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 9 February 2014

Love, Enduring

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

The great thing about love is that it (unlike some people) does not discriminate with regard to ethnicity, religion, sex or sexuality. 

Nor, I suspect, would any God if we are to believe the general tenor of Holy Books without interpreting them to suit this or that particular point of view as so many clerics of all religious persuasions are frequently inclined. [While I, personally, cannot relate to religion, I can relate to nature and who's to say what we call 'God' isn't everything that is nature?]

Only people deliberately choose to discriminate against others. Thank goodness the more enlightened among humankind remains a majority (if only just in some parts of the world) and love endures. 

Be sure the love enjoyed by gay and transsexual men and women worldwide is no less natural or precious than the love enjoyed by any among the heterosexual majority; nor does it deserve that its integrity should be called into question by some blinkered bigot who enjoys the sound of his or her voice, especially when invoking a sense of power over the more gullible and/or vulnerable among us. 

It makes me so angry when I hear the less enlightened in societies worldwide trying to convince young gay people otherwise; invariably they resort to emotional blackmail, often bringing sensitive family and religious issues into play which, as far as I'm concerned, only goes to show the extent of their desperation to prove themselves right and the rest of us wrong.

Many years ago, I expressed sympathy to a couple at their daughter's funeral to which the mother thanked me, smiled and said, 'No worries, my friend. She spent years in a loveless marriage and now she's on Freedom Road where one day we'll all meet up again. Besides," she added, "Love doesn't stop when the heart does, you know, it's always a part of you. and you of it."

LOVE, ENDURING

It was midwinter, but in your arms,
a sunny summer’s heat,
on your lips, a taste of spring

Snow flurries kindly wrapped us up
in balls of cotton wool
hid us from cruel prejudices

Spring came, its songs of love and joy
flowering in our hearts,
outing us to family and friends

Come summer, we’d run hand in hand
this gauntlet and that…
of sneers, jeers, crass remarks

By autumn, we were sick of persistently
being dumped or worse
on piles of red, dead, leaves

Come midwinter, we moved in together,
resolved to give a party,
and those who came were glad for us

Seasons come and go, but in your arms
a sunny summer’s heat,
on your lips, a taste of spring


[Note: This poem appears under the title 'Love Endures' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]









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Wednesday 5 February 2014

No Stigma for HIV/AIDS

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

'When we walk away from global warming, Kyoto, when we are irresponsibly slow in moving toward AIDS in Africa, when we don't advance and live up to our own rhetoric and standards, we set a terrible message of duplicity and hypocrisy.' John F. Kerry]

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2009 and has since been requested by ‘Moira’ and ‘Simon K’ whose respective partners died of HIV-related infections.

Regular readers will know that I feel very privileged to have once been asked to write a poem (also on the blog) for DAMSET, an AIDS Educational Trust; thanks to the dedication and tireless efforts of those involved, the Trust has been responsible for creating a memorial mural in Bournemouth (near the pier entrance) to people who have died of AIDS across Dorset. Many of the tiles were designed by schoolchildren and I think it is wonderful (and not before time) that something so practical, imaginative, and sensitive has been created to promote HIV-AIDS Awareness. For years, tourists as well as local people will get the message while enjoying the tribute at the same time.

For more about DAMSET:

http://www.aidsmemorial.info/memorial/id=73/dorset_aids_memorial.html

I feel especially privileged that my poem - Autobiography of a Beach - has been included in the mural. ( See also: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKzi9VRjuq0&t=91s )

NO STIGMA FOR HIV/AIDS 

A neighbour had AIDS, and that’s why
some people speak of him
as if he were a dog that caught rabies
and had to be put down

He was a good man, some people say,
often whispering in my ear
(as if loath to confide a great sin)
that he was gay

He was a kind man, some people seem
anxious I should believe, as if
making reparation of the kind worn
on a perfectly ironed sleeve

He was an honest man, various people
are quick to cry as if
on the defensive after being caught out
in a well-honed lie

He was a lovable man, and had AIDS
although some people
won’t say that, as if in denial of a word
that deserves they get it right

A good, kind, honest, lovable man dies
of AIDS, and some people
(still) blame it on gay men as if they
have a monopoly on promiscuity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared in CC& D magazine v 212, Scars Publications (USA) 2010 and subsequently in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]





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Tuesday 4 February 2014

Global Warnings


Most if not all of us fancy we see hear voices in the wind from time to time,. Maybe we should  pause and make time to listen...  

Fanciful, you say?  Yes, of course, but sometimes what we digest can do us a whole lot of good…so long as we can keep it down  rather than throw it up because we feel guilty for fancying it in the first place. It is high time we treated the natural world with the respect it deserves, not as a communal rubbish bin; nor killing vanishing species, for whatever reason, without putting safeguards in place to ensure their survival. Humankind has a collective responsibility towards all nature or Earth Mother will take the ultimate revenge, and it may well be the likes of you and me will not be found among any survivors 

GLOBAL WARNINGS

Listen to the rain
telling tales on people
running for cover

Listen to the trees
telling tales on people.
cutting to the quick

Listen to the birds
telling tales on people
shooting them down

Listen to the fishes
telling tales on people
poisoning the seas

Listen to the worms
telling tales on people
doctoring the soil

Listen to the wind
telling tales of people
on life support

Listen to the people
marching for the planet
while we still can


Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

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Monday 3 February 2014

The Confidante


I should like to say a big thank you to those readers who email me now and then to ask how I am coping with my prostate cancer. Generally speaking, I feel fine although I get very tired some days, not that winter is a particularly inspiring month anyway.

Now, being philosophical about my prostate cancer is one thing, but I have to confess to moments of panic and low spiritedness. That’s when I turn to spending time with friends…

Looking back on my life (very selectively) I can recover peace of mind whenever I want. Writing helps. Oh, there are plenty of bad memories too, but that’s where the art of careful selection comes in. I guess it’s the same for everyone. Difficult times can make us vulnerable, edgy, and even scared. So what better course of action than to create another good memory to add to those we already have? Hey, presto! Suddenly, it is easier to stay calm, reach a more positive perspective on life, reap the finer rewards only peace of mind can bring.

It may not last long, peace of mind, but there is always recourse to the same archive of happy memories to restore it again and again for as long as it takes. Yes, probably a lifetime. Oh, and we should never forget that life is not about pleasing other people all the time, trying to be being a good friend and confidante; we need to make time for ourselves too.

We should all remember, too, that there is no shame in asking for support, physical and/or mental. Sadly some of us, especially men, seem to feel that it is an expression of weakness; on the contrary, realising that we cannot cope on our own and seeking help, even it its just means confiding our fears in someone, is an expression of inner strength, not to mention common sense. As well as or in the absence of anyone close, there are also support networks available where professional counselling can help; no need even to ask, just go on the the Internet. (Help - and computers - often available at your local public library.)

This poem is a kenning.

THE CONFIDANTE

I wait
in the wings, ever willing,
never failing to relieve
a fellow player stumbling
into everyday dramas,
comedies, darker scenarios
and Mummers' Plays
reaching out to an audience
up for empathy

I help clarify
those arguments between
mind and spirit
ever turning over choices
of words, trying
to keep to a script of sorts
reworked more times
than memory dares mull over
its mistakes

I lead
from the heart where heads
make ever-increasing
circles, a fragile conscience
debating intention,
direction, and motivation
without coming to a conclusion
most likely to earn a standing
ovation

Rely on me, a friend of the kind
arguing for Peace of Mind


Copyright R. N. Taber 2014


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Saturday 1 February 2014

Tell-Tale Mind


How many of us, I wonder, show ourselves to others as we really are rather than whom we would like them to think we are? Many people seem to think I am a strong person and very self-confident. Yet, nothing could be further than the truth. I portray a fictionalized version of myself in which I believe, because I have never quite managed to work out what it is about my real self that I can believe in.

Sometimes, when we are discussing mutual friends or colleagues with other friends and colleagues, even members of our own family with other members of the family, we are not infrequently surprised by what we hear and may even wonder if we are talking about the same person. I guess we present a different persona to different people. Yet, those personae are all the same person. So are we, I wonder, all caught up in our own fictions?

I have kept faith with my sexuality since I came out as an openly gay person many years ago, and am certainly not ashamed of being gay. At the same time, all those formative years of having to lie because being gay was a criminal offence have left their mark. In those days, I had to create an alternative persona in order to survive. On the one hand, there was the conscientious if not very bright schoolboy; on the other, there was the shy, scared teenager struggling to come to terms with an awakening sexuality and finding ways of satisfying it that would have shocked just about everyone I knew. I’d cruise for sex and love-hate every minute of it. I was like a good-bad character in a novel. My life, for years was a split reality. Even now, years on, no one knows or will ever know how much so or just how much of that split personality remains.

Oh, I am no Jekyll and Hyde, but if someone were to ask, ‘Will the real Roger Taber stand up please,’ it would be a motley collection of characters that step out of the storybook that is my life.

This poem is a villanelle.

TELL-TALE MIND 

I’d show the world what I would be
(as if make-believe pays)
but the mind, it tells tales on me

Terrified, as I confront adversity,
a sailor on angry waves,
I’d show the world what I would be

‘Be brave, go free,’ love told me,
quick to learn its ways,
but the mind, it tells tales on me

From nature, I take my humanity
(lost in a temporal maze);
I’d show the world what I would be

I have kept faith with my sexuality,
(mastering its ways)
but the mind, it tells tales on me

The heart, it seeks refuge in poetry
(from its nightmares);
I’d show the world what I would be,
but the mind, it tells tales on me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 2011


[Note: Yes, I know I’ve been oversimplifying in my preamble and not saying anything original, but readers often ask what lies behind a poem, what prompted me to write it in the first place. Besides, I am writing a blog, not an essay on the human psyche.]

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Monday 27 January 2014

Nobody Listens to Ghosts


Now, readers get in touch from time to time to pour scorn on my ‘preoccupation’ with ghosts while others endorse an affinity with the past and its subsequent influences on present and future behaviour (for better or worse) both from a personal and global point of view.

I believe we are all subject to a posthumous consciousness to which we can choose to pay attention or ignore, feel inspired by past achievements (including any bookmarked ‘failure’) or simply confirm our worst suspicions.

Whatever, let the inner ear and eye have its way, and any of us may well identify a ghost at his or her shoulder urging we listen and learn.

On a personal level, it is easy if only because the ghost/s in question will have helped make us who we are; on socio-cultural-religious level, though, how many of our so-called 'betters' listen and hear, look and see...?

Maybe those of us who never listen to our ghosts need to try it sometime?

NOBODY LISTENS TO GHOSTS

Stranger
on a garden fence, watching
flowers growing,
can’t decide on the best
for the picking
and taking home, then cocks
an ear to a passing ghost,
pleading, for all our sakes, leave them
alone

Teacher
at a local school desk, watching
children growing,
can’t decide on the best
candidates for success
(perhaps even fame) then cocks
an ear to a passing ghost
pleading, for all our sakes, treat them
the same

Cleric
on a classic high horse, watching
everyone listening,
can’t decide on the most
likely to want grooming
for paradise, then cocks an ear
to a passing ghost
pleading, for all our sakes, leave them
a choice

Politician
on a popular soap box, watching
audience reaction,
can’t decide on the best
cues for winning
an election, then cocks an ear
to a passing ghost
pleading, for all our sakes, talk down
speculation

Ghosts
in passing storm clouds, watching
a world in chaos
unable to agree on the best
strategy for achieving
lasting peace, turning cloth ears
to its children
pleading, for all our sakes, come good
for us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

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Sunday 26 January 2014

Playing Dirty, the Politics of War (and Peace)


It has to be one of human nature’s greater ironies that it invariably deflects the greater blame for its worst tragedies away from itself.

It is called politics.

It is probably fair to say, though, that most if not all of us are no less guilty sometimes than those who tread the Corridors of Power.

PLAYING DIRTY, THE POLITICS OF WAR (AND PEACE)

Last seen standing on the edge of war,
strutting bravery, dreaming of glory,
no conception of carnage gone before,
rewriting, in blood, a nation’s story

Heads high, eager to answer duty’s call,
faith let fly in the wind, flags unfurled,
no one suspecting how many might fall,
prayers unanswered around the world

Victory (as ever) fell on time’s sword,
eleventh hour, day, month, 1918;
no action-replay, we gave them our word,
only to break it again and again…

Heroes, on Time's sword called upon to fall
for the sake of Peace and Goodwill (to all?)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2018

[Note: Revised (2016) version of a poem that  appears under the title 'The Rhetoric of Blame' in   Accomplices to Illusion, by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

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