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.

Saturday 30 June 2012

War Talk

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

How often, I wonder do we really think about what we are saying or even mean what we say, bearing in mind that our choice of words may well leave us vulnerable to misinterpretation?

The world  owes much to the men and women in its armed forces wherever they may be. Nor should we ever forget that we owe as much if not more to their families and friends (along with everyone else) who, time and time again, are called upon to pick up the pieces of life, love and hope whenever and wherever lives fall apart; a time of peace, for some if not most of us can be another kind of war.

“Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime.”  - Ernest Hemingway

Yet, justify it, we invariably do if only by that old stand-by, rhetoric.

WAR TALK

What do people mean when they talk about
the 'integrity' of war?

Is it a comment on the neatness of body bags
laid out in a line?

Or maybe they are referring to injured people
rising above despair?

Can it be they mean the finer principles of war
have been upheld?

(Doesn’t everyone do their best to keep friendly
fire incidents to a minimum?)

Maybe its generals court integrity for strategies
of ‘win some, lose some’?

Can it be politicians promote their own integrity
to win elections?

Maybe it’s all about being polite, discreet, about
to whom the spoils of war?

I asked a soldier who lost an arm and a leg in Iraq,
but he just shrugged

Maybe (the soldier said) I should ask the orphans
and widows…on both sides?

Lots of questions and not nearly enough answers
or (any?) right ones

Poor humanity, ever caught in a cross-fire of words,
come worst of all worlds

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2018



[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Next of Kin have been Informed, but should Refrain from Asking Questions' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]



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Thursday 28 June 2012

A Life in the Day of an Ordinary Joe

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

My maternal grandfather was a delightful, rascal of a man who fought in World War1 and shared a good few ups and downs with my grandmother until he died peacefully in his sleep in 1969. I once confided in him that I felt so frustrated because I wasn’t doing anything with my life.

‘No doing anything with your life?’ he retorted. “You’re getting on with it, aren’t you? What more can anyone do?’

I guess granddad was also something of a philosopher in his own inimitable way...

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF AN ORDINARY JOE or CONTEMPORANEITY, 

On a long, long road
going…where?

Clouds, gathering
for a storm

People, clutching rolled umbrellas
as if for dear life

Children, forgotten
how to play

Parents, frightened
of failing

Sunlight, persuading ghosts to write
a Book of Shadows

Thin, polluted air
up the nose

Sounds of battle
in the ears 

World leaders playing cat and mouse
with private lives

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: First published in CC and D magazine v 215, Scars (US) 2010.]


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Wednesday 27 June 2012

Theatre On A Damask Tablecloth

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

Sometimes I reflect on the world we live in, find reality and illusion merging into one sad and beautiful work of and, oh, so long to hear someone say, ‘Okay, that’s not bad. Now let’s start again, and see if we can't do better.’

THEATRE ON A DAMASK TABLECLOTH

A champagne twilight, reflections
in a beggar’s eye

Trees, glittering like chandeliers
at some charity gala

Dove, letting rip with the passion
of a diva to the gods

Jack Frost, shinning up drainpipes
to peep in windows

Men and women, running scared
of anxious ghosts

Boys and girls, keeping company
with fantasy fictions

Shadows, like missiles homing in
on suspect targets

Enter stars, ready to cry over spilt
milk on our pillows
  
[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

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Tuesday 26 June 2012

The Zen of Flower Arranging

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

This poem has appeared in several anthologies and is a favourite of mine. Feedback suggests that it is a favourite with many of you, too, so that is great news. I know I am seen as something of an anachronism by many people because my frequent use of rhythm and rhyme is not what they have come to expect from modern poetry.

Positive feedback is always especially welcome and very encouraging. At the same time, never hold back from getting in touch to tell me otherwise; if you have something to say, say it, and if you email me (rogertab@aol.com) or include an email address if using using the Comments box, I will always reply/ Although I never post comments, I always read them, and thanks for sending.

THE ZEN OF FLOWER ARRANGING

Flowers in my window saying I love you;
flowers in my window showing how I care;
flowers in my window, dreaming of you;
flowers in my window to tell you I’m near

Flowers in my window, story of our love,
a sweet dream of springtime in winter’s sigh;
Flowers in my window, make a fine show
of welcoming the world though it pass us by

Flowers in my window, reflections of you;
flowers in my window, highlights in the hair;
flowers in my window, love running true;
flowers in my window, as if you were here

Dreams in my window, we'll always believe;
dreams in my window, gifts from your grave

Copyright R N Taber 2007. 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]



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Sunday 24 June 2012

Patchwork

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

Today's poem last appeared on the blog in 2008. Some readers may care to see/hear me read it among others on various themes on the 4th plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square in July 2006 as part of Antony Gormley’s One and Other ‘living sculpture’ project for which 2400 people from all walks of life in the UK were invited to ‘do their own thing’ for one hour 24/7 over 100 days. The entire web-stream is now archived in the British Library and this is my contribution. Some readers have asked if I can send them a CD, but Sky Arts refused to let any of the participants have one so anyone who may want to watch it again needs to make a note of the link:

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
  
Surely, there are few sights more encouraging or reassuring than to watch this sorry world of ours close down rather splendidly if a trifle disturbingly and only temporarily, of course...as if inviting us to do the same?

PATCHWORK

Dusk, a patchwork quilt spread
over trees and meadows’
warren, set, foxhole, well hid
from prying eyes

Late birds on slight, misty wing
heading for the nest;
walkers, ramblers, hastily
checking compasses

Children at play looking out
for text messages;
Middle England, on the edge
of things temporal

Green campaigners counting
hard won laurels;
curtain closing on one last peep
at a hazy beauty

Tasting raw smells of earthiness
and buttermilk sky;
empathy with a nightingale’s
plea to be left in peace

Random stars brought down,
like clay pigeons
by bonfires in back gardens
always taking liberties

Bats, alley cats, all putting a shine
on the Sandman’s boot
whose task to get us ready
for the next clay shoot

World, coming together briefly
to try and patch us up

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2012

[Note: The appearance of this poem on the page has been revised from an earlier version first published in Nature's Tapestry, an anthology compiled for Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2002 and The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

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Saturday 23 June 2012

Macho, Losing the Plot

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

I have written about street crime in a number of poems. Tragically, it persists. At the same time, I feel very encouraged by feedback from readers of all ages and socio-cultural-religious backgrounds. Hopefully, some (especially young people) may read this post and think on...

Overheard on a bus:

1st YOUTH (boasts): Any fool can get hold of a gun or a knife if they really want. It’s easy.

2nd YOUTH (grins): I carry a knife. Anyone crosses me, and I’ll do ’em. It’s just so easy, yeah? (Laughs)

GIRL: (unimpressed): Yeah, yeah, easy come, easy go. Here today, dead tomorrow, you mean. So what’s that all about then?

2nd YOUTH: We’re talking self-defence here, girl. No one’s saying anybody needs to get killed, for crying out loud.

GIRL: (shrugs) No one ever does until it happens. A bit late then, don’t you think?

1st YOUTH: (aggressively) You don’t understand.  Being a neet ain’t street cred enough any more. You have to show you mean business. You gotta get real or go down.

2nd YOUTH: Give her a break, bro. She’s a girl. Girls haven’t a clue. They don’t understand what we guys are up against.
.
GIRL: Too right, I don’t understand...

At which point the bus arrived at my destination and I had to leave them to it.

Like many of us, I worry a lot about street crime, especially the naïve attitude of some young people towards it. Thankfully, most young people have the good sense to steer clear of guns and knives. Tragically, a significant minority (especially among a growing number of so-called NEETS) continue to see either or both as trendy as designer gear; a very sad, sick, and dangerous trend. Let's be clear, ... there is nothing macho about street crime, especially when it involves acts of acts of violence, even murder.

Every society needs to believe in all its young people - and reach out to them in every way it can  - or it cannot expect all those young people to believe in that society.

[Note: NEET is an acronym (a derogatory and inflammatory one in my opinion) bandied about by politicians here in the UK and in some other countries that refers to young people not in education, employment or training.]

This poem is a villanelle.

MACHO, LOSING THE PLOT

Swapped my knife for a loaded gun,
spread the word...
Never asked who'll carry my coffin

Shouting at just about everyone,
no one heard...
Swapped my knife for a loaded gun

Felt the need to prove I'm 'someone'
(must have been mad)
Never asked who'll carry my coffin

Life was a buzz, a big bundle of fun,
but all that disappeared...
Swapped my knife for a loaded gun

Peers were always putting me down,
suggesting I was scared,
never asked who'll carry my coffin

First mistake, second chance blown
(among worms interred);
swapped my knife for a loaded gun,
never asked who’ll carry my coffin

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[

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Friday 22 June 2012

Open Road

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

It is so easy to blame everything and everyone for our sense of unfairness whenever life goes sour on us. Taking responsibility for our own lives can be something of an epiphany.

Some readers may be interested to know that I read this poem among others on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square back in 2009 as my contribution to Antony Gormley’s ‘live sculpture’ project One and Other. (It lasts an hour.) During that summer, 2400 people from all walks of life performed their ‘own thing’ on the plinth 24/7 for 100 days; the entire web stream is now archived in the British Library.

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

OPEN ROAD

Found myself one day
on a road I did not know;
kept walking anyway,
for no place else to go

Past fields once green,
houses an ugly, silent grey;
landscape obscene,
as if ash on the clay

Bend after bend, afraid
of all I knew I’d surely find,
down to landmines laid
of the socio-political kind

Sick of unholy collusion
contrived daily for His glory
(no matter our religion)
God, but pawn of history

So, no sign of salvation
or even a lifeline in prayer,
any hope of redemption
reduced to mere metaphor

Suddenly, I began to see
as if in a fog starting to clear,
it wasn’t the road but me
lost my way, going nowhere

Woken from a nightmare,
I was just in time to discover
home truths at one ear,
alter ego nagging the other

Sunlight, an open road,
from my folly took me away
as I walked unafraid
and briskly, into a new day

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007, 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]


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