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.

Thursday 30 May 2013

Ghosts, No Random Memory


Who has never returned to the scene of a once-love, if only in their mind, and wondered how things might have been if only…?

GHOSTS, NO RANDOM MEMORY

Much rougher the sea
than last we ran here, laughing
on the cliffs,
a spring breeze in our hair;
less kind the sky
than last we kissed there,
bluebells surrounding
a passion brought to bear;
sweet memory, wings
of a friendly gull soaring our dreams,
love’s rhythm to fulfill;
such heat to embrace your body,
and bold! In the vaults
of eternity, our lives grown cold;
salty now, the hair blowing
across my face, thinned
like the heather at our special place

Though huddled in a raincoat,
I, oh, so easily recall the glad heart
that made me thrall…

Gulls squeal! No melody,
but a sure grace
whirling against storm clouds
like a pattern of lace
on an altar cloth, would have
smothered us both

Copyright R. N. Taber 1991; 2010

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from an earlier version as it appeared in several poetry magazines and an anthology 1996-2004, and subsequently  in 1st eds. of Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.]


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Tuesday 28 May 2013

Arthur Atkins (Painter-Poet) Liverpool, UK/ San Francisco (2)


Something different today.

In 2009, I posted a poem about William ‘Arthur’ Atkins, a painter-poet from Liverpool who migrated to California in the late 1890s only to die there while still a young man; his work remains a testament not only to the human spirit but that posthumous consciousness that  - knowingly or unknowingly, ouches us all from generation to generation.

(If the link does not work, copy and paste into the address field)


I have been fascinated by and interested in Arthur’s story for some years now since being introduced to it by a friend, Steven, who lives in California. Steven has some of Arthur’s paintings (he, too is a talented painter) and other related items. Very knowledgeable about the Atkins family history, he recently sent me these photos and a poem by Arthur that I thought viewers might enjoy. 

It would appear that, according to family lore, Arthur's love was Virginie de Fremery:


Arthur wrote this poem that was published in The Lark, February 1896:

TO VIRGINIA

SPRING and the daffodil again!
            I heard the lark at dawn,
A liquid cadence through the rain
            Across my lawn.

The wet, red roses all around
            Stir in the breeze.
The first white trillium breaks the ground
            Under the canyon trees.

I bring the wild white flower of Spring,
            Above all others thine--
At he whom with the gift I bring,
            Thy Valentine!

[Note:  For the sake of historical accuracy, it should be pointed out that the word ‘canyon’ in the poem is actually spelt ‘canon’ in the original with a tilde over the first ‘n’.]

NB If you  have any information about Arthur, my friend Steven in California has asked me to say that you are very welcome to get in touch. Contact: muzys@aol.com


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Monday 27 May 2013

Puddles


Rainy days are not uncommon here in the UK.

Ah, but there is inspiration (maybe even a poem) to be found even on rainy days. I was once quoted as saying there is a poem in everything around us whereupon I was challenged to write one about ... puddles!

As  I watch ripples in a puddle spread as far as its space allows, I can't help thinking how all we say and do are like ripples, spreading as far as global consciousness (or conscience) allows.

(Photo taken from the Internet)
PUDDLES

Reflections of an angry sky

skimming the surface like ripples
from raindrops ...

Sulky mouths, creased brows

skimming the surface like ripples
from raindrops ...

Fearful fingers clutching collars

skimming the surface like ripples
from raindrops ...

Umbrellas, scoring points

skimming the surface like ripples
from raindrops ...

Bowed heads like sad clouds

skimming the surface like ripples
from raindrops ...

Better times around the next corner

skimming the surface like ripples
from raindrops


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

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Sunday 26 May 2013

Trailing Roses


I have written several poems about roses; they were my late mother’s favourite flower, and are mine also.
  


TRAILING ROSES

Dawn, a golden haze
among trailing trellis roses;
trees, dripping rainbows
on grasshoppers signing in
another day

Rooftops, sheets of glass
where birds pause to preen
a feather or two before
taking off to help usher in
another day

Bubble wrap skies, cue
for sleepyheads to wonder
why on earth heaven
is raising the alarm for just
another day

Sun rising, world trailing
after trellis roses like a lover
left for dead…
yet to rediscover fool’s gold
another day

By noon, trellis roses
getting up the noses of those
who know no better
than to repeat their mistakes
another day

At dusk, nature playing
its daily nocturne to anyone
who cares to listen,
dares even show a sad world
another way

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

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



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Saturday 25 May 2013

Fundamentally Flawed

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

Fundamentalism, in any shape or form and in relation to any religion or cause…is a tragedy. The fundamentalist becomes as much a victim of his or her way of thinking as anyone that gets in its way.

Blood spilt and lives ruined can never be excused.

The main reason I cannot empathize with (any) religion is that is has, for centuries, been directly or indirectly responsible for shedding blood and dividing not only families but also whole communities; little if anything has changed as far as I can see, and the sheer intransigence of various socio-cultural-religious groups is largely responsible for the 21st century getting off to a poor start.

Thank goodness (and we all need to remember) the majority of ordinary, religious-minded people are no more fundamentalists than the majority of ordinary German people were Nazis during Word War 2, the events leading up to it or since.  

This poem is a villanelle.

FUNDAMENTALLY FLAWED

Love tempestuous,
root of evil
(death of Judas)

Wanton, impetuous,
dressed to kill,
love tempestuous

Deaf-blind justice
making its call
(death of Judas?)

Madly zealous
with a will…
love tempestuous

To truth, oblivious,
hope in free-fall
(death of Judas?)

Be fools or martyrs
at its call…
Love tempestuous,
death of Judas

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2013

[Note: A slightly different version of today’s poem was first published in an anthology, Prisms of Light, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003, and subsequently in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]


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Monday 20 May 2013

Twilight on a Lake OR Nature, an Everyman's Guide to Infinity

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


As I grow old, some memories dim while others take on a whole new perspective, probably because we don''t always realize at the time just how much certain occasions mean to us or those with whom we get to share them. 

I have made some changes to this villanelle that I wrote during a wonderful weekend in the Lake District some years ago.

 Twilight at Ashness Bridge (Lake District)

TWILIGHT ON A LAKE or NATURE, AN EVERYMAN'S GUIDE TO INFINITY

Though pain a part
in our lives surely take,
play on, glad heart

There is a beauty art
strives its copies to make
though pain a part

When life falls apart,
and fragile promises break,
play on, glad heart

Cherish from the start
each dip in passion’s lake
though pain a part

Where the stars chart
our every move, mistake,
play on, glad heart

May love’s winged dart
find its mark for our sake;
though pain a part,
play on, glad heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2016

[Note An earlier version of this poem was first published in an anthology, 'Chasing Shadows', Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in 1st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised ed. in e-format in preparation. The poem was slightly revised in 2013, and an alternative title, added 2016.]

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Sunday 19 May 2013

Sleeping Dogs

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

We don’t always appreciate the effect our words and/or actions might have on others, even loved ones. It is so easy to be well-meaning yet misunderstood. Yet, if a relationship is worth saving it is worth fighting for, and all parties should make time to talk things through…

I have been let down badly by friends and family in the past (haven’t we all?). Sometimes we have talked things through and grown closer. However, there have been times when much, as I would have liked to talk things through, some people only have ears for what they want to hear; any 'closeness'  was but a mirage. I dare say they feel the same about me. For all my faults, though, I am always ready to talk things through…with people prepared to consider points of view other than their own. It is rarely a question of who is right or wrong, but simply bearing in mind that, just as we may easily hurt ourselves so, too, it is easy to unintentionally inflict hurt.

The better you know someone, the least likely you are to want to hurt them, and vice versa. The closer you are, though, the easier it becomes to do just that. All relationships need to be worked at; some people are simply not prepared to put in the effort, or cannot see how or why they should, so never really get to know anyone that well. Sadly some people are so self-centred and/ or dogmatic in their approach to others, they find it hard if not impossible to relate to feelings and points of view they don't, won't or can't share.

In my experience, it is possible to pick up the pieces of a broken relationship (of whatever nature) once, even twice, but rare, indeed, is he or she who can find it within themselves to make the effort a third time; better then, perhaps, to let sleeping dogs lie than enter the fray yet again ...

Most friends and family members fall out from time to time, although if a relationship is worth having, it has to be worth saving; as always, it takes two to tango. In my experience, it is possible to pick up the pieces of a broken relationship (of whatever nature) once, even twice, but rare, indeed, is he or she who can find it within themselves to make the effort a third time; better then, perhaps, to let sleeping dogs lie than enter the fray yet again and put our own sense of  well-being, not to mention physical and/ or mental health, on the line.

SLEEPING DOGS

Love may well never die
nor friendship, but sometimes
both may well lie sleeping
within a heart grown, oh, so weary
behind eyes brought
to weeping for all those things
not as we would have them;
accepted, understood, forgiven even,
and never quite forgot,
but left asleep in the arms
of every dreamer
that ever loved or had a friend
where love and friendship
not returned in kind, or even in part
if we include untold damage
to the heart, ignorance of some crisis
of all-inclusive mind-body-spirit

Ah, but neither love nor friendship
can fire those open only to self-interest
with the inspiration required
to subdue the flames of desperation
just long enough to enable
a reaching-out beyond abstract expectation
all but set in stone
that every opportunity needs must wear
appropriate regalia, leaving us free
to spot 'spectators' (by any other name)
intent on having sport with us;
in time, may we come to appreciate
what (and who?) we're up against,
we family, friends and would-be lovers
left waiting at a gate we know
(only too well) may never reopen for us
unless by whim of a kinder fate

Awake, sleeping friendships and loves
stirring in quiet hearts every now and then,
chance overcoming
feelings of rejection by those
who should have known so much better
than to doubt us, recalling
wistful might-have-beens left to fade
into some once-upon-a- time
for mind-body-spirit to turn now and then
like the pages of a fairy story
by Hans Christian Andersen, relating
brave new worlds for children
to carry into adulthood and spread the news
how love will endure and hate expire
if we let it, albeit any tale takes one to tell.
another to share, and that same pair (at least)
to leave lie but sleeping in the heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

[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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