Ancestral Voices

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2011.

I need to say a big thank you to those readers who have been in touch to wish me well with my prostate cancer from the start; biopsy, diagnosed positive, and subsequent battle with years of hormone therapy. It is good to know there is still a strong sense of common humanity out there.

Oh, there will always be bigots who love to pontificate on this and that if only because they are punctilious pricks huffing and puffing their own self-importance at the doors of anyone who’ll listen. BUT...there are also many decent people in the world, of all socio-cultural-religious persuasions, with open minds and open hearts.

Life is nowhere near as black and white as the world's media love to portray it. Oh, but thank goodness for that!

Meanwhile...

This poem was written in 1999. I have always been fascinated by the way we can look at history and form opinions that reflect and compare the way we were then and are now, even as we make and become history with each passing second.

Regular readers will know I have a passion for walking by the sea. Sadly, mobility problems prevent me from indulging these days, but I guess that's where memories and imagination come into their own. Oh, I love woodlands too. Wherever, nature has stories to tell that go back centuries for those who care to listen. For me, though, it is the sea that has a stronger grasp of humanity and how it has shaped Earth’s history for good or ill. A common thread running through all the stories is its capacity for survival.

Oh, people may come and go, fashions and attitudes change, but hard pressed and war weary as it may be, humanity (if not all humankind) continues to hold its head up high; and so it will always be, so long as nature passes on its story and sees to it that somehow there will always be some of us left to listen.

ANCESTRAL VOICES

Rise and fall, rise and fall, waves

whispering me …

Tell of Adam in the Garden,

Samson at Gaza, Clinton for president;

Boudicca in warrior dress,

Mother Teresa, an earthy saintliness;

Humanity, body and soul, History, stored

(and stirred) in a golden bowl

Oh, spare me your blushes

softly treading sky, retreat behind veil-mask

for naked come I to it all;

let me bathe in the twilight of half-gods,

engage with their history, legends, fantasy,

join them for a photo-call

Rise and fall, rise and fall, such waves

as whispering me ...

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZLV23r6NdQ&t=40s

[Note: The video - looking a little jaded now, I'm afraid - relates to a different poem but several readers have asked me to repeat it, although I am not sure if yours truly, walking by the sea on Brighton beach some years ago, will be of much interest. wry bardic grin ]

Spinning Yarns

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

As a child, I loved reading myths, legends and fairy stories. As an adult, I began to realise that many are an entertaining metaphor for real life. Even so, not all magic is wishful thinking. Yet, the same imagination that fed on those stories so long ago continues to see me through the same need for escapism some 50+ years on.

The trick, of course, lies in learning to separate fact from fiction, wishful thinking from reality, naked truth from bare-faced lies....

SPINNING YARNS

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was magic in the world,

a time when we all sang songs

of peace and love till a twilight fell

that had us playing hide-and-seek

among ruins of halcyon days confined

to make-believe

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was chivalry in the world,

a time when men opened doors

for ladies without their being accused

of sexism, nor would a lady mind,

but take pleasure in being noticed so,

by way, too, of common courtesy  

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was the stoicism of Penelope

who contrived to remain faithful

to the love of her life without being accused

of pandering to her man,

rather of ingenuity for putting a unique

spin on love

Storytellers would have us believe

that the old gods were jealous of each other,

interfering in the ways of humankind

that played them at their own games and won,

tore down their temples,

created a copycat Olympus

on Capitol Hill 

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was magic in the world,

a time when we all sang songs

of peace and love till a twilight fell

that had us playing hide-and-seek

among ruins of an innocence confined

to childhood

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: While I never made it as a successful novelist, I confess have really enjoyed trying my hand at fiction from time to time; if interested, go to: http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html on my fiction blog where most of my novels (published and unpublished) are serialised.]