A reader has asked me to repeat the link to my poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square last year as part of Antony Gormley's 'live sculpture' project One and Other:
http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T
Meanwhile...
Here’s another poem from the Taber archives, discovered in an old exercise book last year and revised but not substantially. The original was dated February 1964 at a time when homosexual relationships were illegal here in the UK. I would have been 18 years-old. Regular readers will know what a rough time I had during those dark, closet years. I guess it is why I empathise fully with people - especially young people - who feel unable to be openly gay for whatever reason.
I still feel guilty about being in and out of the closet for years before I finally came out to stay. It was hard to shrug off all that ugly baggage I was made to carry during my younger years. Sadly, even tragically, it is no easier now for gay men and women world-wide who grow up in a gay-unfriendly environment.
During those awful closet years, I never spoke out against homosexuality as some do (to cover their tracks perhaps?) but was acutely aware that it wasn't enough....
STICKING THE KNIFE IN
I see him almost every day
yet dare not let him see how
I’m lusting after him
Sometimes he’ll chat to me,
his every word a hammer blow
in the stomach
His voice tickles my tongue
then trickles down my throat
like juice from a pear
Sometimes we shake hands
and it’s enough to put my mind
in a frantic spin
Oh, to strip off his all clothes
and feel hungry fingers tugging
excitedly at mine!
Gladly, I’d let the glory of sex
with this god from over the way
be the death of me
Instead, I can only fantasize
about my lips descending on his,
pinioning him
He’ll move on, perhaps turn
at his front door, wave, smiling,
sticking the knife in
Copyright R. N. Taber 1964; 2010
Friday, 30 July 2010
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Asylum
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
There gave been a number of high profile cases here in the UK and across Europe involving gay people fleeing their countries of origin because of persecution, including execution, against gay men and women there. Why such cases take so long to be settled appals me. We should not hesitate to give asylum to gay people in such situations…or anyone else genuinely fearing persecution in their own country for whatever reason. However, it is my view that fleeing the even world’s worst trouble spots is not a good reason enough to offer asylum….or where do we stop?
The answer? More love, peace and respect for each other's differences across the world; less hate, jealousy and greed. Oh, but I wish! Tragically...fat chance, I guess...
We accept too many immigrants and asylum seekers here in the UK who are clearly set on ‘playing the system’ so… all the more reason for the system to be changed…radically and soon…if only to be made fairer and more appropriate for everyone concerned. As things stand, it strikes me that many genuine people are being turned away while the fraudsters manage to get into the country.
For my own part, I regret the way the UK has all but turned its back on Commonwealth countries regarding immigration in favour of an EEC in whose governing bodies and courts fewer and fewer people I talk to have any faith whatsoever. The coalition government here has put a cap on immigration; this is necessary and should have been applied sooner since we are, after all, only an island. But where a cap is most needed (on certain people from some Eastern European countries, for examples) it does not apply.
As it is, the UK is regarded as a soft touch, if not a laughing stock, by would-be and successful immigrants alike across the world. Worse, a (very) significant minority of successful immigrants persist in complaining that their cultural or religious needs are not sufficiently met here and/or that the West is decadent and deserves their contempt.
Oh, but I guess there is no really pleasing some people. If I were to go and live in another country because it offered me a better life than my own, I hope I would be grateful and respect its ways, not expect it to comply with mine.
There is so much hypocrisy too. In my area of London, for example, there has been a significant influx of Somalis in recent years. In my experience, many if not most Somalis are homophobic (if no less so than others from various ethnic minority backgrounds). Yet, there is an area of Hampstead Heath near where I live that has been a cruising ground for gay men, especially late at night and in the early hours, for many years. These days, I am assured by gay guys (of all ethnic origins) who go there that the majority of men seeking sex are…yes, Somalis! I am sure not all Somalis are such hypocrites - every corner of the world has its share - but it just goes to show…
Me, I accept and have every sympathy with the fact that that, sadly, many gay people are unable, for various socio-cultural-religious reasons, to be openly gay. At the same time, I have only contempt for those same people who persist in expressing homophobic views in public.
This poem is a villanelle.
ASYLUM
Love, where the heart is,
our history in the making,
building better countries
Life, with new neighbours,
old enmities forsaking;
Love, where the heart is
On us, the onus of peace,
each new dawn breaking,
building better countries
Our origins, surely, precious
embers for the raking;
Love, where the heart is
Learning to be at ease,
same dreams for the taking,
building better countries
Home, where we choose,
(differences equably debating?);
Love, where the heart is
building better countries
[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]
There gave been a number of high profile cases here in the UK and across Europe involving gay people fleeing their countries of origin because of persecution, including execution, against gay men and women there. Why such cases take so long to be settled appals me. We should not hesitate to give asylum to gay people in such situations…or anyone else genuinely fearing persecution in their own country for whatever reason. However, it is my view that fleeing the even world’s worst trouble spots is not a good reason enough to offer asylum….or where do we stop?
The answer? More love, peace and respect for each other's differences across the world; less hate, jealousy and greed. Oh, but I wish! Tragically...fat chance, I guess...
We accept too many immigrants and asylum seekers here in the UK who are clearly set on ‘playing the system’ so… all the more reason for the system to be changed…radically and soon…if only to be made fairer and more appropriate for everyone concerned. As things stand, it strikes me that many genuine people are being turned away while the fraudsters manage to get into the country.
For my own part, I regret the way the UK has all but turned its back on Commonwealth countries regarding immigration in favour of an EEC in whose governing bodies and courts fewer and fewer people I talk to have any faith whatsoever. The coalition government here has put a cap on immigration; this is necessary and should have been applied sooner since we are, after all, only an island. But where a cap is most needed (on certain people from some Eastern European countries, for examples) it does not apply.
As it is, the UK is regarded as a soft touch, if not a laughing stock, by would-be and successful immigrants alike across the world. Worse, a (very) significant minority of successful immigrants persist in complaining that their cultural or religious needs are not sufficiently met here and/or that the West is decadent and deserves their contempt.
Oh, but I guess there is no really pleasing some people. If I were to go and live in another country because it offered me a better life than my own, I hope I would be grateful and respect its ways, not expect it to comply with mine.
There is so much hypocrisy too. In my area of London, for example, there has been a significant influx of Somalis in recent years. In my experience, many if not most Somalis are homophobic (if no less so than others from various ethnic minority backgrounds). Yet, there is an area of Hampstead Heath near where I live that has been a cruising ground for gay men, especially late at night and in the early hours, for many years. These days, I am assured by gay guys (of all ethnic origins) who go there that the majority of men seeking sex are…yes, Somalis! I am sure not all Somalis are such hypocrites - every corner of the world has its share - but it just goes to show…
Me, I accept and have every sympathy with the fact that that, sadly, many gay people are unable, for various socio-cultural-religious reasons, to be openly gay. At the same time, I have only contempt for those same people who persist in expressing homophobic views in public.
This poem is a villanelle.
ASYLUM
Love, where the heart is,
our history in the making,
building better countries
Life, with new neighbours,
old enmities forsaking;
Love, where the heart is
On us, the onus of peace,
each new dawn breaking,
building better countries
Our origins, surely, precious
embers for the raking;
Love, where the heart is
Learning to be at ease,
same dreams for the taking,
building better countries
Home, where we choose,
(differences equably debating?);
Love, where the heart is
building better countries
[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
A Lovemaking
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=R+N+Taber&x=17&y=13
After this poem first appeared on the blog in June 2009 several readers asked me to include it in the new collection…so I did.
I wrote this poem for lovers - especially gay lovers - everywhere.
Sadly, the path of true love rarely runs smooth; invariably this is down to well-meaning if unwelcome interference on the part of parties who think they know what is best for us better than we do ourselves. Occasionally they are proved right…but one swallow doesn’t make a summer and love is rarely as blind as some people like to make out.
This poem is a villanelle.
A LOVEMAKING
Come dusk in a summer rain,
Earth Mother half asleep,
making love to me yet again
My body forsaken its passion,
a late lark anxious to keep,
come dusk in a summer rain
Sharing in a sorry world’s pain,
its rose thorns pricking deep,
making love to me yet again
A hard won sexuality, a reason
its cloud shapes weep,
come dusk in a summer rain
Humanity finding redemption
(where dark forces creep)
making love to me yet again
Rejecting shame for salvation,
a fine harvest sure to reap,
come dusk in a summer rain
making love to me yet again
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
After this poem first appeared on the blog in June 2009 several readers asked me to include it in the new collection…so I did.
I wrote this poem for lovers - especially gay lovers - everywhere.
Sadly, the path of true love rarely runs smooth; invariably this is down to well-meaning if unwelcome interference on the part of parties who think they know what is best for us better than we do ourselves. Occasionally they are proved right…but one swallow doesn’t make a summer and love is rarely as blind as some people like to make out.
This poem is a villanelle.
A LOVEMAKING
Come dusk in a summer rain,
Earth Mother half asleep,
making love to me yet again
My body forsaken its passion,
a late lark anxious to keep,
come dusk in a summer rain
Sharing in a sorry world’s pain,
its rose thorns pricking deep,
making love to me yet again
A hard won sexuality, a reason
its cloud shapes weep,
come dusk in a summer rain
Humanity finding redemption
(where dark forces creep)
making love to me yet again
Rejecting shame for salvation,
a fine harvest sure to reap,
come dusk in a summer rain
making love to me yet again
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
Sunday, 25 July 2010
The Black Swan
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
This poem first appeared on the blog in June 2009 and several readers wrote in to say they have never seen a black swan. Well, I can assure you they exist. There is a pair of black swans in the Regent’s Park here in London UK and quite near to where I live. T
The poem, of course, has precious little to do with black swans…
THE BLACK SWAN
Once, a tree as if lit by candles
in the middle of the day,
sunshine lighting its every leaf
above where we lay;
his skin like black swansdown,
full lips demanding of mine,
a heady sexuality toasting Apollo
in summer wine
Passion spent, we dared dream
of a lifetime together
till he woke to the bitter-sweet
reality of ties and culture;
he’d married a woman for whom
he felt a love very different
than he swore to me, transcended,
as if heaven sent
Like candles snuffed out by clouds
across the sun,
we dared linger but as gods of myth
come and gone,
a dream never really ours to share
(staying together, growing old)
passing us like the hands on a clock
of white gold
A summer rain soaking us through
to love’s eternal glimmer,
we rose, kissed and walked away…
but not together;
years on, I pointed out the same tree
to a friend, its candles lit
by a lake where we saw a black swan
gliding, in peace, with its mate
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
This poem first appeared on the blog in June 2009 and several readers wrote in to say they have never seen a black swan. Well, I can assure you they exist. There is a pair of black swans in the Regent’s Park here in London UK and quite near to where I live. T
The poem, of course, has precious little to do with black swans…
THE BLACK SWAN
Once, a tree as if lit by candles
in the middle of the day,
sunshine lighting its every leaf
above where we lay;
his skin like black swansdown,
full lips demanding of mine,
a heady sexuality toasting Apollo
in summer wine
Passion spent, we dared dream
of a lifetime together
till he woke to the bitter-sweet
reality of ties and culture;
he’d married a woman for whom
he felt a love very different
than he swore to me, transcended,
as if heaven sent
Like candles snuffed out by clouds
across the sun,
we dared linger but as gods of myth
come and gone,
a dream never really ours to share
(staying together, growing old)
passing us like the hands on a clock
of white gold
A summer rain soaking us through
to love’s eternal glimmer,
we rose, kissed and walked away…
but not together;
years on, I pointed out the same tree
to a friend, its candles lit
by a lake where we saw a black swan
gliding, in peace, with its mate
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
Friday, 23 July 2010
Let Love Dare Speak Its Name
http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T
I am posting today’s poem on both blogs today, partly in response to a comment received yesterday. This person began by complimenting me on my new poetry collection then launched into a personal attack on my ‘shameful lack of integrity and morals’ as displayed in the poem. He is entitles to his point of view of course. I only wish he had emailed me as then I could have replied. Instead I can but hope he will read today’s blogs.
The poem first appeared on my gay blog in February 2009 but I did not post it on the general blog until April this year. On both occasions, especially the latter, I received far more than the usual number of emails/comments, many complaining that I had written such a poem in the first place and/or wanting to know if it is an autobiographical piece. Whatever, I should be ashamed of bringing the Catholic Church into disrepute. [Dare I suggest the Catholic Church is more than capable of doing that all by itself?]
Yes, it is essentially autobiographical. I had no idea he was a priest when I met him. It was like something out of that wonderful movie, Priest although neither of us can compare for looks or charisma with Linus Roache (who plays the priest in the movie) or Robert Carlyle (his lover). During the course of our relationship, I found myself considering the whole Catholic ethic and becoming increasingly disturbed by it.
My main objection to Catholicism had always been its condemnation of homosexuality and the use of condoms in a world that has to live with HIV-AIDS and what I have always considered to be a conveniently customised attitude to ‘sin’. I hadn’t given much thought to priests themselves.
As far as I am concerned, there is nothing unnatural about homosexuality. Sexuality has to be in the genes. We are born this way, although what we do about it is down to us. Celibacy, on the other hand does strikes me as being unnatural. If Catholics feel they should follow Jesus Christ’s example, fair enough. But how do we know for sure that Jesus was celibate? Because the Bible makes no mention of it doesn’t mean He never had sex. After all, while He may or may not have been the Son of God, he lived on Earth as a man. Sex is, after all, a very private matter between two people. Besides, it has nothing whatever to do with His coming to tell the world about a kinder God than portrayed in the Old Testament and thus encourage a more compassionate, understanding relationship between individuals, races, tribes, communities, whatever…than, for the most part, humankind has ever felt inclined.
My priest lover left the Catholic Church. Yet he still thinks of himself as a man of God…and why shouldn’t he? He and his partner have lived happily together for some years now and while erstwhile Catholic colleagues might begrudge them their happiness I feel certain God doesn’t.
As regular readers will know only too well, I don’t believe in a personified God or any concept of God as contained in any religious framework. I sought and found a prevailing sense of spirituality in nature. Even so, I have respect for any religious faith. At the same time, I cannot enter into or condone a point of view that sees religion and the complexities of human nature, its frailties too, as mutually exclusive. Nor, in the end could my priest lover.
[Note: Regarding Catholicism, I feel the Pope has a lot to answer for and was intrigued by the way in which my blogger colleague Edwin Black chose to express similar views very differently in his latest post: http://bardicblackspot.blogspot.com/
LET LOVE DARE SPEAK ITS NAME
My love for a priest
dare not speak its name;
though he loved me too,
he’d hang his head in shame
when I’d plead (tearfully)
that he acknowledge me
My love for a priest
ran deep and true for years;
though he loved me too,
begged me never leave,
he was not a man to wear
his faith on his sleeve
My love for a priest
could not survive his guilt,
taught that his sexuality
sucks up to an immorality
his congregation so deplores
it slams shut its doors
My love for a priest
could not hope to compete
with a religion bent
on encouraging deceit,
suggesting the same God bless
who would disown us
My love for a priest
could not survive the closet
his Church imposes
and I found someone new
to love and acknowledge me
as I needed to be
Our love did not revive
when he finally quit his Church
(not his calling)
to assure gay men and women,
cast out by their religions,
God waits with open arms
If God is Love, we should dare
speak its name anywhere
[From: On the Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
I am posting today’s poem on both blogs today, partly in response to a comment received yesterday. This person began by complimenting me on my new poetry collection then launched into a personal attack on my ‘shameful lack of integrity and morals’ as displayed in the poem. He is entitles to his point of view of course. I only wish he had emailed me as then I could have replied. Instead I can but hope he will read today’s blogs.
The poem first appeared on my gay blog in February 2009 but I did not post it on the general blog until April this year. On both occasions, especially the latter, I received far more than the usual number of emails/comments, many complaining that I had written such a poem in the first place and/or wanting to know if it is an autobiographical piece. Whatever, I should be ashamed of bringing the Catholic Church into disrepute. [Dare I suggest the Catholic Church is more than capable of doing that all by itself?]
Yes, it is essentially autobiographical. I had no idea he was a priest when I met him. It was like something out of that wonderful movie, Priest although neither of us can compare for looks or charisma with Linus Roache (who plays the priest in the movie) or Robert Carlyle (his lover). During the course of our relationship, I found myself considering the whole Catholic ethic and becoming increasingly disturbed by it.
My main objection to Catholicism had always been its condemnation of homosexuality and the use of condoms in a world that has to live with HIV-AIDS and what I have always considered to be a conveniently customised attitude to ‘sin’. I hadn’t given much thought to priests themselves.
As far as I am concerned, there is nothing unnatural about homosexuality. Sexuality has to be in the genes. We are born this way, although what we do about it is down to us. Celibacy, on the other hand does strikes me as being unnatural. If Catholics feel they should follow Jesus Christ’s example, fair enough. But how do we know for sure that Jesus was celibate? Because the Bible makes no mention of it doesn’t mean He never had sex. After all, while He may or may not have been the Son of God, he lived on Earth as a man. Sex is, after all, a very private matter between two people. Besides, it has nothing whatever to do with His coming to tell the world about a kinder God than portrayed in the Old Testament and thus encourage a more compassionate, understanding relationship between individuals, races, tribes, communities, whatever…than, for the most part, humankind has ever felt inclined.
My priest lover left the Catholic Church. Yet he still thinks of himself as a man of God…and why shouldn’t he? He and his partner have lived happily together for some years now and while erstwhile Catholic colleagues might begrudge them their happiness I feel certain God doesn’t.
As regular readers will know only too well, I don’t believe in a personified God or any concept of God as contained in any religious framework. I sought and found a prevailing sense of spirituality in nature. Even so, I have respect for any religious faith. At the same time, I cannot enter into or condone a point of view that sees religion and the complexities of human nature, its frailties too, as mutually exclusive. Nor, in the end could my priest lover.
[Note: Regarding Catholicism, I feel the Pope has a lot to answer for and was intrigued by the way in which my blogger colleague Edwin Black chose to express similar views very differently in his latest post: http://bardicblackspot.blogspot.com/
LET LOVE DARE SPEAK ITS NAME
My love for a priest
dare not speak its name;
though he loved me too,
he’d hang his head in shame
when I’d plead (tearfully)
that he acknowledge me
My love for a priest
ran deep and true for years;
though he loved me too,
begged me never leave,
he was not a man to wear
his faith on his sleeve
My love for a priest
could not survive his guilt,
taught that his sexuality
sucks up to an immorality
his congregation so deplores
it slams shut its doors
My love for a priest
could not hope to compete
with a religion bent
on encouraging deceit,
suggesting the same God bless
who would disown us
My love for a priest
could not survive the closet
his Church imposes
and I found someone new
to love and acknowledge me
as I needed to be
Our love did not revive
when he finally quit his Church
(not his calling)
to assure gay men and women,
cast out by their religions,
God waits with open arms
If God is Love, we should dare
speak its name anywhere
[From: On the Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
First Symphony
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
Ah, that first time…unforgettable!
FIRST SYMPHONY
The first time we made love,
I was nervous and shy,
didn’t quite know what to do,
was scared you might
feel let down, disappointed
in me, that I wouldn’t
send the same electric shocks
through your whole body
as you were passing into mine
with every deft caress,
each lingering kiss on my lips,
gently tongued apart
for strawberries and cream
on a summer’s day
that must (surely?) last forever
My fears melted away
as I felt more at ease and safe
with you, learning how
to respond to the inspired
rhythm of your body
as it taught me a symphony
of sex as composed
by the spirits of Love and Desire
and adored by lovers
everywhere since time began;
men discovering men,
women discovering women,
not only in each other
or by serving procreation
Let love, as and when, redefine
the creative nature of salvation
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
Ah, that first time…unforgettable!
FIRST SYMPHONY
The first time we made love,
I was nervous and shy,
didn’t quite know what to do,
was scared you might
feel let down, disappointed
in me, that I wouldn’t
send the same electric shocks
through your whole body
as you were passing into mine
with every deft caress,
each lingering kiss on my lips,
gently tongued apart
for strawberries and cream
on a summer’s day
that must (surely?) last forever
My fears melted away
as I felt more at ease and safe
with you, learning how
to respond to the inspired
rhythm of your body
as it taught me a symphony
of sex as composed
by the spirits of Love and Desire
and adored by lovers
everywhere since time began;
men discovering men,
women discovering women,
not only in each other
or by serving procreation
Let love, as and when, redefine
the creative nature of salvation
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
Out In The Country
http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T
Gay people who live in rural areas often contact me to say there is no way they could be ‘out’ locally as their community would not accept them. True, rural areas rend to have very close-knit communities. But no community fit for purpose rejects people because they don’t approve of their sexuality. In any community, there is always lots of which (and whom) to disapprove. But we become reconciled to each other’s differences and look for the best in people instead of harping on about what we consider to be worst. As I have commented before - and no doubt will again - we are not a race of clones yet…thank goodness!
This poem was inspired by two young men who did come out locally and, in spite of harsh words from a few narrow-minded people, have not only been left to get on with their lives but also made to feel no less a part of the local community than during their closet days.
Now, doesn’t that restore one’s flagging faith in your everyday, overwhelmingly heterosexual community?
OUT IN THE COUNTRY
He asked me to dance
on the village green;
I jumped at the chance
Though neighbours askance
(some thought it obscene)
he asked me to dance
Forget all that token stuff
about poufs on-screen?
I jumped at the chance
Band playing by chance
our favourite tune,
he asked me to dance
Measuring every advance,
treasuring each joining-in;
I jumped at the chance
A subtle rush to ring-fence
(unsuitable for children?);
He asked me to dance,
I jumped at the chance
[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]
Gay people who live in rural areas often contact me to say there is no way they could be ‘out’ locally as their community would not accept them. True, rural areas rend to have very close-knit communities. But no community fit for purpose rejects people because they don’t approve of their sexuality. In any community, there is always lots of which (and whom) to disapprove. But we become reconciled to each other’s differences and look for the best in people instead of harping on about what we consider to be worst. As I have commented before - and no doubt will again - we are not a race of clones yet…thank goodness!
This poem was inspired by two young men who did come out locally and, in spite of harsh words from a few narrow-minded people, have not only been left to get on with their lives but also made to feel no less a part of the local community than during their closet days.
Now, doesn’t that restore one’s flagging faith in your everyday, overwhelmingly heterosexual community?
OUT IN THE COUNTRY
He asked me to dance
on the village green;
I jumped at the chance
Though neighbours askance
(some thought it obscene)
he asked me to dance
Forget all that token stuff
about poufs on-screen?
I jumped at the chance
Band playing by chance
our favourite tune,
he asked me to dance
Measuring every advance,
treasuring each joining-in;
I jumped at the chance
A subtle rush to ring-fence
(unsuitable for children?);
He asked me to dance,
I jumped at the chance
[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]
Monday, 19 July 2010
Gay People Go To Heaven Too
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
When this poem appeared on the blog in March 2009 several readers wrote in to complain while others made it clear that they agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment it expresses. One of the latter described himself as 'a devout Christian but one with a heart.'
Regular readers will know only too well by now that although I confess to a strong sense of spirituality, I take it from nature, not religion. Even so, however we like to think of God or heaven, of one thing I am certain. God is no homophobe and no concept of heaven would condone the narrow-mindedness and prejudice to which inglorious petard various socio-cultural-religious bigots love to hoist themselves. Oh, they might well argue that I am biased. Yes, of course I am...but aren’t they?
GAY PEOPLE GO TO HEAVEN TOO
A mischievous spirit once asked to see
the golden rule said to be set in stone
that gay men and women should not be
admitted to the ranks of heaven’s own
A religious leader, just passed away,
retorted it was plain commonsense;
others agreed, faith must win the day
(besides, gay people cause offence)
They all began arguing at Heaven’s door,
gay protest drowned out by the noise;
Whose religion means to God the more?
True, no easy choice…
No one noticed for all the brave conjecture
that an angel had opened the door,
but only the gay crowd hastened to enter,
the rest were too busy disputing the score
The mischievous spirit, too, slipped back in,
though not one pious soul saw it had gone;
that no room for bigotry in heaven, a lesson
in Holy Books some readers never learn
[From: On The Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
When this poem appeared on the blog in March 2009 several readers wrote in to complain while others made it clear that they agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment it expresses. One of the latter described himself as 'a devout Christian but one with a heart.'
Regular readers will know only too well by now that although I confess to a strong sense of spirituality, I take it from nature, not religion. Even so, however we like to think of God or heaven, of one thing I am certain. God is no homophobe and no concept of heaven would condone the narrow-mindedness and prejudice to which inglorious petard various socio-cultural-religious bigots love to hoist themselves. Oh, they might well argue that I am biased. Yes, of course I am...but aren’t they?
GAY PEOPLE GO TO HEAVEN TOO
A mischievous spirit once asked to see
the golden rule said to be set in stone
that gay men and women should not be
admitted to the ranks of heaven’s own
A religious leader, just passed away,
retorted it was plain commonsense;
others agreed, faith must win the day
(besides, gay people cause offence)
They all began arguing at Heaven’s door,
gay protest drowned out by the noise;
Whose religion means to God the more?
True, no easy choice…
No one noticed for all the brave conjecture
that an angel had opened the door,
but only the gay crowd hastened to enter,
the rest were too busy disputing the score
The mischievous spirit, too, slipped back in,
though not one pious soul saw it had gone;
that no room for bigotry in heaven, a lesson
in Holy Books some readers never learn
[From: On The Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
Sunday, 18 July 2010
The Playground: Lessons In Life On A Sliding Scale Of 1 To 100
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
Here’s another from the archives, rediscovered in an old exercise book last year and slightly revised (where I couldn’t read my handwriting!) and gave it a title. It was written in 1982 as I was beginning to emerge from the other end of a severe nervous breakdown and probing my past for ways of exorcising certain ghosts that continued to haunt me.
I should add that my ghosts were (and still are) a mixed bag of downright vindictive, placidly benign, incredibly friendly and spiritually inspiring. Consequently, a crude but demonstrably effective self-assessment took place over many weeks as I undertook to sort the good from the bad.
Even in those days, I found no peace of mind in religion so turned to nature instead. I refer to God in a very loose sense, a synonym for rather than a source of spirituality.
THE PLAYGROUND: LESSONS IN LIFE ON A SLIDING SCALE OF 1 TO 100
I lay under a sycamore tree
sunshine cascading down on me
like a slide we used to play on
when we were just children;
it was by the sycamore tree,
sunshine cascading down on me,
you slid into my embrace,
childhood gone, youth in its place
I lay under the sycamore tree,
sunshine cascading down on me,
watching an angel take a turn
on the slide we’d made our own;
the angel whispered in my ear
home truths I didn’t want to hear,
told me time would pass me by
once life had me hooked on a lie
I lay under the sycamore tree,
sunshine cascading down on me,
conscience in as slippery a skin
as the slide we had finally chosen,
one long, lovely, secret summer
bringing us ever closer to each other,
into as sweet an intimacy sliding
as an angel sending God’s blessing
We took a decision that day
to tell the world we’re proud and gay,
vowed to run its gamut
(no matter who or where or what)
of societies not on our side,
where prejudice and history preside,
humanity in as slippery a skin
as the slide we’d finally forsaken
Yet, you reneged on that vow;
it was years on before I discovered how
to look society in the face
(fellow members of the human race)
while you married, had children,
chose a far more slippery slide to play on
than you’d shared with me
long ago under the sycamore tree
Ugly road signs now, the old tree long gone
where a roundabout leads in or out of town
Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2010
Here’s another from the archives, rediscovered in an old exercise book last year and slightly revised (where I couldn’t read my handwriting!) and gave it a title. It was written in 1982 as I was beginning to emerge from the other end of a severe nervous breakdown and probing my past for ways of exorcising certain ghosts that continued to haunt me.
I should add that my ghosts were (and still are) a mixed bag of downright vindictive, placidly benign, incredibly friendly and spiritually inspiring. Consequently, a crude but demonstrably effective self-assessment took place over many weeks as I undertook to sort the good from the bad.
Even in those days, I found no peace of mind in religion so turned to nature instead. I refer to God in a very loose sense, a synonym for rather than a source of spirituality.
THE PLAYGROUND: LESSONS IN LIFE ON A SLIDING SCALE OF 1 TO 100
I lay under a sycamore tree
sunshine cascading down on me
like a slide we used to play on
when we were just children;
it was by the sycamore tree,
sunshine cascading down on me,
you slid into my embrace,
childhood gone, youth in its place
I lay under the sycamore tree,
sunshine cascading down on me,
watching an angel take a turn
on the slide we’d made our own;
the angel whispered in my ear
home truths I didn’t want to hear,
told me time would pass me by
once life had me hooked on a lie
I lay under the sycamore tree,
sunshine cascading down on me,
conscience in as slippery a skin
as the slide we had finally chosen,
one long, lovely, secret summer
bringing us ever closer to each other,
into as sweet an intimacy sliding
as an angel sending God’s blessing
We took a decision that day
to tell the world we’re proud and gay,
vowed to run its gamut
(no matter who or where or what)
of societies not on our side,
where prejudice and history preside,
humanity in as slippery a skin
as the slide we’d finally forsaken
Yet, you reneged on that vow;
it was years on before I discovered how
to look society in the face
(fellow members of the human race)
while you married, had children,
chose a far more slippery slide to play on
than you’d shared with me
long ago under the sycamore tree
Ugly road signs now, the old tree long gone
where a roundabout leads in or out of town
Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2010
Saturday, 17 July 2010
Pink In The Frame
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
This poem first appeared on the blog in January 2009 and has been requested for ‘Anton and Karl’ by their friend ‘Marianne C.’ to mark the first anniversary of their Civil Partnership today. Marianne would also like a mention for her ‘dear partner Jeanne.’
Congratulations, Anton and Karl. Let’s wish them - Marianne and Jeanne too - many more happy years together.
Oh, but I do so love to hear about happy couples!!!
PINK IN THE FRAME
Yellow, like bright sunshine on spring flowers;
such is the colour of love
Green, like summer leaves dancing on a breeze;
such is the colour of love
Sometimes turning a reddish gold, growing old;
such is the colour of love
Sometimes gone grey, like our ashes in a hearth;
such is the colour of love
White, like virgin snow on nature’s fine promises;
such is the colour of love
Pink, like dawn’s gay chorus or sunset’s shy blush;
such, too, is the colour of love
[From: Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]
This poem first appeared on the blog in January 2009 and has been requested for ‘Anton and Karl’ by their friend ‘Marianne C.’ to mark the first anniversary of their Civil Partnership today. Marianne would also like a mention for her ‘dear partner Jeanne.’
Congratulations, Anton and Karl. Let’s wish them - Marianne and Jeanne too - many more happy years together.
Oh, but I do so love to hear about happy couples!!!
PINK IN THE FRAME
Yellow, like bright sunshine on spring flowers;
such is the colour of love
Green, like summer leaves dancing on a breeze;
such is the colour of love
Sometimes turning a reddish gold, growing old;
such is the colour of love
Sometimes gone grey, like our ashes in a hearth;
such is the colour of love
White, like virgin snow on nature’s fine promises;
such is the colour of love
Pink, like dawn’s gay chorus or sunset’s shy blush;
such, too, is the colour of love
[From: Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]
Friday, 16 July 2010
Witness For The Defence
http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T
Just because I take my spirituality from nature rather than from religion doesn’t mean I don’t have every respect for those who find their spirituality elsewhere. While I may not believe in a personified God…what’s in a name?
My argument is not with religion but with a predilection for sheer hypocrisy that many of its followers frequently demonstrate by denying gay people the right to not only live in peace but also within the parameters of whatever religion they choose to follow. As I have said many times…take the humanity out of religion and all you have is a dogma and ritual that are precious little more than ornamental.
Further to my comments on the recent Dispatches programme on Channel 4 highlighting the persecution of gay people in many parts of Africa, a reader of African origin (he doesn’t say where) sent in a tragic tale on which I have based this poem.
One interviewee in the Dispatches programme made the important point that it wasn’t homosexuality but homophobia the West brought to Africa. I agree. In particular, Christian fundamentalism has a lot to answer for.
This post is duplicated on both blogs today. The poem was written for those gay people across the world still persecuted by socio-cultural-religious bigots who claim to speak with this ‘authority’ or that. Tragically, many followers of religion put their leaders on a pedestal and accept their bigotry as gospel. Thankfully, there are many others with open hearts and minds that know better.
WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE
We kept our secret for years;
no one guessed we were lovers
till one day someone
walked in on us, discovered us
making love, as people do;
hours later, someone set fire
to our home, thinking
we cowered fearfully inside
but already we had found
a place to hide, yet knew we’d be
tracked down, only a matter
of time before human decency lost
and religious bigotry won
Why should we be on the run,
who had done no harm to anyone,
lovers who just happen
to be two men, forced to live
on borrowed time in a community
corrupted by religious bigotry?
Spawn of the Devil they call us,
so-called Christians who, in their turn,
can but call on Leviticus,
conveniently forgetting how Jesus
came to bring Light,
to the world, not Terror serving
some darker power
No hungrier for power than those
who see themselves as better than us
who simply get on with our lives,
discovering in our love for each other
a dream that lasts forever;
no lonelier, in reality, than the teacher
revelling in self-delusion,
hell bent upon turning even the stuff
of religious conviction
into tragic illusion for having chosen
to side with its destruction…
until a sleeplessness that lasts forever
in the grip of Earth Mother
Where sexuality on trial for causing offence,
find God, first Witness for the Defence
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
Just because I take my spirituality from nature rather than from religion doesn’t mean I don’t have every respect for those who find their spirituality elsewhere. While I may not believe in a personified God…what’s in a name?
My argument is not with religion but with a predilection for sheer hypocrisy that many of its followers frequently demonstrate by denying gay people the right to not only live in peace but also within the parameters of whatever religion they choose to follow. As I have said many times…take the humanity out of religion and all you have is a dogma and ritual that are precious little more than ornamental.
Further to my comments on the recent Dispatches programme on Channel 4 highlighting the persecution of gay people in many parts of Africa, a reader of African origin (he doesn’t say where) sent in a tragic tale on which I have based this poem.
One interviewee in the Dispatches programme made the important point that it wasn’t homosexuality but homophobia the West brought to Africa. I agree. In particular, Christian fundamentalism has a lot to answer for.
This post is duplicated on both blogs today. The poem was written for those gay people across the world still persecuted by socio-cultural-religious bigots who claim to speak with this ‘authority’ or that. Tragically, many followers of religion put their leaders on a pedestal and accept their bigotry as gospel. Thankfully, there are many others with open hearts and minds that know better.
WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE
We kept our secret for years;
no one guessed we were lovers
till one day someone
walked in on us, discovered us
making love, as people do;
hours later, someone set fire
to our home, thinking
we cowered fearfully inside
but already we had found
a place to hide, yet knew we’d be
tracked down, only a matter
of time before human decency lost
and religious bigotry won
Why should we be on the run,
who had done no harm to anyone,
lovers who just happen
to be two men, forced to live
on borrowed time in a community
corrupted by religious bigotry?
Spawn of the Devil they call us,
so-called Christians who, in their turn,
can but call on Leviticus,
conveniently forgetting how Jesus
came to bring Light,
to the world, not Terror serving
some darker power
No hungrier for power than those
who see themselves as better than us
who simply get on with our lives,
discovering in our love for each other
a dream that lasts forever;
no lonelier, in reality, than the teacher
revelling in self-delusion,
hell bent upon turning even the stuff
of religious conviction
into tragic illusion for having chosen
to side with its destruction…
until a sleeplessness that lasts forever
in the grip of Earth Mother
Where sexuality on trial for causing offence,
find God, first Witness for the Defence
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
Thursday, 15 July 2010
Breaking Cover
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=R+N+Taber&x=17&y=13
There are various ways of breaking cover. What nicer way for two gay people to come out to each other than with a kiss under the stars?
BREAKING COVER
We lay on the ground barely touching;
the only sound, an owl hooting;
your piano hands gesticulating at stars
as we debate women from Venus,
men from Mars;
one toe, lightly brushing a bare foot,
swamping me with your body heat;
your eyes, like the stars, barely blinking
as I clutch at each word
like a man drowning;
you edge closer, thigh nestling against me;
I let a finger stroke your tee;
you carry on talking, seemingly unaware
of my being tossed about on waves
of mad desire;
I long to shut your mouth with my lips,
explore your body with fingertips
tingling like a serenade for lovers
caressing each secret
part of us;
instead, I clung to every timbre of your voice
like straws in a summer breeze,
pleading with Cassiopeia for life, sanity,
and how, one day, you might
notice me;
eventually, you wearied of words,
seemed content to count stars
while I, cautiously, explored moon craters
till the owl, finally, broke cover
and flew over us;
enchanted, we followed its graceful flight
across silvery meadows of night
into a heart of darkness
that struck us both, lonelier even
than our togetherness
Slowly, tearfully, you turned
and rescued me
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
There are various ways of breaking cover. What nicer way for two gay people to come out to each other than with a kiss under the stars?
BREAKING COVER
We lay on the ground barely touching;
the only sound, an owl hooting;
your piano hands gesticulating at stars
as we debate women from Venus,
men from Mars;
one toe, lightly brushing a bare foot,
swamping me with your body heat;
your eyes, like the stars, barely blinking
as I clutch at each word
like a man drowning;
you edge closer, thigh nestling against me;
I let a finger stroke your tee;
you carry on talking, seemingly unaware
of my being tossed about on waves
of mad desire;
I long to shut your mouth with my lips,
explore your body with fingertips
tingling like a serenade for lovers
caressing each secret
part of us;
instead, I clung to every timbre of your voice
like straws in a summer breeze,
pleading with Cassiopeia for life, sanity,
and how, one day, you might
notice me;
eventually, you wearied of words,
seemed content to count stars
while I, cautiously, explored moon craters
till the owl, finally, broke cover
and flew over us;
enchanted, we followed its graceful flight
across silvery meadows of night
into a heart of darkness
that struck us both, lonelier even
than our togetherness
Slowly, tearfully, you turned
and rescued me
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
The Kiss
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
Readers may be interested in my reply to comments sent in as a result of yesterday’s rant on my general blog about the persecution of gay people in various parts of the world: http://rogertab.blogspot.com/
While I never post comments, I read them all and am grateful that people take the trouble to send them. If you‘d like a reply, you need to email me direct: rogertab@aol.com
Meanwhile…
My late mother used to say that if something is worth saying it’s worth repeating. As I may well have said before…it’s not gay folks that are making a mess of things worldwide.
Now, gay men might get away with kissing in public here in parts of the the UK without being arrested (if we're lucky) but you can bet passers-by will be muttering as they go on their way. A lot of so-called 'liberal-mindedness' here remains pure theory; faced with the reality, many people still run a mile.
Well, the heterosexual majority can protest as much as it likes, we gay men and women are here to stay yeah?
THE KISS
We kissed, a steady flow of feet
rushing by like overflow
from a gutter… and heard voices
mutter, ‘It’s not right to do that
in a busy street, would be different
if they were normal, for heaven’s
sake! It’s a fine modernity that will
permit promiscuity in full view
of people going about their business,
causing no offence, setting
an example to our kids, keeping
a weather eye on their peers
even if it means getting paranoid
about tabloid whistle blowers,
wondering whose head next will fall,
Big Brother at school, on TV
or at the office making mischief
while terrorists are marking
our cards, ready to take charge - unless
we, in turn, make a stand,
can be sure of dealing ourselves
a winning hand…’
‘So much to do, think about, without
having to look at gay folks kissing
in the street as if they had as much right
to be there as we everyday consumers
doing our damn best to rig share prices
and put the world straight.’
We kissed again, a steady flow of feet
rushing by like overflow from a gutter
and heard voices mutter…
Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2010
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original version as it appears in 1st eds. of The Third Eye, 2004; 2nd ed. in preparation]
Readers may be interested in my reply to comments sent in as a result of yesterday’s rant on my general blog about the persecution of gay people in various parts of the world: http://rogertab.blogspot.com/
While I never post comments, I read them all and am grateful that people take the trouble to send them. If you‘d like a reply, you need to email me direct: rogertab@aol.com
Meanwhile…
My late mother used to say that if something is worth saying it’s worth repeating. As I may well have said before…it’s not gay folks that are making a mess of things worldwide.
Now, gay men might get away with kissing in public here in parts of the the UK without being arrested (if we're lucky) but you can bet passers-by will be muttering as they go on their way. A lot of so-called 'liberal-mindedness' here remains pure theory; faced with the reality, many people still run a mile.
Well, the heterosexual majority can protest as much as it likes, we gay men and women are here to stay yeah?
THE KISS
We kissed, a steady flow of feet
rushing by like overflow
from a gutter… and heard voices
mutter, ‘It’s not right to do that
in a busy street, would be different
if they were normal, for heaven’s
sake! It’s a fine modernity that will
permit promiscuity in full view
of people going about their business,
causing no offence, setting
an example to our kids, keeping
a weather eye on their peers
even if it means getting paranoid
about tabloid whistle blowers,
wondering whose head next will fall,
Big Brother at school, on TV
or at the office making mischief
while terrorists are marking
our cards, ready to take charge - unless
we, in turn, make a stand,
can be sure of dealing ourselves
a winning hand…’
‘So much to do, think about, without
having to look at gay folks kissing
in the street as if they had as much right
to be there as we everyday consumers
doing our damn best to rig share prices
and put the world straight.’
We kissed again, a steady flow of feet
rushing by like overflow from a gutter
and heard voices mutter…
Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2010
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original version as it appears in 1st eds. of The Third Eye, 2004; 2nd ed. in preparation]
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
The Challenge
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
After watching the Dispatches programme on Channel 4 last night, I became upset and incensed on behalf of gay people in parts of Africa who continue to be persecuted for their sexuality. Perhaps even worse is that it is done in the name of religion!
Readers may be interested in what I have to say about homophobia in some socio-cultural-religious communities on my general blog today:: :http://rogertab.blogspot.com/
Meanwhile…
I rediscovered this poem a couple of years ago and made only a few slight but significant revisions. It was dated May 1984. I had been working for about six months after several years of unemployment following a severe nervous breakdown. Whether it is a good poem or a bad one matters not. What matters is that it did the trick and helped me find the icon for positive thinking in what passed for a brain. All I had to do was click on and…wow!
It would be years before the worst effects of my breakdown were finally spent. In the meantime, I chose to cross the damn bridge from despair to…well, whatever, it had to be better than despair... rather than dither or jump. Funny, how I found myself in the Black Cap, one of the oldest and most famous gay bars in London...and just down the road from where I had just come to work and would soon be living.
It was a life saver, that pub. Oh, and how! My life started to take off again and I never looked back…well I do sometimes, with goose bumps.
Oh, but yes, those were the days…and thrills…taking me beyond boring frontiers and farther (or further?) than any goose bump had gone before…
If you are ever in London, make your way to the Black Cap in Camden Town and you won’t be disappointed. Yes, it gets cruisy (what gay bar doesn’t?) but it’s also one of the most genuinely friendly pubs in London. Oh, and feel free to look me up while you’re about it.
[Note: Since posting this blog I have read the poem on You Tube and added the video below.}
THE CHALLENGE
There is a bridge between clouds
where we pause
who ponder on the purpose
on living just to die,
where the spirit unfulfilled,
the heart strayed...
across certain boundaries society
has imposed (conventions)
so much the better to disguise
its worst intentions
There is a bridge between clouds
where we pause
who ask why the world below
has let us down…or did we
let ourselves and each other down
in the end...
for never ceasing to demand more
than our fair share
of whatever peace and love
to be found there?
There is a bridge between clouds
where we’ll wait
our turn to cross…or be left
wishing deeds undone,
words unsaid, lies left creeping
under the tongue,
never to see the cold light of a day
when we must answer
to all its invidious shadows
may have heard us say
We can but cross, we children of Earth,
rise to the challenge of life over death
Copyright R. N. Taber 1984; 2010
After watching the Dispatches programme on Channel 4 last night, I became upset and incensed on behalf of gay people in parts of Africa who continue to be persecuted for their sexuality. Perhaps even worse is that it is done in the name of religion!
Readers may be interested in what I have to say about homophobia in some socio-cultural-religious communities on my general blog today:: :http://rogertab.blogspot.com/
Meanwhile…
I rediscovered this poem a couple of years ago and made only a few slight but significant revisions. It was dated May 1984. I had been working for about six months after several years of unemployment following a severe nervous breakdown. Whether it is a good poem or a bad one matters not. What matters is that it did the trick and helped me find the icon for positive thinking in what passed for a brain. All I had to do was click on and…wow!
It would be years before the worst effects of my breakdown were finally spent. In the meantime, I chose to cross the damn bridge from despair to…well, whatever, it had to be better than despair... rather than dither or jump. Funny, how I found myself in the Black Cap, one of the oldest and most famous gay bars in London...and just down the road from where I had just come to work and would soon be living.
It was a life saver, that pub. Oh, and how! My life started to take off again and I never looked back…well I do sometimes, with goose bumps.
Oh, but yes, those were the days…and thrills…taking me beyond boring frontiers and farther (or further?) than any goose bump had gone before…
If you are ever in London, make your way to the Black Cap in Camden Town and you won’t be disappointed. Yes, it gets cruisy (what gay bar doesn’t?) but it’s also one of the most genuinely friendly pubs in London. Oh, and feel free to look me up while you’re about it.
[Note: Since posting this blog I have read the poem on You Tube and added the video below.}
THE CHALLENGE
There is a bridge between clouds
where we pause
who ponder on the purpose
on living just to die,
where the spirit unfulfilled,
the heart strayed...
across certain boundaries society
has imposed (conventions)
so much the better to disguise
its worst intentions
There is a bridge between clouds
where we pause
who ask why the world below
has let us down…or did we
let ourselves and each other down
in the end...
for never ceasing to demand more
than our fair share
of whatever peace and love
to be found there?
There is a bridge between clouds
where we’ll wait
our turn to cross…or be left
wishing deeds undone,
words unsaid, lies left creeping
under the tongue,
never to see the cold light of a day
when we must answer
to all its invidious shadows
may have heard us say
We can but cross, we children of Earth,
rise to the challenge of life over death
Copyright R. N. Taber 1984; 2010
Monday, 12 July 2010
Love Never Dies
http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T
We love different people in different ways. It is never fair to compare. Everyone is different. We love them for different reasons. When we lose them, it’s as if a light has gone out of our lives for a while. Thankfully, memory has a knack of switching that same light back on again. Oh, it’s not the same but…as good as it gets, I guess, in the circumstances.
For me, the past is like a mountain stream, clear and musical, running through my mind and touching parts of me the present cannot reach…except in a poem. Sadly, even a stream has its ups and downs and its share of litter and rocks to negotiate. But isn’t that where we take our cue from nature and just keep on going?
Is it the same for other people, I wonder? I hope so because it’s a good feeling.
LOVE NEVER DIES
He had looks, he had charm,
always a pretty girl on his arm;
I could only admire
a swinging of hips as he walked,
an incredible self-confidence
when he talked, a man who knew
his own mind, unafraid
to voice an opinion, no matter
upsetting anyone
I was shy, I was scared
in case anyone suspected I’m gay;
all I could do was pretend
an interest in the opposite sex
even though he was always
on my mind, asleep or awake,
this god with jet black hair
who invariably wore a (very)
tight tee and jeans
One day caught us waiting
at a bus stop in the pouring rain
and we got chatting
about everything and nothing,
my pulse racing,
heart skipping so many beats
I thought I’d die
especially when he teased me
about my school tie
Our bus arrived, everyone
soon aboard but we’d hung back
and somehow the bus
went of without us, leaving us
wondering why were there,
soaking wet, grinning at each other
like conspirators caught out
and not quite knowing what to do
or say next
He told me he’d noticed
how I was always watching him,
demanded to know why;
I expected the worst but, even so,
couldn’t lie;
something in me wouldn’t let me
apologize either
but I couldn’t look him in the eyes
or stop my tears
I turned and walked away
but he laid a hand on my shoulder,
forced me to face him,
pushed me into the bus shelter,
my back to the wall.
waiting for a punch in the face
or worse
but all that came was a long, slow,
gentle kiss
No one ever knew about our love affair;
he died in a road accident a month later
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
We love different people in different ways. It is never fair to compare. Everyone is different. We love them for different reasons. When we lose them, it’s as if a light has gone out of our lives for a while. Thankfully, memory has a knack of switching that same light back on again. Oh, it’s not the same but…as good as it gets, I guess, in the circumstances.
For me, the past is like a mountain stream, clear and musical, running through my mind and touching parts of me the present cannot reach…except in a poem. Sadly, even a stream has its ups and downs and its share of litter and rocks to negotiate. But isn’t that where we take our cue from nature and just keep on going?
Is it the same for other people, I wonder? I hope so because it’s a good feeling.
LOVE NEVER DIES
He had looks, he had charm,
always a pretty girl on his arm;
I could only admire
a swinging of hips as he walked,
an incredible self-confidence
when he talked, a man who knew
his own mind, unafraid
to voice an opinion, no matter
upsetting anyone
I was shy, I was scared
in case anyone suspected I’m gay;
all I could do was pretend
an interest in the opposite sex
even though he was always
on my mind, asleep or awake,
this god with jet black hair
who invariably wore a (very)
tight tee and jeans
One day caught us waiting
at a bus stop in the pouring rain
and we got chatting
about everything and nothing,
my pulse racing,
heart skipping so many beats
I thought I’d die
especially when he teased me
about my school tie
Our bus arrived, everyone
soon aboard but we’d hung back
and somehow the bus
went of without us, leaving us
wondering why were there,
soaking wet, grinning at each other
like conspirators caught out
and not quite knowing what to do
or say next
He told me he’d noticed
how I was always watching him,
demanded to know why;
I expected the worst but, even so,
couldn’t lie;
something in me wouldn’t let me
apologize either
but I couldn’t look him in the eyes
or stop my tears
I turned and walked away
but he laid a hand on my shoulder,
forced me to face him,
pushed me into the bus shelter,
my back to the wall.
waiting for a punch in the face
or worse
but all that came was a long, slow,
gentle kiss
No one ever knew about our love affair;
he died in a road accident a month later
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
Sunday, 11 July 2010
Head Over Heels
http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T
Here’s another poem from the Taber archives, written way back in the 1960s and only rediscovered last year. I have made few revisions and well recall writing it after falling in love for the very first time. Before that, I had settled for sex.
Our affair did not last long as he went to off university and I was still at school. Inevitably, we drifted apart. I was only 17 years-old and had begun to think being gay was only about sex. Oh, but if it was a good feeling to discover I could fall in love with someone, it was an even better feeling to realize that someone could fall in love with me.
They were tough, my teenage years, especially having to keep my sexuality a secret from friends and family because gay relationships were illegal. So I can easily empathise with gay men and women who, for whatever reason, are in the same situation.
Here’s wishing you all a BIG HUG.
HEAD OVER HEELS
Long before I knew it,
I was in love with you
Long before I dared show it,
I was in love with you
Once I understood
the true depth of my feelings,
I struggled to deny them,
put them out of heart and mind,
resume friendship’s ways
without love’s precious bane
burdening me so,
making believe I could break free
of love’s sweet slavery,
binding me to you more fiercely
with each passing day
I remained in denial I was gay,
such were the ties
of childhood, carrying its lies
into an adulthood
tearing itself apart for shame,
my heart refusing
to acknowledge male bonding
by any other name
until a day came we lay down
on a patch of grass
in a shady woodland, sunshine
bringing the trees alive
with a music and poetry of love
awakening in me
such desire as I could ignore
no longer
and I leaned over, kissed you
then closed my eyes,
waiting for a rush of harsh words,
even blows, to make me see
the futility of loving you on a day
such as this
Your touch when it came
was a long, gentle kiss
Love’s bliss, when it came,
no sweeter than for us
Copyright R. N. Taber 1963; 2010
Here’s another poem from the Taber archives, written way back in the 1960s and only rediscovered last year. I have made few revisions and well recall writing it after falling in love for the very first time. Before that, I had settled for sex.
Our affair did not last long as he went to off university and I was still at school. Inevitably, we drifted apart. I was only 17 years-old and had begun to think being gay was only about sex. Oh, but if it was a good feeling to discover I could fall in love with someone, it was an even better feeling to realize that someone could fall in love with me.
They were tough, my teenage years, especially having to keep my sexuality a secret from friends and family because gay relationships were illegal. So I can easily empathise with gay men and women who, for whatever reason, are in the same situation.
Here’s wishing you all a BIG HUG.
HEAD OVER HEELS
Long before I knew it,
I was in love with you
Long before I dared show it,
I was in love with you
Once I understood
the true depth of my feelings,
I struggled to deny them,
put them out of heart and mind,
resume friendship’s ways
without love’s precious bane
burdening me so,
making believe I could break free
of love’s sweet slavery,
binding me to you more fiercely
with each passing day
I remained in denial I was gay,
such were the ties
of childhood, carrying its lies
into an adulthood
tearing itself apart for shame,
my heart refusing
to acknowledge male bonding
by any other name
until a day came we lay down
on a patch of grass
in a shady woodland, sunshine
bringing the trees alive
with a music and poetry of love
awakening in me
such desire as I could ignore
no longer
and I leaned over, kissed you
then closed my eyes,
waiting for a rush of harsh words,
even blows, to make me see
the futility of loving you on a day
such as this
Your touch when it came
was a long, gentle kiss
Love’s bliss, when it came,
no sweeter than for us
Copyright R. N. Taber 1963; 2010
Friday, 9 July 2010
The G-Word
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
As regular readers know, I have a strong sense of spirituality. I take it from nature. All the world religions - with the exception of Buddhism, which I see more as a philosophy than a religion - are far too divisive and hypocritical for my liking. Even so, I can respect other people’s points of view, including their perspective on religion. So why can’t more of those people respect mine?
By the way, my rejection of religion has nothing to do with my being gay. I made up my mind about religion as a boy, long before my teenage years and learning to accept that I am gay. Just as well, eh? Few if any religions would have welcomed me with open arms unless I was prepared to tow their particular line. Nature, on the other hand, makes no such demands and embraces us unconditionally…much as one would expect of God, yeah? [Thankfully, many religious-minded people do just that, putting compassion, understanding and respect for other people’s views and ways of life before the dogma, ritual and politics of religion. It has been my experience that various leaders - at various levels in various religious hierarchies – could learn a lot from them.]
This poem is a villanelle.
THE G-WORD
Whatever ‘God’ means to you or me,
within or without religion’s walls,
no time or space there for bigotry
Whatever it may be we call eternity,
it can but answer freedom’s calls
whatever ‘God’ means to you or me
Be sure our stand for sexual identity
find allies in any heaven’s halls;
no time or space there for bigotry
In this world, look where humanity
stumbles and falls…
whatever ‘God‘ means to you or me
It’s love lets the human spirit go free
where religion’s engine stalls;
no time or space there for bigotry
Afraid of death we should never be,
against love’s light, it but palls;
whatever ‘God’ means to you or me,
no time or space there for bigotry
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010)
As regular readers know, I have a strong sense of spirituality. I take it from nature. All the world religions - with the exception of Buddhism, which I see more as a philosophy than a religion - are far too divisive and hypocritical for my liking. Even so, I can respect other people’s points of view, including their perspective on religion. So why can’t more of those people respect mine?
By the way, my rejection of religion has nothing to do with my being gay. I made up my mind about religion as a boy, long before my teenage years and learning to accept that I am gay. Just as well, eh? Few if any religions would have welcomed me with open arms unless I was prepared to tow their particular line. Nature, on the other hand, makes no such demands and embraces us unconditionally…much as one would expect of God, yeah? [Thankfully, many religious-minded people do just that, putting compassion, understanding and respect for other people’s views and ways of life before the dogma, ritual and politics of religion. It has been my experience that various leaders - at various levels in various religious hierarchies – could learn a lot from them.]
This poem is a villanelle.
THE G-WORD
Whatever ‘God’ means to you or me,
within or without religion’s walls,
no time or space there for bigotry
Whatever it may be we call eternity,
it can but answer freedom’s calls
whatever ‘God’ means to you or me
Be sure our stand for sexual identity
find allies in any heaven’s halls;
no time or space there for bigotry
In this world, look where humanity
stumbles and falls…
whatever ‘God‘ means to you or me
It’s love lets the human spirit go free
where religion’s engine stalls;
no time or space there for bigotry
Afraid of death we should never be,
against love’s light, it but palls;
whatever ‘God’ means to you or me,
no time or space there for bigotry
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010)
Thursday, 8 July 2010
Heart To Heart
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
People often tell me I should concentrate on my general poetry and ‘forget the gay stuff.’ But the gay stuff is as much a part of me as the rest so I will press on. If some readers and critics don’t like it…well, they don’t have to read it. Besides, I can’t win; the same critics tell me that my poetry is too conventional, that rhyme and ‘form’ poetry is old hat and I’m an anachronism.
Let them rant. As long as people buy my books and write in to say they enjoy my poems…I am a Happy Bunny (well, most of the time.)
This may not be one of my better poems but sometime after it appeared on the blog in 2008, I received a lovely email from someone who had read it aloud to his family in the course of telling them he is gay. He didn’t say what he or they thought of the poem but it doesn’t matter; what matters is that ‘afterwards…it was hugs all round.’
HEART TO HEART
I told family and friends
how, come what may,
it makes no difference
I’m gay
I’m the same person,
sharing with you still,
the conviction
love is all
If love but pre-conditional
where does that leave us,
said to be more spiritual
than beasts?
Let those without a dream
cast the first stone
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
People often tell me I should concentrate on my general poetry and ‘forget the gay stuff.’ But the gay stuff is as much a part of me as the rest so I will press on. If some readers and critics don’t like it…well, they don’t have to read it. Besides, I can’t win; the same critics tell me that my poetry is too conventional, that rhyme and ‘form’ poetry is old hat and I’m an anachronism.
Let them rant. As long as people buy my books and write in to say they enjoy my poems…I am a Happy Bunny (well, most of the time.)
This may not be one of my better poems but sometime after it appeared on the blog in 2008, I received a lovely email from someone who had read it aloud to his family in the course of telling them he is gay. He didn’t say what he or they thought of the poem but it doesn’t matter; what matters is that ‘afterwards…it was hugs all round.’
HEART TO HEART
I told family and friends
how, come what may,
it makes no difference
I’m gay
I’m the same person,
sharing with you still,
the conviction
love is all
If love but pre-conditional
where does that leave us,
said to be more spiritual
than beasts?
Let those without a dream
cast the first stone
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
Tuesday, 6 July 2010
Engaging With Love
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
This poem first appeared on the blog in April 2009 and is repeated again today especially for Matt and Jean-Louis celebrating the anniversary of their first meeting at the Musée D’Orsay in Paris - a month ago - today. It appears that Max is an American living/working in Paris while Jean-Louis is French (so no surprises there) and studying there.
Congratulations, you guys. Enjoy!
ENGAGING WITH LOVE
Your body engages with mine
in a purposeful embrace destined
to last a lifetime
Your tongue paints over graffiti
daubed on my flesh by other lovers
for the hell of it
Your lips promise nothing less
than a fine re-working of passion’s
greater artistry
Your hands rework my body,
exploring its potential, overlooked
by amateurish brush strokes
Your desires make new inroads
where previously only sex has left
muddy prints
Your love rewrites the bible
of sex passed down to me by lesser
mortals
My body engages with yours
in a spiritual embrace destined
to last a lifetime
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
This poem first appeared on the blog in April 2009 and is repeated again today especially for Matt and Jean-Louis celebrating the anniversary of their first meeting at the Musée D’Orsay in Paris - a month ago - today. It appears that Max is an American living/working in Paris while Jean-Louis is French (so no surprises there) and studying there.
Congratulations, you guys. Enjoy!
ENGAGING WITH LOVE
Your body engages with mine
in a purposeful embrace destined
to last a lifetime
Your tongue paints over graffiti
daubed on my flesh by other lovers
for the hell of it
Your lips promise nothing less
than a fine re-working of passion’s
greater artistry
Your hands rework my body,
exploring its potential, overlooked
by amateurish brush strokes
Your desires make new inroads
where previously only sex has left
muddy prints
Your love rewrites the bible
of sex passed down to me by lesser
mortals
My body engages with yours
in a spiritual embrace destined
to last a lifetime
[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
Saturday, 3 July 2010
Among Flowers
http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber
Thanks to readers who have contacted me about yesterday’s comments and poem. Only one person seems to be of the opinion that ‘too many gay men are paranoid about paedophilia.’ Now, why is that, I wonder?
As regular readers know, I never post comments. I had to close down a poetry site once because one or two people kept playing silly beggars and spoiling it for everyone else. Besides, it seems unfair to be selective about what comments a blogger chooses to post and which he or she rejects. For me, it’s all or none…and I choose none. However, I always read comments and many thanks to those readers who have taken the trouble to send them. For a reply, feel free to contact me any time at rogertab@aol.com
Meanwhile…
This poem first appeared on the blog in March 2009 and is repeated here today especially for 'Larry and Paul' who contacted me to say how they met three years ago today and are now busy planning their Civil Partnership.
I would also like to she hello to 'Liz and Tish' who wrote in with some kind words to say about my poetry and to let me know that today is the anniversary of their first meeting too… forty-five years ago.
Let’s wish them all - and couples/lovers everywhere, gay and straight - many more happy years together, yeah?
AMONG FLOWERS
Like flowers, their petals shut,
lives of some men and women
few get to know about
Like flowers, true beauty hid
by summer rain or winter snow,
folks we think we know
Like flowers dawn waits to kiss
yet, as fairytale figures, but sleep,
so they, too, their time may miss
Like flowers, our petals open,
awoken by nature to tell our story,
we, its gay men and women
Like flowers reaching for the sky
come summer rain or winter snow,
we shall hold our heads high
Copyright R. N. Taber 2007
Thanks to readers who have contacted me about yesterday’s comments and poem. Only one person seems to be of the opinion that ‘too many gay men are paranoid about paedophilia.’ Now, why is that, I wonder?
As regular readers know, I never post comments. I had to close down a poetry site once because one or two people kept playing silly beggars and spoiling it for everyone else. Besides, it seems unfair to be selective about what comments a blogger chooses to post and which he or she rejects. For me, it’s all or none…and I choose none. However, I always read comments and many thanks to those readers who have taken the trouble to send them. For a reply, feel free to contact me any time at rogertab@aol.com
Meanwhile…
This poem first appeared on the blog in March 2009 and is repeated here today especially for 'Larry and Paul' who contacted me to say how they met three years ago today and are now busy planning their Civil Partnership.
I would also like to she hello to 'Liz and Tish' who wrote in with some kind words to say about my poetry and to let me know that today is the anniversary of their first meeting too… forty-five years ago.
Let’s wish them all - and couples/lovers everywhere, gay and straight - many more happy years together, yeah?
AMONG FLOWERS
Like flowers, their petals shut,
lives of some men and women
few get to know about
Like flowers, true beauty hid
by summer rain or winter snow,
folks we think we know
Like flowers dawn waits to kiss
yet, as fairytale figures, but sleep,
so they, too, their time may miss
Like flowers, our petals open,
awoken by nature to tell our story,
we, its gay men and women
Like flowers reaching for the sky
come summer rain or winter snow,
we shall hold our heads high
Copyright R. N. Taber 2007
Friday, 2 July 2010
Rumour
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
I have received a lot of feedback on this poem since it appeared in my collection (2002) and also on my general blog (2008); readers have had some sad, even tragic tales to tell. This is the first time I have posted it on this blog. It has been requested by someone who reads both. [I have felt very encouraged during the past year that a growing number of readers are reading both blogs. This was not so at all in the early days, which is why I started up two blogs in the first place. I was given the impression that relatively few straight readers would even consider dipping into a gay-interest and that gay readers were, for the most part, only interested in gay-interest material.]
Since posting the poem again on my general blog recently, a reader, ‘Charlie’ has contacted me to relate how he is gay and had to move out of his home town a few years ago because local people started spreading a nasty rumour about his being a paedophile. Only recently, a friend who teaches English as a second language to overseas students told me that a student from Eastern Europe plainly thought the whole LGBT ethic includes paedophilia! We really must educate such people.
As regular readers will know, I was growing up at a time when homosexuality was a criminal offence here in the UK. I dared not come out of the closet and there was no one in whom I could confide. So I resorted to ‘cottaging’; i.e. hanging around what were usually rarely used, secluded/ abandoned or all-night public toilets to meet men and other youths (mostly men) for sex. I was 14 years-old when I started doing this. But the men I met were not paedophiles. I knew exactly what I was doing and they were all very kind to me.
It is a fact that the vast majority of paedophiles are straight. Equating paedophilia with being gay is probably the worst of far too many outdated, misleading and downright offensive stereotypes that continue to attach themselves to gay people (especially men) in the minds of the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority. It is perhaps one reason, if not the main reason, why many gay people (especially men) choose to stay in the damn closet?
The answer has to be education, education, education…
RUMOUR
Closed, the curtains now,
graffiti on the sill;
no cheery sounds in every room
just gloom and an eerie chill;
no laughing at the budgerigar
or thinking about a new car
but cowering in fear at a banging
on doors, the yelling
of good neighbours
out in force...after rough
justice
Empty, the garden now,
daisies on the lawn;
no kids playing on the old swing
and the satellite dish has gone;
no dog chasing next-door’s cat
or neighbours at the gate
converging like wolves
on fresh meat, working up
a thirst...too late
to make a killing; the law
struck first
Media in on the act
and prime TV;
parents puffing their points
of view, kids enjoying
the party...
All quiet now. Werewolves
slinking from the scene.
(Can’t get it right every time
and who's to say
what might have been? A job
well done.)
Budgie gets to keep its cage;
history skips a page
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears in 1st eds. of First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd ed. in preparation.]
I have received a lot of feedback on this poem since it appeared in my collection (2002) and also on my general blog (2008); readers have had some sad, even tragic tales to tell. This is the first time I have posted it on this blog. It has been requested by someone who reads both. [I have felt very encouraged during the past year that a growing number of readers are reading both blogs. This was not so at all in the early days, which is why I started up two blogs in the first place. I was given the impression that relatively few straight readers would even consider dipping into a gay-interest and that gay readers were, for the most part, only interested in gay-interest material.]
Since posting the poem again on my general blog recently, a reader, ‘Charlie’ has contacted me to relate how he is gay and had to move out of his home town a few years ago because local people started spreading a nasty rumour about his being a paedophile. Only recently, a friend who teaches English as a second language to overseas students told me that a student from Eastern Europe plainly thought the whole LGBT ethic includes paedophilia! We really must educate such people.
As regular readers will know, I was growing up at a time when homosexuality was a criminal offence here in the UK. I dared not come out of the closet and there was no one in whom I could confide. So I resorted to ‘cottaging’; i.e. hanging around what were usually rarely used, secluded/ abandoned or all-night public toilets to meet men and other youths (mostly men) for sex. I was 14 years-old when I started doing this. But the men I met were not paedophiles. I knew exactly what I was doing and they were all very kind to me.
It is a fact that the vast majority of paedophiles are straight. Equating paedophilia with being gay is probably the worst of far too many outdated, misleading and downright offensive stereotypes that continue to attach themselves to gay people (especially men) in the minds of the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority. It is perhaps one reason, if not the main reason, why many gay people (especially men) choose to stay in the damn closet?
The answer has to be education, education, education…
RUMOUR
Closed, the curtains now,
graffiti on the sill;
no cheery sounds in every room
just gloom and an eerie chill;
no laughing at the budgerigar
or thinking about a new car
but cowering in fear at a banging
on doors, the yelling
of good neighbours
out in force...after rough
justice
Empty, the garden now,
daisies on the lawn;
no kids playing on the old swing
and the satellite dish has gone;
no dog chasing next-door’s cat
or neighbours at the gate
converging like wolves
on fresh meat, working up
a thirst...too late
to make a killing; the law
struck first
Media in on the act
and prime TV;
parents puffing their points
of view, kids enjoying
the party...
All quiet now. Werewolves
slinking from the scene.
(Can’t get it right every time
and who's to say
what might have been? A job
well done.)
Budgie gets to keep its cage;
history skips a page
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears in 1st eds. of First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd ed. in preparation.]
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