Roller Coaster Rides

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

Today’s poem was written after an unsuccessful night on the Gay Scene in London’s Soho district. I bet you know the feeling, yeah?

I was nearly 50, but I don’t think my age had much to do with the fact that no one showed any interest in me. I saw much younger men stagger home on their own with a look in their eyes I knew only too well; it was a look that spoke volumes of loneliness and disillusionment. Oh, the Gay Scene (anywhere) is fun if you’re just looking for a one-night stand but you’ll rarely find anything more than that. Nor is it a template for a gay lifestyle unless you’re prepared to settle for less than you deserve.

I defy any gay man or women who has cruised the Gay Scene anywhere in the world to say he or she cannot identify with this poem. As with most things we go after in life, it’s a case of win some, lose some.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not knocking the Gay Scene. I’ve had some great times there (and a good many not so great times too). But there are times when you arrive and just know you shouldn’t stay but you do anyway, and the evening lurches from bad to worse...

Meanwhile, we get on with putting on a life performance, few if any guessing at quite just goes on between acts. Besides, there’s always a next time, a philosophy I dare say all those who cruise the Straight Scene also share.

ROLLER COASTER RIDES

One drink just to get through the night;
another one, two, three for the road;
animations all around look as though
they might lend an ear, a voice even
to kill this creepy silence in the head
(requiem for an also-ran). Calling ‘Time’
Soon - and still feel like a waxwork
on show with no one passing comment
so might as well get another one in, and
oh, then what? (‘Go, GO)

Over there, someone I used to know.
Can’t hurt to say ‘hello’ surely?
Sparkling eyes flash, ‘No way, dearie!’
One foot forward, freeze; on the rack
like a wicked see-through plastic mac;
boozing again, praying for acid rain;
nearly ready to quit this place,
maybe settle for a haunting of care-lines
in the face, highlights in the hair, whatever,
but gotta have one more beer...

Fool’s gold? We’ll never know, you and I,
strangers till we die, wondering where
love has gone, why no one wants to know
secrets of a heart so full it’s overflowing
with pity - and making a mess. Fat chance
of happiness! And why should you
help clean up my distress and how dare I
paw your privacy like some stray cat?
Small wonder you keep well away from
the likes of all that…

Oh, but life’s a bitch! I clutch the glass,
drawn a short straw, left to drown
in my jealousy. Why me? Dare I chance
speaking out? Needs must, I suppose.
Beats sneaking home, tail between legs
as usual. Besides, who knows?
We might dance, chat, or better still,
get out of here (your place or mine?),
take a trip to see that ole Wizard of Oz
(because, because, because...)

I catch a smouldering glance, throw a grin;
mouth tightens, gold turns to lead again;
a hand gropes mine. I swing round and see
brave eyes inviting, lips parted hopefully.
I grimace (wrong time, wrong place). I scowl
and move on, glimpse a wolf on the prowl
seize my Golden One. They leave together
for a fun-night stand. (I know that look!)
Ah, yes, I’ve sung the song, read the book,
seen the show. Oh, but time to GO

Copyright R. N. Taber 1995; 2011

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the version that appears in  Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

Gay's The Word

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

As LGBT History Month 2011 here in the UK draws all but to a close, I am duplicating this post on both my general and gay-interest blogs today. After all, each and every one of us is, like it or not, part of a common humanity. Moreover, whatever our first language, the human spirit common to us all must get very confused sometimes by our multiple uses of the same words, not to mention disappointed by what often comes across as a pathetic dependence on and/or misuse of them; a good few people don’t seem to have cottoned on to the fact that the name of the game is meaningful communication, not hot air.

Furthermore, while it may be a cliché, it’s true that actions really do say more than words, bearing in mind of course that they include good, bad, and vomit-ugly. [For me, the latter description not only fills my mind with ghastly images of war, genocide, massacre, torture and the politically motivated killing of people around the world simply trying to exercise their human right to protest, but also violent street crime and bullying of any description on our very own doorsteps.]

Whatever...

Among language’s collection of weaponry (and armour) humour has to be one of my favourites. Like people, it comes in all shapes and forms; like the more formidable wordsmith, it addresses all kinds of people from all kinds of backgrounds. Sadly, it also encourages stereotyping. At the same time, its greater irony lies in an ability to make people laugh even while the more discerning (?) eye may well see nothing to laugh at. Ah, but perhaps the more discerning eye should take a nap now and then anyway while we let ourselves go with a flow of less demanding insights?

So...in spite of several readers implied criticism of my following fellow blogger Edwin Black’s audacious posts, I refer you to his blog again anyway at: http://bardicblackspot.blogspot.com/; it provides food for thought along with a healthy chuckle at life and ourselves.

Meanwhile...

It is so true (another cliché); it’s not what we say but the way we say it that counts. Even so, I have to say that I, personally, remain uncomfortable with expressions like ‘fag’ and ‘queer’ but that is probably a generation gap issue. (I was born in 1945 and grew up in a very homophobic society, one  that necessitated my entering the proverbial closet when, at 14 years-old, I realised I am gay.)

When I was a youth and young man, there were so many cruel jibes and sick names hurled at homosexuals (including ‘queer’ and ‘fag’) that it was a huge relief when ‘gay’ came along. Now I read about gay men and women writing ‘Queer ‘poetry and talking about the ‘Queer Community’ and though I have to live with that, it will always make my stomach heave.

I can understand homosexuals in eastern countries preferring ‘queer’ to ‘gay’ as many there see ‘gay’ as already hijacked by westerners. Here in the West, though, I see it as tantamount to a betrayal of our early history. As for ‘fag’ the very sound of the word oozes contempt, but as I don’t live in the USA I guess it doesn’t really matter as I rarely hear it used here except by visiting homophobes. Yet, if gay Americans are okay with it, who am I to find fault?

Yes, I dare say my sentiments do express a minority point of view among gay men and women in the West. [Do I care?]

I suspect it may well be confusing for even the gay-friendly among the heterosexual majority when the language of G-A-Y appears to run the entire gamut of A-Z.

Ah, but as they say in the North of England, 'There's nowt as queer as folk!"

GAY’S THE WORD

On vacation in New York
they called me a fag
and I shrivelled up inside;
on the streets of Brixton
someone yelled, “He’s queer!”
(Just like my dad);
guys in a bar cried, “homo!”
because I walked in
wearing a ribbon with pride;
women at work
got lewd, something about
wasted manhood

I felt a clammy mist closing
in on me, unsure
what to do...till someone said,
“Hey, you’re gay, yeah?
Me too.” and his warm grin
let the sun back in...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in  First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.] 

Initiation

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

A reader recently contacted me to say, ‘You really do have a thing about willow trees, don’t you!’

Well, yes, I guess I do. Its hanging branches and friendly leaves can easily be seen as a metaphor for all things closed off from the world’s cynics yet sanctioned and nurtured in the bosom of nature.

Oh, but the willow tree is more than a metaphor for me and I suspect tens of thousands like me.

Those times I’d lay at the heart of a certain willow, make love with another man and feel nature’s blessing upon us will stay with me forever and help blot out all the ugliness and pain to which society once subjected me, just as some members of certain socio-cultural-religious groups and societies  continue to inflict upon gay and transgender people world-wide. The willow weeps for them just as once it wept for me, but saw me through to better times just as, hopefully, it will see them also.

INITIATION

There is a bend in a river
where willows bow down low,
hid me and my first lover
oh, so many, many, years ago

I had never kissed a man,
was thrilled, yet frightened too,
found what only lovers can,
while, above, kingfishers flew

Under that old willow tree,
our lovemaking a waking dream,
acknowledged our sexuality
in the lines of a beautiful poem

Loudly, grasshoppers sang
as we faced, rose above our fears,
all birds and bees rejoicing,
weeping willow drying its tears

All my life since, I've known
Earth Mother is watching over me,
just as with your body then,
I shared the rhythm of its poetry

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2017

[Note: This poem has been revised since it first appeared in my collection, On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Natural Instinct

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

Firstly, I'd like to say a BIG thank you to those readers who have said they enjoyed my poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square in July 2009:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T [For now, at least, this link needs the latest Adobe Flash Player  and works best in Firefox; the archives website cannot run Flash but changes scheduled for later this year may well mean the link will open without it. Ignore any error message and give it a minute or so to start up. The video lasts an hour. ] RT 3/18

I have made  other recordings of some of my poems on my You Tube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Meanwhile...

When we are raised to believe that our elders are our betters and know best, it can be hard to grasp that this is not necessarily true, that sometimes (even often) they can be wrong.

As a youth and young man, society made me feel ashamed of being gay. Then one day I thought, ‘No! I’ll be damned if I’m ashamed of who I am!”

I had found integrity and rediscovered self-esteem.

NATURAL INSTINCT

I stumbled on a country road,

bent double with my burden, a fear

of being attacked and robbed

for the flesh-coloured coat shame

would have me wear

I was warned to avoid highways

but keep to side road and dirt track,

by those I’d have trusted

with my life, now a marked outcast

for the coat on my back

I drifted, oh, so alone and lonely, 

harsh, spiteful, words for company

throbbing in my head

like tolling funeral bells denouncing

my awakening sexuality

I finally arrived at a crossroads, 

asked directions of a total stranger,

conveying (at first glance)

looks of a passionless death mask, 

yet no sense of danger

A steady gaze burned into me

with eyes brighter than a spring day,

striking sparks enough

to relight a fire in whose flames

I’d first read, ‘I'm Gay’

Grim lips parted, a sunny smile

that might once have been Apollo’s

lending the warm glow

of recognition to ages-old passions

stepping out of shadows

He gave me a hug, said to follow

and I did, till we came to a busy road

where I caught a bus back

the way I’d come, hugs pumping

a heart come in from the cold

No more playing safe in old haunts,

but as a newborn burst from the womb,

unafraid of dark forces seeking

to enslave me, badge of true identity

a statement of my freedom 

Let the bells toll, I’m in good company,

a hooting of horns applauding me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Casual Sex And Candle Wax

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

Today's poem last appeared on the blog in September 2009 and prompted a number of wry comments. [Although I don't publish comments, I always read them and will reply if the person includes an email address.] 'Mikael' wrote that on a visit to London, 'Among all the wonderful tourist attractions, I vote Hampstead heath the best. By day it is very beautiful. By night, it has to be one of the most exciting places for a gay man to be.'

I heartily endorse those sentiments although, regarding the Heath at night and in the early hours, I have to say that I have not visited that part frequented by gay men looking for sex since I was a young man. I am now 65. These days, I enjoy strolling its rolling expanse of grassy slopes, taking in trees of all description, ponds and varieties of wildlife, simply for its peace and natural beauty. Even so, I remember them well, those feisty days of old...]

Now, if some gay men are promiscuous, they certainly don’t have a monopoly on promiscuity. It is no less prevalent among heterosexuals. Moreover, it has been my experience that those people always expressing their disapproval of casual sex are, just as often, those who enjoy it the most.

Casual sex happens. It is a fact of life. We should enjoy it. Certainly, it is nothing to get up on a soap box about. Even so, we owe it to ourselves and any sex partner to act responsibly, practise safer sex and use a condom. Nor is it only HIV-AIDS we have to guard against. The rise in various venereal diseases in recent years has been little short of astronomical, not least in chlamydia, which can result in infertility.

So…have fun but play safe, yeah?

CASUAL SEX AND CANDLE WAX

One day on Hampstead Heath
I met a nice man, hair turning grey,
knew instantly he was gay

We sat and watched spectacular
views of London dim at close of day,
keeping stars at bay

We said nothing, looks enough
to let heart and mind have their say
and in the grass we lay

Twilight gave way to feisty stars,
a benevolent moon had turned full on
at the altar of passion

Taking no chances, we risked all
for the bitter-sweet spoils of desire,
fighting fire with fire

His mouth was warm and tender,
our bodies sculptures crafted in wax,
flaring, melting...in sex

We parted, never to meet again,
but I‘d learned how to seize the day
and be, oh, so glad I’m gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

Between Showers

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

A Libyan reader ‘Muftah’ currently living ‘somewhere in Western Europe’ has contacted me to say that his boyfriend is in prison back in Libya because someone informed on his sexuality to the authorities. He says, ‘A homosexual man in Libya might as well have the Plague for all anyone cares.’

A sobering thought.

Let us hope Muftah and others like him around the world may yet find peace and freedom.

Meanwhile...

Now, is there anything more refreshing, delightful and sensual than sharing a shower with someone you love and who loves you too? [Heterosexual couples don’t have a monopoly on the simpler, more sensual pleasure in life and love.] Me, I don’t think so.

BETWEEN SHOWERS

I watch your firm, naked body
that I know, oh, so well
dripping rainbows on the floor,
peer in-between the colours,
glimpse, oh, how naive we were
at the start - so light of heart,
and carefree - me loving you so,
you loving me too as we'd go
about our daily tasks and chores
just like anyone else

We do the laundry, make sure
there’s food in the fridge,
clean up after muddy footprints
on the floor, not to mention
having to unblock the drains
now and then, tackle piles
of washing-up before the parents
come to see if we’re coping
with everyday life, not letting
its prejudices get to us

Generally speaking, managing
to survive between showers,
letting each other’s nakedness
we so adore drip rainbows
on the floor, peering in-between
the colours at the way we are;
wanting, needing, loving, caring,
for a world whose long arm
of bigotry would harm us rather
than lend a helping hand

Yes, well, let the world have it say,
we LGBT folks are here to stay

Copyright R N Taber 2004. 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in  The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Journey to the Centre of the Earth OR Home, Sweet Home

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

The link below is to a poetry reading I gave on the 4th plinth in London's Trafalgar Square back in 2009. This was my contribution to sculptor Antony Gormley;s 'live sculpture' project, One and Other, during which 2400 people were invited to do their own thing for 1 hour; the project ran 24/7 for 100 days and the entire web stream (as viewed worldwide at the time) is now archived in the British Library,.

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T  [ [NB: Sept 19, 2019 -The British Library confirmed today that the video is no longer available as it was incompatible with a new IT system, However, it still exists and BL hope to reinstate it and make it available to the public again at some future date.] RNT

While this post first appeared on Valentine’s Day, I like to think that every day has the potential for romance...for everyone, regardless of age, colour, creed, sex, sexuality and, yes, even politics. 

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”

― James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

Wishing you all love and peace always,

Roger

JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH or HOME, SWEET HOME

Love, it was, led me to the edge of a darkness;
love, it was, brought me back into the light

Love, it was, had me running around in circles;
love it was, let me pause, rest in its craters

Love, it was, let Apollo’s kisses scald my flesh;
love, it was sung me a lullaby to ease my pain

Love, it was, set its dogs on me, all muzzle-free
love, it was, found me peace in a rose garden

Love, it was, created a space on the fourth plinth
so all art’s demons might yet be acknowledged

Love, it is, lets roses grow where weeds untended
but for its sweeter voices tempering any anger

Love, it is, helps me to cry poems rather than tears;
love, it is, underwriting Man's faith in humanity

Love, it is, sees me to the edge of a world darkness;
love, it is, always sees me safely into its light

Love, it is, let me rage at the sky albeit a south wind
reminds me how we met, and what drove us apart

Love it was, once took your body and made it mine;
love it is, enters my sleep, and makes forever ours

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Kiss And Tell

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

This poem has already appeared on the blog twice; the last time was in July 2010. However, so many readers have asked me to post it again that LGBT History Month here in the UK seems as good a time as any. It is posted again today especially for ‘Marc and Tony’ - ‘Steve and Ron’ - ‘Samir and Hassam’ - ‘Axel and Kristian’ - ‘Inez and Ingrid’ + ‘Alice amd Siobahn’; also for a teacher, Mick, who says, ‘[I] wholeheartedly support the idea of LGBT issues being discussed in schools instead of being avoided as if being gay, lesbian or transgender was still some kind of taboo.’

Photo taken from the internet

Gay couples, like couples the world over, don't deserve to be mocked or scorned for a simple  public show of affection. Yet, even in this 21st century of ours, we continue to be mocked and/or scorned the world over...not only in closed societies either; homophobia remains alive and kicking in the western world too. Socio-cultural-religious arguments against such simple public shows of affection - by couples of either sex. sexuality are an anachronism; bigotry by any other name...

KISS AND TELL

Your first kiss stripped my conscience bare
and reconstructed it, layer by finer layer

Your next kiss peeled away guilt of a Youth
that never quite came to terms with truth

More kisses instilled in me a peace of mind
my heart often warned I might never find

Other kisses showed me a brave new world
then took me there, its humanity revealed

Your mouth, it lit in me a bonfire of passion
reducing life’s agony to a smouldering ruin

Your kisses flood me with beautiful dreams
where nightmares once tore at life’s seams

Each kiss leaves my heart soaring like a dove;
where it sang the Blues, now it sings of love

Your kisses taste like rose-hip on my tongue,
our bodies, like petals, in spring’s arms flung

No kiss leaves me but yearning for another;
no matter the bigotry, we have each other

Your mouth teaches me even more each day
how to live and love, unashamed to be gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

A Queer Thing

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

This is a very early poem that I published for the first time (anywhere) on the blog in 2009 after rediscovering and slightly revising the handwritten original. It was written during my teenage years while I was still at school, at a time when gay relationships here in the UK were illegal so I had to keep the secret and satisfy my awakening sexuality wherever and with whomsoever I could.

It was tough, yes, even traumatic. Yet, I managed to have some good times in that damn closet. Even so, any pleasure was always undermined by guilt. Those years left an emotional scar I have carried with me all my life. No young person deserves that. Those who continue to call for the persecution of gay men and women are a disgrace to humanity.

By the way, in those long-ago days, 'Queer' was a term of abuse. Although it appears to have become acceptable now, it is not a word with which I will ever feel comfortable.

Young people today should not have to go through what I had to endure all those years ago. Having to lie to my parents about where I was going and whom I was seeing put more pressure on me than any teenager should have to bear. There was no one I with whom could discuss my awakening sexuality. On the one hand, I felt ashamed because the law said I was a criminal while, on the other hand, I saw no reason why I should be stigmatised for my sexuality.

I did not choose to be gay; it is simply the way I am. No one deserves to be stigmatised for being born as nature intended. Sexuality has to be in the genes; there is no other explanation for gay men and women worldwide from such a wide variety of home backgrounds.

Being openly gay gives me a feeling of release and freedom, I'd have given anything for when I was a tormented teenager and young man. Parents and bigots world-wide, please take note!

This is an autobiographical poem, hence the reference to the appalling relationship I had with my father. Mention of the 'cottage' circuit refers to the way gay boys and men used to haunt rarely used/ abandoned/ off the beaten track public toilets for sex. [It was a secret 'community' of sorts and less sordid than it sounds, but we had no choice in those days.]

A QUEER THING

I am tired so of telling lies,
weary of waking up every day;
it’s bad enough having to face
going to school without having
to handle this queer thing

I am so tired of telling lies,
weary of waking up every day;
it’s bad enough having to cope
with my dad without having
to handle this queer thing

Why can’t I just tell everyone
I don’t like girls in the same way
boys are supposed to feel
and how there’s a boy in my class
with blue eyes and sandy hair
whom I’d so love to hold and kiss
but, of course, will never dare
'cause I’d be taken for a criminal?

I am so tired of telling lies,
weary of waking up every day,
blaming buses for being late
home from school after cruising
the cottage circuit

I am so tired of telling lies,
weary of waking up each day,
longing for Saturday night
when I can trawl smelly loos
and get some sex

The other night, I met a man
who took me to his house and bed
and taught me not to be afraid,
feel shame or guilt for what we did
though he could not see me again
and I mustn’t reveal our liaison
because he, too, was running away
from convention, a married man

I am so tired of telling lies,
playing a part (a good actor, me)
trying to behave naturally
while nature reaching, crying
for this queer thing

May a time come soon, I pray
I’ll wake up every day, not having
to lie about where I go, what I do
or who I am, no one minding
about this queer thing

Copyright R. N. Taber 1962; 2009

Gone Fishing

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

Some gay men, years before they were able to be openly gay, would tell people they were going fishing. Well, that was true except they would be fishing for other gay men, not fish!

Oh, well, I guess that’s as good an excuse as any for chancing our luck at this known cruising ground or that.

Pity about having to lie, but...

Ah, the thrill of a catch!!! [I remember it well.]

GONE FISHING

There was a fishing hole
down our way;
I used to go there every day;
didn’t fish for perch,
or go for trout, didn’t need
a rod or use bait;
reeling in delicious dreams,
one, two three …

He was tall, slim and dark
(smiling, carefree);
game for a lark within
a friendly willow tree
conspiring with summer
to draw us close
and closer still, till we dared
kiss under leafy skies

No more lies

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011

[Note: This poem has been recently revised from the original that appears in 1st eds. of First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.] 

Come, Fly with Me

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

Several readers have asked when I intend to record more of my poems for You Tube. Well, soon I hope as I especially want to record something for LGBT History Month. However, Graham, my close fiend and cameraman works full-time so is not often available and I have been unable to get anyone else interested.

For those of you who may be interested but haven’t yet seen and heard my capers on You Tube:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber 

We only do it for fun (and that includes heading straight for the nearest pub afterwards) but hopefully people will enjoy our efforts. I will be posting more on You Tube throughout the year, weather and cameraman availability permitting.

Meanwhile...

A college lecturer responded to today’s poem after it first appeared on the blog in April 2009 by saying that, he could find nothing to recommend it academically but it would always be a personal favourite of his ‘because it encouraged me to be openly gay at long last to family, friends, colleagues and students at the ripe old age of 52.’ Apparently someone left a printout on his desk. Now, I wonder who...?

As backhanded compliments go, it has to be one of the nicest I have ever received. Who really cares about academia anyway? It is real life and real people that really count. Yes, we can read and learn about them - and I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed doing so at the University of Kent in Canterbury in the early 1970's - but it is too easy to get so wrapped up in scholarly criticism that we lose our grip on life’s priorities; worse, we can even lose sight of who we really are in a foggy landscape of words  to which we relate, yes, but not always on a personal level given that they emanate from someone else's consciousness. As fascinating, meaningful and impressive as the latter may be, we need to take care that we do not mistake someone else's learning curve for our own, and - sooner or later - take a tumble.

Years ago, I joined a bus queue and found myself standing next to a dour, straight-laced neighbour in his mid-40's who engaged me in conversation. (An unusual occurrence.) He asked me if I genuinely believed a gay person can experience true love. (I ask you, how daft a question is that?) I retorted to the effect that heterosexuals don't have a monopoly on love. He looked somewhat taken aback before bursting into an wide, very uncharacteristic smile and wandering off without another word. The next time I saw him was at a gay bar in Soho, dancing with another guy and plainly enjoying himself...

COME, FLY WITH ME

Some say our love is wrong,
can only end in tears,
as on wings of glorious song
we rise above their fears

Home, school, church, work,
may tolerate us - or worse;
Love’s light shines in our dark
to spite convention’s curse

No matter what the world says,
anxious to keep face,
those who know and care for us
will keep it in its place

No sticks and stones that hurt us
can reach where the heart is...

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

Children of the Willow

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

Update (October 2013): I have added poem and video to my You Tube channel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIovJI_lQGc

[If the link does not work, go to my channel and search under title at:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

For those readers who cannot access You Tube for one reason or another, see below. (I read the poem over the video.)

Another young reader who tells me he (or she?) attends a Faith school (I don't know of which persuasion) has asked me how I can be sure that same sex relationships are not a mortal sin. All I can say is that my instincts tell me so. I have to trust my instincts (don’t we all?) or I’d almost certainly revert to the psychological and emotional mess I was as a teenager many years ago when same sex relationships were a criminal offence here in the UK. [I am 65 now, having survived more 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune' than I care to dwell upon.]

Each and every one of us must make our own choices, trust our deeper instincts and make our own way in life. It can be a lonely journey sometimes.

While the support of family and friends cannot be underestimated, it isn’t always there and then the going gets really rough. It may be small comfort to my young reader but reassuring perhaps to say that tens of thousands of gay (and straight) people world-wide are frequently daunted by the maze we call life. Few of us find the centre. The trick is to have as much fun as possible while looking.

Regular readers will know that, while I respect anyone’s Faith, I have no faith in religion. It is my choice and I am convinced it would have been even if I were not gay. Non-belief deserves respect too, doesn’t it? No less so, sexuality. These are, after all, expressions of a person’s individual identity. As I have said on previous posts, we are not, thank goodness, a race of clones...yet.

Until there is open, intelligent, unbiased discussion of LGBT issues in schools, many young gay people will continue to anguish over their awakening sexuality. It is high time  Head Teachers (not only in the UK but world-wide) saw to it that ' education' lived up to its name; it is not all about preparing for examinations. Human Rights must have a place on the curriculum, surely?


CHILDREN OF THE WILLOW

I can hear a songbird calling me
far, far away,
in the bosom of a willow tree
where we used to play;
the songbird, it reminds me
how far, far away,
we children of the willow tree
grew up scared and gay;
the songbird, it’s assuring me
though far, far away,
my love waits by the willow tree
where long ago we lay

The willow tree, it’s calling me
far, far away,
the shackles of world bigotry
all but cast away;
the willow tree, it reminds me
of all we (finally) dared say
to enlighten friends and family
about love, pure and gay;
the willow tree, it’s assuring me
we shall win the day
where songbirds sing of liberty
for lovers scared and gay

A world, the poorer for its bigotry,
is ignorant of nature’s way;
on a learning curve, every society
whose lovers straight or gay,
for somewhere there’s a willow tree
far, far, away,
w here a songbird is singing sweetly
for lovers scared and gay;
may they, like us, find sanctuary
and the words to say,
such is nature’s take on spirituality
it is no sin to be gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

A Candle for Gay Lovers

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

For centuries, lovers worldwide have lit a candle in their windows when they are apart for any reason, not just for remembrance (how can we forget?) but to wish them safe and guide them home to us.

There are gay and transgender men and women worldwide still being persecuted for or made to live in fear as a result of their sexuality or gender identity in societies where socio-cultural-religious bigotry flourishes and homophobia raises its ugly head time and time again.

During and beyond this LGBT History Month here in the UK, let’s keep a second candle burning in our hearts for them, too, in the hope that they might find love and peace one day in a mature, intelligent humane society; a society led by mature, humane, GOOD people instead of the grossly immature, inhumane and spiritually unenlightened (whatever their religion) who profess to have society’s best interests at heart when all they really have at heart is their own.

It is not only gay people who suffer under repressive regimes, of course. I hear from and read about lovers who have secret trysts or are kept apart altogether for various socio-cultural-religious reasons. So let’s keep a third candle burning for them too, yeah? [Even in the world's more repressive regimes, not everyone among the heterosexual majority is gay-unfriendly, thank goodness! Humanity will give repression old the heave-ho yet ...]

As for certain cultures and religions that reject same sex relationships to the extent of calling them
sinful ...  it is as Jesus of Nazareth once said, "Let he (or she) who is without sin, cast the first stone."

This poem is a villanelle.

A CANDLE FOR GAY LOVERS

I light a candle in my window,
it burns there each night;
I so need my love to know

For the dreams we’d let show
proudly day and night,
I light a candle in my window

No bigots chase your shadow
from my candle’s light;
I so need my love to know

It’s because they hurt us so,
said our love wasn’t right,
I light a candle in my window

Skin turned a weepy yellow,
hair an angry white;
I so need my love to know

May those dreams we’d follow
see other gay lovers right;
I light a candle in my window,
I so need my love to know

Copyright R, N. Taber 2008

Ordinary People

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

I wrote this poem in 1985 although it has its roots in a relationship years earlier. We have made huge progress since then, in parts of the West at least, exposing disciples of prejudice and bad attitude for the blots they are on the human landscape, and must be thankful for that. I would like to think things are different for gay people everywhere by now but, sadly, that’s (still) just wishful thinking.

A slightly different version of this poem has been published in several poetry magazines and anthologies; it also won a Forward Press poetry (2nd)  prize in 2000. It is posted today especially for ‘Aadil and Khidr’ and who contacted me to say that ‘…we can only pray that one day people like us will be free to live our lives the way we want, not according to a family history that forbids us to be openly gay.’ It is also for ‘Raheel’ and ‘Sadya’ as well as ‘Michael and Philip’ who all appear to have found themselves caught up in a similarly tangled web of socio-cultural-religious bigotry.


ORDINARY PEOPLE

Yesterday, we came to tell the world
we’re here, but the world we looked for
was not there so we took out
a joint mortgage on another planet,
of lengthening shadows by day,
cosy silences by night; all earthy modernity
taken fright of two very ordinary people
whose clothes, hair, ears, eyes were unlikely
to have taken anyone by surprise,
but rather we’d have liked to hear it said
by more happy faces in our favourite places
while there was still time

‘See those two? They’re friends of mine.’

We used to pretend it didn’t matter
because we would always have each other,
but now you’re gone, dear friend,
and I'm left to stand alone against a tide
of bitter sympathy that threatens,
just as (in reality) it always did, you and I,
for all we were but two ordinary people,
born to brave much the same fickle earth,
sea, and sky as any other pair in love,
so the twists of wire that heap our grave
conspire with time, its bitter-sweet ironies
to air and put on show

‘See him? His friend was gay, you know.’

Copyright R. N. Taber, 1993; 2013

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original version as widely published in various poetry magazines before inclusion in  Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001]