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.

Monday 3 December 2012

The Lovers OR Quality Time

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

Today’s poem is a favourite of mine and appeared in several poetry magazines/anthologies before I included it in my first major collection; it was written in 1991 after a conversation over a garden hedge with an elderly man whose wife had died the previous year. He talked about the spirituality of love and togetherness in such a way that I was full of admiration and close to tears.

THE LOVERS or QUALITY TIME

Scarce we talked of love,
scarce we talked at all

I would scan the paper
while you got the tea
or prune my roses
while you watched me
out of the corner of one eye
at your herbaceous border
busy with a trowel

Scarce we talked of love,
scarce we talked at all 

I would fix whatever
while you made us a cuppa,
and when I’d finished
we would sip comfortably
in our favourite places
glancing up now and then to
read each other’s faces

Scarce we talked of love,
scarce we talked at all 

Now I prattle away
in a misty rain,
bring you roses where you lie
in a patch of cemetery,
birds for company,
wondering why, oh why?
Again and again

Scarce we talked of love
scarce we talked at all

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001

[Note: this poem was first published as 'The Lovers' in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; rev. ed. in e-format in preparation.]

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Saturday 1 December 2012

Body Positive

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

Both poems have appeared on the blogs before, but as my dear mother used to say, if something is worth saying, it is always worth repeating …


Today is World AIDS Day. Let us not only remember its victims but also be thankful that continuing research into HIV-AIDS at least means people are living much longer with the disease and can enjoy a better quality of life than in earlier years. We can but hope a cure will eventually be found.


Meanwhile…let’s have fun, but play safe, yeah?

BODY POSITIVE

Life, death!

Floods me, goads me,
leads me beside hot beaches
where I run, a dazzling sea
cheering me on, and I wonder
where the lark has gone
that fixed me so with its cheer
before abandoning me here
like a forgotten toy filled with joy
for its having all but played
me out before going about nature’s
own business

Life, death!

Calls me, galls me,
urges me back, back to you;
but we are gone,
the taste of us honey on my tongue
where we romped and played
like tots in make-believe, heading
barefoot among jellyfish
for the Punch and Judy man
who’ll make us laugh
if anyone can before the sun goes down,
our time forgotten

Life, death!

Overtaken us now,
beckoning. I’ll not rush my pace
for we’ve already run our race,
won a place among same stars enchanting
same lulling swell.
All’s well. One lost toy recovered
and taken home. Punch and Judy
in a packing case,
sleeping it off at some Bed and Breakfast.
I, filled with a night too exquisite for words
like those we shared...

Before AIDS

Copyright R. N. Taber 1996; 2012

[Note: A slightly different version first appeared in August and Genet by R. N. Taber (Wire Poetry Booklet series) Aramby Publishing,1996 and subsequently in various poetry publications prior to its inclusion in Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

None of us, gay or straight can afford to be complacent...

THE TEST

Didn’t test to see if I was HIV positive,
I was scared,
then my lover asked me outright
and I lied…
thinking I wasn’t really lying, believed
I was okay
but the lie began to haunt me more
each night and day,
especially when in my arms he lay
his body in my trust

I should find out, I thought, I must
have a test,
I can’t go on pretending like this
even as we kiss
that there’s no virus in me I can pass on
(as if I would)
but I cannot answer for the unknown,
need to find out
be worthy of his love and trust
or we’ll never last

Eventually, I had the test, it was negative,
I was relieved,
then I asked my lover outright
and he cried...
swore he hadn’t known when we first met
but discovered since,
too scared to tell me in case I got angry
(as I’d been he might reject me)
so what could I do but hold him near
plant kisses in his hair?
Yes, we’ve had the test, my love and me,
it set us free
from doubt and fear because, together,
we are strong,
can deal with whatever this life
dishes us…
beats treading on our dreams, left alone
and up against it;
above all its blessings, place trust
or love will fail the test

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

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Tuesday 27 November 2012

Time On Haworth Moor

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

[Update July 30th 2018: Today marks 100 years since Emily Bronte was born, 30/7/1818.]

Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights has to be one of the greatest novels of all time. It is a firm favourite of mine, even though I confess to have been partially corrupted by the (original) screen version starring Merle Oberon and Lawrence Olivier.]

Emily Bronte 1818 -1848
(Image taken from the Internet)

On the few occasions I have been able to visit Haworth, it has been a magical experience. Once I have closed my eyes to the commercialisation of its Bronte connections, I am transported into another world. I cannot quite confess to another century as Merle Oberon and Lawrence Olivier are welcome intruders. [In my view, the original screen version of Wuthering Heights - and its splendid soundtrack - is far superior to any subsequent remakes]. The village is pretty enough but the moor is magnificent, in all its moods. Who cannot hear a brooding Heathcliff calling to his Cathy on the wind?

Well, yes, I am an incurable romantic.

Of course, Wuthering Heights is no cosy romance. It takes a (very) perceptive look at the darker side of love and passion...no mean feat for any writer, let alone a 19th century parson’s daughter leading a sheltered life.

Richer than riches is the gift of imagination, especially when combined with a natural talent for creativity and a keen observation of human nature and society. The Bronte sisters had all these, and we should be thankful they chose to give expression to all three in novels and poems that must rank among the finest contributions of the 19th century to the written word.

TIME ON HAWORTH MOOR


Sun on the moor
as lovers kiss, stir a music
of heartbeats
words cannot contain;
mist on the moor
where lovers working
an ages-old magic-in-situ,
snails under stones

Wind on the moor
as love’s moods give the lie
to that old dare,
stones shall not weep;
rain on the moor,
lovers pulling blinds
on worlds of words barely
paying lip service

Snow on the moor,
testament to such passions
no world could save
but as poems in the wind;
sun on the moor,
mocking Time's thralls

that see no cause to applaud
a snail getting a life

Copyright R N Taber 2000, 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000; this rev. version, 2019]

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Monday 26 November 2012

Requiem For A Skylark/ Nature Trail (Two short poems)

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

Enjoying nature has to be one of life’s greatest pleasures. Here in the UK, as elsewhere in the world, it is down to each and every one of us to save as many of its green and pleasant places and wildlife habitats as possible for future generations...or they will not easily forgive us, if ever.


REQUIEM FOR A SKYLARK

On tuneful wing, our seasons
scanning, circles and dips
anxiously a covenant
with Earth's poetry, where
once a nesting tree
grew tall

Now, a shopping
mall

 NATURE TRAIL

Follow leafy trails
into red and orange,
silver, green;
let the dew of life
wash clean our
dirty hands;
be still, antic winds
till nothing's heard
but an egg-bird;
a tear in the eye,
all our yesterdays
on standby

[From: First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]

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Friday 23 November 2012

Hope Is A Woman

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

Every so often readers ask me for a CD recording of my informal poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square back in July 2009 as my contribution to Antony Gormley’s One and Other ‘live sculpture’ project.  Sky Arts typically refused to oblige those of us who participated with a CD so I can only repeat the link for anyone interested. [The entire web stream - all 2400 hours of it - is now archived in the British Library.]

Be warned, though. The entire clip lasts an hour:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T [NB: Sept 19, 2019 - The British Library confirmed today 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.] RNT

Meanwhile…

The vanity of human beings is such that we like to think we are in control of our lives and nature has to play second fiddle to our intentions as well as in our affections.

I wonder about that sometimes…

Some people look to God as the ultimate male ego. The Ancient Greeks cherished Elpis, Spirit of Hope. Me, I prefer to look to Earth Mother for an inner strength of a quality that can only be female; therein lies the key to our survival. On our terms, as Masters of the Universe? Don't bet on it.

(Photo: Elpis, Spirit of Hope (copied from the web)

HOPE IS A WOMAN

To Mother Nature
we bared all as we were born;
since then, for good or ill,
(mostly) in good faith her colours
openly worn

Green, the grass,
defying threats of acid rain; 
Blue, clear skies turning
a blind eye to the human obsession
with temporal gain

Red, streaks of blood
across a sky, the throat of a fox
as the first hound’s claw 
finds its mark, and darkness shuts us
at random in its box

Yellow, the sun’s wounds
weeping through drought, famine,
and an outing of inhumanity,
in platitudes among record audiences
for prime television

Stumps, where we'd stood,
listening to a pretty wood, if deaf 
to every plea it made
and warning it gave, now all but dead
but for its grief

Grey, tear-stained profiles
among remains of a next generation
running scared in the face
of apathy from elders shooting selfies
before they were born

To Earth Mother dare we fall
on our knees, if only to beg Her stay
this enemy's execution,
given that any 'tomorrow is another day'
well past its use-by date

Copyright R N. Taber 2007




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













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Wednesday 14 November 2012

Engaging with Mirrors

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

It is not unusual for me to hear from readers - especially young people - torn between love of family and a respect for a culture in which the family may well have its origins, but which for them, as 21st century girls and boys, men and women living in the 21st century, has increasingly less relevance.

Nor is it only tough for gay people whose culture of origin may be intrinsically homophobic, Many more young people feel hogtied by certain traditions that are, to say the least, anachronisms in the modern world.

There are no easy answers, and I am not surprised that many young people, feeling unable to  choose between their family and the way of life they would prefer to follow, continue to pay lip service to this or that anachronism while desperately seeking a compromise. [I have often wondered why ‘compromise’ is often considered a dirty word when it is not infrequently a far better path to follow than where no one is prepared to compromise at all.]

No one should be made to feel they must choose between family and the life they want for themselves. Love sometimes means letting people go. Family members can show no greater love for their children or siblings than by trusting them to make their own way in life even if, in the light of their own upbringing, they may not quite approve.

Every generation needs to break free of family ties that bind. Invariably, by doing so, those same tied reassert themselves even more strongly than before.

We are not a world of clones (yet) so let’s all make the most of who we are and not only  encourage loved ones to do the same, but take pride in their doing so.

Yes, yes, I know I have said much the same thing more than once on the blogs and doubtless shall do so again. Regular readers may well recall that I often cite my mother’s pointing out to a young Roger T that ‘if something is worth saying, it is always worth repeating.’

ENGAGING WITH MIRRORS

Looking in my mirror, all I can see
is a tear-stained face grimacing at me,
mouthing questions I can’t ignore
though asked them many times before

A still, small voice demands of me
I walk tall, be confident in my sexuality,
forget compromise as a real choice,
but make a stand, give integrity a voice

I tell the mirror, ‘That’s all very well,
and I agree I might just as well be in hell
for this pain and fear like a fire in me,
but what will I find if I walk tall, go free?’

‘What if people choose to reject me
and I lose the love and respect of family,
friends, work colleagues, everyone…
lose face within my culture and religion?’

‘What chance of getting them to see
I didn’t choose my sexuality, it chose me,
and I’m the same person I was before
I chose truth, a refugee in lies no more?’

‘Follow your instincts,’ says the mirror,
though family, friends, creed and culture;
put love and peace to the ultimate test,
or how else can they, in you, find rest?’

‘Trust me,’ mouths the mirror, ‘A world
for whom respect seems so shallow a word
when it comes to healing its differences
will one day need to reassess its priorities.’

Dare I do as the mirror says in good faith,
knowing I so long to go its way, take a path
pointing me plainly in the right direction,
where I follow the rhetoric of deception?

Family and friends looking out for one another,
care you enough for me to see-hear my mirror?

Copyright R. N. Taber. 2012; 2013

[Note: An earlier draft (under the title 'It's Done with Mirrors') appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]





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Saturday 10 November 2012

Addressing the Art of Being Human

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

On September 15th 2005, a sculpture of artist Alison Lapper by Marc Quinn was unveiled in Trafalgar Square. The sculpture is a three-and-a-half metre-high representation of disabled artist Alison Lapper when she was eight months pregnant. ‘Alison Lapper Pregnant’ was chosen from a shortlist of six in March 2004 and remained on the plinth for 18 months.

“Marc Quinn has created an artwork that is a potent symbol and is a great addition to London,” said the Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone, who endorsed and unveiled the sculpture. “It is a work about courage, beauty and defiance, which both captures and represents all that is best about our great city. Alison Lapper pregnant is a modern heroine – strong, formidable and full of hope. It is a great work of art for London and for everyone.’

Many if not most people seem to have agreed with Livingstone and the sculpture took pride of place at the opening ceremony for the London 2012 Paralympics in September this year; like the Paralympics itself, it has no played no small part in changing attitudes towards disability for the better and totally undermining old stereotypes. We can but hope for the same from future Paralympics and a better press for disabled people worldwide.

'Alison Lapper Pregant' on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square, 2005

'Alison Lapper Pregnant' at the Paralympics opening ceremony, London 2012

This poem is a villanelle.

ADDRESSING THE ART OF BEING HUMAN

Triumph of spirituality,
come Earth Mother truly excelling,
transcending creativity

Magnificence of fertility;
against its critics, surely rebelling;
triumph of spirituality

An essential diversity
above any cultural-religious calling,
transcending creativity

An expression of equality,
(sexuality, disability, notwithstanding)
triumph of spirituality

An all-embracing dignity
with its human prejudices engaging,
transcending creativity

Ambassador for family,
no art of motherhood more telling;
triumph of spirituality,
transcending creativity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012


ADDRESSING THE ART OF BEING HUMAN

Triumph of spirituality,
come Earth Mother truly excelling,
transcending creativity

Magnificence of fertility;
against its critics, surely rebelling;
triumph of spirituality

An essential diversity
above any cultural-religious calling,
transcending creativity

An all-embracing dignity,
needs must with prejudices engaging,
triumph of spirituality

An expression of equality,
(gender, disability, notwithstanding)
transcending creativity

Ambassador for family,
no art of motherhood the more telling;
triumph of spirituality,

transcending creativity

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2012; rev. 2020

[Note; This revised version will appear as the Dedication poem in 'Addressing the Art of Being Human' scheduled for publication late 2020 /early 2021; as readers often ask why I revise poems, I thought you would be interested to see both original and later versions written some eight years apart.] RNT


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