A Gay Man's Kitchen Sink Drama

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

There are parts of the world, northern as well as southern hemispheres, where you can still feel, and all but smell hostility towards gay  people, especially gay men, exuding like a gas from the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority.

Ah, but where does that hostility come from, and how much does it owes its very existence to a repressed sexuality resulting from all kinds of socio-cultural-religious brainwashing?

Good question.

The beach in this poem just so happens to be in Cornwall; as well as being one of the most beautiful parts of the UK, it is also one of the least gay-friendly.

A GAY MAN’S KITCHEN SINK DRAMA

Washing peppers

at a kitchen sink, I began thinking

about a young man

in a bright red tee shirt stripping

down to pretty blue swimming trunks

on a crowded beach

Heads half turned,

wary eyes chanced to glance his way

(behind sun glasses)

as he exposed a fine, hairy, chest,

let fly the cutest flip-flops, and loped

into the sea

Tall, lean, muscular,

he might have stepped out of a dream

among lonely gay men

haunted by a daunting sexuality,

scared to take on such a gay-unfriendly 

neighbourhood

He swam like a fish,

envious looks following every stroke

of a body sculpted

like a splendid Rodin bronze,

now gliding, now surfing feisty waves

roaring applause

He stepped out of the sea

like a man stepping back into dreams

of lonely gay men

living lies among strangers

happy to pass themselves off as friends,

but on their terms

Slicing the peppers,

images of sex towelling itself down

before slipping back

into a bright red shirt, jeans,

and cute flip-flops begged an early night,

he and I

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

Prozac Nation

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

I have looked at the subject of depression in many of my poems and also on blog posts. Even so, if something is worth saying in the first place it is always worth repeating.

Depression can hit anyone. Gay men and women worldwide unfortunate enough to be living in a gay-unfriendly environment are but one social group among many; they cannot face up to what they have been all but brainwashed by various socio-cultural-religious influences into thinking being gay is a stigma. Consequently, self-esteem sinks to an all-time low. To them I ask, how can it be a stigma to be yourself…? Besides, whoever and wherever we are, we must have faith in ourselves or how can we expect others to have faith in us?

There is no stigma in being gay except in the eyes of ignorant homophobes, and do we really care what they think? Once we do, they have the upper hand.

I get many emails from readers (of both blogs) struggling to deal with depression. Like them, I always find the way back to coping with the rigours of everyday life a very tough one. It is also a lonely one. While anti-depressants can help, there are no quick fixes. I, personally, have always found counselling and psychotherapy next to useless since so many 'professionals’ try to fit you into their favourite theory and all but de-personalise you in the process; any protest is registered as symptomatic of the depression so you’re in a no-win situation. Even so, what won’t work for one person may well work wonders for someone else. I guess anything that might help is always worth a try. Whatever, we need to dig deep within ourselves and call upon those resources of energy and inspiration that lie almost buried under layers of awful anxiety.

Few people who have never had to cope with depression realize just how much effort it takes not only to make progress but sustain that progress. There are days when simply struggling to stay on top of things leaves me feeling exhausted and I have precious little energy left for much else.

Depression can make a person act uncharacteristically. I used to get very frustrated with certain people always expecting me to make allowances for them, but rarely if ever making any for me. Now, when I feel depressed or recognize the warning signs and am struggling to stay on top of it (over many years, I have developed the inner strength and general wherewithal to do this) I avoid those people like the plague. Sadly, it has led to the loss of many potential friendships, but I guess that goes with the territory too.

An invisible illness, the symptoms of depression - especially in the recovery stages - are not always easy to read. Many people find it hard to talk about mental health problems and try to put a brave face on it. Consequently, those who might be able and willing to help have no idea how greatly such help may be needed. The depressive feels rejected, unable to rationalize that their family, friends and work colleagues are not mind readers. The last thing we need to be told is that we’ re just having a bad say and  should pull our socks up and everything will look better tomorrow. Sadly, for many depressives, it is too often the case that tomorrow brings little relief.

I will be 68 this year and  meet many older gay people who don’t have a partner and find everyday life heavy going. I am on my own, have been for years and, yes, I often find everyday life very heaving going. For me, creative therapy – in my case, especially writing poetry, helps. To even start composing a poem, however, I need to be a good way along the road to what is only ever a temporary recovery. Getting that far will have taken a huge effort. It doesn’t have to be poetry of course or any of the arts; it might be gardening, a spot of home decorating or a game of chess…

Whatever works for you, GO for it.  (Yes, you CAN do it.) 

PROZAC NATION

Envelopes unopened on a table;

too scared to look, acknowledge even;

Feelings piling up on the head

like fading flowers left for the dead

to enjoy

Addresses yelling at me

like cooks letting me stay so long as

I keep out of their way,

kitchen heat making me sweat

buckets

Queen’s profile, grim

(no smile) staring at me, pricking

at the flesh, stirring the bowels,

witch in a play, surely making mischief

for someone

Fear, clammy hands

in a shirt, screams from the heart;

gagging on mind over matter?

Dignity undone, vomiting mock victories

hard won

First, a letter, fingertips

sussing out terror (get a grip). Advance…

Give unkind words

(like old war wounds) a chance

to heal

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 1^st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; 2^nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.]

Turning Point

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‘The only sure way ahead is straight.’ they said, ‘No detours, no turning corners, just be straight…or suffer the consequences.’

Ah, but I made a detour, turned a corner many years ago, and have no regrets. No regrets about acknowledging my sexuality, that is, after years of teenage anxt.  [Show me someone who says they have no regrets and I will show you someone who is being a shade economical with the truth...]

This poem is a villanelle.

TURNING CORNERS

Told the world I’m gay,

overcame our fear;

lost, but found my way

Tired of running away,

spoke up loud and clear,

told the world I’m gay

On streets cold and grey,

sought a sunny corner;

lost, but found my way

Faces of wax and clay

cocked an ear,

told the world I’m gay

No matter what folks say,

it’s good to be here;

lost, but found my way

Neighbours had a field day

(I even heard ma swear);

Told the world I’m gay;

lost, but found my way

[From: A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Points of View

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Although some 600+ poems have been published in various poetry publications since 1993, these include few gay-interest poems. However, this poem first appeared in an anthology, Crystal Chimes, Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2002 and subsequently in my collection the same year.

Now, the best advice I was ever given came from my English teacher at my old secondary school who told me way back in the late 1950’s, ‘Taber, always remember you are as entitled to a point of view as anyone else. Being your teacher doesn’t mean I’m always right. Be prepared to fight your corner, but concede other people the same courtesy and never, but never, close your mind to alternatives.’

POINTS OF VIEW

It won’t do to be gay, you said,

it won’t do at all;

however much people may pretend

not to mind, most prefer

the company of their own kind;

it could ruin your life forever;

better play safe, take on a wife

and semi, raise kids,

bash away at Promotion’s door,

keep the neighbours happy;

discover (for sure?) how it is

that acting ‘normal’

hypes a higher dividend

than throwing in

with gay types to the bitter end

Equal Ops, a revolution

of sorts. But same sexes at the altar

and adoption?

Hardly a right and proper

option...

Points of view, certainly, but

you’re you and I’m me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011

[Note: A slightly different version of this poem appeared  in an anthology, Crystal Chimes, Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2002 and subsequently in 1^st eds. of First Person Plural, by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2^nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.]

Seeing is Believing

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There are night move and night moves, but there are no moves quite like lovers homing in on each other to make up following a lonely, soul-destroying separation, especially after a quarrel…

SEEING IS BELIEVING

Fast asleep, foetal position,

I did not hear the seventh stair

that would always creak

even when sly tiptoes trying

to sneak, unheard

In a dream, as always, I stirred,

reaching out for you,

making believe we hadn’t parted

the way we did, lashing out

with cruel words, each wanting

to hurt the other more

(it was like committing suicide);

Now, your body pressing

against mine, this dream-self

responding, oh, so eagerly

with passion, hot lips relishing

your tongue, entering caves

of loneliness, teasing me

with a happiness tossed aside

that night we died

What’s this?  A kiss, surely

meant to restore a lifeless heart,

let the blood course anew

through a body all but ready

for a coffin

Willpower, forcing itself

through each pretend motion

of everyday living,

taking where it can, giving

nothing in return,

unable to feel anything

for longing to taste your lips

again, again…

My eyes flew open - and there

you were, no mere vision

of naked beauty but angel arms

holding me, our sexuality

awakening to the rising heat

of a true reality, nor any  words

(ever) necessary

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; 2^nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.]

A Gay Man's Take On A Max Force Tornado

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

Today’s poem was inspired by an encounter with a couple of Italian guys in their late 20’s holidaying in London. Apparently, they had been best friends since schooldays but lovers for less than a month. Both excluded a glow guaranteed to warm the cockles of a romantic poet’s heart.

I expressed surprise that it had taken them so long to get together and said I thought it was only the English who were supposed to be reserved to extremes. Catholic guilt, they assured me, can have much the same effect.

Could it be that there has been so much stereotypical rubbish written about gay men for so long that sometimes a more ‘respectable’ and respected socio-cultural-religious take on the integrity of ‘male bonding’ becomes an (almost) acceptable compromise?

A GAY MAN’S TAKE ON A MAX STRENGTH TORNADO

We were best friends

till he nearly died and I realized

how much he meant to me,

left to live for years

in the dark, silent agony

only dreamers know

who see the world through tears

we dare not show

One night he stayed over

after a night painting the town

all the colours of a rainbow

and more besides

in the all-revealing spotlight

only dreamers know

who see the world through tears

we long to show

We chatted over coffee

sprawled on a sofa that had seen us

do much the same more times

than I cared to remember

for the dark, silent agony

only dreamers know

who see the world through tears

we dare not show

He flung an arm around me

and mix emotions coursed my veins;

love, loneliness, desire,

and more besides

in an all-revealing spotlight

only dreamers know

who see the world through tears

we need to show

I slid a hand inside his shirt,

let the heat of his body overwhelm

more moments of restraint

than I cared to recall

for that dark, silent agony

only dreamers know

who see the world through tears

we dare not show

When I kissed him on the lips,

his breath inside me was sheer bliss,

lifting me to greater heights

than even an imagination

up against the dark, silent agony

only dreamers know

who see the world through tears

we dare not show

Within seconds, reality struck,

tearing through my dream-like state

like a max strength tornado,

left me (a broken thing)

to crash land among such ruins

only dreamers know

where love is the sum of its fears

for nowhere to go

Minutes later, panic subsiding,

I became aware of my hand in his shirt

rising and falling to the rhythm

of a crazy heartbeat

compelled to cross that divide

only dreamers know

once awakened to same sex love,

unafraid to show

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

Acknowledging Sexuality

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

One spring in the early 1960's when I was a young man, I spotted a couple strolling hand just ahead where I was walking. They paused for a passionate kiss under a cherry tree. As I passed, they  waved, grinning broadly before resuming their embrace. She was very pretty and he wasn’t bad looking either.

Oh, but how I envied her, and would have given anything to take her place in that young man’s arms, his mouth on mine, our hearts beating as one. 

I ceased resisting and acknowledged I’m gay that day.

ACKNOWLEDGING SEXUALITY

Saw a boy and girl kissing

under a blossoming cherry tree

and wished it were me

I longed for such an embrace,

to hear words of love in my ear

as I wiped away a tear

They made a fine couple,

confetti blowing in a spring breeze

driving them to their knees

Oh, for those lips on mine,

fuelling this frantic desire in me

to be yours, to be free…

I could but look away,

imagine their lovemaking divine,

wish it were mine

Saw a boy and girl kissing

under a blossoming cherry tree

and envied her his body

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]