(Gay) Pride (still) Breathing New Life into Old Ways

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

[Update June 4th 2017]While our thoughts and hearts go out to all those affected by last night's terror attack in London, we are also reminded not to let anyone attempt to pull our strings, neither terrorists nor bigots. In a free world, no one wears strings. If we allow others to influence us, on our own heads be it. We need to be aware, though, that there are those who see influence as power and power, as we all know, is easily abused.] RT

Regular readers will know that I did not come out to the world (only a select few) until my late 30’s, not least for having been raised in a gay-unfriendly home and school environment.

A boy at my school who had been surrendering to a desire to kiss other boys, albeit on the cheek, was made to undergo electric shock treatment to ‘cure’ him of any ‘homosexual tendencies’’ this, alone, was enough to keep me in the closet! Among crowds, I felt like a ghost, walking unseen with an increasing sense of other ‘ghosts’ all around me. They visited me in my dreams, these ghosts, and I sought them out in my spare time, discovering old haunts where we would meet and comfort each other emotionally and sexually. In this way I discovered how to ‘cruise’ along with the best.

It took a bad nervous breakdown in my late 30’s to (eventually) remove the blinkers I had been made to wear all life and get real about my sexuality.

Gay-unfriendly legislation in some parts of the world and various socio-cultural-religious obsessions a with the heterosexual ethos means that there will probably always be closet ghosts: I sense them wherever I go, make eye contact with some and we exchange signals of recognition and wishful thinking, much the same as men and women do when attracted to each other, albeit  invariably but passing glances because, once out, no gay man or woman wants to share their life with some ghost in a closet; been there, done that, got the emotiona scars to prove it.

In my 70’s now, I still walk with ghosts, but none of the closet variety; any hauntings now are of an inspirational nature, voices in my ear across centuries of their being abused and misunderstood simply because the less initiated prefer to home in on one aspect of a person’s identity - his or her sexuality - failing altogether to appreciate the whole person. Words of wisdom in my ear, indeed, prompting me to look the world in the eye, unashamedly gay, and that’s my business, no one else’s; not an employer’s and certainly not a cleric’s. (The prevailing notion in some circles that being gay effectively undermines our ability to do a good job or any - related or unrelated - sense of spirituality is absurd; it always was, of course, but especially in a so-called ‘progressive’ twenty-first century.

Thanks to successive pioneers determined to give gay men and women a voice, G-A-Y can take its cue from O-U-T, refuse to be cowed by divided societies worldwide and feel proud to keep company with all gay-friendly souls...past, present and future.

Common humanity will yet get the better of socio-cultural-religious bigotry. 

(GAY) PRIDE (STILL) BREATHING NEW LIFE INTO OLD WAYS

Walking out

where few had walked before,

talking with those

with whom few had talked before,

sharing secrets

few ever get to share in a lifetime

of repression

Treading dreams

where many had dreamed before,

fed nightmares

no psychiatrist ever quite understood

because they know

only the theory, nothing of living

in fear of shadows

Ghost, a scrapbook

of would-be memories, fictions

I’ve sought to act out

in closets with doors I’d leave ajar

for light enough

to read minds by, assess potential

friends and enemies

Loneliness,

gamut run, nor safety in numbers

or (quite) free to talk

as we walk (as we do anyway) given 

public opinion

inclined to portray the same profile

hanging us out to dry

Returning

to places that defy any returning,

in memory

of exorcising demons once hell bent

on destroying me,

but I resisted, fought back, live

to tell the tale

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

Poetry Live

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

[Update) March 25, 2017: Not everyone who visits the blog also visits my Google Plus page where I have been posting links to posts/poems from both blogs on a daily basis. A reader has  emailed to say he had heard about the poetry reading but had no details. Sorry about that! He also said he would still like to make a donation to Prostate Cancer UK as his late father had prostate cancer, and he is having tests for it himself. Sadly, cancer does not discriminate! Good luck, Ian, and stay positive!

If there is anyone else out there who enjoys my poems on the blog/s, please help if you possibly can. My page will remain a while longer; every little helps its team in supporting men with prostate cancer, gay and straight alike - and their families - across the UK

Well, the poetry evening is well done and dusted. Only about a dozen people came, but we enjoyed ourselves. (There's nothing quite like live poetry.) Everyone seemed to appreciate my choice of poems and we all got on well during a 30 mins refreshment break which was really nice as some people had only just met for the first time. If the arts are meant firstly to entertain and secondly to offer food for thought, feedback suggests the evening was a success on both counts.

For me, personally, it was hard work involving weeks of preparation but a labour of love so I'm glad I went ahead with it despite being a bag of nerves...which, thankfully, steadied once I got started. This year marks sixty years of getting my poetry into print, given that my first published poem appeared in my school magazine summer 1957. I have also been living with prostate cancer for six years (treated with hormone therapy).

I've recorded the poetry reading although I daresay some editing of the resulting voice file will be necessary.  (I hate the sound of my own voice so will leave that to my friend Graham who shoots and edits the videos on my You Tube channel.) Hopefully, blog readers will (eventually) be able to link to it.]

.....................................................

I did not have the confidence to read in public for years. However, after a few years of occasionally performing Open Mics at Farrago Poetry evenings in London, I found the self-confidence to accept invitations to give readings around the UK (2003-2014). Only weeks after a reading in 2014, I had a bad fall and have spent much of the last two years learning to walk again. I can get out and about quite well now with the aid of a walking stick, for which I am truly thankful as my left ankle had sustained a complicated fracture and I was warned I might never walk again. Oh, but I love walking and am stubborn enough to defy any harbingers of doom. Even so, I did not expect to give another poetry reading.

Now, this first poem appeared in Visions of the Mind, Spotlight Poets (Forward Press) in 1998 and subsequently in my first collection,  Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001. It is an early piece, written in the summer of 1976 during which I gave an impromptu reading of it in Trafalgar Square to a friend (and several appreciative passers-by who paused to listen.)

POETRY LIVE

Words 

to music, out of words on

sun rising in the eyes 

of that ragged-eared mongrel

at George’s door
tongue lolling, nostrils a-smoke,

smelling us out

Words

to music, out of words on
letting carnival hot dogs
substitute for garden scents,
make easier the stink 

of various matter-of-fact slop-outs

in the gutter

Words

out of choc-smeared mouths
in Bank Holiday sunshine;
kids in glad rags spilling
on the streets like bin bags;
shirtsleeves copper seems anxious
to get chatty 

Poetry

Copyright R. N. Taber 1998; 2017

I never dreamt that 30+ years on I would be reading a selection of my poems in Trafalgar Square, this time to a global audience via web stream as my contribution to Sir Antony Gormley’s ‘live’ sculpture project, One and Other (2009) sponsored by Sky Arts. To view, click on:
http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T    [NB: Sept 19, 2019: Today, the British Library confirmed that the link blow to the 4th plinth reading in 1999 is no longer available as the video is incompatible with an updated IT system. However, I am assured that the video still exists, and B L hope to make it available to the public again one day. Fingers crossed, and watch this space.] RNT

L-I-F-E, Stings of Irony

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

'…Let none admire
That riches grow in Hell; that soil may best
Deserve the precious bane.' (Milton, Paradise Lost (Book I, lines 690-692)

Precious Bane is probably as well-known for the novel of that name by Mary Webb as its place in Milton’s epic poem. It refers to the love of money, which, as Webb’s heroine, Prue, records, blights love and destroys life; the title also refers to her deformity, a cleft lip which she comes to recognize as the source of her spiritual strength. [A cleft lip is sometimes referred to as a harelip  (as happens in the novel) considered insulting as it compares the deformity in humans to the normal cleft lip of a hare.] 

Now, I am not suggesting that my being gay is any kind of deformity although it has been put to me by various bigots that's precisely what is! Political correctness, for all its frequent abuse, means well. Moreover, for me, personally, it encourages the spiritual strength I take in being gay from both nature and the kinder, more discerning side of human nature. (Fortunately, the latter is in greater supply than the media’s focus on it is often inclined to suggest.) Over the years, though, I have been teased, bullied. verbally and physically abused for being gay just as, since a bad fall in 2014 at the age of 67. I've been on the receiving end of much the same more than once because I now need a walking stick.

In so far as political correctness is intended to put a stop to insulting comments and behaviour, it works well enough for the most part  ... at least to outward appearances.

Bad attitude is only half the problem. Too many people use the political correctness card to turn tables in their favour when it is they who are at fault. Time and again, various authorities (who should know better) side with guilty against innocent, perpetrator against victim rather than risk a bad press. Here in the UK, for example, there is far too much walking on socio-cultural eggshells these days; without being seen to do so, of course, although I often wonder just who it is in the driving seat that thinks they are fooling anyone ...

Wherever there is no legislation for political correctness, the darker side of human nature continues to flex its predilection for insults, prejudice and bigotry. On the other hand, of course, you cannot legislate for bad attitude which simply proceeds to do a good job of keeping out of public sight and hearing ... and is more than capable of  keeping up appearances where the media is concerned.

Whatever social card a person chooses to play - sexuality, race age, gender etc. -  in order to turn tablea and portray themselves as victim rather than perpetrator, justice needs to prevail, and be seen to do so.  I worked with the public for many years and endured more than my share of verbal abuse from people whose behaviour I'd make clear I wasn't prepared to tolerate so they would call my manager, play their card ... and nearly always get an apology while I would be made out to be in the wrong and look a complete fool. 

Oh, well, c'est la vie. We positive thinkers can but prefer to believe that forces for good will always get the better of those for bad (in the end, at least) if only to avoid drowning in a sea of cynicism.

L-I-F-E, STINGS OF IRONY 

Once, in another country,
we spoke of love and being gay
in a world where sexuality
has no need of political correctness
to leap to our defence

We lay beneath a willow tree
shedding tears for the likes of us 
having to justify even love
in the glare of a political correctness
meant to educate bigots

Oh, but so many excuses
(all perfectly legitimate of course)
playing political correctness
at its own game so none dare criticise
for fear of causing offence

Hypocrisy, no mean weapon
in upholding the various integrities
of socio-cultural traditions
passed off as icons through centuries
of human division and abuse

Ah, but who are we to accuse
those who may accuse us of offending
all they hold dear if only
because it makes them feel secure, safe
from all talk of LGBT rights?

Oh, yes, we may well speak up
where political correctness established
despite all its back-stabbing, 
self-styled ‘betters’ fronting and calling
on socio-cultural immunity

As for the world’s higher clerics
seeking handouts even among the poor,
no need for a satirical press
where actions speak louder than words
and both contradict each other

Around the world, ordinary people
whisper behind closed doors of being gay,
in love and free where sexuality 
can’t even call on political correctness 
to try and put the record straight

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017



…

Ode to My Love

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

Regular readers may recall how my partner died many years ago after only a short time together. As it turned out, I never met anyone else with whom to share my life. Even so, I have some good friends and have met some wonderful people whose life stories – happy and sad alike - have inspired many of my poems.

Sometimes people ask me how I can face growing old alone. Well, yes, I live alone but that does not mean I am alone. I have plenty of company, not least my poems.  Besides, love, in all its shapes and forms, sustains and inspires me just it has always done, especially whenever I am feeling low or start feeling sorry for myself for whatever reason.  Friends, places, nature, they haunt my memory and invariably come to my rescue to help me rise above whatever may be troubling me at the time.

My long-ago love is never far from my thoughts and our love continues to guide me through the complex maze we call life. He brought out the best in me and it is that which prevents me dwelling on mistakes, letting wishful thinking distort all the Here and Now has to offer me and (hopefully) I, it.

The great thing about love is that it doesn't discriminate against anyone for their colour, creed, sex or sexuality. Sadly, many human beings do, resulting in lovers the world over having to resort to subterfuge, sometimes being rejected by disapproving family and friends on grounds of certain socio-cultural-religious-principles that love (quite rightly) does not recognise.

Time and again, life calls on us to learn and move on from our experiences, good and bad. We can but do our best. At the same time - as I have said many times on the blogs, and doubtless  will again - it is always worth remembering that moving on doesn’t mean leaving anyone behind, especially those we have loved.

ODE TO MY LOVE

I so love you for a smile on your lips, 

the laughter in your eyes, the way 

your hair blows in a summer breeze,

how tears fall like a gentle rain

from heaven whenever we watch 

soap television

I so love you for a song in your heart, 

how it echoes all around, 

sweeter sound even than skylark 

or nightingale, lifting my soul 

on wings of a prayer given thanks

for your being here

I so love how you flare like a candle 

in the wind whenever 

we quarrel, making up before 

the day closes, recharging 

our bodies, the more joy and power 

to each other

I so love how you shoulder hardship,

brave and true, my hero;

though folks tread roughly

on our dreams

you’ll keep us safe, hold my hand, 

quick to reassure

Who could ask for more...?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2016

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appeared under the title ‘Ode to my Love’ in First Person Plural by R N Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Making Out, Fitting In

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

As a child, my mother would often read or tell me stories. Consequently, I became an avid reader. I loved fairy stories, myths and legends. I used to have a collection of stories by Hans Christian Andersen and many surface in my head even to this day. (I am 71 now!). I could not appreciate the value of those tales at the time, of course, but as I grew older I began to realise how many home in so sensitively on aspects of human nature, and with disconcerting accuracy.

As a teenager, I was past reading fairy stories, but several made a valuable contribution towards shaping those troubled years, I realised I  am gay, but felt obliged to keep this observation to myself. Being gay, I had been told, was something dirty, ugly. I often felt dirty and ugly although that did not stop me seeking out sex with other boys and men whenever the opportunity arose. Andersen’s tale of The Ugly Duckling was an inspiration then and, to a lesser extent, remains so to this day. It took some time, though, before I saw that what looks ugly from one perspective can appear beautiful in another.

So where does Red Riding Hood fit into my life? Well, for one thing, I learned that appearances are often deceptive and we need to guard against wolves with human faces…

Saturated with perceptions of human nature though these tales were, some had happy endings, in the hopeful search of which I have spent the greater part of my life. I experienced some for only a short time, others for longer, but the quintessential Happy Ever After remained beyond my reach. Even so, any share of happiness is better than none and never to be taken lightly or resented for never quite living up to expectations. Happiness, like love, comes in all shapes and sizes whether it relates to a person, place, whatever; if it remains in the memory and inspires us to adopt a positive rather than negative perspective on life, even on its downside, it remains a treasure without comparison. [Why do so many people insist on making comparisons when they are invariably irrelevant; we are all different, with different aspirations and views on life; different, too, in what (and who) makes us feel happy, sad,  inspired …whatever.

As I have said many times on the blogs, our differences don’t make us different, just human. Many if not most of us learn soon enough that life is no fairy tale, but I learned more about human nature from them as a child to help me find my way through its maze. Oh, yes, I have had my share of bad times as well as good, made mistakes (and plenty of them) but - not unlike the ugly duckling - I came out to the heterosexual world with pride and took my place among swans…[I was in my 30's and it had taken a severe nervous breakdown to make me see that being gay is - to borrow the title of one of my poems - worth every heartbeat.)

MAKING OUT, FITTING

The child I was…

would regularly go for a swim

with the Ugly Duckling

or go rushing off into dark woods

to warn  Red Riding Hood

about a wolf on the prowl likely

to devour her

The youth I was …

would regularly wish himself

a very different person

to the one haunting every thought

and move, each hour   

of each day on the prowl likely

to devour me

As a young man…

I would eagerly make friends

with gay characters

in this book or that movie, share

their roller coaster lives,

suffer a thousand cuts from wolves

with human faces

Growing older…

I gave shadow selves the heave-ho

left make-believe behind,

began to enjoy being who I am

without a thought

for that sad other ‘me’ living in fear

of being discovered

Growing old…

just as I take others as I find them

so I expect them to pay me

the same courtesy without rushing

to any judgement

coloured by stereotypes, tailored

to fit small minds

Grown old…

I still swim with the Ugly Duckling

whenever the whim takes me

and regret I was always too late

to warn Red Riding Hood,

but take in my stride that it is as it is,

or so the story goes...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

The Two of Us, a Love Story

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

Reader ‘Jean-Claude’ who lives in Paris once emailed me about this poem to say how much he could relate to it. What better praise for a poem than it lets the reader into it?  I wrote it as my thoughts turned to a particularly memorable June night there many years ago...

I would also like to take the opportunity yet again to recommend a delightful DVD  'Juste une question d'amour' ( Just a Question of Love) which take a delightful and sensitive look at the difficulties the parents of some gay people experience in coming to terms with their son's homosexuality.

I have a friend who lives in Lille who still feels he cannot break it to his parents that he has a boyfriend even though they have been in a relationship for some years. Sadly, there are gay people worldwide who feel they cannot be open about their sexuality for one reason or another. In my friend's case, he is burdened with a whole load of Catholic guilt; in other parts of the world, gay people have anti-gay legislation to contend with and live with the threat of imprisonment or worse. It is a sad indictment on a 21st century from whose socio-cultural-political and religious elements we deserve better.

I find the rise of the Far Right across Europe very disturbing, not least because it plays on people's fears regarding the extent of immigration. While it is true that many immigrants are from cultures that are intrinsically homophobic, and many seem unwilling to change their attitudes towards gay men and women, we should never forget that the policies of the Far Right are as essentially homophobic as they are racist. No one who deplores prejudice of any kind should ever vote for these people.

Gay couple outside a cafe in Paris; photo by Braden Summers (Internet)

THE TWO OF US, A LOVE STORY

Under Paris stars, 
one night in June - a nightingale 
sang our tune;
we embraced, 
exchanging vows - with tongues
of fire

No chill of darkness
undermining or intruding upon
our happiness;
your hand in mine 
as kissed and exchanged rings
said it all...

Come morning, 
sweet night bade us each a fond
"au'revoir";
a minute’s silence
for two singles joined together
(no matter what)

Cock crows 
as we embrace a parallel dawn,
bask in its glory;
love, icon
for all seasons, opening its petals
to the sky

Story told, the world over, me 
and my gay lover

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2016

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appeared as ‘The Two of Us’ in First Person Plural, by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; revised ed. in e-format in preparation. 

A Hitchhiker's Guide to Christmas

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

Well, yes, it’s that time of year again.

Now, I’m no killjoy and it is always GOOD to see people happy and celebrating whatever the occasion. Regarding religious festivals, regular readers will know that I do not subscribe to any religion. Christmas cards were only ever a way of keeping in touch with people before the advent of computers.  (For anyone like me who have terrible handwriting, e-mails are a great idea.) 

Many thanks to all of you for supporting my blogs. I can but trust you have found at least some  poems to enjoy. 

As for Christmas, however you feel about it, whoever and wherever you are, ENJOY and may its message of peace and goodwill to all humankind be for all time, not just at this time of year. Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, all humankind may even listen and learn one of these days…?

A HITCHIKER’S GUIDE TO CHRISTMAS

One Christmas Eve,

I sat alone by the fire,

content awhile

to watch familiar shapes

in feisty flames

invoke happy memories

of times long ago,

the world a kinder place

place where such

as you and me would live,

love, and hitch rides

to gay-friendly galaxies

on wishing stars,

exploring the potential

for Happy-Ever-After

One Christmas Eve,

I felt alone by the fire,

saddened so

to watch familiar faces

coming and going

like players on a stage

acting out memories

for an audience of one,

all those who lived

for love by hitching rides

to gay-friendly galaxies

on wishing stars invoking

Happy-Ever-Afters

for any less touched by love

than seems fair

One Christmas Eve,

I almost let the fire go out

for empathising

with flickering flames

struggling

to stay feisty, a losing battle

from the start

where the heart not in it

when suddenly

one flame leapt higher

than the rest

as if making the point

that all’s not lost

till we wish it of open hearth

and inner self

One Christmas Eve,

I took a new lease of life

for taking my cue

from a fire all but gone

to embers,

the spirit of love and peace

risen like a phoenix

for getting push and shove

from an understanding

that past loves never fade,

are an inspiration,

forever banging on doors

to be let in…

if only to share more hitchhikes

on wishing stars

Copyright R N. Taber 2016