G-A-Y, Raised Voices

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

Update, Dec 14, 2018: As regular readers will know, a slim volume of my general and gay-interest poems will be widely available next spring, and I am hoping it will sell well enough to give the publishers (Austin Macauley) positive food for thought regarding a follow-up volume. While many of my poems have appeared in various poetry magazines and anthologies, most gay-interest submissions were rejected. I resorted to self-publishing collections of mixed general/ gay-interest poems; while these sold well, I had limited funds and they were only available in the UK.

When I have a publishing date, I will let everyone know. Meanwhile (as I struggle with online proofing) I am asking any blog readers who enjoy my poems to not only spread the word but also at least consider buying a copy and/or reserving one at their local public library where appropriate. I do not ask out of any financial consideration (there is no money in poetry!) but it can only help bring gay-interest poetry to the attention of poetry lovers worldwide, and thereby help give the whole LGBT ethos  more credibility, and lead to a greater understanding among those dinosaurs across the world who remain hostile to the concept.

Although most of my poems appear on my blogs, I am in my 70s now and not in the best of health. The Grim Reaper could come calling any time; sooner or later, my blogs may well fade into some distant digital sunset.

I appreciate that poetry is not to everyone’s liking and feedback from the gay readers worldwide suggests that there are those gay readers who see gay-interest poetry as a separate genre. We must agree to differ as I see general and gay-interest poetry a alternative voices of the same genre. A poem is a pom is a poem regardless of content just as person is a person is a person regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality.

While our sexuality is an important part of anyone’s whole, it is still only a part. We are the sum of all our parts, and I, for one, get fed-up with the less enlightened among us homing in on my sexuality and all but ignoring the other parts.

I have written well over 1,000 poems; of these, a significant number are gay-interest poems meant to be enjoyed but also encourage gay people around the world to feel good about themselves especially any who may find themselves living in a socio-cultural-religious environment that is anything but gay-friendly. Feedback suggests there are many, even in the more gay-friendly western hemisphere; we may have pro-gay legislation here, but you cannot legislate for bad attitude.

I am hoping to be well enough to give at least a few readings from the book to help promote it albeit  various health problems mean these are likely to be only in the London area. In the past, my readings have been advertised locally and well received by gay-friendly audiences across the UK; in libraries, regular gay group meet-ups and other venues. Even so, some people missed the posters, were only aware of a poetry reading taking place and told me afterwards how they hadn't expected to hear, let alone enjoy any poems on a gay theme; now, that really made my day.

Wishing all of you, my blog readers, love and peace always,

Roger

Meanwhile...

There comes a time for most gay boys and girls, men and women, when we feel a need to let the whole world know just who we are.

Today’s poem first appears in an anthology, Never Hold Time, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 and subsequently in my collection.

Some time ago, two sixteen-year olds got in touch with me. ‘Ben’ and his boyfriend ‘Matt’ had been in a closet relationship for several months. Apparently, the only person who knew their secret was Ben’s sister; she then discovered the gay section in The Third Eye after borrowing it from her local public library and gave it to him to read. Subsequently, Ben and Matt started following the blog and they have been in touch again since to say they are now out to family and friends and ‘everything’s okay.’

Ben wrote:  ‘I like this poem because it’s easy to understand and isn’t complicated like lots of poems. That’s how we want people to think about us. Why should being gay be so hard for some people to understand, and what’s so complicated about accepting people for who they are?’

Well may you ask, Ben!

This poem is a villanelle.

G-A-Y, RAISED VOICES

Come, let’s shout;

high time the world knew

we’re out

Dark clouds about,

but skies are turning blue;

Come, let’s shout!

Trust me, never doubt

it’s so right for me and you

we’re out

It’s what love is all about,

together we’ll see it through;

Come, let’s shout

Its seasons long or short,

may all love’s paths run true;

we’re out!

Putting stereotypes to rout,

profiling the gay point of view

Come, let’s shout,

'We’re out!'

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

It and I

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

I have some good friends, but live on my own and sometimes feel lonely. (Don't we all?) At such times, I will often I often go for a stroll on nearby Hampstead Heath, feel close to nature and not in the least bit lonely any more.

I love the Heath for its wide variety of trees, rolling green slopes and ponds whose wildlife residents are invariably as noisy as they are inspiring. Yet, there is another aspect of the natural world that befriended me many years ago. Indeed, readers often ask why it is I have a passion for clouds…

Here's wishing you all peace and love now and always,

IT AND I

I lay on the ground, gazing into a cloud

and we talked, it and I,

touching on things never spoken aloud

A face reassured me I should be proud

of not living a lie;

I lay on the ground, gazing into a cloud

I felt as if I’d spotted a friend in a crowd,

a gleam in each eye,

touching on things never spoken aloud

I struggled with words, once not allowed

(something to do with sexuality);

I lay on the ground, gazing into a cloud

Kindly, like a fairy tale giant, it towered

over me, brushing off fears I let fly,

touching on things never spoken aloud

Enlightened, with Apollo’s heat endowed,

we moved on, it and I;

I lay on the ground, gazing into a cloud,

touching on things never spoken aloud

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Imagination, the Agony and the Ecstasy

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

A reader has asked me to repeat the link to my poetry reading (for an hour) on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square last year as part of Antony Gormley's One and Other: 'live sculpture' project: 

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T   [NB: Sept 19, 2019 - The British Library confirmed today that the video is no longer available as it was incompatible with a new IT system, However, it still exists and BL hope to reinstate it and make it available to the public again at some future date.] R.N.T

Meanwhile...

Here’s another poem from the Taber archives, discovered in an old exercise book last year and revised but not substantially. The original was dated February 1964 at a time when homosexual relationships were illegal here in the UK. I would have been 18 years-old. Regular readers will know what a rough time I had during those dark, closet years. I guess it is why I empathise fully with people - especially young people - who feel unable to be openly gay for whatever reason.

I still feel guilty about being in and out of the closet for years before I finally came out to stay. It was hard to shrug off all that ugly baggage I was made to carry during my younger years. Sadly, even tragically, it is no easier now for gay men and women world-wide who grow up in a gay-unfriendly environment.

During those awful closet years, I never spoke out against homosexuality as some do (to cover their tracks perhaps?) but was acutely aware that it wasn't enough....

IMAGINATION, THE AGONY AND THE ECSTASY

I see him almost every day
yet dare not let him see how
I’m lusting after him

Sometimes he’ll chat to me,
his every casual word churning
my stomach

His voice tickles my tongue
then trickles down my throat
like juice from a pear

Sometimes we shake hands
and it’s enough to put my mind
in a frantic spin

Oh, to strip off his all clothes
and feel hungry fingers tugging
excitedly at mine!

Gladly, I’d let the glory of sex
with this god from over the way
be the death of me

Instead, I can only fantasize
about my lips descending on his,
pinioning him

He’ll move on, perhaps turn
at his front door, wave, smiling,
sticking the knife in

Copyright R. N. Taber 1964; 2010