http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Today’s
poem was written in 2011 and was first published in an anthology, Fear Itself, Forward Press, 2012.
In the
1980's I spent a couple of years working as a librarian with the local Home
Library Service that visits housebound people unable to get to a local library.
One of my customers was a lady well into her nineties, all of whose family and
friends had died. She was a lovely lady; with soft, silvery hair and the most
beautiful skin I have ever seen on an old person; she must have been a real
beauty in her younger years.
The group
of people with whom I worked visited the same people every three weeks in a
mobile library van and we got to know some of them well. I asked this lady once
if she was ever lonely. ‘Of course,’ she replied in a hauntingly musical voice.
‘I miss my friends and family, but I have my reading, my music and can look out
on my garden and enjoy nature and wildlife. They are always reminding me that
life is precious, but nothing lasts forever. I used to worry about dying alone,
but not now. The garden will know when my time comes. The flowers and trees,
birds, butterflies, and even the grey squirrels will see me through whatever
lies in store for me. Earth Mother will remember me when I’m no longer here,
even if no one else does....’
At the
time, I thought it was a very romantic thing to say, but that’s all. I know
better now.
Whatever
their ethnicity, creed, gender or sexuality, people of my generation and
older (I am 67) who don’t have a partner, for whatever reason, often tell me
they get scared sometimes of growing old alone and dying alone. I can relate to
that although I rose above such fears some time ago.
Yes, I
have occasional lapses of confidence and start to panic, but only have to
look out of my window at the garden below or go for a walk along the canal or
on Hampstead Heath to feel reassured. Even city life plays host to nature if
not on the same scale as the countryside.
In later
years, especially after I turned sixty, I realized it was unlikely I would meet
anyone else with whom I’d want to spend the rest of my life.
I confess
I grew more and more apprehensive about growing old and being on my own. Yes, I
have some good friends, but who’s to say who will outlive whom? For a while, I
found little comfort even in my close affinity with nature. Indeed, I became
more than a little apprehensive about the future. I got scared, really scared.
Ah, yes, but
not now….for human nature has a healing power of its own; it is called positive thinking. besides, whenever I contemplate the inspiring beauty of the natural world, I feel a sense of peace that lifts me above any negative feelings that might try to sneak in, not least regarding my prostate cancer ...
Years ago, I asked a neighbour, a keen gardener who had lost a leg in a car accident, how he managed to stay so cheerful all the time. "That be down to nature," he said with broad grin, "Do well by Earth Mother, and she'll do well by you," adding with an infectious laugh as he caught me glancing at his artificial leg, "She can't be held responsible for bad drivers, now, can she, eh? A rock, she be, and no mistake, a reassuring presence, just when you need one the most. While all around you are busy quoting from some Gloomsday Book, she be actually there for you." He returned to pruning his roses, humming cheerfully away, while I returned to my book; I barely gave a second thought at the time to to words that would play a central part in my life and poetry in the years ahead.
REASSURANCE
There was
a fear in me
that
became terror as I grew older,
of being
left alone,
family
and friends long gone,
dying on
my own
I could
not sleep at night
for the
grip on me this terror had,
a living
nightmare,
nowhere
to go, no one to share
so much
as a tear
One
sunset, in my garden,
watching
fluffy pink clouds drift by,
a
nightingale’s song
captured
the sheer joy of living,
an
eternity of loving
I felt
Earth Mother’s arms
take me
in a strong, intimate embrace,
a
presence reassuring,
sense of
rest and peace enduring,
no dark
dreaming
Copyright
R. N. Taber 2012
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