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 30 December 2012

Bed-Sit Lifer

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

Every large town and city has its share of bed-sits or single person apartments comprising little more than a room with basic amenities. If you’re lucky, it’s en suite and you don’t have to share a bathroom / toilet.

I recently got chatting to a guy in a bar whose house had been repossessed because he could no longer afford the mortgage repayments. As it happens, he’s gay but he could have been anyone of any persuasion, man or woman. He lives in one room without a view and has to share a bathroom. “One you turn sixty,” he told me, “people stop caring, especially if you’re gay and you’ve lost your looks.”

He is a lonely, unhappy man, convinced his age and sexuality means he can’t get a life, and his living conditions don’t help.

Yes, well, gay men and women don’t have a monopoly on loneliness, that’s for sure, and there are many people in this world who don’t even have a roof over their heads.

It’s sad and, yes, the 21st century should be ashamed of itself for the degree of poverty in the world. But there is more to poverty than lack of money and resources. There is a poverty of the heart and spirit that gives up on life too soon.

We all want different things from life and few of us come even close to what we would like. But we can still enjoy life and make the best instead of the worst of things. It’s never easy, that’s for sure. But it’s true what they say…where there’s a will, there’s a way. I have met some of the poorest people who can honestly claim to be happy in their own way. They may not have much, materially speaking, but they love life and care about people and just being around them makes you glad to be alive.

I’m not poor but I definitely ain’t rich either. I would have liked my own house overlooking the sea. Instead, I rent a studio flat in London UK. Sure, I have regrets (who doesn’t?) but life is what we make it and we are what we let life make of us. Yes, I get lonely sometimes. Yes, I am unhappy sometimes. Who isn’t? Ah, but I don’t intend to become like the guy in that bar…and yes, I’m (well) past sixty too.

You have to be a friend to have friends and you have to think positive to be happy. It’s not always easy and can be hard work…but it’s always worth making the effort. Getting a life doesn’t just happen…we have to make it happen.

BED-SIT LIFER 

Dawn’s dust has scarcely
settled at the chin;
an eccentric clashing
of streets below
reminds that it’s time
to go at it

World’s dirt has scarcely
greased the hair;
a hyper-rhythmic rush
of leather gear
pants me here and there
at bald faces

An April dusk has scarcely
brushed a teary eye,
birds singing in whispers
like mourners
gathered at a gravestone
now trickle away

Only answerphone messages,
cat's in a funny mood,
more repeats on the telly,
forgot a take-away,
the pirate tape won’t play,
nothing else to say

Hear a knocking at the door,
(not expecting anyone)
maybe a neighbour wanting
to borrow something;
could it be we'd introduce
ourselves at long last?

Licking lips nervously, rising
with anticipation.
heart skips a beat like a lifer's
on visiting days, pausing 
at the door, gripping handle,
afraid of...what, me?

What impression will I make
on this stranger
who may well have had a day
like mine, be seeking
some company too, no harm
in trying to make a friend?

Too late. Footsteps, going away;
oh, well, maybe another day ...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2000, 2018

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

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Saturday 29 December 2012

Triumphant Voices

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

For all that many of the world’s societies are sick with power, bigotry and an obsession with material things, the man and woman in the street comprise its beating heart; it is they who live in hope, keep its wheels turning every day towards a better end they may never see but whose inspiration they can at least pass on to their young people.

Our planet’s survival, and what terms, lies in the hands of our young people. (Yes, and what kind of example is the early 21st century setting them?)

We can but trust future generations will still have the stomach for love and peace after feeding off  the predilection of early 21st century socio-cultural-religious leaders’ for creating conflict and division, if only so they can win support (even approval) by appearing to confront it at any cost. 

This poem is a villanelle.

TRIUMPHANT VOICES 

Through terror strike fear
into the heart,
we shall (ever) persevere

Listen, and we can hear
a pop song start…
though terror strike fear

Here, there, everywhere,
lives torn apart;
we shall (ever) persevere

Listen, young voices clear,
taking our part…
though terror strike fear

Where the tragedy of war,
has peace lose out,
we shall (ever) persevere

Backstage, the arms dealer
courts political clout...
Though terror strike fear,
we shall (ever) persevere

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

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Friday 28 December 2012

Proof of Life

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

Inspiration for life, love, hope, happiness…you name it…comes in many shapes and forms. But it's out there, folks, just waiting for us feel our way to it with mind, body and spirit, absorb its energy and let it go to work on our senses, including that old chestnut, sheer willpower. 

This poem is a kenning.

PROOF OF LIFE

When people ask who I am,
I tell them to look within themselves
and to each other, perhaps
uncover those mysteries that haunt us
as we journey through life...
How come we here, why, going where?
Questions on the lips, reason
at the inner ear brooking yet more,
answers found wanting

When people ask who I am
I tell them to look around, take in all
they see, feel, need to explain,
justify or change (but how?) perhaps
expecting me to provide
the cure for a sick world, solutions
to its failing societies,
religions losing sight of a vocation
to reunite who they divide

When people ask who I am,
I tell them to learn the body language
of family, friends, workmates
in the staff room, complete strangers
at bus stops, commuters on trains,
probe those subtle discrepancies between
what we say and what we mean;
stop playing a political correctness game,
give truth its proper name

Who am I? I am the philosophy
that defines who you are

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007, 2019

[Note: The last couplet differs slightly from the version of this poem that appears in  Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

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Thursday 27 December 2012

Prime Time

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

Life experience is a wonderful thing. We should make the best of things and let the worst go the same way as a snowman.

Easier said than done, I hear you say? True. But the alternative is unthinkable. When the going gets rough, we can but work at turning things around. I’m not usually one for clichés…BUT…where there’s a will, there is (invariably) a way. Things DO get better, believe me although, sadly, not always when we need them to the most.

Hang in there, folks! I did, and any negatives are vastly outnumbered by positives. regrets are vastly outnumbered by positives. (Did I say it was easy...?)

PRIME TIME

Seconds, hours,
days, years,
lifting spirits, teasing
the soul,
chasing after butterflies
in summer sunshine,
looking out for rainbows
after autumn rain,
watching the snowmen
melt away,
waiting for springtime
to come again

Turns the wheel slowly,
now faster, slower
creaking like human bones
on a rack pulled 
now this way, now that ...

Though time, it rushes in
and nature. seek cover, 
between a common sun's
rising and setting,
there is love for the taking,
no matter the world,
its ever working us over

So, let’s all be making time
for one another

Copyright R N Taber 2004

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

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Wednesday 26 December 2012

Spoilt For Choice

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

We face questions about the meaning of life and death almost daily. It is a rare person that finds any answers. However, we should not be defeatist. On the contrary, we should feel encouraged.

Yes, we run a gamut of emotions. The joys of life are constantly under threat by fear, grief, pain and loneliness. Yet if we look hard enough with our inner eye, we are likely to see more and more of that bigger picture of which we are but brush strokes on the canvas. It may not answer any questions but it affords us a glimpse of our purpose in life.

We are all aspects of the bigger picture and, as such, have a positive part to play as we find ways to deal with ways of living and dying. We can but hope that when others view the picture they may glimpse and take heart from our contribution.


SPOILT FOR CHOICE

Too often have I talked with Death
in green fields, by sandy shores,
under stars in the middle of the night,
on street corners in broad daylight;
conversation is always much the same,
along the lines of my losing a grip
on the meaningfulness of life and love
and He offering safety, security,
release from the anxieties of integrity;
let Death take responsibility for me
where others refuse, be a ghost among
shades of darkness, distanced from
the spoils and heartache of daily grind,
out of sight, out of mind...?

Too often have I talked with Death
during early hours, late strolls,
counting spring lambs frolicking in
fields of memory, listening out for
voices across the sea, once near, dear
to me, not so long ago it seems,
stuff of sweet dreams, laid low come
cold light of day, buried beneath
cracked paving stones, cruel highways
expecting me to carry on till I drop
exhausted, reaching for Death’s hand
rather than dare ask for help, seek
answers in prayers that always seem
to fall on deaf ears…

“No one cares,” Death so delights
in telling me, urging I turn
my back on spite, hate, jealousy,
poverty, hunger, war, a politics
of perversity, world religions busy
practising world division, quick
to condemn what (too often) they
can’t comprehend for refusing
to play a part in common workings
of the heart, keeping their distance,
awarding marks out of ten to any seen
to have stakes in a God they would
claim for their own and give a name
where no need for one...

Where voices would deny us peace,
let us explore the politics of choice

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

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Tuesday 25 December 2012

Regeneration

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

Much as I love spending time with friends, I also enjoy being on my own which is just as well as I often am, even over Christmas and other 'family' occasions. I don’t mind. I have no partner and relations with my family are strained to say the least. For lovers the world over, though, kept apart by various socio-cultural-religious traditions that need to be brought into the 21st century… for them, I do mind for I was young once, and it happened to me. I resented it then and I resent it now on behalf of star-crossed lovers everywhere.

After once posting this poem on my gay-interest blog some time ago, a number of heterosexual couples who dip into both blogs got in touch to say they how they could relate to it because they found themselves on opposite sides of this or that socio-cultural-religious divide. One couple said how they had never given much thought to the animosity often shown towards gay couples , until ‘we found ourselves victims of our respective cultures and prejudices that should have been put aside centuries ago…’

Christmas and other religious festivals are a time for families and friends to come together in a spirit of peace and love, yet many lovers are kept apart from each other simply because those same families and friends have tunnel vision and cannot see beyond certain socio-cultural-religious confines within which they have been taught and raised.

As for the poem…if you have ever  made love with someone and felt (almost seen) demons on their back trying to drag them away from you (or vice versa) you will understand how it came to be written.

It may well be that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it is a lonely heart that beats in a half empty bed …

REGENERATION

My lips crushed against yours
as rose petals between angry fingers,
body seeking to assuage a rage
in you doing battle with darker waves
even than in a storm,
I will the language of love to come
into its own, show you
how, together, we can defeat demons
trampling on your dreams,
intruding on mine, expose them
for who and what they are
beat them, hands down, at history’s
own vengeful game

For it is revenge that stirs them
to forage in your mind for feelings
of a darker kind than love
would choose to have on its side were it
freed from its cage;
a cage, indeed, woven by demons
to keep you from me;
though I rattle its bars with my desires,
let you feed and drink from them,
feel your pulse and confirm you live,
I cannot reach within,
only trust that, in a mutual adrenalin rush,
you’ll make a dash for freedom

I can feel your heart beating faster,
pulse growing stronger each time we kiss
and all but drown in love’s blood,
sweat and tears, making its confession
as only body language can
though words struggling to compensate
where the spirit stronger than ever
but flesh weakened by years of captivity
imposed by demon shadows,
ready to pounce at the first opportunity
once their existence threatened,
prisoners taken at past close encounters
actively considering alternatives

I can taste your guilt on my tongue,
slowly sliding down my throat like bile
as your sex begs me
to burst open your cage, free you
once and for all
from whatever spell written on whatever
page or pages of your history
making you stall even as you bid for a life
that’s full, no holds barred
to making the most of love’s true passion
if you’ll but dare fire its enemies
into a faceless oblivion

Explosion! The landscape of love laid bare
for regeneration

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

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Sunday 23 December 2012

Winter, life forces in the Snow

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

For some people, winter is a time for looking back at kinder, happier, better, days, especially those who may find themselves alone at times like Christmas and other festive and/or religious occasions meant to be a time of coming together in a spirit of love and peace. Yet love-and-peace is neither seasonal nor an excuse for making out all is well with the world when it's not, but an all year round perennial, no excuses; we have but to believe in it and be prepared to play our part - big or small - to make it happen

(Photo taken from the Internet)

(Photo taken from the Internet)

The trick, so I'm told by wiser folks than me, is to draw on that same feeling for love-and-peace that once inspired us, and let it inspire us into renewal;  just as spring always follows winter so, too, that springtime of the heart if we but choose to let it go there. Sometimes, we don't need to colour things simply because - if we want it to be - the truth is plain to see in glorious black and white; colour it by all means, but we need to let our better senses do that for us.


WINTER, LIFE FORCES IN THE SNOW

Earth and sky coloured ominous
one midnight in midwinter
when I looked out of my window
to see a heavy snow falling,
thought I heard an owl calling me
(No, mistaken, surely ...?)

Then I saw it, silvery bird gliding
phantom-like, summoning
images of a lace tablecloth gracing
our table, oh, so many years ago,
when love-and-peace would spread
its wings and voice its pain

No family now, only a scattering
of memories like winter snow
piling on a branch by my window,
heaped higher even than regrets
these eyes glaring back at me deny
(or could it be they lie?)

Gone, the owl now, weary wings
but wistful, fleeting, moments
like characters in a classic movie
colouring themselves shades
of some broken rainbow colouring
decades of wishful thinking

The wind is up. A blizzard throws
an angry net over glaring traffic
on the night shift, testing the weary
and fainthearted, suggesting
an omnipresence if only to make up
for any human shortfall

Will nature stand by and let owl die
or lend it such sanctuary as found
under a cosy duvet inviting us to close
the eyes, bury the face, leave owl
winging winter's worst, not our fault
if that's just the way it is?

The heart, it yearns for the colours
of spring to bring it back to life,
recover perspectives long since flown,
comfort where there is but pain
for the way life was before its landscape
changed so ... or was it me, us?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Shot in Black and White'  Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

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