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 21 May 2017

Nature's Way


I started school in 1950 and never did well academically. Yet, as if not more importantly, I learned a lot from a hard hit generation of post-war teachers. Upon his retirement, I asked one (as children do) if being old was scary ‘what with death and all that’. He shrugged and gave it little thought before replying, ‘You reap what you sow in life, Taber. Sow well, and enjoy doing it, whatever and wherever it may be. Enjoy might not always be the first word that comes to mind, but satisfaction is much the same thing. Whatever, the chances are you’ll find Death isn’t such a grim reaper after all.’

That was more than half a century ago. Out of the blue, I found myself  thinking about him and those words of wisdom; both inspired this poem, written to help lift myself out of an inexcusably negative awareness of growing old and the cancer nagging at my prostate.

NATURE'S WAY

Sometimes, hearts lie heavy
on spirits young and fancy free,
in a world, oh, but less kind
than in its past it ever looked to be
in selective archives

No mornings up with the lark,
flying high among patches of blue,
negotiating storm clouds
like a seasoned performer in the art
of positive thinking

Some may suppose little left
but sweet dreams to soften the blow
of time passing ever faster...
heart, mind and body left to babysit
a restless spirit

Ah, but nature has other ideas,
nurturing life forces to the very end
of any span only visible
to the applauding eye, ever mindful
of its seasons

On Earth Mother’s watch, keeper
of all living things, human and other,
no heartless discrimination
along narrow lines of good, bad, ugly, 
or judgement passed

If a sad mind likely to lead us on
into a world of tears at losing its shine,
it’s a sadder spirit still
sees us taken in by the sweet-smelling
poetry of self-pity

Where a body less able to follow
first instincts to leave clear footprints
worth following in, 
let it take its cue from sun-moon-stars
cruising centuries

So I grow old, so what? C’est la vie;
the mind-spirit-body self can but dream
of rewriting its history…
while its spirit makes of us what we will,
no end-game

Though death would shut us out

of the world (however we perceive it)

find rest and peace

in any heart continuing to reach out to us  

for joie de vivre


Copyright R. N. Taber (2017)

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Sunday 14 May 2017

Through the Looking Glass

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

As a young man, I once had the privilege of meeting a famous actor in a cafe one rainy evening in Soho. He caught me staring at him and grunted that he was in no mood to give autographs. I confessed I did not collect them anyway, but was thrilled to see him in real life. He thawed, and we chatted. I commented how wonderful it must be to live a life for which he would not only be remembered for all time but which had also been recorded on the big screen. “Oh, wow, what a legacy!” I enthused. He shrugged and muttered that the big screen was all about his acting, not his life, and how the only life and legacy really worth having is recorded for all time anyway…among the fonder memories of those who matter most to us.

At the time, I thought it was a trite thing to say. Now I know better.  I even found myself saying much the same thing to an elderly friend who was recently lamenting the fact that he had done nothing with his life to deserve leave any mention in the history books. I reminded him that the he has wonderful children who, in turn, have given him grandchildren. What better legacy or record of anyone’s life and history…?

Me…? No partner now, nor children or even family to speak of…but, hopefully my friends will think well of me when I’m gone and my poetry will at least have found a place in the hearts and minds of some readers. Do I think of my poetry as a legacy? I would not presume to predict. I have enjoyed every moment of writing ever poem, though, so hopefully some of that pleasure will have rubbed off on readers sufficiently for them to pass on the pleasure if not the poem.

Ripples …

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS 

Once, I looked in a glass,
and glimpsed a child waving
at me, a cheeky smile,
face smudged with playtime,
eyes shining

Later, I looked in the glass,
glimpsed a cheeky grin, youth
full of hope and promise,
face unlined, past and present
shining through

Once, I looked in a glass,
for a long, weary, weepy while, 
years taken toll enough
to obliterate even the shadow
of a half-smile

Later, I peered in the glass,
misty with quickening breath,
face-in-a-mist conveying
a wry smile for given up crying
over spilt milk

Now, I put an ear to the glass,
listening to words calling me 
back to life, love, nature ...
an oral poetry returning me
a cheeky smile

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017


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Sunday 16 April 2017

Back to School OR Rediscovering Letters on Building Bricks, Learning Tools for Grown-Ups

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

While I will always refute the notion that schooldays see us through the best years of our lives, I will always be grateful for a less than happy learning experience that has brought me to where I am now; one which, for better or worse, has more yet in store for me. For just how much longer, only time will tell; no life experience teaches us all the answers although there never was any harm in speculating and trusting that a few, at least, will filter through.

I was like a fish out of water at school for all kinds of reasons, not least because no one picked up on my partial deafness so I missed much of what was being said. Moreover, I am not a very practical person and hopeless at subjects like woodwork, metalwork and technical drawing, which, it being a Technical School, were primary subjects. I learned a lot, though, if only by way of survival skills that would see me through the rest of my life.

Although a ‘low to medium’ achiever’ at school, I had some great teachers and learned a lot; e.g. how to compensate for my deafness by developing a wacky sense of humour that would get me out of all kinds of scrapes; feeding my imagination on classic children’s poetry and literature that would soon find me devouring adult works that, in turn, would serve me well as a mature student at university;  enjoying my ups by coming through my downs with a real sense of having learned something although (of course) I hadn’t thought of it as a learning process at the time; discovering at first hand that self-pity is a waste of any potential for mind, body and spirit left waiting in the wings, demonstrating (only too well) the futility of going nowhere fast.

Oh, and last but not least, those less-than-happy-but-worth-every-minute schooldays taught me to live with myself, warts ‘n’ all. (Rarely a flattering image, but, what the heck…? Sure, escapism by whatever means is all very well, so long as we can get real - with ourselves if not always with each other - whenever needs must.)

Yes, 71 now and still discovering what letters make what words on what building bricks used to make a world...

BACK TO SCHOOL or REDISCOVERING LETTERS ON BUILDING BRICKS, LEARNING TOOLS FOR GROWN-UPS

Old building,
groaning for developers
knocking it down

Empty rooms,
full of jeering ghosts
putting me down

Nightmares,
haunting my every step,
bringing me down

Old school tie,
noose around my neck,
dropping me down

Formative years,
lessons but half learned
letting me down

T-I-M-E, choices
breaking us in, schoolkids
on a joyride

L-I-F-E, a half-ruin
waiting upon developers
to reconstruct us

N-A-T-U-R-E,
kinder ghosts, ready to lend
a helping hand

L-O-V-E,
better teachers, overriding
lesser mortals

P-E-A-C-E
but graffiti on a blackboard
till we can spell

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017






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Monday 10 April 2017

Nature, Powerhouse of Secrets


We may like to think we live in an open society, yet behind closed doors thrive secrets of all kinds, not least the human kind.

Open or less open, the world’s societies (human and natural) along with all their various families and communities - have nurtured a whole world of secrets since the beginning of time, many to which any human mind-body-spirit may yet have access if it but cares to tap into itself while looking to see, listening to hear ... if not necessarily what it wants or expects to see-hear, given the native arrogance of human nature in supposing itself second to none.

For better or worse, appearances are often deceptive; no more or less true of nature than human nature ...


NATURE, POWERHOUSE OF SECRETS

I have heard a spring rain
cajole the world open up to us
a whole world of secrets

I have heard leafy sunshine
serenade flowers with summers
overflowing with secrets

I have heard autumnal hues
reassuring all the world’s lovers
of keeping their secrets

I have heard a wintry wind
express every intention to expose 
even the best kept secrets

Between its womb and tomb,
peace of mind needs must access
a whole world of secrets


Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

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Sunday 2 April 2017

On the Mend


Regular readers will be aware that I suffered a severe nervous breakdown in 1979. As I began to recover, so I started writing again as much by way of creative therapy as any natural love for the art form. Following an indescribable struggle with mind, body and spirit, I finally regained a sense of ‘normality’ and was fortunate enough to dig myself out of that Black Hole, unemployment, and return to work a few years later. In 2005, I began publishing poems, self-publishing the only option open to me as no literary agents or publishers wanted my gay-interest material and I refused to leave it out.

This poem (a villanelle) has been significantly revised since I published in 2005, itself a (lesser) revision of a (handwritten) version written during the 1990’s. Not one of my better poems, perhaps, although its place in the history of my poetry of no small significance. 

For years now, I have been striving to (a) reach out to readers, (b) share an inner learning curve, and (c) reconcile form and content in my poetry in a way that does some justice to its art form; it has been a long journey, and not over yet. To critics who suggest I should not poet poems until I and they are ‘ready’ I can only say that, having sowed various seeds, I am never quite clear how they might grow until they flower; sometimes they remain but seeds or may sprout shoots that refuse to flower or may flower in ways that are true to a picture on the seed packet.

One way or another, we have to take responsibility for ourselves; playing the blame game never got anybody anywhere hast unless it’s a Black Hole like the one I crawled out of years ago into a self-awareness that insisted I stop playing Jack-in-a Box about being gay and learned to take responsibility for and a pride in a better, kinder self than any which life experience had all but succeeded in moulding me into hitherto.

I’m 71 now, and still learning…

ON THE MEND

We broke the pot,
(Earth Mother cried)
up to us to mend it…

Birthdays forgot,
(the old beggar died)
we broke the pot

Loyalty split,
(so our ‘Betters’ lied?)
up to us to mend it

Peace, it could not
get the better of pride;
we broke the pot

To each our lot;
though humanity divide,
up to us to mend it

Marking the spot
where hope all but died;
we broke the pot,
up to us to mend it…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2017

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared under the title 'Picking Up the Pieces' in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

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Friday 31 March 2017

A Life in the Day of a Couch Potato


A reader, Helen, has kindly written in to say she and her family enjoy my poetry and she thinks my blogs I deserve more followers. Well, thanks a lot, Helen, encouragement is always welcome. Poetry, though, is not everyone’s cup of tea and I am just happy that the blogs are still going strong after six years via my Google Plus site that links to new and historical posts/poems. I have set the statistics so Google does not count my own views; this gives me a clearer picture of readership. 

Now, today’s little poem was written way back in 1979. Sadly, it strikes me as being even more relevant now than it was then. A neighbour had been complaining to me about retirement, saying how he missed ‘the buzz of real life’ because all there was for the likes of retired people was a second hand existence by courtesy of television and cinema. I suggested keeping up with friends, getting out and about and doing things, going places…pleasures for which we often have little or no time when working full-time and/or bringing up a family…? (Mind you, we need to make time.) He simply shrugged and went indoors to watch an afternoon soap opera.

No, I’m not knocking TV, or the fact that we live in a Digital Age, but now I am retired myself, I enjoy keeping up with friends, getting out and about and doing things, going places…the simple pleasures for which it was often hard making time for when working.

Following a bad fall in summer 2014, I was housebound for months and spent a good year or so learning to walk again. I live alone so TV was a great comfort and companionship (of sorts) in between writing up the blogs, three sessions of (ten) physiotherapy exercises a day and chatting to friends who were kind enough to drop by and help out on a regular basis all the while I could barely walk. I missed getting out and about and do so now as much as I can; even though walking is still quite painful, I have a sturdy oak walking stick, and it is always worth making the effort.

So when I talk to young people rushing home to spend hours on social media, I can’t help feeling they are missing out…

No, I am not knocking on-line social networking, but there can be no substitute for real-life, face to face companionship and banter among friends, not to mention getting out and about in the sunshine…can there? Now I am older (71) and less mobile, it is harder to get out and about and meet people, but (still) always worth making the effort.

Social media. the world wide web, TV...all have a place in our lives, of course they do, but no one's real life balance should be tipped in their favour...surely?

Yes, cyber fun can be good fun, but there's no fun quite like sharing fun in the real-life company of friends, forming and developing interpersonal skills that can teach us as much about ourselves as other people, and will see us though the best part of a lifetime. Oh, and it really isn't a case of you can't teach an old dog new (digital) tricks; this old dog knows a few, and all the better for having learned a good few of the non-digital variety...

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF A COUCH POTATO

Little birds singing on the garden wall

I’ll not write you up;
you’re, too sentimental
for the Age, they say

As one to another you brightly call

I’ll shut the window;
a new soap opera's about
to start on TV  

Bright sunlight distorting everything

Screen-lined faces
like grotesque cartoons
in a Hall of Mirrors

Let's close the curtains, better already

Comfortable now...
with armchair perspectives
on the world

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2017

[Note: This poem has been revised since it first appeared under the title 'To a Sunny Day' in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

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Tuesday 21 February 2017

Poetry Live

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

[Update Sept 2, 2017] I am not well at the moment but no worries. Going into hospital soon, but hoping for a short stay and back soon. Meanwhile, I hope you will enjoy browsing the blog/s anyway. You can, of course find poems via the search field in the top right hand corner.]

[Update  March 25, 2017]: Well, the poetry evening is  done and dusted. Not a lot of people came but we enjoyed ourselves and it raised a tidy sum for Prostate Cancer UK. (I have been living with prostate cancer since 2011 during which time hormone therapy has prevented it from becoming aggressive.) There's nothing quite like live poetry.) Everyone seemed to appreciate my choice of gay-interest and general poems and we all got on well during the break which was really nice as some people had only just met for the first time. The arts are meant firstly to entertain and secondly to offer food for thought. Feedback suggests the evening was a success on both counts.

For me, personally, it was hard work but a labour of love so I'm glad I went ahead with it despite being a bag of nerves...which, thankfully, steadied once I got started. This year marks sixty years of getting my poetry into print, given that my first published poem appeared in my school magazine summer 1957.]

I did not have the confidence to read in public for years. However, after a few years of occasionally performing Open Mics at Farrago Poetry evenings in London, I found the self-confidence to accept invitations to give readings around the UK (2003-2014). Only weeks after a reading in 2014, I had a bad fall and have spent much of the last two years learning to walk again. I can get out and about quite well now with the aid of a walking stick, for which I am truly thankful as my left ankle had sustained a complicated fracture and I was warned I might never walk again. Oh, but I love walking and am stubborn enough to defy any harbingers of doom. Even so, I did not expect to give another poetry reading.

Now, this first poem appeared in Visions of the Mind, Spotlight Poets (Forward Press) in 1998 and subsequently in my first collection,  Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001. It is an early piece, written in the summer of 1976 during which I gave an impromptu reading of it in Trafalgar Square to a friend (and several appreciative passers-by who paused to listen.) 

POETRY LIVE

Words

to music, out of words
let the sun rise
in the eyes of that ragged-eared mongrel
curled on George’s doorstep
tongue lolling stupidly
nostrils a-smoke

Words

to music, out of words
let carnival hot dogs
substitute for garden scents,
make easier the stink
of slop-outs in
the gutter

Words

out of choc-smeared mouths
in Bank Holiday sunshine;
kids in glad rags spilling
on the streets like bin bags;
shirtsleeves copper
getting chatty

Poetry

Copyright R. N. Taber 1998; 2017

I never dreamt that 30+ years on I would be reading a selection of my poems there, this time to a global audience via web stream as my contribution to Sir Antony Gormley’s ‘live’ sculpture project, One and Other (2009) sponsored by Sky Arts. To view, click on:
https://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223131109/http://www.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


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