Bus Fare

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

Yesterday, I posted a poem inspired by a song sung by Doris Day. A reader has been in touch to ask, ‘It is bad enough that someone who claims to be a serious poet writes gay rubbish, which I find offensive, but to write about Doris Day is really the last straw!’

Well, for a start I have never claimed to be a serious poet only someone who takes poetry seriously; well, most of the time. I am certainly no poetry snob, and readers will know that I write on all manner of themes. Nor am I a music snob. I love Doris Day just as I love Ella Fitzgerald and Johnny Cash.  I love some classical music, but I also love some pop and adore rock ‘n’ roll. I love some opera but cannot claim to be an opera buff. With me, it’s pick’n’mix. So what’s wrong with that? If it is good of its kind, I will usually enjoy it. Why shouldn’t I enjoy Elvis Presley every bit as much as Placido Domingo or adore Shirley Bassey just as I do Diana Ross and Leona Lewis. And let's not forget the late, great Dusty Springfield or, for that matter, Mario Lanza or Frank Sinatra. I could go on all day...

If people choose to limit their appreciation to one kind of music, one genre of literature or one period of art, that’s up to them. But there are lots of people like me who love to dabble in this ‘n’ that, and where’s the harm?

So I offer no apology for offending that particular reader. What planet is he (or she) from, I wonder?

Meanwhile...

Several readers (from all walks of life) have been in touch over a period of a year or so to say they could relate to this poem and have asked me to repeat it so, as it hasn’t appeared on the blog since May 2010, here it is again.

Who says public transport is boring?

BUS FARE

He was a very ordinary guy,

with an ordinary face,

wearing ordinary clothes;

I couldn’t place why

he stood out from the crowd,

he just did

Fair, wavy hair that never

saw a dye; a twinkle

in the eye, probably a lie

and never meant

to be read, leastwise,

not how I did

When the seat next to him

became free, I sat down,

and would have engaged

in light conversation;

instead, we both stared

straight ahead

He brushed against me

as he left the bus;

for a while, he was just

a Thought for the Day

till I got off, turned back,

ran all the way

Caught up with his smile,

no ordinary guy at all


Copyright R N Taber 2001

[Note: First published in This Moment in Time, Poetry Now, 2001 and subsequently in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]