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.

Sunday 16 December 2012

Insider-Outsider OR Mist on the Glass

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

Sometimes we are reluctant to look too closely at happy memories because they hurt too much just for knowing they are but memories. Even so, never underestimate the lasting power of happiness. When the going gets tough, it is never far away but waiting in the wings to prompt our every move…once invited to do so.

Yes, happy times can never be relived in quite the same way. But they are always there fro us, urging us to explore our capacity for happiness. It is this that inspires the happiest hours of our lives and will continue to do so, provided we let it.

When loved ones die, we miss them terribly and memories can never compensate for the physical pain of missing their presence in our lives. But such happiness is a shared experience. We were happy to spend time with them because they were happy to spend time with us. Each cared about the other’s happiness and well-being. We should never stop caring but seek out new ways of being happy and making other people happy. So things will never be the same. Life’s like that.

Happiness - like love - comes in all shapes and forms. Let good times that have passed away and seem beyond reach inspire our present, not inhibit it and the future will invariably make room for more.

Death comes to us all, that's life. Love, though, remains a part of us in the form of a posthumous consciousness in which hopefully we, too, may continue to make our presence felt for the good in someone else's life and memory long after our final heartbeat.

So ... if your window on happiness seems misted up, give it a good clean, yeah?

Yeah!

This poem is a villanelle. 

INSIDER-OUTSIDER or MIST ON THE GLASS

Through a misty window pane
set in a red brick wall,
I'll softly tread now and again

I glimpse familiar faces, strain
to hear them call
through a misty window pane

A kaleidoscope of spring rain
touching us all,
I'll softly tread now and again 

Oh, to catch up with love again,
follow its trail…
though a misty window pane!

A mirror to choice, loss, or gain,
(making us look big or small);
I'll softly tread now and again

Who turns down Memory Lane
risks going into free fall;
through a misty window pane,
I'll softly tread now and again

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

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Saturday 8 December 2012

Where the Keyword is Imagine

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

Today’s poem was written as a tribute to musician John Lennon, shot dead outside his New York City apartment block by Mark David Chapman on Dec 8th 1980.

"Imagine"  was written and performed by Lennon. The best-selling single of his solo career, its lyrical statement is one of collectivist positivism. It challenges the listener to imagine a world at peace, without the divisiveness and barriers of religious denominations and nationalities, and to consider the possibility that the focus of humanity should be living a life less attached to material possessions.


Lennon’s wife, Yoko Ono scattered his ashes in New York's Central Park, where the Strawberry Fields memorial was later created

Photo: John Lennon Memorial

WHERE THE KEYWORD IS IMAGINE

The gospel of John Lennon
sees a testing time for dreams,
inspires the imagination

Politics needs urgent revision
to silence starvation’s screams;
the gospel of John Lennon

No mythicizing hell or heaven;
it’s repairing life’s frayed seams
inspires the imagination

No (one-upmanship) religion;
trusting that love all hate redeems;
the gospel of John Lennon

Where any cultural division,
mutual respect tempering extremes,
inspires the imagination

In a song for every season,
ideals as pure as mountain streams;
the gospel of John Lennon
inspires the imagination

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: First Published in 'In Other Words, Forward press, 2012]






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Friday 7 December 2012

Red

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

Some readers may be interested to know that I read today's poem among others on the 4th plinth in London's Trafalgar Square in July 2009 as my contribution to Sir Antony Gormley's One and Other 'live sculpture' project. (That summer 2,400 people were randomly selected to do their 'own thing' for one hour, 24/7 over 100 days.):

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

Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, wherever… war and various conflicts world-wide make most if not all of us see red…not only for the loss of life and those left psychologically scarred but also because the politics behind them is invariably suspect, to say the least.

On Home Fronts, too, find bigotry and prejudice creating various socio-cultural-religious divisions within world societies.

If politics can be a dirty business, there can be none so dirty at the Politics of Red.

RED

Shades of red, as colouring world religions,
writing political agendas

When I open my heart, I see red - the colour
of your courage

When I open my eyes, I see red - the colour
of my pain

Red, too, shades of our last sunset before you
left do your duty far away

Red also, on the flag that covered your coffin
as a band played you home

Red, these eyes, that have no tears left for us
but must see their way clear

Red, these lips that will never kiss yours again
but must reassure generations

When I open my heart, I see red - the colour
of your blood

When I open my eyes, I see red - the colour
of my rage

Shades of red, as colouring humankind’s boast
of a common humanity

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




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Wednesday 5 December 2012

File On a War Hero

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

Today's poem was inspired by a conversation with a homeless ex-serviceman begging on the streets of London.

We talk about victory and peace, but... peace of mind? Now, that's something else for many people, especially ex-service personnel. Although more is being done than ever before to help rehabilitate men and women in the armed forces returning from front line action, a significant minority continue to slip through the net.

Ironically, many people seem unable to tell the difference between the most graphic news items recorded by war correspondents and blockbuster war movies!

Meanwhile, family and friends of those who have mental illness issues as a result of witnessing the horrors of warfare have some insight and often, in their turn, suffer awful consequences.

Here in the UK, attitudes of the healthy majority towards mental illness still leave much to be desired.

Certainly, those who fight for us, are killed or injured and/or suffer post traumatic stress disorder in one form or another…deserve better.

FILE ON A WAR HERO

Mind closed down for spam,
like a dead computer;
any spare cash for a fall guy?

Heart, wounded and weeping
on loved-ones who left;
any spare cash for a fall guy?

Close my eyes and I can see
ghosts parading the street;
any spare cash for a fall guy?

Close my ears and I can hear
folks cheering us on;
any spare cash for a fall guy?

If God’s closed the file on me
He’s not the only one;
any spare cash for a fall guy?

Cops closing in to move me on
(no medals left to sell);
any spare cash for a fall guy?

Can’t open up for dying inside
among pals blown apart;
any spare cash for a fall guy?

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

  

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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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