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.]
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.]
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