L-I-F-E, Stings of Irony

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

'…Let none admire
That riches grow in Hell; that soil may best
Deserve the precious bane.' (Milton, Paradise Lost (Book I, lines 690-692)

Precious Bane is probably as well-known for the novel of that name by Mary Webb as its place in Milton’s epic poem. It refers to the love of money, which, as Webb’s heroine, Prue, records, blights love and destroys life; the title also refers to her deformity, a cleft lip which she comes to recognize as the source of her spiritual strength. [A cleft lip is sometimes referred to as a harelip  (as happens in the novel) considered insulting as it compares the deformity in humans to the normal cleft lip of a hare.] 

Now, I am not suggesting that my being gay is any kind of deformity although it has been put to me by various bigots that's precisely what is! Political correctness, for all its frequent abuse, means well. Moreover, for me, personally, it encourages the spiritual strength I take in being gay from both nature and the kinder, more discerning side of human nature. (Fortunately, the latter is in greater supply than the media’s focus on it is often inclined to suggest.) Over the years, though, I have been teased, bullied. verbally and physically abused for being gay just as, since a bad fall in 2014 at the age of 67. I've been on the receiving end of much the same more than once because I now need a walking stick.

In so far as political correctness is intended to put a stop to insulting comments and behaviour, it works well enough for the most part  ... at least to outward appearances.

Bad attitude is only half the problem. Too many people use the political correctness card to turn tables in their favour when it is they who are at fault. Time and again, various authorities (who should know better) side with guilty against innocent, perpetrator against victim rather than risk a bad press. Here in the UK, for example, there is far too much walking on socio-cultural eggshells these days; without being seen to do so, of course, although I often wonder just who it is in the driving seat that thinks they are fooling anyone ...

Wherever there is no legislation for political correctness, the darker side of human nature continues to flex its predilection for insults, prejudice and bigotry. On the other hand, of course, you cannot legislate for bad attitude which simply proceeds to do a good job of keeping out of public sight and hearing ... and is more than capable of  keeping up appearances where the media is concerned.

Whatever social card a person chooses to play - sexuality, race age, gender etc. -  in order to turn tablea and portray themselves as victim rather than perpetrator, justice needs to prevail, and be seen to do so.  I worked with the public for many years and endured more than my share of verbal abuse from people whose behaviour I'd make clear I wasn't prepared to tolerate so they would call my manager, play their card ... and nearly always get an apology while I would be made out to be in the wrong and look a complete fool. 

Oh, well, c'est la vie. We positive thinkers can but prefer to believe that forces for good will always get the better of those for bad (in the end, at least) if only to avoid drowning in a sea of cynicism.

L-I-F-E, STINGS OF IRONY 

Once, in another country,
we spoke of love and being gay
in a world where sexuality
has no need of political correctness
to leap to our defence

We lay beneath a willow tree
shedding tears for the likes of us 
having to justify even love
in the glare of a political correctness
meant to educate bigots

Oh, but so many excuses
(all perfectly legitimate of course)
playing political correctness
at its own game so none dare criticise
for fear of causing offence

Hypocrisy, no mean weapon
in upholding the various integrities
of socio-cultural traditions
passed off as icons through centuries
of human division and abuse

Ah, but who are we to accuse
those who may accuse us of offending
all they hold dear if only
because it makes them feel secure, safe
from all talk of LGBT rights?

Oh, yes, we may well speak up
where political correctness established
despite all its back-stabbing, 
self-styled ‘betters’ fronting and calling
on socio-cultural immunity

As for the world’s higher clerics
seeking handouts even among the poor,
no need for a satirical press
where actions speak louder than words
and both contradict each other

Around the world, ordinary people
whisper behind closed doors of being gay,
in love and free where sexuality 
can’t even call on political correctness 
to try and put the record straight

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017



…

No Token Trophy for Glass Houses

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

A former work colleague, unaware at the time that I am gay, once boasted that he had gay friends, so no one could accuse him of being homophobic.

Okay, so far, so good…

He went on to tell me that, 'To be honest, gay sex disgusts me, but ‘you have to cover your back these days, don’t you, what with all this equality and diversity rubbish?’  It was as if his gay ‘friends’ were notches on his belt meant to show everyone he was no homophobe. His obvious distaste for and discomfort with the whole gay ethos made me see red. When I mentioned that I am gay, he beamed, seemed to think I was making his point (which was what, I am still not sure) and said, ‘See, I am talking to you as an equal aren’t I?’

This conversation took place in 2008, the year I retired. Maybe I am being over-sensitive, but it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth whenever I think about it.

In the minds of bigots worldwide, gay people remain fuel for nasty gossip, but as my mother used to say, all the while those who have nothing better to do but gossip (or worse) about us, they are at least leaving other vulnerable people alone. 

NO TOKEN TROPHY FOR GLASS HOUSES 

It seems like only yesterday we’d play

at hide-and-seek as butterflies looked on;

happy days, gay lovers feeling our way

into red-and-golden hours of autumn

By Christmas, gossips had left us for dead

(memory’s embrace enough to surf the swell)

nor winter’s cold, but lies covertly spread

conspired against us while wishing us well

Old prejudices, they (still) threaten us,

cast their nets as at moths and butterflies;

collectors, like minds, and the curious,

sure to excuse the means, relish the prize

Though the world’s hypocrites, they abuse us,

we’ll fly free, no token trophy for glass houses

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2014

Between Friends OR Shades of Light and Dark

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

I once had a friend who became a heroin addict in his late teens and died from an overdose in 1967. 

My friend was 22 and happened to be gay, but drug abuse is a tragedy for too many young people – gay, straight, male, female, from all kinds of backgrounds - and there is still too little help available. To be honest, I was more than a little in love with him although he only ever saw me as a friend.  I still dream about him sometimes, and felt compelled to write this poem if only in remembrance of a great guy who took a wrong turning and was found lying in a gutter one day ...

I have known (and still do) people to whom taking hard drugs is socially acceptable, a trait encouraged by a drugs-friendly celebrity culture frequently in the media spotlight and setting an appalling example.

  

BETWEEN FRIENDS or SHADES OF LIGHT AND DARK

Under a halo of sudden light

a familiar figure beckons;

looks, sure to win the Devil over;

designer gear any angel would give

their wings for

Laugher lines in the classic brow,

enigmatic poise teasing me

even now as into the clinging dew,

I run barefoot,

hug anew this pouting saint

to a sobbing breast…

Laughter, through tears for years parted,

brokenhearted…

Catching my breath, no nearer it seems

to this golden haired god

in jeans I’ve borrowed times before,

reaching out a hand,

indulging me a bitter-sweet smile

that means so much I’d give my all

to touch…

Lark into dawn skies, vanished;

a bitter-sweet song,

no listener (ever) left unpunished;

lives as fresh and hopeful as spring rain

till you tried heroin

Copyright R. N. Taber 1974, 2000

[From: Love and Human Remains (under the title, Between Friends) by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000]

Queer as Folk

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

There was a time when bullies scared me. Thankfully, I discovered that most bullies, especially the homophobic ones, are even  more scared of themselves than I was...

When I was a young man, 'queer' was a term of abuse that the bigots among us would throw at gay men. While I remain uncomfortable with the word, it is good to see how it has been reclaimed by the gay community and reinvented itself for the better.

The poem tells a true story.

QUEER AS FOLK

He was a bully

and I was the coward

too scared to ever
stand up to him though 

he’d call me names,

say all queers should be

shot for the social

vermin they are, to hell
with equality

He led a local gang

that drained every nasty

word he said, awful

things he did, like booze
to an alkie...

He was their god

in whose mind’s sewers

they would freely dive,

invariably come up smelling
of show roses

One day, I turned

a bend, saw him coming

my way on his own,

dived into an alley

and just kept running...

It was a dead end!

He had me cornered,
no point yelling for cavalry
or expecting mercy

He was less sure

of himself on his own,

brow (rid of horns)

starting to sweat,

no one egging him on;

I’ll never know why

but I hit out with my fist,

missed, froze, was aghast, 

fearing the worst

He lunged at me

and we fell to the ground,

his breath on my face

challenging my lips

to let rip with a sound;

I lay still, eyes shut,

way past caring, passively

waiting for the beating

I’d long been expecting

to start...

No blows rained

where I lay in naked terror,

only a kiss on my mouth,

more reassuring even

than a hot shower;

my eyes flew open

and a face homing nervously

in on mine belonged

to someone else, far more
scared than me

Did I have a choice?

No, I struggled to reason,

pinioned to the ground

and dare not resist

this mad, appalling passion;

how could it be true,

these bodies, this rhythm ours,

a growing sureness

and frantic heat, ramming
heaven’s towers?

Spent, we lay,

unable to find a single word

to explain, knowing

anyone might

come by, but no one did;

once on our feet,

he blurted out an apology,

exposing how scared

we’d both been of a restless,
dormant sexuality

He kept his word

and I never knew what lies

he told his cronies, only

that love and hate

went their separate ways;

we never understood

how we felt about each other,

nor were we ever friends,

me and the bully who became
my closet lover

  

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Mind-Body-Spirit, in Safe Hands

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

This week, St. Petersburg is pushing forward a law that would make it illegal for any person to write a book, publish an article or speak in public about being gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender, and calling it "homosexual propaganda". St. Petersburg's Mayor Poltavchenko, President Medvedev and Prime Minister Putin are all pushing for a law that is more than an abuse of Human Rights; it is an insult to humanity. 

The poem last appeared on the blog in March 2010. As the UK is currently experiencing a very cold spell, you can hardly blame me for recalling a memory/poem to keep me warm... Moreover, I am dedicating it to all our brothers and sisters across the whole of Russia and beyond; any suggestion that someone should ever be persecuted for their sexuality is a stain on civilisation, but especially to the extent we have seen in parts of Africa, in Uganda for example.   

It just goes to show shows how bloody minded and ignorant some world governments can be. Come to that, I don’t recall reading or hearing anything about this sickening proposed anti-gay legislation in Russia here in the UK...

To all my Russian blog readers, a BIG HUG, and good luck! Мы думаем о Вас всех (I hope that is how you say, We are thinking of you all.

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, IN SAFE HANDS

You dived under my top,

tongue on nipples aching with desire;

hands at my jeans would not stop,

my whole being on fire

I longed to respond, could not

(for too long told it’s wrong, obscene)

as you invaded me with your heat,

pulled my jeans down

My heart tore like an express

along twisting tracks of denial, regret,

embracing years of loneliness, pain,

on a rack of ages-old guilt

Slowly, I let go all hype

imprinted on my heart, soul, brain;

rose above the stereotype,

learned to live again

Once mere pieces of clay,

we discovered sex, no truths held back;

though some protest, as they may,

let them to their own lives look

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2018

[Note; this poem first appears under the title 'Fast Tracking' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Gay's The Word

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

As LGBT History Month 2011 here in the UK draws all but to a close, I am duplicating this post on both my general and gay-interest blogs today. After all, each and every one of us is, like it or not, part of a common humanity. Moreover, whatever our first language, the human spirit common to us all must get very confused sometimes by our multiple uses of the same words, not to mention disappointed by what often comes across as a pathetic dependence on and/or misuse of them; a good few people don’t seem to have cottoned on to the fact that the name of the game is meaningful communication, not hot air.

Furthermore, while it may be a cliché, it’s true that actions really do say more than words, bearing in mind of course that they include good, bad, and vomit-ugly. [For me, the latter description not only fills my mind with ghastly images of war, genocide, massacre, torture and the politically motivated killing of people around the world simply trying to exercise their human right to protest, but also violent street crime and bullying of any description on our very own doorsteps.]

Whatever...

Among language’s collection of weaponry (and armour) humour has to be one of my favourites. Like people, it comes in all shapes and forms; like the more formidable wordsmith, it addresses all kinds of people from all kinds of backgrounds. Sadly, it also encourages stereotyping. At the same time, its greater irony lies in an ability to make people laugh even while the more discerning (?) eye may well see nothing to laugh at. Ah, but perhaps the more discerning eye should take a nap now and then anyway while we let ourselves go with a flow of less demanding insights?

So...in spite of several readers implied criticism of my following fellow blogger Edwin Black’s audacious posts, I refer you to his blog again anyway at: http://bardicblackspot.blogspot.com/; it provides food for thought along with a healthy chuckle at life and ourselves.

Meanwhile...

It is so true (another cliché); it’s not what we say but the way we say it that counts. Even so, I have to say that I, personally, remain uncomfortable with expressions like ‘fag’ and ‘queer’ but that is probably a generation gap issue. (I was born in 1945 and grew up in a very homophobic society, one  that necessitated my entering the proverbial closet when, at 14 years-old, I realised I am gay.)

When I was a youth and young man, there were so many cruel jibes and sick names hurled at homosexuals (including ‘queer’ and ‘fag’) that it was a huge relief when ‘gay’ came along. Now I read about gay men and women writing ‘Queer ‘poetry and talking about the ‘Queer Community’ and though I have to live with that, it will always make my stomach heave.

I can understand homosexuals in eastern countries preferring ‘queer’ to ‘gay’ as many there see ‘gay’ as already hijacked by westerners. Here in the West, though, I see it as tantamount to a betrayal of our early history. As for ‘fag’ the very sound of the word oozes contempt, but as I don’t live in the USA I guess it doesn’t really matter as I rarely hear it used here except by visiting homophobes. Yet, if gay Americans are okay with it, who am I to find fault?

Yes, I dare say my sentiments do express a minority point of view among gay men and women in the West. [Do I care?]

I suspect it may well be confusing for even the gay-friendly among the heterosexual majority when the language of G-A-Y appears to run the entire gamut of A-Z.

Ah, but as they say in the North of England, 'There's nowt as queer as folk!"

GAY’S THE WORD

On vacation in New York
they called me a fag
and I shrivelled up inside;
on the streets of Brixton
someone yelled, “He’s queer!”
(Just like my dad);
guys in a bar cried, “homo!”
because I walked in
wearing a ribbon with pride;
women at work
got lewd, something about
wasted manhood

I felt a clammy mist closing
in on me, unsure
what to do...till someone said,
“Hey, you’re gay, yeah?
Me too.” and his warm grin
let the sun back in...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in  First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]