Closet Fear

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

Here in the West, it has been my experience that many gay people take freedom of sexual identity for granted.  True, there is no denying that homophobia is still alive and kicking. Yet, I have listened over the years to chilling tales of how it is to be gay in countries where same sex relationships remain a criminal offence (Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia and various African countries among many) punishable by a public whipping, prison or worse. I have learned to count my blessings…even during those low points in my life when they may otherwise have seemed too thin on the ground for much comfort.

The heart is a free country, not a prison; wherever its every beat expresses fear of exposure under pain of punishment, even death, that's more than an abuse of Human Rights, but makes any of any religious dogma advocating it the greater abuse or sin against humanity by far. Religion is meant to be an expression of love; no God of Love would condone hate crime in any shape or form. I left my local Church Sunday School for this very reason at the age of ten years, four years before I realised and acknowledged (to myself at least) that I am gay. 

It is a tragedy for the West that many if not most immigrant families bring their religious dogma with them, forcing their gay young people into the kind of closet public opinion forced me into years ago; one which resulted in a mental breakdown in my early 30's and a suicide attempt. Even now, I bitterly regret not coming out to family, friends and work colleagues, whatever their take on homosexuality,  until my early 40's.

CLOSET FEAR

No one can know we’re lovers,

(everyone sees us as good friends)

nor any peace of mind, given a love

that's taboo

No one can know we share a bed

whenever I stay over at your place,

taking each day as it comes, for good

or ill

No one can know we’re gay men

playing hide-and-seek with shadows,

one mind-body-spirit no less deserving

of nurture

No one must guess our secret,

war weary of judgmental stereotypes

dragging us down even as we recharge

its batteries

No one must catch a single look

between us that even hints at a story

that dare not be told though reworked

for centuries

No one must guess we’re lovers;

many would have us publicly stoned

to death to satisfy an inhumanity baying

for blood

Yet, we will lie, bodies entwined,

away from prying eyes and loose talk,

make love among far kinder hypotheses,

dream on…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

  

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.]

The Word Is...

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

From time to time, I find myself looking back in horror and anger to the dark days of my youth when gay relationships were illegal here in the UK, especially when I receive emails from gay people living in a gay-unfriendly environment (anywhere in the world) and besieged with doubts regarding the integrity of his or her sexuality.

It is OK to be gay, If other people have a problem with that, it's their problem. The world is all the richer for the diversity of people in it; as I have said many times on the blogs, our differences do not make us different, just human,

THE WORD IS…

G-A-Y is a word that’s had me worried

till I met you

G-A-Y is a word that’s had me scared

for HIV-AIDS

G-A-Y is a word I’d heard is a synonym

for perverse

G-A-Y is a word I’d only known used

for a punch bag

G-A-Y is a word I was taught to believe

only losers use

G-A-Y is a word I was told denies God

and worse

G-A-Y is a word I was encouraged to spit

upon

G-A-Y is a word that fair shook the life

out of me

G-A-Y is a word that tossed me into a pit

of wintry despair

G-A-Y is the word that returned me to light

and springtime

G-A-Y is the word that tossed me a lifeline

and set me free

G-A-Y is a word that really had me worried

till you found me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

  

[Note: This poem was written in 1973, rediscovered in 2009.and first posted on the Internet in 2010]

G-A-Y, of an Age OR Sexuality, an Affinity with Mind-Body-Spirit

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

As regular readers will know, I had realised I am gay by the time I was fourteen years-old and was sexually active with other boys and men throughout my teenage years. It would have helped to be able to take this over with someone instead of being forced into a closet by so-called public opinion. In some parts of the world, public opinion may have shifted for the better, on the face if it at any rate, but the closet is still there for anyone growing up in a gay-unfriendly environment to hide in and/ or be tossed into like an unwanted item of clothing and/or have the door locked behind them and only allowed out for communal meals or prayers.

The old adage is unfair and morally reprehensible that children should be seen and not heard, and if older people are living longer so children are maturing more quickly. I will be 68 years-old on the next winter solstice, and it has been my view for more than half a century that to suggest a teenager is still a child is an error of judgement in law, principle, and the minds of many among those said to represent ‘public opinion’.

These days LGBT young people as well as older men and women can look for a local support group and/or forum on the Internet in the absence of a close relative or friend with whom they can discuss their sexuality. It remains a tragedy, however, that many are forced to do so in secret. We may have Political Correctness, Equal Opportunities and various diversity policies and projects in some parts of the world, but many of these are purely cosmetic. If the whole world can’t wake up to the fact that LGBT is OK in the 21st century, it says precious little for a common humanity.

G-A-Y, OF AN AGE or SEXUALITY, AN AFFINITY WITH MIND-BODY-SPIRIT

Fourteen years-old,
told we’re not old enough
to know our own minds,
warned never to surrender
to any ‘peculiar’’ feelings
we might have for each other
or (worse) so much as consider
we might be gay

Fourteen years-old,
not cleared by law or canon
to know our own minds,
assured lots of boys and girls
have ‘strong’ feelings
for each other, but it doesn’t
mean we’re criminals or (worse)
we could be gay 

Fourteen years-old,
told it’s only natural to confuse
affection for a friend
with something more, but not sure
what or why because
we don’t have the experience
in life to really be in love or (worse)
be sure we’re gay

Fourteen years-old,
vulnerable to aspects of illusion
conspiring against us
along with misleading stereotypes
some parents take as read
so would save us from following
in the footsteps of history’s giants
who were gay

Fourteen-years old,
growing surer of ourselves daily
and discovering feelings
no one ever talks about at school,
religions ignore or shame,
politicians fall back on diplomacy
media’s take on public duty, ‘outing’  
celebrities suspected gay

Fourteen years-old,
wise beyond our years, old enough
to know our own minds.
unafraid to explore feelings we have
for each other,
sick of being driven to subterfuge,
impatient for that milestone birthday
setting us free

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Mystic River

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

What better time to recall a hot summer than in winter? I wrote this poem just after I graduated from university. I have revised it only slightly.

It was summer, 1973. Few people knew I was gay in those days and, to be honest, I still nursed random thoughts about ‘going straight’ in spite of the fact that I’d had sex with men since I was sixteen. Yes, homosexual relationships between ‘consenting adults’ had been legal in the UK since 1967 but an awful lot of people still had a problem with it….just like an awful lot of people still do.

There was another student I had fancied for a good two years but he always had a girl on his arm so I’d long since reconciled myself to the bitter-sweet martyrdom of unrequited love. I was sitting by the banks of the river Stour that runs through Canterbury when he came along and asked if he could join me. We had exchanged a few words but barely knew each other. Even so, I guess I was a familiar face and most of the students had already left. We chatted a while and later ended up in a local bar. I got tipsy (light-headed already, just spending time with him!) and blurted out the truth…that I fancied him like hell…then made a dash for the loo, a nervous (all of a sudden, dead sober) wreck.

He followed me, demanded to know if I was serious. I nodded miserably. He grabbed my arm and I thought, ‘This is it, he’ll rough me up good and proper.’ Instead, he kissed me gently on the lips and we spent the most of the next 48 hours in his room at the university…before going our separate ways.

We didn’t stay in touch. I moved around a lot in those days and will never know if he even tried to contact me again. Ah, but when I rediscovered the poem on a scrap piece of paper, faded to yellow and folded for a bookmark in a copy of Giovanni's Room, a fine novel by James Baldwin… those 48 hours fast forwarded a good 40 years...

MYSTIC RIVER 

We sat by the river,

a river that flows forever

into an endless sea

We talked by the river,

a river that flows forever

into prose and poetry

We played by the river,

a river that flows forever,

letting even art go free

All ages in the river,

a river that flows forever,

fish for someone’s tea

In love by the river,

a river that flows forever

into the heart of me

Copyright R. N. Taber 1973; rev.2009

Surprise, Surprise

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

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2010. (I try not to post poems too close together, but repeat them as and when asked or for readers who don’t have time to browse the archives or perhaps don’t have a computer at home but rely on other venues for Internet access.)

Now, you have probably noticed how very intelligent people sometimes say very stupid things.  I read a villanelle at a poetry reading once and a ‘self-confessed poetry lover’ in the audience (why else would he be at a poetry reading?) said how much he enjoyed hearing a poem on an ‘intelligent’ theme. He smiled patronisingly when I admitted to a passion for villanelles and confessed to having written some 200+. Then he said I must find writing in poetic forms ‘a nice change from writing gay stuff.’  ‘I mean to say,’ he went on, ‘whoever heard of anyone writing gay villanelles?’ When I told him I have written lots of villanelles on a gay theme, he just grinned inanely, laughed nervously, and promptly sought refuge in someone else’s ear...

Yes, this poem is a villanelle.

SURPRISE, SURPRISE

It’s a feel-good something every day

getting the better of me;

surprise, surprise, it’s called being gay

If I have the look of a man on his way,

who am I to disagree?

It’s a feel-good something every day

Making best of worst come what may

(two cheers for democracy);

surprise, surprise, it’s called being gay

Risen above fear since fear doesn’t pay

if you’re in a minority;

it’s a feel-good something every day

Forgiving folks who go out of their way

to attack my integrity;

surprise, surprise, it’s called being gay

In nature, I rediscovered a spiritual way

denied me by society ...

it’s a feel-good something every day;

surprise, surprise, it’s called being gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Yesterday Man

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

A beautiful day here in the UK! My thoughts stray to summers past and...

Well, knows what the future holds, even for someone my age? There is, after all, a creative phenomenon commonly referred to as positive thinking ...

YESTERDAY MAN

I'd wonder sometimes if I’m gay

till I saw him on the beach one day,

blond hair bleached by the sun,

blue eyes laughing at everyone, a smile

that ran up and down my spine,

lips I’d rather taste than any wine,

body trim and tight, love at first sight

and it felt so ... right

Oh, but I had a hard on every day

that holiday. At night, we made love

in the wildest dreams,

bodies joined with such warmth

and passion, I couldn’t believe

a conversation I overheard at a bar

about ridding the world of poufs, pervs,
fags and queers ...

I contrived to crash into him,

let his beauty bring me to ecstasy

like a fruit flavoured condom,

his voice seduce me out of my shell.

Hadn’t I been in hell for ages,

taunted by a questions of sexuality?

Now here was a god in the flesh come
to answer me ... Oh, fantasy!

Yet, I took him to be straight,

and wouldn’t have dared say a word.

Besides, I was scared.

One day, in the water, he accused me

of staring and I blushed

to the roots of my hair. He laughed

and made a sudden grab for me, arms

pulling me down, no letting go

I thrashed and fought like a fish

caught on a line, but he very quickly

calmed me down with a grin,

though but I all but panicked again
as his arms pulled me closer,
waves crying "Yes!" as both of us

wanting more than a race to the shore
found us sharing our first kiss 

Seems like only yesterday, I'd wonder

if I’m really gay ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2019

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since it first appeared on the blog and an even earlier version that appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Nothing Ever Quite The Same Again

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

Regular readers will know I have a passion for travelling by train...

NOTHING EVER QUITE THE SAME AGAIN

We sat opposite each other

on a fast train to heaven;

me, trying not to look too hard

in his direction;

he, struggling to resist a glance

too often in mine

I couldn’t focus on my book

for the flames in his hair

torching every page, setting this

heart of mine on fire

with desire, a growing hunger

to kiss a stranger

In mischievous sea-blue eyes

I stripped naked and swam

to a far, sandy shore, the colour

of his shirt, sprawled there

in the sun till he laid his body

down, next to mine

One hand caressed my cheek,

the other stroked my thigh

then he leaned and kissed me,

our arms entwining…

his skin like satin, sex hard,

bold, exciting

I missed my station, didn’t care;

as fate would have it

he did the same, till we came

to the end of the line

and he told me his name,

I told him mine

Homeward bound on another train,

nothing ever quite the same again …

[From Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Ballad of the Straight Cafe

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

More often than not chance encounters don't turn out quite as we expect but can be good for an adrenaline rush all the same. It is also true to say that life is full of surprises, none more amazing at times than other people.

We might think we can read someone's body language like a book, and arrive at certain conclusions, forgetting they may well be able to read ours, too, and arrive at their own...

BALLAD OF THE STRAIGHT CAFE

A face glimpsed in a crowd
had haunted me all day
then fate sat us at the same table
in my favourite café

I fought to control the frantic
pounding of my heart,
shied away from his passing glances
as if dazzled by their light

I felt the sweat on my brow
replace unshed tears;
salty drips, a measure of body heat
and unspoken fears

It spread to my groin, that fire
raging through me;
I relished, lapped up the pain, martyr
to my sexuality

His lips parted and let me see
the pinkness of a tongue
tossing words, fuelling the furnace
my body had become

He asked me to pass the salt
and my hand shook;
our fingers brushed and he gave me
the queerest look

I could scarcely breathe, sounds
like stifled screams
of feisty ghosts, last seen tramping
on wet dreams

I blurted out my name, asked his
and a chill wind all but let
the furnace die, left me smouldering
among coals of regret

Yet, a hint of light in his dark eyes,
though the dimmest glow,
warned it was now or never, he and I,
our selves to know

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