Innocent, Until Proven Human (As Defined by Rites of Conscience)

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

I once saw a foal and a child born at different times of the same day. One had no conscience and would remain a picture of innocence until its slaughter for human convenience; the other would soon become wise to the ways of the world and learn to manipulate them … one way or another.

INNOCENT, UNTIL PROVEN HUMAN (AS DEFINED BY RITES OF CONSCIENCE)

Every birth, a celebration,
history redeeming
the very nature of creation

At break of day, an ovation
for each living thing;
every birth, a celebration

From its time of hibernation,
a glorious spring;
the very nature of creation

At the heart of every season,
find love enduring;
every birth, a celebration

If history pauses for no one,
find in its evolving,
the very nature of creation

Seeds of a world’s salvation
here for the nurturing;
at every birth, celebration,
the very nature of creation

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 2015

Catcher in the Eye done Good

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Years ago, I saw a painting in an art gallery that has made me reflect on the beauty of memory, capturing and preserving a precious moment in time. Yes, a photograph can do much the same, but a painting is so much more than a photograph; it reads aloud to the inner ear, thus inviting the inner eye to appreciate its every deliberate brush stroke in much the same sense and sensibility as one might appreciate iambic meter in a poem. As with all creative endeavour, the art lies in its artlessness, artist rewarding observer with an insight to a process that requires we tap into reserves of feeling of which the chances are we are not consciously aware.

Memory may fade, but the art-poem remains a part of us and will be sure to manifest itself in our approach to life, love, nature and human nature…; indeed, to  just about everything.

‘Oh,’ I hear some people say, ‘but that’s only if you have the imagination…’ Bollocks, to that! Imagination can and does work on our consciousness, yes, but it also works on the subconscious, possibly to even greater effect. So never let anyone lead you to believe you have no imagination; the human condition is better than that even where, sometimes, human nature fails us. 

Imagination is that Catcher in the Eye of which we may or may not be well aware but which, in any case, remains one of the sweeter mysteries of the human condition. 

CATCHER IN THE EYE DONE GOOD

Young girl with daisies
in the hair darts across a greeny field;
though brooding sheep
keep a sidelong watch on playful lambs,
the merry scene
attracts a frisky foal, prancing
at a boundary fence

Innocence

Young girl with daisies
in the hair glimpses a pretty butterfly,
gives laughing chase;
one tangent wing at a finger's tip,
angel face glowing
hope’s pink blushes, elusive happiness
caught on canvas

Copyright R. N. Taber 1974; 2001

[Note: An earlier version of this poem - under the title 'Brush Strokes' - first appears in Love and Human Remains: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

Humanity, a Self-Portrait in Shades of Light and Dark

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

Now and then, readers get in touch to say they will be visiting London and ask to meet up for a chat over a coffee, beer, or perhaps a meal. I have met people from all over the world, male and female, gay and straight, and it has always been a delightful experience. 

It is not only very encouraging but also fulfilling for a poet to meet his readers, and I hope more of you will feel free to meet up with me. Oh, and fear not, I appreciate plain speaking and don’t expect everyone to like or even agree with everything I write. Needless to say, I always enjoy a friendly argument…

Feel free to email me any time: rogertab@aol.com

Meanwhile…

On wintry days (not necessarily of the seasonal variety) it can sometimes seem as if darkness must inevitably get the better of us, such is the nature of things, that we human beings will never shrug off its nightmares for long and any light of day revisited but a cold one.

Ah, but never, never, say ‘never’ or underestimate the capacity of the human spirit for love and light in all its shapes and shades…or the enduring power of either. While there is no greater power of remembrance than love, there are aspects of character and personality in all of us that are likely to make an impression on others to form part of a posthumous consciousness that lends us a sense of immortality, passed on from person to person, generation to generation, ad infinitum ...

Photo: from the Internet

This poem is a villanelle.

HUMANITY, A SELF-PORTRAIT IN SHADES OF LIGHT AND DARK

Though death’s dark canopy,

our lives may obscure,

to light, the final victory

Along thorny paths of history

let us tread with care,

though death’s dark canopy

If few life choices made easy,

consciences left clear,

to light, the final victory

Among triumphs over misery,

to light, the greater share,

though death’s dark canopy

Where shades of inhumanity

feed on hate and fear,

to light, the final victory

Let self, its own worst enemy,

love’s true colours wear;

though death’s dark canopy,

to light, the final victory 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared under the title Darkness and Light in  Expressions from London and Home Counties, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2004 and subsequently in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Getting the Better of Rock and Hard Place

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

It often strikes me as one of life's more bitter-sweet ironies that it's the heart in winter that focuses most on spring...

Me, I have never been as happy as the too few years I shared with my late partner a long time ago. Even so, I learned to be happy again. Oh, I have never met anyone else with whom I wanted to share my life, but I have made some good friends, found a curious peace, comfort and joy in my poetry as well as being blessed with a natural optimism to see me through. I may not be a very successful writer, but success has never meant as much to me as enjoying life in my own way.  [Yes, I have prostate cancer, but have all I need to see me through that too.]

Love comes to each and every one of us in all shapes and forms; its effect on us never (quite) fades even though sometimes it may be but a visitor, passing through. The past, too, is a part of us and never forgotten, whether or not it needs to be tempered by forgiveness, nor should it ever be where it has made us happy. Ah, but it's building on that happiness, making the most of the present, each of us in our own way, and looking forward to the future that counts…no matter what. As for various socio-cultural-religious dogma/conventions refusing to take our side for one reason or another, the human spirit knows better; religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality any more than conventions have rights or dictatorship.

GETTING THE BETTER OF ROCK AND HARD PLACE

I walked in a wood one winter

as I had with my true love one spring,

promising ourselves to each other;
the trees were bare, yet so splendid,

whose leaves happy enough to perform

the music of life just for us

Heavens, near empty and grey,

whose wings of light once, our spring,

gaily affirmed Earth Mother’s love;

world, a spread of snow where flowers

(all kinds and colours) created an ocean

of brave dreams just for us

I let my heart fall to the ground

where you lay your raincoat one spring,

our first lovemaking blessed;

yet, my heart refused to stay long,

but spread wings (just as it had before)

meant to survive all weathers

I’ll not let it grieve me that nature

should liken its life force to a graveyard,

and we among the fallen;

life goes on, poor humanity caught

between its rocks and hard places save

for the enduring power of love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015

S-E-L-F, Opening Up (After Closing Down)

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As regular readers know only too well, I have suffered with depression all my life and still take 25mg of a (fairly) mild anti-depressant. Prozac helped me through a very bad time once, but (like another strong anti-depressant I tried) left me feeling exhausted all the time so I switched to the (far milder) one I take now.

It is important to find an anti-depressant that suits you and always read the information leaflet for possible side-effects. Even so, never rely on anti-depressants to see you through. A positive attitude and any form of creative therapy you enjoy remain a must-have and must-do. (Creative therapy can be anything from gardening, walking, writing, pottery... anything in which success is measured by the enjoyment achieved by simply doing it, not results.) Creative therapy is no quick fix and requires a huge effort if always an effort worth making. Always easier said than done, never try and do it all on your own. 

I suffered from depression even as a child although depression in children was not recognized in those days. For years, I would be prescribed antidepressants until I started to feel better, and then come off them. This, I now realize was a mistake. I was scared of becoming dependent on them so it was music to my ears when a GP suggested that patients prone to depression should stay on an appropriate antidepressant and dosage all the time. I suspect my life would have taken a hugely significant turn for the better had I been given this advice a long, long, time ago. 

A friend who suffers from depression has paid a lot to visit counsellors but they don’t help everyone and it all depends who you see and how good (or bad) they are. I think it is important to get feedback from a counsellor; too many just sit back and let you talk, which is not a bad thing, but I personally would need positive feedback to feel it was worth parting with my money.

My friend says she hasn’t the self-confidence to do anything new whether it's meeting new people, studying a subject in which she is genuinely interested etc. She says she 'cannot' do anything new until she gets her self-confidence back. I sympathize, but take the opposite view. I believe we only get our self-confidence back by doing things, setting ourselves realistic targets etc. These need not be too ambitious to start with, and if they don’t work out quite as we hoped we should not see it as a failure but give ourselves a pat on the back for giving it a go…and try something else.

Many people think I am a strong person because (most of the time) I manage to beat depression. Believe me, though, when I say I am not strong. It is (very) heavy going. I make the effort because the alternative is even worse to contemplate. 

True, it isn’t always easy to find someone to listen; certain family members and friends won’t recognize the danger signs and will fail to appreciate a depressed person’s depths of personal crisis, handing out well-meaning platitudes like a plate of biscuits to make matters (much) worse. Even so, never give up; there is invariably someone who can help if we let them and are honest with them about how we feel. Talking to a pet can help, too, if only because the worst seems so much less bad once we give it a voice.

There is no shame in feeling less able to cope. Putting on a brave face is never a good idea. (No one can read minds.) For example, if  I had only opened up to someone - a teacher or counsellor perhaps - about my sexuality (among other things) much earlier, I may well have been spared years of anguish, culminating in a bad nervous breakdown and suicide attempt in my early 30's.

S-E-L-F, OPENING UP (AFTER CLOSING DOWN) 

Envelopes unopened;

scared to look, acknowledge even;

feelings like flowers left

at a grave if only to give the dead

a raison d’être

Profiles of the Great

interrogating me wherever I go

about my response to the cost

of living, voices chanting dark spells

at every checkout

Fear, clammy hands

on matchstick arms, humanity

strutting its hour on stage

(art of least resistance) chalking up

mock victories

Words, like mandarins

in white coats supervising a trainee

working from a manual

on staying bottom of the class without

really trying 

Envelopes, daring me…

Fingertips fumbling with terror

(Can I really do this?)

No stigma in old wounds ruling out

perfection

N-O-W, opening up...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem – under the title ‘Prozac Nation’ - appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

L-I-F-E, and all that Jazz...

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

Once, years ago, when feeling low, I overheard a conversation in a bar:

MAN (despairingly and a little drunk) I don’t know where I’m going any more or who the hell I am even…

WOMAN (wearily) Oh, sure, and all that jazz…

MAN: Huh, I don’t even like jazz…

WOMAN: You don’t like jazz? Then you don’t have much of a liking for life, man, and it sure as hell won’t take much of a liking to you either….

After a sober pause, both burst out laughing and joined several other couples swinging to a lively number on the dance floor like saplings in a summer breeze. I went home feeling more upbeat than I had in ages although not sure why…and that feeling has lasted - through thick and thin - ever since. Maybe it has something to do with especially enjoying jazz among all kinds of music (and vocal) that do their genre justice.... 

L-I-F-E, AND ALL THAT JAZZ…

Looking back
at angry shadows waving 

madly at me,

but not in a friendly fashion,

clearly blaming me

for doing what I should not

have done,

being where I should not

have been,

saying what I should never

have said

Looking ahead

at more shadows waving

madly at me,

and can’t even tell if friends

or enemies

urging I do what I want

to do,

be where I feel meant

to be,

say what (too long) needs

to be said

Swinging round

like a scarecrow in the wind

at what’s behind

making my heart skip beats

out of fear

for all the mistakes I’ve made

and half made,

put right and half put right,

left uncertain,

no idea which way

to turn

Standing quite still,

listening out for something

(or Someone?)

to point me in the direction

I need to go;

right fork, left, fork, or give up

and turn back…

till sounds of bright music

pointing me at trees

making the kind of mad  jazz

that’s a life force 

Turning my back 

on fear, galvanised by nature

to chase after life

as a child might a butterfly

if only because

it, oh, so beats doing nothing,

going nowhere,

being no one, feeling sorry

for the child self

that never caught a butterfly

or listened to jazz

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

The Rebel OR Whose Future Is It Anyway?

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

I will be 70 years-old on the winter solstice. I have mobility problems following a serious fall last year and have been living with prostate cancer since 2011. Oh, well, c’est la vie.

As I grow older and (increasingly) more tired, so my admiration for the boundless energy, passionate idealism and fertile imagination of youth increases, along with no small regret for a certain subduing of rage in me against a world still divided by various socio-cultural-religious and economic factors threatening its societies; threats I suspect many politicians and religious leaders would and could do more to temper with plain common sense and a visible sense of justice and humanity...but for their politics and religion.

Let's face it. Many if not most young people need to rebel against what they don't understand or can't identify with if only to reach an understanding in relation to a growing sense of personal identity unique to us all.

I sincerely hope I never become either complacent about or resigned to the status quo in a world that has the potential to be a far kinder, safer, better place.

This poem is a kenning

THE REBEL or WHOSE FUTURE IS IT ANYWAY?

I penetrate lies,
exposing home truths brushed aside
by those who would keep me
in a cage custom-built by generations
in remembrance of the worst
of times past, likely to catch up with us
where I thirst for a progress
that puts peace, liberty and equality
above self-interest

I conspire with reason
to drive paths through chaos to places
my peers can gather,
sound out those who would prefer
the world’s changes
ring to bring hearts and minds
to their senses
rather than impress judges in some
rigged reality show

I yell to make myself heard
above a clamour of insidious ambition
and darker emotions
driving mortality to prove itself
while it still can
if missing those greater aspirations
to which we are born,
keys to a common world with respect
for its differences

Rebel, put down for my take on truth;
vulnerable to its flaws, call me Youth

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011