Profiling a Screaming Heterosexual

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

Update (August 19^th 2020): Although some 1200+ poems have been published in various poetry publications since 1993, these (still) include relatively few gay-interest poems. However, this poem first appeared in an anthology, Crystal Chimes, Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2002 and subsequently in my collection the same year.

Now, the best advice I was ever given came from my English teacher at my old secondary school who told me way back in the late 1950’s, ‘Taber, always remember you are as entitled to a point of view as anyone else. Being your teacher does not necessarily mean I am always right. Be prepared to fight your corner, but concede other people the same courtesy and never, but never, close your mind to alternatives.’44hile ...

In those days, though, the stuffy (late 1950’s/ early 1960’s) I hadn’t found the moral courage to stand up for myself and others.  One boy in my class (straight, as camp as Christmas) loved an audience; if he thought someone was gay, he would make sure everyone was treated to the same hypothesis. Such was the stigma afforded gay people in those days that few - including me, I am ashamed to say -

dared contradict him; on the contrary, he was seen as something of a champion of integrity!

We've all met them, classic dinosaurs obsessed with self-image and anything (or anyone) they see as undermining it; never more so than in front of an audience. In many countries and communities, LGBT folks are tolerated if not (quite)  accepted; in others, the same old stereotypical stigmas persist; that's not progress, that's sick.

ENGAGING WITH A SCREAMING HETEROSEXUAL

“Being gay, it's sick,”

he screamed. “No, no, it's just

not on! Queers deserve all they get,

and worse ..."

No matter how many people

pretend not to mind, most prefer

company of their own kind;

it could ruin your life forever;

far better to play safe, take on a wife

and semi, raise 2.5 kids,

bash away at Promotion’s door,

keep the neighbours happy,

discover (for sure?) how it is

that acting “normal”

better hypes the higher dividend

than throwing in one's lot with Gays

to the bitter end

Equal Ops, a revolution

of sorts, but same sexes at the altar,

even adopting children? (Hardly a right

and proper option?)

Much-aired opinions, certainly,

but you’re you, and I’m me, meant to be

making our own way,

telling our own story as nature intended,

feeding on dreams

and desires, lighting fires in the heart

that bigots would see put out,

but (modern) history has other ideas,

less averse to making a case

for LGBT rights, up for telling the world

to get real, take pride in its diversity   

of life forces, all credit to the human heart

as a free country

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in an anthology, Crystal Chimes, Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2002 and subsequently in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Gay in The Garden (of England)

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

A number of blog readers have expressed a wish to read some of my poems again, but don’t have access to my collections or time to browse my blogs. For a while, therefore, I have created temporary, historical records on Google Plus with past as well as any current posts, deleting some and adding others on a regular basis so there are never too many poems to browse. The preamble to some posts may well be out of date, of course, but recent feedback suggests it doesn't bother anyone. Besides, readers can always skip the preamble and go straight to the poem.:

https://plus.google.com/118347623673930289606/posts

Now, as regular readers will know, I was born in Kent the so-called ‘Garden of England’ county at a time when gay relationships were illegal and attitudes towards gay men and women left much to be desired; the latter remains true in many parts of the county. Oh, I am sure many people will deny it - including members of my own family - not only because some of us have conveniently short memories, but also because it would now be considered 'politically incorrect' in most parts of the western hemisphere and no one likes to be seen in that light if only because they don't want to risk being taken to court. Yet, whoever and wherever we are, love creates its own garden where lovers - gay or straight - can walk more freely and probably far happier than many if not most of those voicing and heaping disapproval on their relationship.

There's nothing quite like being made to feel unwelcome...well, is there? Sadly, it is much the same anywhere in the world where certain people so love to rush to judgement on others (often prompted by misleading stereotypes) and cannot (or will not) see or accept that our differences don't make us different, just human.

This poem is a villanelle.

GAY IN THE GARDEN (OF ENGLAND)

Fairest of flowers

found in spring’s garden,

this love of ours

No ivory towers

but temples of passion,

fairest of flowers

Pride in colours

by nature freely given,

this love of ours

Like spring hours

from winter’s grave risen;

fairest of flowers

Temporal powers

may rage but cannot ruin

this love of ours

Where bigotry cowers,

begs Earth Mother’s pardon,

fairest of flowers,

this love of ours

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008; 2012

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

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.]