L-O-V-E, Bridges over Time

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

My heart goes out to any readers who may be in Spain and will now need to self-isolate for two weeks on their return. Hopefully, at least a return flight will be available as the travel industry is, understandably, in some disarray at the moment. 

Now, I am often asked for the link to an interview I gave Benjamin Richter, a student in multimedia journalism earlier this year. I have added it to several blog posts, but here it is again for anyone who may have missed it might be interested: 

https://r224e31251.racontr.com/index.html

Love and hate are among the strongest of human passions, and can always be relied upon to leave a deep impression on us; so deep, it can last a lifetime and beyond. Whoever we are, wherever, and whatever our gender or sexuality, love, in all its shapes and forms, is by far the more enduring and will always have the edge if only because it is a positive force for good; positive forces for anything less may well survive the test of time in terms of a human life span, but not necessarily across that posthumous consciousness which - knowingly or unknowingly - embraces us all.

A kind act here, a wise word there ... these affect each and every one of us  and, in turn, others with whom we  come into contact - casually or intimately - during our lifetimes, ensuring that a part of us survives as a sense of posthumous consciousness in which we play a 'live' role long after our deaths.  

L-O-V-E, BRIDGES OVER TIME

One summer we lay beneath a willow tree,

gazing at a fluffy, leafy, sky,

passionate branches like arms around me,

enduring river flowing idly by

Time then to laugh, play, see kingfishers dive

for shimmering scales defying capture

in vain, an inspired will to stay alive

to the last breath, like love’s gasping rapture

Daring to dream, we made that summer ours,

let joyful birdsong drown the river’s sighs

till autumn’s beating at heaven’s towers

brought us, half-listening, to the world’s lies

Wherever tablets of stone that would see us part,

find a willow tree weeping the human heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of his poem appears under the title 'Separate Stones' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Waking up to Life

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

Spring is in the air, season of new life and hope although this sorry world continues to turn as oblivious to positives as to negatives. We human beings, on the other hand, while we, too,  continue our daily lives, we can but look to the former for the inspiration  to carry on just as we must shoulder the latter in order to survive the worst of global conditions and human nature.  

Being positive when the immediate outlook appears bleak is possibly the greatest challenge we face in life. For my part, I always tell myself that spring follows winter, and - trite as it may sound - it has seen me through some BAD times.

May the joyful spirit of spring be with you all regardless of race, creed, sex or sexuality. (Oh, and none of us have to wait till springtime, either, but may well anticipate it by nurturing our own eternal springtime of the heart, arguably the more splendid of all its seasons, bursting with the joy of renewal and the sweet smell of hope.)

WAKING UP TO LIFE 

Showers
in clouds above, promises
of springtime,
tears for a lifetime
of such love 
and loss, joy and sorrow 
haunting us...
thereby remaining a part 
of us forever,
never (quite) leaving us
on our own to run
(oh, so self-consciously)
the eternal gamut
of socio-cultural-religious
trappings coercing
nature and human nature
for selfish gain
if only to get the upper hand
over any secular ethos
promoting self-awareness,
exposing its flaws

Showers
in darkening skies, closing in
on daily lives
trying to make the best of things,
put the worst behind,
bearing in mind a long winter
passed, asking only
of human hearts to open (at last?)
to a side of human nature
that’s less judgemental,
seeking even to be instrumental
in brokering peace
among enemies, encouraging
(mutual) respect)
for multiple differences
of opinion, faith, lifestyle choices,
in a world that rejoices
a civilized society's championing
Human Rights 
for its majorities, minorities too,
no cronyism.

As life-giving showers come and go,
so we, ourselves, aspire to know


Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note: This poem appears has been revised since appearing under the title 'A Feeling for Spring' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007[

Sometime Healer, All-time Friend

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

When a loved one dies, we need to give grief a chance, allow love a healing process of sorts so that its wounds can be tended rather than be left to congeal and possibly leave the body physically as well as emotionally damaged for the duration.

Love must be allowed to run the gamut of regret, anger, bitterness, disillusionment, even guilt so that it can emerge from the long, dark tunnel of loss refreshed and strengthened. There will be scars, of course, yet we should let grief clean them with our tears so they, too, are not left weeping, but become landmarks of love to guide us through the time we must spend without the loved one, help us see that where a door closes on our lives, a window really will open for us if we’ll only it.

I have seen people spend the rest of their lives behind that closed door, rarely letting anyone in; for those of us permitted even limited access, it is painful to witness what is essentially a process of disintegration.

We can keep faith with love, and still move on if only because our loved ones would have it no other way. Besides, love’s place is among the living; only there can it thrive and preserve its losses.

'Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.' -
Edgar Allan Poe

This poem is a kenning.

SOMETIME HEALER, ALL-TIME FRIEND

I bend like a flower in a cruel wind,

sing sad songs learned from the trees,

sink to my knees among shadows

like monks in shabby cowls kneeling

in prayer urging me to do the same,

but I cannot pray for the only feeling

left in me is a pain that is all my own,

yet there is another as much to blame

for leaving me here alone, so alone

I prostrate myself at the altar of Time

that sees all, spares nothing and no one,

cold within the folds of winter’s dark,

angry at the cheerful song of a skylark

circling above, predisposed to celebrate

the natural world, precious little thought

for the fragile nature of a human heart,

broken, as mine, into insignificant pieces

no one will spare a second glance

What would you have me do, skylark,

get up and dance? How dare you deny me

this moment of cut-throat bliss that is

(they say) but the other side of happiness?

Leave me! Let your sweet song beguile

ears anxious to hear, not mine, closed now

to cheery sounds and smells of summer

where autumn has shed its tears and long,

lonely winter days sure to last for years

I am Grief, a healing (of sorts) - Guardian
of Loss to the heart left nursing its pain

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 20114

Reassurance

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

Today’s poem was written in 2011 and was first published in an anthology, Fear Itself, Forward Press, 2012.

In the 1980's I spent a couple of years working as a librarian with the local Home Library Service that visits housebound people unable to get to a local library. One of my customers was a lady well into her nineties, all of whose family and friends had died. She was a lovely lady; with soft, silvery hair and the most beautiful skin I have ever seen on an old person; she must have been a real beauty in her younger years.

The group of people with whom I worked visited the same people every three weeks in a mobile library van and we got to know some of them well. I asked this lady once if she was ever lonely. ‘Of course,’ she replied in a hauntingly musical voice. ‘I miss my friends and family, but I have my reading, my music and can look out on my garden and enjoy nature and wildlife. They are always reminding me that life is precious, but nothing lasts forever. I used to worry about dying alone, but not now. The garden will know when my time comes. The flowers and trees, birds, butterflies, and even the grey squirrels will see me through whatever lies in store for me. Earth Mother will remember me when I’m no longer here, even if no one else does....’

At the time, I thought it was a very romantic thing to say, but that’s all. I know better now.

Whatever their ethnicity, creed, gender or sexuality, people of my generation and older (I am 67) who don’t have a partner, for whatever reason, often tell me they get scared sometimes of growing old alone and dying alone. I can relate to that although I rose above such fears some time ago. 

Yes, I have occasional lapses of confidence and start to panic, but only have to look out of my window at the garden below or go for a walk along the canal or on Hampstead Heath to feel reassured. Even city life plays host to nature if not on the same scale as the countryside.

In later years, especially after I turned sixty, I realized it was unlikely I would meet anyone else with whom I’d want to spend the rest of my life.

I confess I grew more and more apprehensive about growing old and being on my own. Yes, I have some good friends, but who’s to say who will outlive whom? For a while, I found little comfort even in my close affinity with nature. Indeed, I became more than a little apprehensive about the future. I got scared, really scared.

Ah, yes, but not now….for human nature has a healing power of its own; it is called positive thinking. besides, whenever I contemplate the inspiring beauty of the natural world, I feel a sense of peace that lifts me above any negative feelings that might try to sneak in, not least regarding my prostate cancer ...

Years ago, I asked a neighbour, a keen gardener who had lost a leg in a car accident, how he managed to stay so cheerful all the time. "That be down to nature," he said with broad grin, "Do well by Earth Mother, and she'll do well by you," adding with an infectious laugh as he caught me glancing at his artificial leg, "She can't be held responsible for bad drivers, now, can she, eh? A rock, she be, and no mistake, a reassuring presence, just when you need one the most. While all around you are busy quoting from some Gloomsday Book, she be actually there for you." He returned to pruning his roses, humming cheerfully away, while I returned to my book; I barely gave a second thought at the time to  to words that would play a central part in my life and poetry in the years ahead.

REASSURANCE 

There was a fear in me

that became terror as I grew older,

of being left alone,

family and friends long gone,

dying on my own

I could not sleep at night

for the grip on me this terror had,

a living nightmare,

nowhere to go, no one to share

so much as a tear

One sunset, in my garden,

watching fluffy pink clouds drift by,

a nightingale’s song

captured the sheer joy of living,

an eternity of loving

I felt Earth Mother’s arms

take me in a strong, intimate embrace,

a presence reassuring,

sense of rest and peace enduring,

no dark dreaming

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012