Art forms, Life-forms

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

Again, not a gay-specific post-poem today, but I make no apologies for that. 

In my first job (in a public library) after leaving school at 18 years-old, I discovered gay fiction as a positive life-form.  At the time, early 1960's, I was still in the closet, not least because I was still living at home and male members of my family had 0ften expressed homophobic comments. Cowardly of me, I know, but I could not have coped with the inevitable angst and stress; indeed, as regular readers of either or both poetry blogs will know, it would be a good fifteen years yet before I'd feel anywhere near confident enough in my sexuality to look the world in the eye. 

To this day, my remaining family have never broached the subject with me, nor I with them, not least because I would expect them to play the 'politically correct' card while doubting whether any talk of support would be any more genuine now as it would have been forthcoming years ago. In many cases now, families are supportive of gay members, and that is GOOD to see, but many socio-cultural-religious bigots remain, resulting in far too many gay boys and girls, men and women and other LGBT folks being stuck in a lonely closet for many years, even a lifetime. 

Coming out of that damn closet is the best and hardest move I have ever made in life, and I would not wish it on anyone.  Sadly, I was not destined to settle down with a permanent partner and a lonely old age is no fun, but NOTHING compares with those lonely closet years, and my only regret is that it took me far too long to start believing in myself (and others) in so far as our sexuality makes us no less human, contrary to what I had been told.

Indeed, I feel encouraged by emails from readers of my general poetry blog the suggests fewer readers take offence when I mention or discuss certain influences of  my earlier years, including being gay, on my poetry.

Meanwhile...

People have often asked me why I write poetry. Another friend, a painter, is often asked why he paints. Why does anyone get involved in any for of creativity whether it be writing, music, acting, dance or floristry, gardening... whatever, the answer is essentially the same. 

Any creative art form invariably makes the artist feel good, not only about participating by way of communicating, expressing something of the inner self that needs to make itself seen and heard, but also, in turn, being explored by inner eyes and inner ears, among any who care to look and listen. 

We may well disagree with what we see and hear in an art form, but it will invariably give us food for thought. 

Now, I know I have said as much in previous posts and the reader who emailed yesterday to tell me off for repeating myself too often makes a good point. At the same time - and the same applies to the creator and/or participant in any art form - if something is worth saying, it is always worth repeating. 

As for agreeing or disagreeing with whatever point/s are being put across within it, that is part of the art process, drawing us in. Even artists often find themselves at odds with themselves as they pursue whatever it is they are trying to say, struggling perhaps to give it form and meaning; to this end, they may well play devil’s advocate, not to confuse, but lead us to consider our own position and just where we stand in relation to... whatever. 

It may be a painting, a sculpture, a piece of music or a floral display... take any art form lightly, and we risk losing a sense of enlightenment as likely as not to influencer our lives for the better, whether minimally or substantially. 

ART FORMS, LIFE-FORMS 

During formative years,
I’d shed tears for feeling unsafe
in a world teaching me words
to help me guard against the threat
of mutual misunderstandings,
arts of communication as divided
by as many reasons swung
like axes of the proverbial kind
as human remains left behind

 Grown older and wiser
to ways of a world as excited
by the intimacy of playing
word games in any public arena
as lovers testing out dreams
in such open (or closet) scenarios
as may or not work out
for better or worse, blessing or curse.
in a private-cum-public space 

Grown old, the more so
for having had to agree terms
with strangers in my mirror,
shadows haunting dining tables,
or cosy corners for family,
friends, lovers indulging in rites,
acting parts in good faith,
so kinder worlds may yet save a heart
whose faith in one, fallen apart

Find me in all art forms, asking we consider
the good and bad of all we may yet deliver

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: Much of this poet-poem appears on my general blog today.] RNT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Art, a Measure of Home Truths

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

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

Poetry, Rites of Way OR Engaging with Mind-Body-Spirit

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

This poem is taken from my general poetry blog archives for April 2014. At the moment, I am very unwell and not up to composing new poems; many if not most  readers seem to appreciate my posting poems from one blog's archives on the other so I will continue to do so for now rather than publish nothing new at all. To those open-minded poetry lovers who have always shown an interest in both my general and gay-interest blogs, all I can ask is that you bear with me while I work on a new poem.

Now, I am often asked why I write poetry. While I think of myself as a poet who happens to be gay rather than a gay poet, the gay input to my poetry is especially important to me. Hopefully, gay readers will enjoy relating to it, if only in part, while the less gay-friendly heterosexual reader is invited to put aside any outdated, misleading, and often offensive stereotypes that continue to attach themselves to the whole gay ethic in the minds of the less enlightened.  Much the same can be said of my approach to fiction; I haven't written many novels and none have been bestsellers although they sold well and while feedback was mixed, it was  mostly appreciative; as with my poetry, I have tried to reach a mixed readership, and enjoyed every minute of it. 

Now, although I enjoy socialising, I am also a very private person. I have never kept a journal because I hate the idea of anyone accessing details of my private life and thoughts when I am no longer around to qualify what I wrote. At the same time, my poems are journal pages of a kind; few are strictly autobiographical, but each and every one turns on the kind of person I am, warts ‘n’ all.

Many of my poems have been inspired by conversations with all sorts of people - men and women, gay and straight alike - who have told me about themselves as this bar, that bus queue…wherever. The subsequent poem is as much their story as mine. At the same time, how I chose to write the poem illustrates my train of thought upon hearing and often relating to what they had to say and mulling it over for hours, weeks, months, and even years. My fiction takes shape in much the same way although I, personally, find poetry both more expansive and inclusive. Any readers interested, may like to visit my fiction blog sometime, details at:

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

Writing poetry, like any creative process, exercises the inner eye in seeing even what is sometimes considered (by whom?) best overlooked. We all need to see and feel in order to try and understand; every artist wants to share his or her insight, feelings, and subsequent understanding - flawed though it may well be - with others.

Past-present-future, the poetry of yesterday-today-tomorrow, the stuff of dreams and personal space, seeing as through ... whatever.

Oh, and, by the way, I was born on a sloping dead-end street.

POETRY, RITES OF WAY or ENGAGING WITH MIND-BODY-SPIRIT

When this life ceases to be,

my spirit left to feed on eternity,

what will they think of me

who drank my wine at table,

doubted I was even able

to write at all or, at least, as well

as one might who always

kept Mount Parnassus in sight,

despite the English climate?

Oh, I dare say they were right,

but I’ve so enjoyed being a poet,

lapping up all criticism, praise,

scepticism, quips about simplicity,

a serious lack of intellectuality,

how gay-interest poetry undermines

a proud genre’s finer integrity,

compromises the very aesthetic

of its history and spirituality

I've heard it’s a cardinal sin

to lower the tone, let anyone in

on a poem, its place in the arts

intended to impress, access

only partly allowed or its mystery

all but solved, and that way

(surely?) anarchy lies. Whatever,

a poet will always have the edge

on Mr, Mrs, and Ms Average

Although but mortal, mind and body

expect more of the human spirit

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem was mistakenly published under its draft title 'Requiem for a Poet' in A Feeling for the Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Impromptu Renaissance

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

Gays are losers,’ someone sneered at me only recently. Oh, yeah? So...was Handel a loser or Michelangelo or Shakespeare...to name but a few?

Did I mention Michelangelo? Yes, well, even the Vatican now openly acknowledges its debt to some of the greatest artists that ever lived, and were gay:

http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/jonathanjonesblog/2015/jan/06/vatican-sexuality-themed-tours-gay-artists-michelangelo-da-vinci-caravaggio

Sexuality has to be in the genes or else how can we account for gay people world-wide ... and what is more natural than coming into the world as nature intended? Nor is it only sexuality but also how we develop into mature adults in which, there too, nature is bound to lend a hand.

As every wise parent knows... yes, you want the best for your children. But more often than not, the best way to show your love and keep them close is to let them go their own way and always be there for them.

As for any homophobes among the heterosexual majority, to them I say... grow up and get real.

Now, history plays host to many great men who were homosexual or bisexual. Do we hear the homophobes attacking them? A great man or woman or just an ordinary person in the street, our sexuality is sexuality is unimportant, except to them. It is no one else’s damn business. Besides, it is character that counts and that is where the homophobe is invariably found sadly wanting.

Never, but never underestimate the power of love, and never believe that is any less true for gay men and women worldwide.

IMPROMPTU RENAISSANCE

I battled against the snow one night
and winter would have seen me dead;
no star in sight or midwinter moon
finding a way through to be my guide

My legs refused even one step more,
my body collapsing in an untidy heap
on a white fur rug, marble surrounds
left clear, no doors or even a window

A splendid ceiling boasted frescoes
staying true to the Florentine painter
assigned to transform a mortuary
into a summer retreat fit for a pope

The faces looking down at me began
shouting then singing, their body parts
dancing wildly, bringing art to life,
resuming its place in the subject field

I heard an organ (or was it the wind?)
playing the Dead March as the revellers
vanished behind a sequined curtain
so I saw no finale, could only imagine

Suddenly, faintly, I heard a love song
growing louder, stronger, a match even
for Handel and the dead, hauling me
to my feet, defying surrender to winter

I battled with wind and snow yet again
and winter would have seen me dead
but you despatched the Spirit of Love
to find a way through and be my guide

That night we sat by a glowing hearth,
eating chestnuts roasted on red hot coals
where the arts of gay Greats of History
made their finer pleasures known to us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010