In the Company of Dolphins

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

I have been asked to repeat the link  to my poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square during the summer of 2009  as part of sculptor Antony Gormley's One and Other 'live sculpture' project. At first, I am shown being lowered by crane to the plinth and it is a good five minutes before the reading starts: 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...

This short poem is about love and friendship and being there for loved ones and friends when they need us. .It is also about the lasting power of love and friendship.

There is a saying that what goes around comes around. We never know when it will be our turn to need help. People for whose idea of love and friendship is a one-way street (and there are plenty out there who expect us to be there for them but rarely if ever reciprocate!) would do well to remember that.

IN THE COMPANY OF DOLPHINS

I think of us at twilight’s gentler tears

on flowers in a pretty garden, glistening

like ocean spray in spring sunshine…

In the mind’s eye, I see survivors

clinging to the wreckage of a ship that

safe harbours will never greet again,

and dolphins come like guardian angels

to redeem a fate demanded by storm clouds

riding old Poseidon’s back

Now calmer seas, survivors washed up

on kinder shores, dolphins gone, task done.

Lost souls saved at godly whim?

I know not, can but let heart and mind

wish the company of dolphins to bring us

safely home…and though that be left

to this sad world’s darker poetry,

may love’s light shine through twilight’s

gentler tears on us

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

Inspiration

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

One of the nicest compliments I receive is from readers who say that as a rule, they don’t like poetry but enjoy reading the blog.

So can we try a little experiment? Please send the blog URL to at least one person you know (especially if they don’t like poetry) and ask them to do the same. Then we’ll see what happens:

http://rogertab.blogspot.com/

Meanwhile…

This poem was written with a woman in mind whose courage in the face of serious health problems as well as her natural beauty is truly inspiring. She is also a dancer. Oh, she’s not rich or famous, just one of thousands of ‘ordinary’ people who are far from ordinary.

This poem is a villanelle.

INSPIRATION

Dancer in the gloom

with angel poise

lights up any room

Sunshine in a storm

spreading its rays,

dancer in the gloom

A music all her own

across stone floors

lights up any room

To Penelope’s loom,

her soul she bares,

dancer in the gloom

Like heaven’s broom,

our fears she clears,

lights up any room

Mere flesh and bone,

our joy and tears,

dancer in the gloom

lights up any room

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

Lament for a Grasshopper

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

I have nothing against progress. Civilization would not have come far without it. At the same time, nature deserves better than to have us measure progress in terms other than material gain or cosmetic ‘improvement’. Nature protects us as well as giving us pleasure and breathing space to consider out options…

Nature is an inspiration, not just for artists and poets but for every man, woman and child in the street who seeks sanctuary sometimes, precious moments of peace and quiet away  from the frantic hustle and bustle of everyday life (and worse) in the modern world.

Yes, nature can be cruel, but perhaps humankind should look to its own archives before we enter into that argument.

Nature is a treasure beyond words, much of which we are in danger of losing forever; the more we lose, the less likely future generations will ever forgive us.

This poem is a villanelle, given a degree of poetic licence.

LAMENT FOR A GRASSHOPPER

Once I heard a grasshopper sing,

heard the dawn chorus…

where now, trucks thundering

I have heard bluebells ring

sweet sounds of silence;

once, I heard a grasshopper sing

I saw a stream, twisting, turning,

haunted by otters …

where now, trucks thundering

I have watched birds mating

in leafy trees;

once, I heard a grasshopper sing

There used to be a graceful flying

of kingfishers …

where now, trucks thundering

No denying nature's every warning

through the centuries ...

Once, I heard a grasshopper sing

where now, trucks thundering

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

Close Friends, Distant Lives

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

Some readers may recall this poem. I have been weeding the blog, deleting and sometimes revising some less popular poems. Rightly or wrongly, I feel this poem deserves a second time around; it first appeared in an anthology, A Testament to Life, Triumph House (Forward Press) 2000 and subsequently in my collection. 

One of the most wonderful aspects of a close relationships and friendships is that they can survive just about anything, even distance, especially in this technological age that makes it so much easier to keep in touch.

CLOSE FRIENDS, DISTANT LIVES

I see the moon,
you see the sun; another time,
another place;
on the ground, perceive a snail
trying to keep pace
with it all

Our faces lit, now dark;
laughing, weeping, waking, sleeping;
world turning on a snail

I see the sun,
you see the moon; same day,
same night; in our hearts,
a secret place where old friends
meet to laugh, talk
and play

Ah, but our time is up
(even snails sleep). I close my eyes
and see you, feel your heart
beating under my shirt, your breath
painting sweet dreams
on my face

As good a time as any
to embrace our history, against which
all else pales

Such is the significance of snails

[From: Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000]

The Visionary, a Man of Substance

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

As regular readers well know, I never post comments but always read and appreciate them, even the less kind ones. 

Meanwhile…

Someone once asked me if I had any heroes. I replied that, off the top of my head, Martin Luther King is the first name that springs to mind. The person who posed the question appeared genuinely puzzled because King was black and I am white, asking, "Didn't he champion equal rights for black people?" Of course he did, but ‘equal rights’ is the key phrase here.

I am passionate about equality and a common humanity, passionate too about peace and love and how the people of this world should respect each other’s differences instead of using them as an excuse for stirring up division and unrest, even wars.

All that is good in the world is worth fighting for and all that is bad cries out to be exposed and (hopefully) rectified…however long it takes.

I was in my early 20s when Dr King was assassinated. Yes, his legacy is perhaps cherished most among black people but this is one white poet who learned a lot from this great man whom I have long counted among my heroes and always will. Although no poem can do justice to the man and his work, it was written in good faith.

Regular readers will know I am not a religious person in so far as I do not subscribe to any of the world religions, but, as I see it, that shouldn't prevent me admiring someone  who spoke out against prejudice and inequality at a time when both were much in evidence, and sadly remain so in many communities and parts of the world to this day. Indeed, the irony of poet, Robert Browning's words, 'God's in His heaven/ All's right with the world.' (from Pippa Passes) has never been lost on yours truly since I first encountered it as a schoolboy in the 1950's.😉

THE VISIONARY, A MAN OF SUBSTANCE 

He had a Dream, shared it with the world;
many listened, but others would not,
(some learn lessons taught, others soon forget)
given human nature's common inclination
to deny home truths to deserving ears, regardless
of who we are or where we stand on the need
to bring certain socio-cultural-political agendas
in line with such common realities as test
its communities, prove how actions speak louder
than words regarding its flaws 

Nor should it matter, the colour of his skin
only the shades of its naming, shaming 
such pain and prejudices as bigots feast upon
to show a world inept at stitching its seams,
patches always at the ready to cover any flaws,
proof of its failing to put us (all) through
our paces, unite even populaces in those places
least inclined to acknowledge injustices;
rhetoric, sweetener enough to prevent home truths
shouting from too many rooftops 

All that glisters is not gold nor all that’s aged
grown old, however much we’ve seen
since time began and taught us how to dream,
envisaging humanity running true without
having to shoot down any living thing too close
for comfort, posing a threat to personal space,
blurring thoughts of a common humanity 
in whose future we (all) can play a lead part 
by encouraging its more honest brokers to speak out
on all that's (still) not right with it

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004, rev.2021 

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; a later version that appeared on the blog  in 2013  has been since revised again in 2021.] RNT

 

Rumour

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I confess no poetry editors have ever shown an interest in today’s poem, yet it has always been well received at poetry readings and even stimulated lively debate.  So many people seem to have been the victim of rumour at some point in their lives or know of someone else who has fallen foul of gossip. Far too often, seemingly ‘harmless’ gossip has become exaggerated beyond recognition by the time it has run its course.

Now, it can be a sad as well as wonderful feeling when a reader makes contact to say how a poem of mine has affected them deeply because they can relate so intimately to it. A reader got in touch with me in 2005 to say how he had borrowed my collection form his local library and this particular poem brought back vivid memories. It appears that he had been forced to move away from his childhood home after neighbours circulated nasty rumours about him; these resulted in his being physically as well as verbally assaulted in the street and his house was also vandalised.  The rumours were unfounded, but even after a local newspaper printed a true version of events, completely exonerating him, tongues continued to wag and the harassment continued.

I am pleased to say that I have heard from this reader since. He has made a new life for himself and his family and his wife recently gave birth to their third child.

Tragically, not every victim of vicious rumour has a happy ending. I personally know of one who committed suicide.

Oh, but if only some people would think before they start apportioning blame to others for this or that before they have all the facts…!

RUMOUR

Closed, the curtains now,

graffiti on the sill;

no cheery sounds in every room

just gloom and an eerie chill;

no laughing at the budgerigar

or thinking about a new car

but cowering in fear at a banging

on doors, the yelling

of good neighbours

out in force...after rough

justice

Empty, the garden now,

daisies on the lawn;

no kids playing on the old swing

and the satellite dish has gone;

no dog chasing next-door’s cat

or neighbours at the gate

converging like wolves

on fresh meat, working up

a thirst...too late

to make a killing; the law

struck first

Media in on the act,

and prime TV;

parents puffing their points

of view, kids enjoying

the party...

All quiet now. Werewolves

slinking from the scene.

(Can’t get it right every time

and who's to say

what might have been? A job

well done.)

Budgie gets to keep its cage;

history skips a page…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2010

[Note: This poem has been (slightly) revised from the original as it appears in  First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Picking Up The Tab

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

I have often been called a dinosaur because I steer well clear of so-called 'designer' drugs. Well, for a start, you never know what you’re getting or how well (or badly) your body will cope.

Take ‘ecstasy’ for example. Few people have suffered much by way of harmful effects from taking it. Yet, I recall Leah Betts, a schoolgirl from Latchingdon in Essex (UK) whose death on November 19th 1995, shortly after her 18th birthday, resulted in extensive media coverage of and panic about those same so-called ‘designer’ drugs. (Sadly, neither of these lasted long and complacency - especially among young people -  very soon set in again.) 

Photo: A November 1995 photo of Leah Betts in a coma that was widely circulated in the press at the time; copied from Wikipedia.

On November 11th 1995, Leah took an MDMA (‘ecstasy’) tablet, and then drank approximately 7 litres of water in a 90 minute period. Four hours later, she collapsed into a coma, from which she did not recover.

I never knew or met Leah Betts, but perhaps you will think of her when you are tempted to try this drug or that on the grounds that ‘everyone else does’ therefore  ‘it can’t possibly do me any harm.’ (Oh, no? Who says…?)

Apart from the fact that there is a lot of rubbish being pushed on the streets these days (this dinosaur keeps his ear to the ground) there has not been time for sufficient research into the long term effects of even seemingly harmless drugs.

Now, everyone loves to party and (too often) drugs are part of the party scene. Now, if you want to play Russian roulette with drugs, go ahead. Just remember, though, that it could well be your family and friends picking up the tab for it for the rest of their lives. 

Have fun, YES, but play safe and say ‘NO’ to drugs. 

Oh, it’s been said before, of course, but countless funerals and ruined lives suggest a lot of people didn’t listen…and are still not listening. But me, I’m just a dinosaur. Why should I care? Well, for a start, one of those funerals and ruined lives was that of someone I loved.  

Love never dies, but lives on in us, a positive life force to be carried over from generation to generation in the form of a posthumous consciousness. But, let's face it, there can be no real compensation for the loss of a loved one unless it is helping to prevent the tragic waste of another human life and all its potential.

PICKING UP THE TAB

Bitter-sweet, a dark place

where I dream of you; 

harsher than a gull’s cry, 

its silence

Treading a swell 

of despair,

and it’s a rare angel 

who’ll care much 

(if at all) for the fool 

sleeping off 

the hangover of a lifetime

bargained for 

with ecstasy, paid for

oh, so dearly! 

Fine feathers, shot down 

in glorious flight,

a fall harsher on the ear

for its silence...

And who’s to blame?

Copyright R. N. Taber, 1999; 2012

[Note: A slightly different  version of this poem first appeared in an anthology Reach for the Truth, Poetry Today (Forward Press)1999 and subsequently in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, 2000.]