Cops, Queers and Caravaggio

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

This poem is from my gay-interest blog archives for February 2012.

I was asked at the time to repeat the link to my poetry reading on the 4^th plinth in Trafalgar Square in July 2009; my contribution to sculptor Antony Gormley’s One  & Other ‘living sculpture’ project during which I read some of my gay-interest poems among others;the British Library has since confirmed 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. Meanwhile, B L continues to archive my poetry blogs so that is welcome news.

The degree of homo-eroticism in much of Caravaggio's work and the fact that never married has led critics to speculate for years that he was probably gay, but ... who cares? At the end of the day, what has a person's sexuality to do with his or her character, skill or talent?

COPS, QUEERS, AND CARAVAGGIO 

We met in an art gallery,

enjoyed each other’s company

all day;

at his flat, we chatted over

coffee and, finally, he asked me

to stay;

although both nervous,

we made love, the two of us

in heaven...

nor just having fun;

good to be close to someone

again;

his mouth, warm and sensual;

an embrace far more than sexual

wanting me…

as more than a friend

but no mere means to an end

physically

He brought me breakfast

in bed and I turned a shade red

at his uniform;

I hadn’t asked about

his career, content just to be there

with him…

so it came as a shock

to see him dressed as a P.C.

for the beat;

tried to tell myself

it didn’t matter, heart all a-flutter

and cold feet;

at the door, a shy goodbye,

copper’s shirt and tie a brick

wall…

that crumbled with an embrace

as we saw, face to face, nothing

mattered at all

Lovers till he moved away;

friends to this day

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2010

[Note: This poem has been (very) slightly revised since it appeared in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Sunflowers

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

I love sunflowers, for real and as immortalised in art.

Today’s poem was posted on the blog in April 2009 and is repeated today especially for two Danish readers, ‘Aksel and Carin’ who share a love for the paintings of Danish impressionist Preben Rasmussen; among his paintings, their favourite is one inspired by...yes, sunflowers.

Now, I confess I’d never heard of Rasmussen, and only know of (and love) Van Gogh’s incredible sunflowers but will be on the lookout for any exhibitions of his work from now on.

Oh, but I love it when readers comment that my love poems could have been written for anyone, gay, straight or transgender; my point entirely. [Incidentally, I always include and try to reach out to lesbians among my gay readers, only can’t keep qualifying what I say; no offence intended to those lesbian readers who prefer the term ‘lesbian’ to ‘gay’.]

A love poem is a love poem, for anyone and everyone, in any language.

SUNFLOWERS

Mad caress of fingers in the hair,

bold lips lingering on mine;

bright eyes pricking every nerve,

our breaths like party wine;

beads of sweat, rolling down

each parted thigh like tears

on the face of a lost child, found

and returned home…

A rhythm in us like the quickening

pulse of a late-night disco,

cyber suns flashing in the face,

making V-signs;

fulfilment, the joy of someone

playing with a new toy...

(Even in my ecstasy, I sense, dimly,

how you’ll grow tired of me)

for now, though, joined together

like Siamese twins,

one of us destined to live out

the other’s days...

No choice. Better to die now

in a sea of passion

than while away a lifetime

in a toyshop window;

fill me then with the glorious

chaos of rebirth;

music, like sunflowers, bursting

from the earth...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]