Monday 18 April 2011

G-A-Y, Starting Out in a Wastepaper Basket

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

A new reader has been in touch to sat a friend recommended the blog and he is enjoying it. That's great. If you are enjoying a dip into the blog every now and then, do recommend to others. The more, the merrier.

Meanwhile...

A young reader has been in touch to say he sometimes feels suicidal because he is gay and ‘cannot tell anyone because no one will understand.’

As I would say to anyone feeling this way, none of us know how other people will react until we tell them. Not infrequently. in my experience, we make wrong assumptions. At the very least, I would urge making contact with any gay social/support groups. (Thank goodness for the Internet!) Alternatively, anyone can always contact me with an email address to which I can send a more detailed reply.

Now, this first little poem is not one of mine although I have slightly revised it appearance (without changing a word) and added a title. I spotted it way back in 1963 during my last year at school; it was on a scrap of notepaper pinned to a classroom door. I was reading it when a teacher came along, snatched it from my hand, glanced at it before tearing it into shreds and dropped them in a waste paper basket.

I have never been able to recall poems and recite them by rote, but I have never forgotten this one. Still struggling to come to terms with my sexuality as I was at the time (I was 17 years-old) it has made a huge impact on my life and poetry.

Sadly, I never discovered who wrote the poem, but if they are reading today’s post, it is high time I said a B-I-G thank you. Oh, purists may say it’s not much of a poem, but any piece of writing that affects any reader in a positive way, especially when he or she is feeling very negative, deserves credit where credit is well and truly due.

G-A-Y, STARTING OUT IN A WASTEPAPER BASKET

We are young, in love, and gay;
family and friends say, ‘No!’

We are young, in love, and gay;
neighbours (bigots) say, ‘No!'

We are young, in love, and gay,
the world’s cultures say, ‘No!’

We are young, in love, and gay,
and Mother Nature says, ‘Yes!’

L-O-V-E rules OK for everyone
comfortable with their sexuality

Anon. [Spring, 1963]

This second poem has appeared on my general blog but not on this one. Now seems as good a time as any to rectify that.  In despair is a lonely, frightening place to be. Lucky indeed, is he or she who has never been there.

WOMAN IN GREEN

I sat by the sea contemplating suicide
when a woman in green came and sat by my side,
stayed quite still, didn’t say a word;
my head, it rang with a gull’s shrill cry
as if echoing the heart’s screaming to be left to die,
no hanging on to this useless body

The woman in green didn’t look at me
but continued to exude that youth, life and beauty
I’d once loved, become my enemy;
following her gaze to a misty horizon,
I entered into a way of seeing altogether unknown
where the sea wore a green velvet gown

Grey hair streaked with a sunset’s glow
above eyes as teasing a blue as those I used to know,
and pink lips urging me not to follow;
where once the sea, now a patch of grass
beneath an old tree on whose leaves of painted glass
nature would work its magic for us

Vanished, just as suddenly as it came,
knowing memories will keep murmuring your name
(sea of grass, leaves of glass, the same);
suddenly, I am bursting with a desire
to live (even love?) again, like an autumn leaf on fire,
its story all but told, waiting on another

I laughed aloud, forgetting the woman in green,
and turned to explain, but she had already gone

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Tuesday 12 April 2011

A Reject's Song

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

A teacher concerned about homophobic bullying in her school has asked me for a poem to kick-start a class discussion. I sent the one below and can but hope that any classes to whom she reads the poem will have something positive to say about it. She goes on to say she is particularly concerned about one boy who plays truant a lot and when asked why, told her that he is gay and nobody want him so why should he bother with anyone else. I hope she has suggested gay counselling and/ or joining a gay group in his area. She is welcome to give him my email address. Whatever, the poor lad is obviously in need of a heavy dose of positive thinking. There really should be far more discussion about gay issues in schools. As it is, the majority are breeding grounds for homophobes.

Now and then teachers ask me if they can use poems I post on my blogs and my answer is always, yes. However, the copyright to all the poems I post is exclusively mine so please ask me first if only so I can keep track of what poems are being used and get some feedback. I don’t expect everyone to like every poem I write. Fair enough. I know some of you hate villanelles while just as many of you love them. Every writer feeds on criticism, good or bad so long as it is fairly constructive; it is helpful to know what it is about a poem that someone loves or hates or feels does its theme no favours.

Another teacher kindly got in touch to say he uses my blogs as ‘an educational resource’ and says many kids respond to my poems about street crime, bullying, multiculturalism etc. gay-interest poems too although use of these in schools appears to be minimal. I have to say, any suggestion that I am providing an ‘educational resource’ thrilled me to bits.

I try to reflect this sorry world of ours warts ‘n’ all; life, love, nature, war and peace. Most of the time, I try to lift the reader and end a poem on a positive note. Sadly, though, there is much to be lifted from and this doesn’t always happen.

Meanwhile...

I have been (very) distracted by my prostate cancer, but will be back on a regular basis before too long. Now and then, I'l drop by with a new poem and let you know how I am responding to treatment. In the meantime, Graham and I hope to continue filming for YouTube at various UK locations, so you will find me there at:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

As for that schoolboy and far too many like him who feel rejected, I can only say that I always found a cousin's advice invaluable, who told me "Never think twice about rejecting those who reject you for your sexuality since their company is not worth having in the first place. "Love," she added wryly, "is inclined sometimes to lose its way, especially if means having to stand up and be counted ..."

A REJECT’S SONG

There’s a word, or so I’m told
is not for hearing or sight
but shutting out in a killing cold
like a pup on a wintry night

The word, I’m earnestly assured
is a key to the Devil’s lair
so a dead cert I’ll be damned
if I ever venture there;
a word, consuming all of me
since I was a child,
learning on my father’s knee
about sin running wild,
sure to shadow my every step
in a world holding me
to promises I would never keep
surrounding my sexuality

Such a word I’d come to learn
(in the arms of a lover)
that no God will strike me down
for its breaking cover;
a word that dares to remind
any who stand in my way
that any Creator of humankind
allowed love its say
(and free will) given a chance
to prove its humanity
if frequently led a merry dance
by certain powers-that-be

Look, where doves and eagles fly,
writing up the world’s history,
see nature inscribe the legend G-A-Y,
testament to its bigotry

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Take care, all of you, keep well and – be happy!

a BIG HUG from

Roger x

Monday 11 April 2011

Song of Freedom

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

This 'poem' appeared on the blog in 2009 and received a good response (and a lot of criticism from readers who say a lyric has no place on a poetry blog) so here it is again for new readers and for regulars to become reacquainted. It was originally written as a lyric for a gay musical I was supposed to be co-writing with a friend, but he went off the idea and emigrated with his boyfriend instead so it never materialised. [Another pipe dream bites the dust. That’s the story of my life. Do I care?] Oh, other pipe dreams came along, and some even managed to see the light of day while others remain tucked away in a dusty corner of my mind tagged ‘Fat chance!’

Win some, lose some. I suspect that’s the story of many people’s lives. We just have to make the most of our winnings, and give the rest...well, a rest. It simply isn’t true that no one loves a loser, but no one want to keep hearing about where we’ve taken a wrong turning in life either! I know people who are so negative that I wonder why they bother getting up in the morning. [I dare say they do too.]

Ah, but coming ‘out’ and staying ‘out’ has to be one of the greatest feelings in the world for a gay person; once any initial apprehension is all done and dusted, that is. It's rarely an easy step to take although easier for some than others. Whatever, we need to remind ourselves that in some places (yes, even in the 'liberal' West) it is still tough to be openly gay so hardly surprising that some gay men and women prefer the proverbial closet. Moreover, gay relationships remain a criminal offence in some countries, even punishable by death. A sobering thought...

SONG OF FREEDOM

Different, I feel different,
what's so different about me?
I feel good, on a high,
and as free as any songbird,
don't just take my word,
try it and see, it has to be
the finest feeling in the world,
just who you are, better
by far than chasing rainbows,
cheating on dreams,
putting on a happy face
when you're falling apart
at the seams...

I am who I am, and no matter
what they say,
I'm no different,
just so happy to be free
of that other me too scared
to say I'm gay

Better, I'm feeling better,
so much better
all the time, whatever highways
to cross, rivers to swim
mountains to climb, I can do it.
I just know it,
only give me a chance,
to let me show it,
I swear it's true, I so need
to be with you,
for it's you are my rainbow.
you are my dream,
let's not go on pretending
we're all that we seem

We are who we are, and no matter
what they say,
we're no different,
just so happy staying free
to love and be loved unafraid
to say we're gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011

Sunday 10 April 2011

In Praise of Saint Sebastian


Many thanks to those readers who have been in touch to wish me luck with my novel, Catching up with Murder 

I am not a 'great' writer nor do I profess to be, but people often tell me I tell a good tale and that's always music to my ears. My mother used to read me stories as a child and I became an avid reader. She used to read me 'story' poems too; The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes and The Ancient Mariner by Coleridge were my favourites. I guess that's why many of my poems tell a story. I am always thrilled when readers get in touch to say they enjoy my 'story' poems.

For years, my favourite port of call has been my local public library; as a child and young adult, long before I became a professional librarian. Sadly, many public libraries are being forced to close here in the UK due to government cutbacks. It is very sad, and I say than not only as a librarian who has worked in public libraries most of my working life but also as someone who has seen at first hand the sense of community that libraries inspire. The library is also a treasure house of information. Some people say that books are going out of fashion and people can get all the information they want from the Internet. Me, I think it will be many years yet before books go out of fashion and, yes, the Internet is a wonderful information resource, but many people still cannot access it, let alone use it quickly and efficiently as well trained library staff.

For children, the library is magical and introduces them to a whole new world of storybooks and learning. Busy adults may neglect their local library, but those children who have fond memories of going there will nearly always return to it, in later years, perhaps with their own children.

In my view, local councils across the UK are being very short-sighted in closing so many libraries. Once a library has been closed, I fear it will never re-open and a valuable community resource will have been lost forever.

Meanwhile...

It can take a long time to get a poem right. Some readers may recognise parts of this poem. It appeared on the blog some time ago under a different title; I have also changed the final couplet. While I have always liked the poem, it has never quite worked for me until now. I can only hope some readers will find that it works for them too.

Ironically, given the attitude of many Christians towards gay people, one of the earliest gay icons was Saint Sebastian, a Christian saint and martyr who has fascinated artists both gay and straight for centuries. I dare say it was not by chance that Tennessee Williams chose to use that name for the martyred character Sebastian in his play, Suddenly, Last Summer. The name was also used by Oscar Wilde (as Sebastian Melmoth) when in exile after his release from prison.

My first introduction to Saint Sebastian was Derek Jarman’s brilliant retelling of his tragic tale in the movie, Sebastiane.

This poem is a kenning.

IN PRAISE OF SAINT SEBASTIAN

Dream icon, kept alive
for centuries, through thick and thin,
peace and war,
harvest or famine, drought or flood,
a hope for better times
that will look kindly upon us all
as we pursue the birthright
for which we were intended,
come calm or squall

Dream icon, kept alive
for centuries, though an inhumanity
persist in its persecution
of those daring to resist, question
layers of convention
piled high upon cherished tradition
seeing its better values
perish in faces putting matches
to oil in troubled waters

Dream icon, kept alive
for centuries, despised by the many,
respected by the few,
(understood by fewer still) until
a gradual progression
of wider education came to fruition,
finding compassion, admiration
for my tenacity, a growing empathy
with my humanity

I share the agony and ecstasy of pillows
left tearful for the world’s gay lovers

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 2011, 2021

[Note: The poem first appeared on the blog under the title Sebastian; I have since revised it and gave it the title you see now in 2021.]

Sunday 3 April 2011

Mother's Day

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

Mothering Sunday is held on the fourth Sunday of Lent; it is exactly three weeks before Easter Sunday and usually falls in the second half of March or early April.

Yes, it is Mother’s Day here in the UK and I am perhaps being self-indulgent by posting a poem that I dedicated to my late mother in the final volume of my Love And Human Remains quartet.

Outwardly, my mother was a very ordinary person. Yet, she was a remarkable woman. She gave freely of herself and received precious little in return. Much loved by friends and family, no one ever quite understood how she longed to be reassured that she was loved, invariably failing to take such reassurance from the selfish, self-centred way in which those same friends and family often treated her. A naturally loving person, her warmth and understanding extended to everyone she met. She could talk to anyone and everyone enjoyed talking to her - not least about his or her own lives and problems. No one has shown me the power of communication more effectively than my mother. She listened. Moreover, she could enter into any point of view, even those with which she disagreed. My mother’s gifts were universal, although, universally, rarely reciprocated.

When I told my mother I am gay, she was very reassuring even though she advised me at the time not to tell my father or brother. She was right, of course; it would have killed off her fantasy that we were a close family unit once and for all. If she had lived, things might have turned out differently in the end, but I doubt it. Although gay relationships have been decriminalised here since 1967, attitudes took many more years to change for the better; in some parts of the country (as in the world at large) homophobia remains very much alive and kicking.

Readers, I am proud to introduce my mother...

ALICE MAUD TABER
(1916-1976)

Always there for me, believing in me
more than I believed in myself, knowing me
better than I knew myself,
loving me more than I loved myself
although I could never give you
what you wanted, be what you wanted,
live or love how you wanted,
subscribe to your fantasy of family unity;
we did our best by each other, assisting
one another through life’s maze of emotional
twists, turns, and dead-ends; me, unable
to grasp for years how conflicting loyalties
were tearing you apart...

Yours, a divided heart never truly made whole;
we whose demands you loved to meet
always failing it. Yet, even now, years on
since a tumour took its toll, you are (still)
one to whom this poet turns, always striving
for some peace of mind, heart, and soul
(imagination’s impossible goal) - learning
to read between lines to which you gave
life and meaning. Only, then I wasn’t listening.
(Youth thinks it knows everything.)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2011

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original version that appears in 1st eds. of A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Saturday 2 April 2011

A Feeling for Fantasy OR Nature Onside

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

A whimsical poem with a serious message today, requested by Imogen for her partner Jayne. It appears that, like me, Jayne has always loved fantasy fiction.

From the age of about ten, I, too loved to explore the world of myth and legend and would head directly for that section in my local public library even before trying out the delights of children's fiction.

My penchant for fantasy has found its way into many of my poems, poorly disguised as metaphor. In some ways, it as much escapism from a harsh reality now as it was for me all those years ago.

Some readers might enjoy my 'Mamelon' fantasy novels serialised on my fiction blog; the blog includes gay and general fiction of which Mamelon, though, is the latter:

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

A FEELING FOR FANTASY or NATURE ONSIDE

Strolling by fields of barley, wheat and rye,
my love and I sought lasting rest and peace;
twin spirits hungry for sanctuary,
weary of a world always judging us

We reached woodlands alive with leafy song,
a sonata for lovers everywhere,
paused to ask a tree nymph for its blessing,
keen to turn our backs on urban despair

The nymph warned it was born of the country,
bound by the countryside’s own moral code,
had only heard tales of urbanity,
a Grim Reaper harvesting swathes of road

Such peace here! “For us, too, a gay couple?”
“Ah,” says nymph, “that depends on people.”

[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]