http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
There will be no blog entries for a week or so after today while I make time to start preparing a new collection; it is now ten years since Tracking the Torchbearer appeared under my own imprint. (Oh, and, yes, they did sell well and I even made a profit albeit a small one.) I also need to start work on new editions of earlier collections as a number of poems have since been revised, often only slightly, but always significantly. Only one (U.S.) publisher has expressed any interest so far, but messed me about so much that I withdrew my submission; others did not want to include gay-interest as well as general poems, and I will not compromise on this. Being gay is an integral part of who I am, but it is only a part, and we are all the sum of our parts. I may not publish print editions again, though, but upload as e-books, but time enough to cross that bridge as and when I come to it. Hopefully, some of you will enjoy exploring the blog archives in my absence.
I will try and post a new (or revised) poem from time to time, although, like so many people around the world - not least those of us who live alone - I have to confess to lockdown fatigue at the moment. As I suspect I had the milder version of Covid-19 back in early January, and count myself fortunate, everything I do still seems to be taking much longer.
Take care, folks, and many thanks - as always - for the pleasure of your company.
Meanwhile ...
Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016. At the time, a reader who had been browsing blog entries and emailed to ask why on earth I should think anyone reading a general poetry blog would be interested in a gay relationship. Fair enough, except that poetry is about human nature as well as the natural world; most of my gay-interest poems only appear on my gay-interest blog, but I happen to think the occasional entry here is not as inappropriate as ttis reader plainly thinks. Like it or not, there are many LGBT men and women in the world, and we are no less human (or naturally so) for that. Why must so many people rush to judgement on others, a judgement often based on shallow stereotypes? Being gay is an important part of a gay persons' whole identity, but it is only a part; what about those other parts that make us who we are?As for why I publish the poem here, I guess I live in hope that stereotypical and bigoted attitudes will eventually bee seen as fake news; there are many gay-friendly straight people out there who don't have a problem with a person's sexuality because it is the whole person they are happy to call a friend. Besides, there is nothing wrong or unusual (or immoral) about the ages-old principle of agreeing to differ ... is there?
Regular readers will know that my partner was killed in a road accident many years ago. He was not my only love, but the only person with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life, no reservations whatsoever. Sadly, we did not have long together, but his love has inspired me (and my poetry) ever since.
Now, there is nothing romantic about death, but neither is death any match for love.
I will be 75 years old this year. For me, it has never been so much the case that that time heals as that any brush with mortality makes life all the more precious while the pain of loss serves to remind us that we are, indeed, very much alive. It is a philosophy that has also served me well since I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February, 2011.
"Why should I fear death? If I am, death is not. If death is, I am not. Why should I fear that which cannot exist when I do?" - Epicurus
LOVE, TESTAMENT TO LIFE or AU REVOIR, MON AMOUR
I have kissed Death on the cheek as it slept,
let a flow of memories course my veins
while Hope, past a grieving heart, it crept,
ghost rider tugging gently at the reins
I have kissed Death on the lips as it rested
where nature's tides may flow no more
but neither its finer spirit’s growth arrested;
songs of love and peace, no talk of war
Life called out my name as I would leave,
its firm, kind, touch wiping away a tear,
prising my fingers but gently from its sleeve,
for conceiving its eternal watchtower ...
Fear not as Death calls, or where it takes us;
be sure of waking among Memory's flowers
Copyright R. N. Taber, 2007; 2020
There will be no blog entries for a week or so after today while I make time to start preparing a new collection; it is now ten years since Tracking the Torchbearer appeared under my own imprint. (Oh, and, yes, they did sell well and I even made a profit albeit a small one.) I also need to start work on new editions of earlier collections as a number of poems have since been revised, often only slightly, but always significantly. Only one (U.S.) publisher has expressed any interest so far, but messed me about so much that I withdrew my submission; others did not want to include gay-interest as well as general poems, and I will not compromise on this. Being gay is an integral part of who I am, but it is only a part, and we are all the sum of our parts. I may not publish print editions again, though, but upload as e-books, but time enough to cross that bridge as and when I come to it. Hopefully, some of you will enjoy exploring the blog archives in my absence.
I will try and post a new (or revised) poem from time to time, although, like so many people around the world - not least those of us who live alone - I have to confess to lockdown fatigue at the moment. As I suspect I had the milder version of Covid-19 back in early January, and count myself fortunate, everything I do still seems to be taking much longer.
Take care, folks, and many thanks - as always - for the pleasure of your company.
Meanwhile ...
Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016. At the time, a reader who had been browsing blog entries and emailed to ask why on earth I should think anyone reading a general poetry blog would be interested in a gay relationship. Fair enough, except that poetry is about human nature as well as the natural world; most of my gay-interest poems only appear on my gay-interest blog, but I happen to think the occasional entry here is not as inappropriate as ttis reader plainly thinks. Like it or not, there are many LGBT men and women in the world, and we are no less human (or naturally so) for that. Why must so many people rush to judgement on others, a judgement often based on shallow stereotypes? Being gay is an important part of a gay persons' whole identity, but it is only a part; what about those other parts that make us who we are?As for why I publish the poem here, I guess I live in hope that stereotypical and bigoted attitudes will eventually bee seen as fake news; there are many gay-friendly straight people out there who don't have a problem with a person's sexuality because it is the whole person they are happy to call a friend. Besides, there is nothing wrong or unusual (or immoral) about the ages-old principle of agreeing to differ ... is there?
Regular readers will know that my partner was killed in a road accident many years ago. He was not my only love, but the only person with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life, no reservations whatsoever. Sadly, we did not have long together, but his love has inspired me (and my poetry) ever since.
Now, there is nothing romantic about death, but neither is death any match for love.
I will be 75 years old this year. For me, it has never been so much the case that that time heals as that any brush with mortality makes life all the more precious while the pain of loss serves to remind us that we are, indeed, very much alive. It is a philosophy that has also served me well since I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February, 2011.
"Why should I fear death? If I am, death is not. If death is, I am not. Why should I fear that which cannot exist when I do?" - Epicurus
LOVE, TESTAMENT TO LIFE or AU REVOIR, MON AMOUR
I have kissed Death on the cheek as it slept,
let a flow of memories course my veins
while Hope, past a grieving heart, it crept,
ghost rider tugging gently at the reins
I have kissed Death on the lips as it rested
where nature's tides may flow no more
but neither its finer spirit’s growth arrested;
songs of love and peace, no talk of war
Life called out my name as I would leave,
its firm, kind, touch wiping away a tear,
prising my fingers but gently from its sleeve,
for conceiving its eternal watchtower ...
Fear not as Death calls, or where it takes us;
be sure of waking among Memory's flowers
Copyright R. N. Taber, 2007; 2020
[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in my collection, Accomplices to Illusion, Assembly Books, 2007; this post also appears on my general blog today.]
No comments:
Post a Comment