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]