Hello again, folks, from London UK

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

Hello again from London UK,

I recently said that was planning new editions of my collections as well as at least two new ones. Well, I have changed my mind, having realised that most of the poems on my blogs were revised from the originals as I published them to the blogs; sometimes revisions only minor, others more substantial, but always significant.

Browsing previous collection, I have realised that no small number of poems belong to the times in which thy were written, both from sociological and personal points of view.

I have therefore decided to prepare new collections, under new title, but including some of the best poems from previous collections that reflect nature and sentiment, but don’t lean on a sociological context from which both poet and society have moved on... to a greater or lesser extent, as the case may be.

Having said that, no few of my poems reflect certain socio-cultural-religious points of view in which I am not entrenched, but which I feel the need to express personal as well as public concerns; the latter applies especially to my gay-interest poems, given that LGBT folks are still given a hard time in some communities and societies worldwide.

I don’t often add to my gay-interest blog these days, but the reason for that is that years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer have left me asexual.  

At the time I started writing it up, it was very difficult to find poems on an LGBT theme that were non-judgemental, and I decided to try and correct this.

There is nothing unnatural or shameful about same-sex relationships; those of us who engage in them do so, not as a life-style choice, but as a result of our genetic make-up. The many bigots – all ages, from all walks of life and various socio-cultural-religious persuasions – are either acting out of ignorance or simply looking for an excuse to attack us – morally, physically or both.

The arts, of which poetry is more concerned with opening minds to concerns other than those to which they may well have been introduced, even indoctrinated, by well-meaning elders, especially during the all-important formative years. Life, though, is about becoming our own person, not as others might prefer us to be. Growing up is about coming to terms with the inner self and that may well mean having to compromise with or replace certain attitudes with which the chances are we were never quite able to enter into, even as children.

In my own mind, as regular readers will be familiar, a poem is a poem is a poem, regardless of its theme/s. I do not discriminate between gay-interest poetry and general poetry. At the same time, I could see that I stood a better chance of making this point by appearing to contradict myself in writing up separate gay and general blogs. (Even so, I have included the same poem on both blogs from time to time, especially when the theme address bigotry of any kind.)

Consequently, the majority of gay-interest poems that specifically address LGBT readers can be found in the blog archives, accessible on most servers on the righthand side of any blog page at https://rogertab.blogspot.com

When I started writing up the blogs, I did not expect much interest. Today, however, my general poetry blog reached and passed 2000,000+ views. Not a lot compared to what users on social media have come to expect, but I feel very encouraged and can but hope that more readers have enjoyed than been disappointed by the sentiments expressed in many poems, whether they agree with those sentiments or not. A poem is a poem is a poem, but they hope to offer food for thought, and agreeing to differ can provide no less hearty a meal as empathising with the poet.

I will continue to post poems, but now I need to concentrate more on preparing new collections, as I promised myself I would once my general blog passed 200,000 views as it did today. Blog statistics register almost 160,00 views for the gay-interest/LGBT blog, considerably less but well worth the effort as emails from readers of both blogs continue to confirm now and then.

Take care, everyone, many thanks for your company, as always, and be sure to nurture a positive-thinking mindset, whatever...

Hugs,

Roger

[Note: This post appears on both poetry blogs today.] RNT

An Autobiography of the Human Race

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

We are all past-present-future in the flesh. We inherit certain genes and much of our approach to life is taken from historical figures who have made a deep impression on just as we, in how we live our lives, make an impression on others for better or worse; family, friends, casual acquaintances, even complete strangers. It only takes one moment in time when something we say or do strikes a chord in someone’s life that will play out forever.

We won’t all make the national archives, of course, but there is another, more extensive to the point of being inexhaustible archive that is the human mind-body-spirit, that key player in human nature that should never be underestimated; whoever and wherever we are, whatever our socio-cultural-religious background, gender or sexual persuasions, it is the backbone of a common humanity that has seen the human race also rise above all history has thrown at it, just as it will continue to do, even as the C-19 coronavirus continues to impact on us all.

This poem is a kenning.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE HUMAN RACE

I walk with ghosts, night and day,

a presence as real to me as my own reflection

greeted in mirrors, shop windows,

still waters in dream-places keeping memories

and sometime companions alive,

urging mind-body-spirit like voices in the ear

egging urging me on, regardless

of any obstruction fallen or placed in my way

whether by accident or design

I talk with ghosts, night and day,

and they listen without interruption, just a nod

or shake of the head occasionally,

sufficient to persuade or dissuade any thoughts

to action or inaction gathering pace

demanding I look again or press on, regardless

where inspiration has landed a hit,

missed its mark altogether, deserves discussion

or better left to gather dust

I bare all to ghosts, night and day,

far more even than to those who know me best

if only because I dare not share

any part of me that takes its cue from the dead

for fear of being misunderstood

or (worse) denied a voice, left with less of a life

to speak of than even a ghost,

reduced to a skeleton in someone’s cupboard,

exhibit for some eager archivist

I am that past-present-future making of humanity

what it will, and am called History

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018; 2020

[Note: This post/ poem also appears on my general poetry blog today.]

Art, a Measure of Home Truths

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This poem is from my general poetry archives for October 2016. More than one reader has emailed to ask why these archival poems have not appeared on this blog. No reason at all, except that feedback from most of you made it clear that the majority were only interested in accessing one blog or the other so, on the day, I had to make a choice. Poetry, though, like any art form,is all things to all people; we ignore what we choose, enjoy all that with which we can readily identify...and call it art/s appreciation.

An art teacher at my old school once told the class that we should not only learn how to look at art but how also to feel it. That was a good half century or so ago, but I am grateful for the tip to this day.

When we look at a painting, for example, it is obvious what we are looking at; less obvious is what lies behind the painting, how the painter saw his subject through inner eye and various absorbed impressions. The artist’s choice of colours and their shades, the force of certain brushstrokes, all are clues to what he or she is saying not only about his or her subject but  also about themselves.

The best art forms are not only delightful on the eye (or ear) but also draw us into them and thereby into ourselves. In this way, many art works survive centuries and a posthumous consciousness remains available to be tapped into by the discerning art lover who may not even be an expert, simply open to ‘live’ impressions. When we look at a work of art, we inevitably if subconsciously, look into ourselves ... and what do we see?

The Ancient Greeks, of course, produced one of the earliest well-developed examples of gay art. Going their own way from other ancient cultures, the Greeks considered free adult male sexual attraction to be both normal and natural. Gay people  like me were spared tortuous closet years imposed on us by public/cultural opinion; it is one of many modern tragedies that it remains the case for far too many of us worldwide.

ART, A MEASURE OF HOME TRUTHS

Studying me, it’s likely
that far more
than all you see will touch
mind, body and spirit,
sufficiently firing imagination
to give inspiration
a voice for home truths
ghosting paths of times past
and present…

Observing me closely, find
the inner eye
homing in on brush strokes,
the lighter here
and heavier there, colours
chosen for warmth
or cold, and touches of light;
dark, dreamy twilight,
moody gloom…

Seeing is not always (quite)
believing that creativity needs
an audience;
desires one, yes, if only to share
impressions of mind,
body and spirit laid bare
in such a way
as to make a presence felt
that would out

Art, a psycho-creative presence
redefining subject and audience


Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Pulp Fiction OR Flirting with Imagination

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

[Update: (Feb 4 2018]; Several readers have asked me ro reinstate 'Blasphemy' to the blog as they have been unable to access it via Google Play. I will start posting again in serial form later this week.]

News Update (June 21, 2016): My (slightly revised) gay-crime novel 'Blasphemy' (2006) is now available as an e-book on Google Play:

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Roger_N_Taber_Blasphemy?id=mNlsDAAAQBAJ&hl=en_GB

NB My novels (including gay-interest, crime and fantasy,  published and unpublished) will continue to appear in serial form on my fiction blog. I am grateful to those readers who have been in touch to say they have enjoyed my novels and why those as yet unpublished (Dog Roses, Mamelon, Predisposed to Murder and Like There's No Tomorrow deserve to be. The fact remains, though, that I was never able to find one and found myself concentrating more and more on my poetry.

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/

I hope to announce any e-editions of my poetry collections and subsequent new collections (in e-format) as I upload them on both general and gay-interest poetry blogs; each collection will continue to include both general and gay-interest poem just as my fiction will embrace both general and gay-interest storylines.

Meanwhile,...

Now, if you enjoy writing in any genre and despair of having writer’s block, you are not alone. I, for one, know the feeling only too well. Ah, but believe me, there’s nothing like a spot of ‘live’ pulp fiction to stir the imagination ... 😉

PULP FICTION or FLIRTING WITH IMAGINATION

He got on at Leicester Square,

sat opposite me, heading for Edgware;

between dripping sardines

our eyes met. (Rain on the face

or beads of sweat?)

I chanced a friendly smile

and mouthed, “Hello.”

He flung me a dirty look - so

I returned to my book although my heart

yearned for his beauty,

let it comfort my despair. (Oh, to burn

my fingers on the sparklers

in his hair!) Patched jeans smouldering

like the heart cowering in my shirt,

I risked a second glance. His eyes bore

darkly into mine...

Hooked! Starkly, we swam

a glorious ocean...

Our lovemaking done by Camden Town,

he left the train

I never saw him again

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002

[From: First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]

[Note: Camden Town is a district of North-West London, about 15 mins travel on the Northern Line from Leicester Square.]

Portrait of the Artist as a Young (gay) Man

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

Once I had a really awful nightmare. I was fifteen years-old at the time. None of my family knew about my awakening homosexuality. I did not feel I could confide in anyone because gay relationships were illegal at the time. Yes, I had found ways to explore my feelings with other gay youths and men, but it was pretty scary all the same.

My mother’s explanation was basic, but very much to the point. She explained that dreams, even bad ones, are a safety-net for feelings we cannot explain or put into words because, for whatever reason, we have no conscious grasp of their wider implications. We might be in denial or grappling with emotions on the surface without really and/or truthfully understanding or acknowledging their depth. While good dreams can be inspirational, bad dreams are nothing to fear because (she assured me) the Sandman is always on our side and has our best interests at heart.

As an adult, I still take reassurance from the fact  the sandmen are on my side even if it took a good few years for me to be convinced.

PORTRAIT OF AN ARTIST AS A YOUNG (GAY) MAN

A blackbird flew me into dawn’s
early glow, and together we discovered
where the Sandmen go;
gathered under a rainbow
among sunbeams, mixing its colours,
painting our dreams

Mind and body told me I should leave
without delay; in my dreams, he alone
would have the last say;
I couldn’t pick and choose
from the best, no artist dare ignore
the worst

The blackbird would have flown on
into the day, but I was having none of it,
would have my say;
How could a Sandman
always get it right, invade free spirits
each night?

‘Ah,’ said the Sandman, ‘it’s for you
to find your own way through the rainbow
to what lies behind;
the human spirit is a complex affair,
heaven forbid we should either prompt
or interfere.’

‘A human being is a unique creation,
free to fly at will, nor are we its keepers;
we can but try
to offer ways of seeing
the inner eye can observe, inspiring
hope and endeavour.’

‘Yet, humanity is but a fragile thing,
despite hidden strengths that will see it
right as often as not,
and it is down to us Sandmen
to see where it’s broken, pieces fallen,
patch it up

Blackbird dropped me there, left me
but half awake to ponder the implications
of daybreak,
and I thought I heard
it singing out there, where it’s a Sandman
has the last word

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

It's Magic

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

Not so long ago I was waxing lyrical about Doris Day. A reader who has some kind words to say about my villanelles has asked if I would write one about Doris. I have done my best although no poem can do justice to this amazing woman. I’d like to dedicate the poem to her.  Some people hate villanelles, of course, but I have a passion for them. I love the discipline they impose on the poet. So perhaps this poetic form is not inappropriate given that acting and singing, too, require discipline.

Gay or straight, don't we all have our favourite icons, inspiring/reassuring/comforting us for one reason or another? Oh, and why not ...? We all need that feel-good factor for which we ordinary mortals rarely if ever get the chance to thank those from all walks of performance art who work hard at providing it.

Oh, and Doris was born on this day, April 4th 1922 ...which makes here ...who cares? Thank you Doris for making so many people (like me) feel happy just as we stand on the brink of feeling, well  ... otherwise.

Photo: Doris Day (taken from Wikipedia)

IT’S MAGIC

Oh, how I love Doris Day,

singer, actress, gem;
she takes my breath away

Voice now bright and gay,
now like a lovely hymn;
oh, how I love Doris Day

Sparkling, come what may,
as a clear mountain stream;
she takes my breath away

No matter where I may lay
me down, she’s my dream;
oh, how I love Doris Day

She’s all the best critics say,
sheer magic for all time;
she takes my breath away

Though blond hair turn grey,
the spirit shall never dim;
oh, how I love Doris Day,
she takes my breath away

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010