Victims

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Domestic abuse can happen anywhere in the world at any time. More often than not family members and/or friends and/or neighbours and/or teachers and/or work colleagues may have suspicions. It is not a subject on which anyone should remain silent for fear of being wrong. Better to be proven wrong than let a wrong continue and say nothing, surely…? 

Domestic abuse is not uncommon in any society; men, women, children, it can happen to anyone. Yet, the same people that will protest about environmental and Human Rights abuses will often remain silent about domestic abuse.  Where is the logic in that and what excuses can there be? Yes, well, plenty of excuses; even love - to its everlasting shame - is one of the masks perpetrators of domestic abuse often wear.

VICTIMS

Brightness falling from the sky

like summer rain, makes flowers grow,

the world shine like rainbow trout

on a school kid's line at a local stream

who should be in the football team,

but his dad's beat him black and blue

where ma's laid out on the kitchen floor,

can't take any more

Brightness falling from the sky

like acid rain, making the trees cry

as leaves die like fishes in the sea,

collector specimens neatly laid out

under glass for generations to see
how dead things appear to suggest

a history of human deprivation for want
of a better education

Shadows, like corpses on the grass;

skylark, a near forgotten sound at a spot

where revelations in the clay suggest

a once-busy stream in a world earmarked

for the winning team, the rest of us

neatly laid out under corporate glass,

(preserved for a new century, a new class)

victims of abuse

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2016

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from an earlier version that appears in 1st eds. of Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Listening Out for Kindness OR The Other Side of Silence

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

Some days, it can feel as if we are falling apart; everything goes wrong or at least not according to plan and listening or reading to the daily News extends that sense of falling apart to the world itself; it and we, it seems, are in free fall ...

Whatever happened to kindness, we may well wonder? Suddenly, we hear or read about a simple act of kindness that touches the heart, restores our sense of being part of something worthwhile even if that worthwhile-ness is vulnerable to attack from extreme forces that have no place in in a world where love, peace, tolerance and kindness are seen as strengths not weaknesses, and just because these are elements of human nature with which we will almost certainly always have to contend doesn’t mean to say we cannot win our own personal war against them if not every battle. 

A teacher who was well-liked but considered eccentric, once told a noisy class, ‘Shut up, the lot of you! Now, listen to the silence. Yes, listen to the silence. The chances are it’s an angry one, at the very least frustrated. And what’s on the other side, eh? Kindness, that’s what, a whole new world to which the inner ear will lead any one of us who can be bothered to listen out and head for it.’ For a whole minute, you could have heard a pin drop, and then we pressed on with the lesson, about which I recall nothing, 50+ years later, but that silence. 

'Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind.' - Henry James

LISTENING OUT FOR KINDNESS or THE OTHER SIDE OF SILENCE

There is a darkness

that is not night, but an absence

of light

in a space that is no vacuum,

but filled

with all the sound and fury

of an alarm clock

ticking towards a clapping of hands

in applause

for a sorry world’s falling

to pieces

There is a silence

that is not quiet, but an absence

of any sound,

freeing the senses to urge cloth ears

open up

to all the sound and fury

of unspeakable

injustices, prejudices, malpractices,

sure to cause

a sorry world’s falling

to pieces

There is a voice

that has no words, but an absence

of expression

meant to shatter the darkness,

release the silence

to all the sound and fury

of the human heart

raging against powers-that-be

setting agendas

that would see its humanity

in pieces

There is a life force

that births humankind in a stream

of consciousness

and nurtures it in the darkness

of a silence

daring the sound and fury

of human existence

to find a voice, make itself heard

with the resonance

of a kindness sure to piece us

together

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

P-E-A-C-E, Sounds of Silence

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

The world is always turning, yet how little it has changed in real terms (i.e. those that really count) since its creation...

Recent reminders of war and fierce resistance to dictatorship in various parts of the world and hate crime on our very own doorsteps brought this poem to mind.

When will they ever learn? Oh, when will we (all) ever learn?

This poem is a villanelle.

  

P-E-A-C-E,  SOUNDS OF SILENCE 

Oh, for the sound of silence
as only heard in dreams
where no one wins or loses,
but common sense rules
on a reality check where grief

ceases firing its guns

in a deaf-blind rage against
a mind-body-spirit
down but never out if slower
to take heart

No escape from loneliness

on wings of a bird...

but in the sound of silence

before applause bursts

upon the grand Theatre of Life

for our playing a part

rather than sitting in the stalls

letting better actors

than ourselves be accomplices

to illusion

Where poverty, hunger,  pain,

crying out to be free,

find in loving one another

no small relief 

from the failings of any senses

put on hold for want

of meaning, purpose and faith

in ourselves, 

bring light to the darkness angels 

fear to tread

Oh, to let fall a safety curtain
on worldly sounds
distracting mind-body-spirit
from finding peace,
as a child chasing a butterfly
might well be
by the shouts of peers apparently
enjoying more rewards
than in a seemingly futile pursuit
of quiet wings

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Towards Enlightenment' in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Help! Anyone There? OR Silence, No Ally in Adversity

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Unemployment takes a heavy toll on all of us; neither does it discriminate, but can strike anyone at any time, no matter our age, ethnicity, creed, sex or sexuality it can make even the most resilient person feel depressed. Depression, in turn, invariably makes us feel alone and misunderstood. No one seems to appreciate the gamut of anger, frustration, guilt, and despair that we run what can seem like every minute of every day. People tell us to cheer up, change the record or whatever. We try, but we can’t. They tell us that tomorrow will be a better day, but it isn’t. Nothing seems to change except for the worse. More and more, we feel alone in the middle of nowhere.

Yes, I have been unemployed in my time, but am now retired so no longer living under that particular Sword of Damocles.

For anyone who (like me) suffers from depression anyway, being unemployed makes the fight against it so much worse.  That is why I write; not to prove anything, to myself or to anyone else, but the very act of invoking imagination to put pen to paper helps keep me on an even keel. (Well, most of the time.)

If anyone is interested in my fiction, they can see what I have come up with on my fiction blog:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/

Any form of creativity beats antidepressants every time, although I confess I still take one daily; art, music, gardening, sport...each to his or her own. Anything has to beat being glued to the TV for more hours a day than can be healthy even if the temptation to do just that can be overwhelming at times.

Meanwhile...

An earlier version of this poem has already appeared on the blogs and is repeated today especially for ‘Axel’, ‘Jonas’, ‘Marc’, ‘Alice’ and ‘Hanna’ who have been in touch fairly recently to express their dismay at being unable to find a job appropriate to their needs and qualifications in their respective countries.

As far as any qualifications are concerned, I would suggest putting them on a back burner and taking whatever you can if only to bring some money in and gain valuable work experience; it doesn’t matter if the work is unrelated to what you want to do eventually as it will demonstrate to employers that you not only take the work ethic seriously but are adaptable, have initiative, and can keep working hours.

Now, we live in times of fiscal uncertainty world-wide. Government cut-backs invariably mean many people are losing their jobs. I consider myself fortunate to be retired, but there was a time I was unemployed in my mid-30s and wondered if I would ever find a way back into mainstream life.

Today’s poem was written in 1997 and first appeared in Visions of the Mind, Spotlight Poets (Forward Press) 1998 under the title Depressed of Erewhon and subsequently in my first major collection; it relates to a period in the early 1980s when I had a serious nervous breakdown and was unemployed for nearly three years. It was a bad time. Yet, I got through it. It was tough. and took a lot of will-power, but somehow I managed it with the support of some good friends; there is no shame in asking for help, but when you are depressed and have low self-esteem, it can take a while (and good friends) to make you realise that.

The reason I wrote the poem was because I had been talking to someone who had been unemployed for a long time, and could see no light at the end of the tunnel. Our conversation took me back to a BAD place. [I am delighted to say that he, too, came through it and has not only been employed for a good ten years now but also saved his marriage of 35+ years.] The poem, though, is about depression, not unemployment. Yes, being in the rat race can make any of us depressed while being out of it can be so much worse. We all need to put safeguards in place, and that includes having someone in whom we can confide even our worst emotions' for me, the latter once included wanting to die.

Rising above depression is an uphill battle, but we can win it if we can only keep a hold on the will to try and the confidence, however fragile, that we will get through it and things really will get better. It is so important to talk to those close to us, let them know the depth of our feelings so they can try and understand and, more importantly, support and encourage us. No one is a mind reader. If we keep a ‘brave face’ on things and bottle it all up, how are they supposed to know how much support we really need? Are they supposed to just put up with our mood swings and not protest? Depression can so easily bring those around us down too, not just ourselves. They need to know we need them in our lives every bit as much as we need to know they need us in theirs.

There’s nothing brave about pretending everything is okay when we're falling apart; it’s just plain stupid. So rally the troops, yeah? And make damn sure you win the war.

Did I say it was easy?

HELP, ANYONE THERE? or SILENCE, NO  ALLY IN ADVERSITY

Needing to talk to someone

(unplugged the phone)

Needing someone to share

(won’t answer the door)

Can get through the days,

but no way out of this maze

of turnings, yearnings,

candle burnings to a devil

that drags me out of bed

and plays Pied Piper in my head

until I join the rat-race

Needing time and space

(none at the office)

Needing a hand, an ear…

(so look, but where?)

Can’t go on like this,

a credit to zombies;

getting by on auto-pilot

even when my partner

turns the light out;

dreams, nightmares, day and night

all rolling into one

Needing badly) to get real

(so take another pill?)

Come on,  try, try, try…

(just wanna die)

Please, Help me, somebody!

Copyright R. N. Taber 1998; 2016

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appeared under the title Depressed of Erewhon  in Love and Human Remains, Assembly Books, 2000 by R. N. (Erewhon, of course, is an anagram of nowhere.) rev. title 2/2018]

Spirit of Silence

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

I put my faith in nature long ago. Yes, nature has its dark side but isn't that true of most if not all things?

If I personally cannot believe in a personified God , I respect other people's Belief. When I am quiet and reflective, nature speaks to me. I guess it is the same for a religious person when they pray. Nature, God...these are one and the same thing perhaps? Who knows? Whatever, I suspect we are closer to the truth of things when we are quiet and reflective. It is of how we feel at such times that we can be sure even if there are no words to express or confirm it. Everyone's feelings are different. Everyone's knowledge of themselves is different. That isn't to say this person is right or that person is wrong.

A writer is sometimes described as a wordsmith. Me, I have always been convinced that silence says far more than words can even begin to express.

My late mother once told me she loved silence. I thought this was a strange thing to say, especially as she loved chatting to people and could often be heard singing her favourite songs. So I asked her why. 'You can trust silence,' was all my she said. It has taken me years to understand what she meant. It is during peaceful, comforting silences  that I best reflect on all she contributed to the better part of me.

Now, it is often said that you never really know a person until you live with them. Perhaps that is why my dear, late mother once commented to the effect that before we can declare with authority that no one knows us better than ourselves, we need to learn to live with ourselves, that is to say the person we are rather than the person we would rather be or whom others would rather we be.

Oh, we like to think no one knows us better than we know ourselves. Yet, how well do we really know ourselves? How often do we face up to those home truths we don’t like to dwell upon so brush them under some proverbial carpet? Even so, we always remain aware of why we did so even if we prefer not to follow that particular path.

BOY: So how do your learn to live with yourself?

MOTHER: Look for the spirit of silence. If and when you find it, let it lift you above the noise of the world.

It was years before I even began to understand what she meant by that either.

“I've begun to realize that you can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all its own.”  - Chaim Potok, (The Chosen)

This poem is a kenning.

SPIRIT OF SILENCE

Listen out for me
a silence in the air, surpassing
all the music ever written;
Look, see how I fly the world
on wings as quick
and beautiful as anything
nature aspired for even
its favourite species between
earth and sky

Reach out, touch me,
let fumbling fingers discover
the purpose of creation;
Smell. Find in a spring shower,
urging winter to waken
where it would but sleep in
and delay things,
a fragrance of kinder truths
polluted by ‘progress’

Embrace me, let your senses
open as in the womb,
recover that spiritual identity
religion so covets
that it seeks to direct and control
what it likes to call ‘soul’
even if that means using threats
all the world makes under
cover of noise

Trust in me, the Spirit of Silence,
harbinger of all human resilience


Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem  (revised final couplet) appears in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.[