L-I-F-E, and all that Jazz...

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

Once, years ago, when feeling low, I overheard a conversation in a bar:

MAN (despairingly and a little drunk) I don’t know where I’m going any more or who the hell I am even…

WOMAN (wearily) Oh, sure, and all that jazz…

MAN: Huh, I don’t even like jazz…

WOMAN: You don’t like jazz? Then you don’t have much of a liking for life, man, and it sure as hell won’t take much of a liking to you either….

After a sober pause, both burst out laughing and joined several other couples swinging to a lively number on the dance floor like saplings in a summer breeze. I went home feeling more upbeat than I had in ages although not sure why…and that feeling has lasted - through thick and thin - ever since. Maybe it has something to do with especially enjoying jazz among all kinds of music (and vocal) that do their genre justice.... 

L-I-F-E, AND ALL THAT JAZZ…

Looking back
at angry shadows waving 

madly at me,

but not in a friendly fashion,

clearly blaming me

for doing what I should not

have done,

being where I should not

have been,

saying what I should never

have said

Looking ahead

at more shadows waving

madly at me,

and can’t even tell if friends

or enemies

urging I do what I want

to do,

be where I feel meant

to be,

say what (too long) needs

to be said

Swinging round

like a scarecrow in the wind

at what’s behind

making my heart skip beats

out of fear

for all the mistakes I’ve made

and half made,

put right and half put right,

left uncertain,

no idea which way

to turn

Standing quite still,

listening out for something

(or Someone?)

to point me in the direction

I need to go;

right fork, left, fork, or give up

and turn back…

till sounds of bright music

pointing me at trees

making the kind of mad  jazz

that’s a life force 

Turning my back 

on fear, galvanised by nature

to chase after life

as a child might a butterfly

if only because

it, oh, so beats doing nothing,

going nowhere,

being no one, feeling sorry

for the child self

that never caught a butterfly

or listened to jazz

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

I, Person [Not Box]

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

No one likes to be stereotyped, and I mean anyone not just gay men and women. 

Worse, is being subjected to verbal/physical/ psychological abuse simply because we don’t tick the ‘right’ boxes; right for some people, that is.  So what can we do about it? 

As a child, I was sometimes bullied and teased (by adults as well as peers) because I had a very bad lisp. I finally confided in someone and asked what I should do. ‘Don’t do anything,’ I was told, ‘just be yourself, and when these nasty people see they are not getting to you, they will get bored and stop. Too often, we only see what we want to see in others, for better or worse. The trick is to let everyone know that what they see is what they’ll get, end of story. The chances are they will respect you for it. They may not like you, but they will respect you…’

Years later, this advice served me in very good stead when I came out as a gay man.

This poem is a villanelle.

I, PERSON [NOT BOX]

Be brave, and to the self be true

(none of this playing a part);

let others see, for looking at you

Bigots, though (relatively) few 

leave good folks sick at heart;

be brave, and to the self be true

We all run life’s gamut, it’s true,

(few of us make a good start);

let others see, for looking at you

Gossips have little better to do

(innuendo, a poison dart…);

be brave, and to the self be true

Get a life, and then see it through

(challenge the stick, try carrot);

let others see, for looking at you

Just rewards may well seem few,

(don’t let it break your heart);

be brave, and to the self be true;

let others see, for looking at you

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Apprentice OR Honing Potential

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

Sometimes people tell me they have no flair for creativity. It isn’t true.  Maybe they cannot pen or paint to paper or compose a symphony or turn a lump of clay into masterpiece of ceramics...

Ah, but we create images even as we speak in any language, including sign language of course, and those images are received, interpreted and taken to heart.

Yes we all say and do things differently, but that is not only part of the charm of the human race, but also its natural flair for creativity. 

True, some people are more creative than others, but never let anyone tell you that you have no sense of creativity.

We are all apprentices to life and learning in different ways and with varying degrees of success that make us who we are - individuals.

This poem is a kenning.

APPRENTICE or HONING POTENTIAL

I am as clay

that can be shaped however

the potter chooses

and have little say in the matter

but must follow

where caring, firm hands lead

(in my best interests?)

while subtler firing needs

left unfulfilled

I am as steel,

shaped only with some difficulty

for another’s ends

yet the welder who knows how

to bend me to his will

does not hesitate to demonstrate

his skill if only to satisfy

an audience of but one person

in his sights

I am as poetry

that can be shaped however

the reader chooses,

led by the hand through a maze

of thoughts and feelings,

caring hands suggesting this way

or that, leaving us to make

our own fate nor judged for how

we turn out

Call me Individuality, first choice 

Apprentice to Humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012, 2019

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

A Harper's Song

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

As requested by a number of readers, the link below is to my informal poetry reading on the 4th plinth in London's Trafalgar Square; it was my contribution to sculptor Antony  Gormley's One and Other 'live' sculpture' project which involved 2,400 people doing their 'own' thing' for one hour 24/7 over 100 days during the summer of 2009:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T [NB: Sept 19, 2019 - The British Library confirmed today that he video is no longer available as it was incompatible with a new IT system, However, it still exists and BL hope to reinstate it and make it available to the public again at some future date.] RNT

Meanwhile...

My mother once told me that the best thing a parent can do for his or her children is to encourage them to think for themselves, believe in themselves and stand on their own two feet. Oh, but that is all so true!

Ah, but she never said it would be easy for either parent or child. She certainly had a hard time with me and I am just so grateful she persevered. Although she died in 1976 at the age of 59, I like to think she would be pleased if not proud I’ve come as far as I have. True, this may not seem very far to some people, but to paraphrase the legendary Neil Armstrong, one person’s small step is another person’s giant leap.

A HARPER’S SONG

A child is born and its very first cry
plays on the heart like a harp to the soul;
instrument for a lifetime, you and I,
following every note’s rise and fall

A child is born and its eyes upon us
read the words in our hearts like a poem
about life’s great joys and its mysteries
if sometimes, the challenge, a battle hymn

A child is born and we’ll tell everyone
of this jewel come to light that is ours,
and may it shine like the morning sun
nurturing earth’s songbirds and flowers

Be there cheers or tears, let the harper play
and the child, like a flower, find its way

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]