Where Culture and Convention Conspire against Sense and Sensibility

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

Reader ‘J J’ has been in touch o say, ‘Your gay poems lack subtlety and style. You are too direct. I suggest you read Thom Gunn… Well, I have read Thom Gun and while I can appreciate his style, his subtleties leave me scratching my head until I have lost whatever feeling I may have had for the poem. So…sorry ‘J J’ but I make no apology for being ‘direct’.

Now, I often post Gay Awareness poems on my general as well as this blog. I posted today’s poem there some time ago; it attracted a lot of emails, mostly critical of its sentiments if not the poem itself. I can’t believe it has not found its way to this blog until now!

The poem was written especially for an LGBT History Month (February) reading and inspired by a conversation a few months earlier, just before Christmas, always an emotional time for many, with a young man who had just split with a Jamaican boyfriend who was too scared/ ashamed of what family and friends might say about going public with their relationship. It is hardly surprising, given that gay men and women in Jamaica have been beaten, cut, burned, raped and shot because of their sexual orientation.

Tragically, especially for young gay people and others who reject socio-cultural-religious prejudices, many if not most families of various ethnic backgrounds choosing to settle here in the UK and across Europe bring their prejudices with them. No surprises then if multiculturalism has realized precious little of its true potential.

So much for a forward looking and thinking 21st century!

WHERE CULTURE AND CONVENTION CONSPIRE AGAINST SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

Today I left a yellow rose

at the place where we first met;

to this day no one knows

(we were consumed by guilt)

I lay in the same grass

that had kept our secret for years

and even Apollo’s kiss

could not dry my wistful tears

I listened out for birds

and a serenade performed for us;

(same song, same words)

once music of love, now its loss

Yet, loss began ebb away

as I lay there, a breeze in my hair

like a lover’s fingers at play

love’s sweet nothings in my ear

I turned and you were there

no less anxious for a lovemaking

than either you or I ever were

for fear the birds cease singing

And cease, they did, so cruelly,

once our secret a secret no more;

you dared not choose me

over loves you had loved before

Parting was no sweet sorrow,

but emptied us of all joy and peace,

no guiding light to follow

come each dawn, only darkness

May time and world bear witness

to its inhumanity all but swept away,

love over bigotry victorious,

nature embracing us who are gay

Come the day, I’ll find you there,

no less anxious for our lovemaking

than either you od I ever were

for hearing spring birds singing

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

Where the Earth laughs Longest

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

I hope you are all ok and keeping well. I am fine (yes, really!) despite my continuing treatment for (non aggressive) prostate cancer. Oh, I have good days and bad days, but don't we all even when in the best of health? On a good day, you will probably find a blog entry here. On bad days, don't worry about yours truly. I am very good at making the best of bad times.

Meanwhile...

Every so often I am asked to post a link to my poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square in 2009. People often ask for a CD. Sorry, but Sky Arts refused to let participants have a CD of their contributions so we only have a link to the British Library archive:

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

Some readers have kindly said they enjoyed my 4^th Plinth reading and asked if I have any more videos. Well, only on my YouTube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber (I hope to add more uploads as time goes by.) 

Meanwhile…

Now, love plays an important part in all our lives, and it is my belief that this does not end when our hearts stop beating.  Nature, not any religious faith persuaded me of this long ago. Religion does not have a monopoly on love any more than it has on spirituality.

Love, in all its shapes and forms is a spiritual experience denied to no one. Only, everyone has to find it for themselves in their own time and their own way. Never believe people who insist they have a template for love anyone can use; people are inclined to prioritize, and in so doing they discriminate even if unintentionally.

Yes, yes, I know I’ve said all this before…and will probably do so again. True, the world is becoming a kinder place for LGBT lovers but there remain vast swathes of less enlightened people among the heterosexual majority in a world that still has much to learn about love and a long way to go before it puts its money where its mouth is when it encourages talk of Equality, Human Rights, and Peace.

Oh, and in my experience of being openly gay for many years, the key to survival lies not only in love, but also in laughter; if we cannot laugh at ourselves sometimes, the world's bigots win hands down.

'The Earth laughs in flowers'. - Ralph Waldo Emerson (Hamatreya)

WHERE THE EARTH LAUGHS LONGEST

At the moment of my death,

we‘ll make love again, just as

when our first twilight fell,

late summer leaves like a shower

of September rain, nature

casting a spell to keep us safer

than Holy Books dare tell

At the moment of my death,

we’ll make love again, creating

as much joy and more

than it has given us, we chosen,

meant to fly time and space,

any separation but a homing-in

on some glorious horizon

At the moment of my death,

our love will surely kill all pain,

be as a tree in blossom,

its springtime come again, though

a storm play tricks on its light,

for I shall rise above any threat

to return where first we met

At the moment of my death,

the spirit of love will leave a mark

much like a smile on my pillow,

and I’ll be guided by Earth Mother

to your side, she who kept faith

with us while we lived, as we two

stayed true to each other

Though life lead us up a garden path,
it's love always has the last laugh...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2018

[Note; An alternative final couplet appears in an earlier version of this poem first published under the title 'Earth Mother, Spirit of Love' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Dark Metaphor, Sweet Seduction

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

Over the centuries, many metaphors have been used by writers and orators for some transcendental passion for life and love. Someone once asked me what, as a poet, is the one to which I most closely relate. I suspect today’s poem is as good an answer as any.

Irrelevant perhaps, but I have to confess to a long-ago fling with a really nice guy guy. He was visiting London, and we spent a great week together. He had a fetish for black shirts and only ever wore one whenever we met up. He liked me to wear one too, even gave me one of his own for a souvenir on our last day together. Only, I didn't know at the time it would be our last day. I guess he decided it was time to move on and wasn't into goodbyes. Whatever, I discovered he had checked out of his hotel with a young woman, and never saw or heard from him again. 

I kept (and wore) the shirt for years.

DARK METAPHOR, SWEET SEDUCTION

I sensed before I saw
the stranger leaning against a wall,
observing me;
black jeans, high black boots,
rippling black tee

Shoulder length hair
tumbled like sea waves in a storm
while dark eyes
invited me to strip naked, dive in,
explore their depths

Oh, but try as I might,
I could no more ignore Man in Black
than my reaction,
fighting off thoughts of caving in
to dark seduction

I turned my attention
to a bird in a gutter, at first glance
seeming dead to me
till its wings managed a last flirt
with history

I grieved for the bird
that would never fly, never sing again,
and ‘never’ a lonely place,
island of lost dreams ghosting time
and space

Suddenly, I knew for sure
I wanted more than ‘never’ out of life,
needed the Man in Black
to enter my mind, body and spirit,
never look back …

Where metaphor serves sexual passion,
the Man in Black served mine


Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

Another Time, Another Place

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

In the early autumn of 2005, the year I hit 60, I met up with a friend of the same age on nearby Hampstead Heath.  We strolled into Hampstead village and enjoyed a few beers at what was then a famous gay bar (sadly, not gay any more) called The William IV. My friend lamented the fact that we golden oldies were unlikely to ever take a young man’s fancy again. I was inclined to agree, but pointed out that some young men like older guys. (I did myself until I became the older man!) ‘Not many, though, and not the likes of you and me,’my friend retorted with a wry, self-deprecating smile.

While I was inclined to agree with my friend, my thoughts flew to a spot on the Heath only a few weeks earlier where I encountered a young man in his 20s who most certainly hadn’t needed to be asked back twice for a proverbial coffee at my flat…

Strange, isn't it (or perhaps not so strange) how even a chance, one-off encounter can be assigned a place among precious memories in the amber moments of our personal history?

ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE

I was sitting on a bench
on the sun kissed brow of a hill
observing the city below
when he came and sat next to me,
a young man with red hair
kindling images of autumn leaves,
stirring memories in me
of another time, another place,
and someone else

He started a conversation
along the lines of its being warm
for the time of year,
and I found myself swimming
in a frantic sea of sound,
body surfing sensual waves of joy
stirring memories in me
of another time, another place,
and someone else

His zip jacket was wide open,
buttons of a green shirt left undone,
bare chest teasing me
with outrageously flirty tongues
of fire filling me
with despair of a reawakening desire
stirring memories in me
of another time, another place,
and someone else

His lazy smile and pink lips
flew me into a all-devouring sunset
on wings of a tiny bird
I had watched and envied once
for such freedom
as could let a young man with red hair
stir fantasies in me
of another time, another place,
no one else

I smiled back, kept tears at bay,
but he was discerning beyond his years,
this red haired god
who (without warning) homed in
on my wishful thinking,
planting a passionate kiss on my mouth
as if resolved to erase
that other time, that other place,
someone else

Mind-body-spirit entered the bird
as he related with a (very) disarming grin
how he liked older men,
but was only passing through...
so we made the most
of the rest of that fine day, making love,
spending golden hours
in another time, another place,
no one else

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2013