Having Writ, Moving On, and Making History

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

Today's poem - the last in a series of poems I have written for the blog to mark LGBT History Month here in the UK - is another villanelle. A repetitive theme, true, but it’s repetition that best serves the less retentive human memory...which is probably why human history is often inclined to repeat itself.

Now, in many of the world’s societies and in the minds of the less enlightened heterosexual, gay men and woman remain the lesser among equals. Elsewhere, times are changing for the better; we are not only making our voice heard but also our presence felt while making the kind of positive contribution to society, human relationships and humankind in general to which most if not all of us aspire.

Change, though, is rarely evenly spread across the world’s home fronts, taking its cue from Time, a notoriously fickle ally by any standards. Whatever, that old-stand by Hope is always willing and able to pick up any pieces, put us together (yet) again and spur us on. I suspect it all starts with our taking responsibility for who and what we are rather than finding someone else to blame wherever and whenever any question of blame arises.

“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”

― Omar Khayyám  (re Edward Fitzgerald's translation of The Rubáiyát, 1859]

Yes, we may well look back in anger and/or grief but also for inspiration, corner stone of all history.

HAVING WRIT, MOVING ON, AND MAKING HISTORY  

Child of my century
like any other,
no matter, my sexuality

Born, an innocent babe
to Earth Mother;
child of my century

Turning pages of history
on human nature,
no matter, my sexuality

Often, object of bigotry
like no other;
child of my century

Ever wary of inhumanity
breaking cover,
no matter, my sexuality

Where the sicker society
abets homophobia…
child of my century,
no matter, my sexuality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

No Legislation for Bad Attitude or Gay in Ukraine

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

I have some readers in Ukraine so when one contacted me suggesting I write another ‘place’ poem for what is LGBT History month here in the UK, I naturally gave it a lot of thought, resulting in the villanelle below.

‘Non-commercial, same-sex sexual activity between consenting adults in private is legal in Ukraine, but prevailing social attitudes are often described as being intolerant of LGBT people and households headed by same-sex couples are not eligible for any of the same legal protections available to opposite-sex couples. In a 2010 European study, 28% of Ukrainians polled believed that LGBT individuals should live freely and however they like.’ – Wikipedia

While even just 28% is encouraging, what of the majority 72%? How long will it take them to get real about their gay neighbours when, after all, it involves no more or less than practising an everyday humanity?  

If there is one thing this changing world of ours has yet to learn, it is that human rights and cultural rites are NOT mutually exclusive; only then are we likely to see less local, national and international in-fighting...

Kiev - Photo from the Internet

This poem is a villanelle.

NO LEGISLATION FOR BAD ATTITUDE or GAY IN UKRAINE 

Come a 21st century modernity
(to all intents and purposes)
old prejudices (still) a priority

That usual culprit, immorality,
furthering social causes,
come a 21st century modernity

Less tolerant of homosexuality
(in traditionalist families)
old prejudices (still) a priority

Doing battle with its historicity
(powerful cultural forces)
come a 21st century modernity

Human rights demanding eqality
(encouraged by EU laws)
old prejudices (still) a priority

Few acknowledging our integrity,
gay folks cast long shadows;
come a 21st century modernity,
old prejudices (still) a priority


Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Looking the World in the Eye

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

How many of us can say, hand on heart, that we have never told a lie? True, some lies are for the greater good; others, though, have a way at eating away at us.

They say you can tell if a person is lying by looking them directly in the eye. Perhaps, but even more so, in my personal experience, if that same person, once challenged by word or glance, looks away before we can test the theory for ourselves; it is a useful tip for those of us who think we may have found someone to love while, in truth, they are only looking for sex.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not knocking sex, but there is more to life, and love cannot survive on sex alone.  Man or woman, gay, straight or transgender, it makes no difference. We are all vulnerable when it comes to love.  Who doesn’t have a tale to tell about someone suspecting they may well have a one-way ticket to love while doing a damn good job of convincing themselves otherwise?  Invariably, though, the eyes have it, and truth will out.

What’s that? Oh, dear me, no. I’m not knocking truth either. Truth is one of the few forces in life that can turn a negative into a positive, weakness into strength, even if it is often inclined to take its time in doing so…

This poem is a villanelle.

 LOOKING THE WORLD IN THE EYE

Life can hurt, make us cry,

even lead us astray…

(Worse, if buried in a lie)

When love begs give it a try,

do we look away?

Life can hurt, make us cry

Once love asks reasons why,

it fades away…

(Worse, if buried in a lie)

Yes, we look folks in the eye

and say, “I’m gay.”

Life can hurt, make us cry

Cave in to history, let it deny

and drain us away?

(Worse, if buried in a lie)

Once we look love in the eye,

we win the day;

life can hurt, make us cry

(worse, if buried in a lie)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

Softly, Softly, Sexuality OR Gay in Moscow

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

[Update April 24 2017]: A conversation with a Russian born gay woman married to an Englishman recently confirmed how, tragically, many basic freedoms are being denied in Russia. New laws brought in by Vladimir Putin's government in 2013 have targeted basic human rights.

The result is a Russia where people are increasingly gagged from talking about their political beliefs, stopped from expressing their gender and sexual identity, and banned from involvement with any non-governmental rights groups.]

As regular readers may recall, I had a Russian boyfriend some years ago if only for a short while. He was studying in London and we kept in touch after he returned to Russia, but only briefly and I never heard from him again. Hopefully, he has been able to live the life and love of his first choice unlike so many gay people worldwide who - for one reason or another -  have felt obliged to settle for second best.  There re too many gay men and women all over the world having to live in fear simply for a sexuality that is as much a natural part of them as any limb.

February is LGBT History Month in the UK (October in the United States) and I have published several poems on the blog in an effort to show solidarity with gay readers worldwide living - as I did as a teenager and young man - in a predominantly gay-unfriendly society. Even here in the West, though, while society may, on the whole, be less anti-gay, homophobia remains very much alive and kicking if more closeted due to legislation in defence of political correctness.

LGBT History Month is also as good a way as any of getting across to the less enlightened heterosexual what it means to be gay, a good excuse - if excuse were needed - for schools and parents to discuss the subject sensitively and intelligently with older children and young people. Unfortunately, too few parents or schools (ever) do this, thereby - if only by default – allowing misleading and offensive stereotypes  still attached to gay boys and girls, men and women, to spread (worldwide) unchallenged and unchecked.

Bigotry and prejudice are, by their very nature, reluctant to get real. We can but remain hopeful that the 21st century,as it progresses, will eventually leave a more positive impression about gay people upon even those majorities across the world where gay and other significant minorities continue to suffer various socio-cultural-religious injustices. 

This poem is a villanelle.

SOFTLY, SOFTLY, SEXUALITY... or GAY IN MOSCOW

In the shadow of the Kremlin,
eager for public debate,
Russia’s gay men and women

Still (by many) considered a sin,
same sex lovers date
in the shadow of the Kremlin

Where politics rarely lets us in,
human rights running late,
Russia’s gay men and women

G-A-Y asking society to listen,
unafraid to talk straight
in the shadow of the Kremlin

Subjected to various injustices
approved by the state,
Russia’s gay men and women

Hypocrisy, demanding religion
take Putin’s part…
In the shadow of the Kremlin,
Russia’s gay men and women


Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Warning: Danger Zone OR Gay in Abuja

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

Nigeria does not allow or recognise LGBT rights. There is no legal protection against discrimination in Nigeria. Very few gay or transgender people dare be open about their orientation, and violence against them is frequent.

Both male and female same-sex sexual activity is illegal in Nigeria. The maximum punishment in the twelve northern states that have adopted Shari'a law is death by stoning. In southern Nigeria and under the secular criminal laws of northern Nigeria, the maximum punishment for same-sex sexual activity is 14 years' imprisonment. 

Abuja - Photo from the Internet

An email from a gay reader who lives in Nigeria’s capital, Abuja, prompted this villanelle.

WARNING: DANGER ZONE or GAY IN ABUJA

G-A-Y, where few dare tread
(fewer still must guess)
neighbours would see us dead

On stereotypes, too many fed
who begrudge us happiness;
G-A-Y, where few dare tread

I’ve, oh, so often heard it said,
best rid the world of queers;
neighbours would see us dead 

We have listened, argued, bled,
(members of the human race);
G-A-Y, where few dare tread

Why the disgust, horror, dread?
(a sexual identity in all of us)
neighbours would see us dead

No God would see us hounded
(in whose name hound us?)
G-A-Y, where few dare tread;
neighbours would see us dead

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Making Peace with Time OR GAY in Old Lisbon

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Regular readers will know I have posted several ‘place’ poems on the blog, some recently. In part, this is because I have somehow become a diehard realist while remaining an incurable romantic, and in part because there are gay men and women the world over and it can do no harm for my poems to reflect that. There is romance and realism a-plenty in many of the stories true-life people email me and which, more often than not, I subsequently try to weave into a poem.

My thanks go to everyone for sending, reading or both.

Now, time passes, times change, people change, too, while love - if fundamentally the same - adapts to all three, while, with any luck, simultaneously developing a new self-confidence and discovering something of that the ages-old wisdom necessary for self-fulfilment.

MAKING PEACE WITH TIME or G-A-Y IN OLD LISBON 

In old Lisbon one frantic June,

the Tango long since over,

we sang a love song to the moon

(A gypsy once told my fortune,

predicting I’d find a lover

in old Lisbon one frantic June)

Street musicians on to our tune,

the sun already ran for cover,

we sang a love song to the moon

Once young, you and I, too soon,

we gay men ran for cover…

in old Lisbon one frantic June

Years on, chanced to meet again,

the Tango spilling us over,

we sang a love song to the moon  

Older now, to prejudice immune,

once weak, now stronger;

it was in old Lisbon one June,

we sang a love song to the moon

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

[Note: Tango - verse 1, line 2 - refers to Lisbon's annual International Tango Festival.]  

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Letters from an Open Prison OR Gay in Beijing

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

It is 2016 and the Chinese New Year of the Monkey. A (closet) reader in Beijing has emailed to ask if I would write a poem for Chinese men and women in China. He says he cannot 'come out' due to family obligations; understandable, but sad.

As always, my poem could relate to anyone, anywhere, unable or unwilling to be openly gay in a predominantly gay-unfriendly society.; it can be like living in an open prison.

Although openly gay for many years, I will never forget tough, closet days as a teenager and young man. Nor should we openly gay men and women ever presume to be be in the least judgemental towards any who feel unable to announce their sexuality to others.  As always, too, the heart will have its reasons.

Beijing - photo from the Internet

LETTERS FROM AN OPEN PRISON or GAY IN BEIJING

Waking to an open prison every day,
hidden bars haunting me,
(no criminal.no psycho, just gay.)

The family is everything, they say,
must always take priority;
waking to an open prison every day

Loved ones, friends, come what may.
my true self, they will not see.
(no criminal or psycho, just gay.)

Ah, but we will never turn truth away,
but let our (gay) love run free,
waking to an open prison every day

Only a fool will keep true love at bay
for the sake of local propriety;
(no criminal or psycho, just gay.)

Loving sons and daughters, we stay,
paying lip service to The Party;
waking to an open prison every day,
(no criminal, no psycho, just gay.)


Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Tuning into the Heart or G-A-Y, Down Mexico Way

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

As a general rule, it is true to say that LGBT rights in Mexico have kept pace with modern legal trends. Yet, just like so many other places in the world, some people and communities are less willing - if at all -  to accept change, leading to backlashes against those whose sexuality does not conform to so-called ‘normal’ behaviour. No surprises there, though, as I guess there will always be people and communities over whom various socio-cultural-religious prejudices will always have the upper hand.

A Mexican reader emailed me recently and gave me the idea for this poem.  I invariably write in the first person to give a greater sense of immediacy, at the same time leaving the reader space in which to move and make up his or her own mind as to whether the poem ‘works’ for them or not. Even so, I can’t deny that something of me finds its way into every poem I write,  not least in this case because I once crossed the U.S.- Mexican border into Tijuana years ago when staying in San Diego, and made a good friend there…

TUNING IN TO THE HEART or G-A-Y, DOWN MEXICO WAY

Down Mexico way
one cloudy sun afternoon,
I met up with a man,
humming along out of tune
to a love duet
playing on a distant radio
tugging at my heart

We chatted away
about everything and nothing,
had plenty to say
as anyone might when trying
to reason and decide
what’s with a total stranger
homing in at your side

Not a handsome man
nor ugly to outer or inner eye,
somehow in tune
with a watery sun in the sky
boding stormy weather,
contriving a smile as if to say
we look good together

Just as it started to rain
we arrived at a red brick house,
time to make a decision
(if asked in, accept or refuse?)
resolved what to say,
no denying a mutual attraction
as one, in tune, and gay

Ah, but this was Tijuana,
where Progress may wink its eye,
being gay not the horror
where some would yet see us lie
for ‘polluting’ this Earth
(though its betters do their best)
like a hypocrite’s oath

Someone tuned the radio
into another station, playing poplar
Mexican pop duo
Jesse and Joy (brother and sister)
seeming to approve
our entering the house together
and (later) making love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Under Puerto Rican Skies (Where the Going can [Still] be Tough)

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

[Update: Oct 1 2010]: Devastated by Hurricane Maria, Puerto Rica continues to suffer, the island without power and shortages of food and other essentials, all made worse by an escalating debt crisis. Our  our hearts go out to all Puerto Ricans, and we should all help in any way we can. [RT]

A warm welcome to new readers visiting my Google Plus site. In case you wondered, the reason I regularly add (and remove) historical as well as new posts/poems in in response to requests from regular readers of my gay and general blogs who asked for a shortcut to browsing the many poems there. I never post comments, but feel free to email me any time. (I never take offence, either, and don’t expect everyone to like everything I like or agree with everything I say.) I have even met up with some readers visiting London which is always fun. 

Recently, I got chatting to a Puerto Rican gay man (in a bar) and asked if gay relationships were illegal in Puerto Rico. ‘Not illegal, no,’ he said wryly, ‘but tough. Believe me, it takes a lot of courage to be openly gay where I come from…’ He proceeded to tell me how he met his (male) partner, and - as my conversations with complete strangers (invariably in bars) often do - it inspired a poem. [NB I am a social, not heavy drinker.]

As it happens, the young man was from Puerto Rico, but could just as easily have been from anywhere that (in part if not predominantly) continues to think the worst of us gay people simply for the sexual identity with which we were born.

San Juan - Photo from the Internet

UNDER PUERTO RICAN SKIES (WHERE THE GOING CAN [STILL] BE TOUGH)

We met in pouring rain, 
waiting for a bus that never came,
and in my mind’s eye
we made love then and there,
the rain washing us clean,
passers-by pausing now and then
to observe (askance)
raindrops performing a pretty dance
on bodies joined as one,
a watery sun, grinning, oh, so wryly,
world applauding shyly,
but afraid to let on openly for fear
of powers-that-be
likely to err on the side of bigotry
if only for the sake
of the heterosexual (voting) majority,
disapproving for sure,
and (after all) keeping them in power
so can’t afford to offend,
better to let hypocrisy have its way
in the end…

Walked home in the rain,
no tears for the bus that never came,
got to know him 
well enough to guess my inner eye
was not deceiving me
nor would he want to be leaving me
at my front door,
expecting (for sure) to be invited inside
where we’d not need
to hide our deepest feelings any more,
but let them run free
of an ages-old socio-cultural history 
of homosexuality left unsaid,
its heroes left for dead or in misery
for a life they dare not lead
among heterosexuals whose ignorance
forestalls real progress
among those giving religion priority,
interpreting its dogma
to stigmatise, demonize, dehumanize
LGBT identity

Sometimes I hear rain
singing about a bus that never came
and two strangers
becoming so much more than friends
for trusting inner eyes
to senses honed on years of loneliness
and pain for hiding away,
not for any shame of sexual identity,
but fear of persecution
by those fiercely protective of a history
of socio-cultural-religious
conventions boasting the best intentions 
while doing their worst
by good men and women (everywhere)
for refusing to see
how no one socio-cultural-religious ethic
has a monopoly
on a natural born responsibility to do right
by humanity


Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

G-A-Y, an inspired Storytelling

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

Regular readers well know how I love wandering along the seashore at any time of year, especially where I can travel through time and space to relive and enjoy happy memories.

When I was a boy, and as a teenager, I would listen to seashells and hear things no one else ever told me, reassurance I would not find at home or school as I struggled to come to terms with life, love and an awakening sexuality. 

It was a habit that would never leave me and one I enjoy to this day.  Now, of course, I am growing old, although I suspect the need for reassurance is rarely far away for any of us. Oh, and the tales the seashells tell me (whenever I am able to get to the seaside) are as inspirational as they ever were, if not more so which is very reassuring in a world where I like to think we LGBT folks are winning hearts and minds, but many of us still have to struggle to make our voices heard ...

G-A-Y, AN INSPIRED STORYTELLING

A collector’s prize seashell,

pretty on the outside, empty within

but for nature’s restless swell,

warning the world of its potential

for ruin…

I came, listening intently

to the shell’s graphic storytelling,

a fast growing empathy…

with twilight’s tides swirling

on the eye, magical tales

about everyday lives on the sea

as brave as Odysseus of old nor less

every one, a hero than he

Stirred by the sheer presence

of gay folks negotiating life’s tides

come storms or whatever forces

may see us to harbour or our graves,

I replaced the shell, oh, so gently

for others to find, hear all it has to say

on living life to the full, proudly, echoes 
ringing in my ears to this day

Heart lost, now navigating

its tides’ rise and fall, no empty shell

but fuller, bolder, for hearing tell

how nature defines and redefines us, 

one and all…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2016

[Note: This poem a revised version of a poem that appears as ‘Researching Seashells’ in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]