A Poet's Blog: Roger N.Taber shares his thoughts & poems...

Thoughts and observations by English poet Roger N. Taber, a retired librarian and poet-novelist.- "Ethnicity, Religion, Gender, Sexuality ... these are but parts of a whole. It is the whole that counts." RNT [NB While I have no wish to create a social network, I will always reply to critical emails about my poetry. Contact: rogertab@aol.com].

Name:
Location: London, United Kingdom

Sadly, a bad fall in 2012 has left me with a mobility problem, and being diagnosed with prostate cancer the same year hasn't helped, but I get out and about with my trusty walking stick as much as I can, take each day as it comes and try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. Many of my poems reflect the need to nurture a positive-thinking mindset whatever life throws at us.

Tuesday 5 July 2011

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]








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Sunday 3 July 2011

Unsung Heroes

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

March 31st is International Trangender Day of Visibility.

Transgender men and women are often society’s forgotten heroes. I once knew one quite well (she died some years ago) and had every admiration for her; she inspired my character, Jackie, in my novel Sacrilege, [Book 2 of my Laurence Fisher trilogy, Blasphemy-Sacrilege-Redemption.]

I read this poem among others on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square back in July 14th 2009 (see link below) as my contribution to sculptor Antony Gormley’s One & Other ‘living sculpture’ project. It was both sad and heart-warming to receive emails from transsexuals worldwide who had incredibly inspiring stories to tell and were pleased I had helped raise Transgender Awareness a notch higher by reading it to a global audience. [I should add that I also received emails criticising me for standing up for transgender people, but I get them for supporting my fellow gay men and women too so dare say it’s par for the course for anyone whose concerns for the society in which he or she lives extend beyond those in whom they have a special &/or vested interest.]

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T [For now, at least, this link needs the latest Adobe Flash Player  and works best in Firefox; the archives website cannot run Flash but changes scheduled for later this year may well mean the link will open without it. Ignore any error message and give it a minute or so to start up. The video lasts an hour. ] RT 3/18

This poem has appeared on the blogs before, but not for a very long time; it is repeated today especially for ‘Shirley’ who has been in touch to ask that I have more to say about transgender people on my blogs. Well, I’m sorry if you feel I neglect transgender men and women Shirley. I do my best to be as all-embracing as I can in my poems and comments, I can’t expect to please everyone.

UNSUNG HEROES

Girl meets Boy in the same body,
demands what shall we do…
pretend everything is hunky dory
or come true?

Girl pleads with Boy for priority
though she may not look the part;
Boy agrees, since it’s a certainty
he has her heart

Boy takes on the world for her sake,
appealing to truth and justice;
Girl but seeking her peace to make
with its prejudice

Boy meets Girl in the same body
after a transformation,
glad to have done right by history
and salvation

Girl thanks Boy for his selflessness
and courage under enemy fire,
leaving her free to seek a happiness
we all aspire

If the world’s humanity a democracy
worth dying for to win…
dare a sometime prison of the body
but let freedom in?

Among centuries of unsung heroes,
our transgender brothers and sisters

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

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Friday 1 July 2011

Mind-Body-Spirit, on Rescue Alert

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

I am regularly contacted by people who want to know how I manage (most if not all the time) to rise above regular bouts of depression. I can only tell them what works for me; every individual has to discover for him or herself what will work for them.

I have to say that I, personally, avoid counselling; counsellors can destroy what little self-esteem we have left by the time we start looking for one. However, I dare say I may have been unlucky with those from whom I have sought help in the [distant] past so it might be worth exploring that avenue.

Now, as a great fan of actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers (I loved The Tudors series on TV) I was very saddened to read that he had apparently attempted suicide. I did the same during a severe nervous breakdown some 30+ years ago. I swallowed a LOT of paracetamol tablets, washed down with a bottle of sherry. [Needless to say, I haven’t touched either since.] It was a terrible time, and I well recall the despair when I woke up after being unconscious for about 35 hours. Even so, I couldn’t stand the pain so managed to stagger half-dressed to my local surgery that was close to where I was living at the time.

Recovery took years, and I was unable to work for nearly four. Regular readers will be familiar with my poems like the one below that take depression and rising above it as a theme. I still suffer bouts of depression as I have since childhood, but I know the warning signs now and usually manage to rise above things through my writing, thereby avoiding going into free fall.

My passion for nature plays no small part in a self-taught capacity for positive thinking that, again, has its roots in a troubled childhood. I didn’t grow up in a broken home or anything as awful, but an appalling relationship with my father and a significant hearing loss that no one picked up on made life (and me) difficult, to say the least. It didn’t help when, as a teenager, I had to learn to cope alone with an awakening sexuality; same sex relationships remained a criminal offence here in the UK until 1967 by which time I was in my early 20’s.

Failure to commit suicide gave me a whole new outlook on life. So, yes, I am glad I failed although life has been an uphill struggle ever since, both emotionally and psychologically. Yet, isn’t life a challenge for most of us? I suspect the key is to take up the challenge instead of letting notions of failure mess with the mind; with the heart, too, perhaps. It isn’t easy, and there are times when the depressed person wants to run away from it all. Even so, as I have already said, learn to recognise the signs and it becomes marginally easier to prevent free fall.

For an actor, writer or any creative person, being something of a perfectionist is a mixed blessing. The perfectionist is never satisfied with his or her performance and this alone can lead us to the cliff edge of despair. One of the hardest lessons a creative person has to learn is to enjoy the creative process for its own sake, and while trying our best, not cave in to a mistaken sense of failure should our achievements fall short of expectation. Someone once said to me that she could not do anything creative until she recovered her self-esteem. In my experience, that is putting the cart before the horse. Until we try something, we will never know whether or not we can succeed at it; if we don’t succeed, we should give ourselves a pat on the back for trying and try something else until we discover our forte, something that gives us satisfaction and a boost to self-esteem that can only grow if duly nurtured.

Never feel a failure. Invariably, we do so in relation to someone else. There are times in life when other people don’t matter in the sense that we will only continue to feel close to freefall all the while we insist on comparing ourselves with those whom we most admire for whatever reason. At such times, we need to put ourselves first and refuse to let others put us down for who and what we are.

We can only make the best of what talents we have, and if these are insufficient to give us a sense of fulfilment then we should look elsewhere for the tools we need to help us feel a more complete person. Love and friendship offer fulfilment if we are prepared to work at them and not take either for granted. A talent for love and friendship is as creative an inspiration as we are ever likely to find in life; they come in all shapes and sizes and, again, we should not compare what we seek with others who have different needs and expectations.

I have said before on the blogs, we are all different and should not be in any hurry to measure ourselves by other people’s achievements.

I doubt whether Jonathan Rhys Myers reads my blog, but to him and all people driven to psychological and emotional free fall for whatever reason, I say, take heart, think well of yourself, and time may not heal all our hurts, but it will do a damn good job on most of them if only we are prepared work at it. There are no quick fixes and time can seem (very) frustratingly slow, but trying out new steps each day will produce positive results in the end if not always at a time we need them most.

A depressed person deserves a medal just for going through the motions of getting on with daily life. Believe me, I have been there, and my heart goes out to all those who suffer the worst depression can throw at us. Even once it has taken what seems like an eternity to lift, it will hover, and then go to wait in the wings until the next time it will try to take centre-stage; it is up to us to try and make sure it doesn’t. Oh, it will probably always insist on being a bit player in our lives, but that becomes just about bearable. People who suffer from depression are very fortunate indeed if it doesn’t make at least the occasional appearance. [The trick is to see it coming, and keep it from doing too much damage.]

To their loved ones and friends, I urge patience and understanding. Depression is NOT the same as feeling low or fed-up; it is light years beyond. At the same time, there is no need to let a depressed person’s mood swings take you to the edge as well. Speak up. Don’t let anyone walk all over you, whether they are depressed or not. But do so with kindness rather than in anger. Keep faith with love and friendship; it is at such times when depression or other hardships strike and test all of us that both truly come into their own.

Oh, but life can be so complicated, and rarely gives us a clear run all the way. Yet, for all its ups and downs, it is the only life we have so let’s make the best, not the worst of it, yeah? [Did I say it was easy?]

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, ON RESCUE ALERT

A shadow came to squat by my side,
its features obscured,
took my hand, claimed to be a guide,
said I should not be afraid;
a voice as silky as a child’s brow
persuaded me to my feet,
vaguely familiar voices calling, ‘No!’
distant echoes in my heart

If reassuring, the voice kept insisting
this was no time to be fanciful,
its silk at my ears faintly brushing
like lips behind a veil;
I let myself be led into my own garden
where I’d plant flowers,
prune its fruit trees and mow the lawn
during golden hours

Yet, even as the trellis gate swung open
to let us enter there,
I was gripped by an awful premonition
and sickening fear;
the silky voice took on a mocking tone
as the veil fell away
to a pecking at my flesh to the very bone
like a bird of prey

In a panic, I called the garden to my aid
only to see…
its trees were dying, its flowers dead,
the lawn but a spread of algae;
desperate to escape being eaten alive,
I tore myself free,
begging of that cold, dark, watery grave
a last sanctuary

I dropped as sure as a stone into the slime
and lay on its bed,
watching the algae, like veils of time,
expose half-truths over my head;
hands reached down to pull me to a surface
I instantly recognised,
where fruit trees, flowers and green grass
have endured

Between the lines of Earth Mother’s smile
I read how survival is but half the battle ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009



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Monday 27 June 2011

Road Signs OR Winging with Doves

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

Travelling hopefully, we make our way through life.

Go carefully, but trust your instincts and never be afraid to take any risks mind-body-spirit might suggest. Okay, so that might be a mistake sometimes, but better to make a mistake, surely, than live with a lifetime of regret? Besides, everyone makes mistakes so ... what the heck, so long as no great harm done (except maybe to the ego)?

ROAD SIGNS or WINGING WITH DOVES

It was a bright light led me to this place,
as I fought for breath in a mother’s womb,
painting dreams of peace, glory, grace,
winging with doves at a warrior’s tomb

Fading, a light that led me to this place
as I took my first breath outside the womb,
painting dreams of peace, glory, grace,
winging with doves at a warrior’s tomb?

It’s a long road that led me to this place,
some may call it destiny, other fate or doom,
but although my sight dims, I see a face,
lighting up with love over its womb-tomb

Who watches out for its peace, glory, grace,
journeys well from first to last resting place

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

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Thursday 23 June 2011

Blackbird Has Spoken

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

[Update 5/5/17: I am 71 now, have been living with the prostate cancer for 6+ years and still eluding the Grim Reaper thanks to hormone therapy. I still avoid social media, but all e-mails welcome and answered...except any trolls whom I simply delete!] RT

I have always made it clear that I will not post comments as I think they clutter a blog (yes, even the nice, intelligent ones) so please do not be offended when you receive notification that your comment has been deleted. Nor do I have time to go on Twitter or Facebook except to link my blogs as some readers have requested. [I will never return to social media having had experience of trolls.]

To be honest, on-line social networking never was my ‘thing’ but I am always happy to exchange emails if I have their email address or there is a contact button on their blog so I can at least thank them for their comment/s. I always reply to emails. (My email address is in the Blog’s introductory paragraph.) I have enjoyed a regular exchange of emails with some readers for several years now. So feel free to let me know what you think of either or both blogs and, yes, I can take constructive criticism of the chin.

I am doing fine with the prostate cancer treatment, but I’m 65 (born 1945) and get tired so need to rest a lot. I try to write up my blogs after discovering that I get withdrawal symptoms on days I don’t.... I am also struggling with writing Book Three of my gay-crime trilogy (Blasphemy-Sacrilege-Redemption) as well as preparing new editions of my poetry collections (with revisions to some poems) and proofing my second Fred Winter novel in case Catching Up With Murder (2010) .sells at least moderately well. In addition, as I live on my own, there is always shopping, cooking, cleaning etc. to be done and I especially like to spend as much time with friends as possible.

Meanwhile...

Oh, how bright mornings can fill even sleepyheads a feisty passion that demands partners stay in bed a little longer ... if only on the pretext of caving in to the cat’s refusal to budge from its favourite spot on the duvet.

Ah, but blackbird has indeed spoken ... calling on everyone , especially in societies fractured by socio-cultural-religious differences to pull together and remember that our differences do not make us different, only human,.


BLACKBIRD HAS SPOKEN

Blackbird
on a leafy, swaying branch...
A forefinger coaxing
tired nipples...
Chirpy young sparrows rippling
our personal space

Feisty fingers
at shirts, belts, stubborn zips;
late spring scents
teasing far suppler thighs
than ours and, yes,
we’ll miss that train,
the board meeting
at ten - and leave the curtains
open, closing eyes 
for a blackbird’s renewed joy
at such a coming alive;
common body,
three-in-one, grave decisions
celebrating acts
of redemption, blackbird’s
finest hour, throat throbbing,
wings flexing

Now, in full flight,
flung free of tree and branch
to sweeps of sky;
will settle soon enough
but never for less again
than this

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2017

[Note: Slightly revised from the original version that appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

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Tuesday 21 June 2011

The Horse Whisperer

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

This poem has not appeared on the blog since 2008 and is repeated today especially for 'Clive and Kate' who have recently retired to live by '...the love of our lives, the sea.' Oh, but I am so jealous.

Now, Regular readers will know that I have a passion for nature from which I take what I like to think is a strong sense of spirituality. For me, personally, religion offers nothing. At the same time, who’s to say the power and glory some attribute to ‘God’ does not belong to Nature? My understanding of God is that He is everywhere, but I cannot go along with the idea of a personified God or supreme power so all my senses feel inclined to embrace nature instead. I have felt this way since childhood, long before I became aware of my sexuality. [Just as well, I guess...]

Whatever, we should respect each other’s points of view instead of constantly sniping at them and fighting over them. [I am often accused of sniping at world religions, but if you read my preambles and poems carefully, you will see it is the hypocrisy and bigotry on which so many so-called ‘religious’ people feed - not infrequently with undisguised relish - that I am attacking.]

Incidentally, I started writing this poem on Brighton beach in 2007 and finished it on the train back to London the same day.

(Photo from The Internet)

THE HORSE WHISPERER

Foaming passions crashing down
on this, my art

God’s stallions on a last ditch run
of poetry…

Apollo, master-catcher, anxious
to break us in

Ghosts in the frame calling us out
in heaven’s name

Salty tears, a sandman’s labours
all but won

Lead palomino rears, cries, bows,
spirit unbroken

Leaning forward to bend its ear,
I, the horse whisperer

[Brighton (E. Sussex, UK) September 2007]

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

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Wednesday 25 May 2011

Swan Lake

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

I have started posting my most recent YouTube recordings. If interested, you should be able to access my YouTube capers at any time from my YouTube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber 

Treatment for my prostate cancer means I have to rest a lot either side of an active day out at the moment, but it is well worth it. Brighto, for example, has always been an inspiration for me since I was a kid, and it only takes an hour to this seaside town on a fast train from  London.

Meanwhile...

This villanelle has not appeared on the blog since 2007 and is here today especially for ‘Roseanne’ and who says, ‘I adore ballet and am training to be a ballet dancer.’

Here’s wishing you every success, Roseanne.

Me, I loved Tchaikovsky’s music long before I knew he was gay. (They don't tell you that at school.) What has sexuality to do with talent, anyway, or greatness for that matter? [After all, there have been many great gay men and women throughout history.]

SWAN LAKE

A love story on stage;
nerve strings of its composer
turning each page

As a bird flies its cage,
so music in glorious colour;
a love story on stage

Let dance, our pain assuage;
ensemble, solo, or pas de deux
turning each page

See art display the courage
of humankind’s old enemy, fear;
a love story on stage

Performance, paying homage
to the divided heart of its creator,
turning each page

Dancers, their talents engage
to read into art all human nature;
a love story on stage
turning each page

[NB.  Written after a brilliant performance by the Harlow Ballet Association at The Playhouse, Harlow, April 2007.]

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

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