https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
I am often criticised for being 'too personal' in my poems, not least for my frequent us of the first person singular.
Any 'I' in a poem of mine is invariably a global 'I' inviting the reader to engage with both me and the poem. Yes, there is much of me in my poems, but there is also much of what I have learned about nature, human nature and the human spirit across all walks of life. Suppose I were to use 'one' instead of 'I'? Immediately doors slam shut on any intimate engaging with the poem. The reader is free to agree or disagree with any poet's point of view on whatever matter a poem may touch upon, or even deliberately ignore, the better to get a reaction.
A poet's intention is always to engage with the reader, offer food for thought, hopefully open doors of mind-body-spirit closed to him or her for whatever reason. [LGBT folks may have more than their fair share of having to bang on doors this or that society or home environment would prefer to remain shut to them, but no one - whatever their sex or sexuality - has a monopoly on closed doors.]
Now, I left school in the early 1960's. Some 50 years later I received an email about my poetry from someone who had been a sixth former when I was still a fourth former. He recognised my photo and I visited him several times in my home town where he still lived, alone. It transpired that he had been as attracted to me as I had been to him all those years ago. We were both well into our 60's by then and unwell, any physical attraction eroded by time and circumstances. Even so, we enjoyed reflecting on how our lives may well have taken a very different, quite possibly better turn - in another time, another place, given that neither of us would have hesitated to cross those particular red lines of the day, had we but felt free to even acknowledge the nature of them.
You can imagine my feelings when I received an email only fairly recently from a young person still at school and struggling with their sexuality. I could but urge him not to feel bad about being gay, but stay positive, and look online for any support groups in his area. I so feel for anyone in some lonely closet obliged, for whatever reasons, to wear another face to family and friends in whom they do not feel ready yet to disclose their sexuality. My closet years were long, long ago, but I remember them as if they were yesterday; the pressure of living a secret life, and the loneliness. Even now, I find it hard to believe there are young people around the world experiencing much the same in a so-called modern, forward looking twenty-first century.
CROSSING RED LINES
Getting ready for school,
knowing I'll soon be with him again,
our secret love, gagged
by socio-cultural-religious dogma
anxious to share blinkered
views of a world feeding dogma
to mind-body-spirits unwilling to toe
its red lines
Sitting next to him in class
much, of the lesson flapping at my ears,
like a sail in a moody breeze
as I struggle to steer a course to heaven
alone knows where, conscious
of his knee against mine now and then
if but to draw my attention to a songbird
at the window
Oh, how I feel for the bird,
singing its song, and no one to appreciate
its beauty for mind-body-spirits
made to play deaf to such music of life
as left to free spirits at windows
on a world with finer learning concerns
than finding peace of mind, his forefinger
brushing mine
Desks drawn close, our fingers daring to say
it's OK to be gay
Copyright R. N. Taber 2019
I am often criticised for being 'too personal' in my poems, not least for my frequent us of the first person singular.
Any 'I' in a poem of mine is invariably a global 'I' inviting the reader to engage with both me and the poem. Yes, there is much of me in my poems, but there is also much of what I have learned about nature, human nature and the human spirit across all walks of life. Suppose I were to use 'one' instead of 'I'? Immediately doors slam shut on any intimate engaging with the poem. The reader is free to agree or disagree with any poet's point of view on whatever matter a poem may touch upon, or even deliberately ignore, the better to get a reaction.
A poet's intention is always to engage with the reader, offer food for thought, hopefully open doors of mind-body-spirit closed to him or her for whatever reason. [LGBT folks may have more than their fair share of having to bang on doors this or that society or home environment would prefer to remain shut to them, but no one - whatever their sex or sexuality - has a monopoly on closed doors.]
Now, I left school in the early 1960's. Some 50 years later I received an email about my poetry from someone who had been a sixth former when I was still a fourth former. He recognised my photo and I visited him several times in my home town where he still lived, alone. It transpired that he had been as attracted to me as I had been to him all those years ago. We were both well into our 60's by then and unwell, any physical attraction eroded by time and circumstances. Even so, we enjoyed reflecting on how our lives may well have taken a very different, quite possibly better turn - in another time, another place, given that neither of us would have hesitated to cross those particular red lines of the day, had we but felt free to even acknowledge the nature of them.
You can imagine my feelings when I received an email only fairly recently from a young person still at school and struggling with their sexuality. I could but urge him not to feel bad about being gay, but stay positive, and look online for any support groups in his area. I so feel for anyone in some lonely closet obliged, for whatever reasons, to wear another face to family and friends in whom they do not feel ready yet to disclose their sexuality. My closet years were long, long ago, but I remember them as if they were yesterday; the pressure of living a secret life, and the loneliness. Even now, I find it hard to believe there are young people around the world experiencing much the same in a so-called modern, forward looking twenty-first century.
CROSSING RED LINES
Getting ready for school,
knowing I'll soon be with him again,
our secret love, gagged
by socio-cultural-religious dogma
anxious to share blinkered
views of a world feeding dogma
to mind-body-spirits unwilling to toe
its red lines
Sitting next to him in class
much, of the lesson flapping at my ears,
like a sail in a moody breeze
as I struggle to steer a course to heaven
alone knows where, conscious
of his knee against mine now and then
if but to draw my attention to a songbird
at the window
Oh, how I feel for the bird,
singing its song, and no one to appreciate
its beauty for mind-body-spirits
made to play deaf to such music of life
as left to free spirits at windows
on a world with finer learning concerns
than finding peace of mind, his forefinger
brushing mine
Desks drawn close, our fingers daring to say
it's OK to be gay
Copyright R. N. Taber 2019
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