This Poem was Submitted By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-05-13 12:50:02 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Beside the Gate Home is all the truth I know
where cares turn to the pillow
and marigolds sleep
outside my door.
Here the steaming cup
warms my fingers,
and books stand by
in somber readiness.
Seasons grow about
this house, like ivy
blanketing an old tree.
I am held in this space
below the stars,
above earth’s
pumping heart.
Home is the all the truth I know;
it stays my longing for another place
where beside the gate,
a radiant angel waits.
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Copyright © May 2004 Joanne M Uppendahl
Additional Notes:
Revised, with thanks to Rachel and Sandra.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-06-02 22:40:56
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.44898
Beautifully done, Joanne. I'm sure you 've heard of and seen the double "the" in S4, L1 by now. This has wonderful imagery and some nice rhymes and allits. You have described a most peaceful place where most of us would like to wait for "that other place". Home is where the heart is, to steal someone's quote. I simply loved your simile in S3, the "seasons - like ivy". Super! Write on, milady - in happiness and peace. wrl
This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2004-06-02 11:54:16
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.87500
Oh, Joanne, this is just wonderful. It's what I would call an "embracive" poem that accepts the here-and-now, makes for itself a secure haven, and harbors an expectation of further joy.
Home is all the truth I know
where cares turn to the pillow
and marigolds sleep
outside my door.
I like the eye rhyme of know/pillow, and all the other "o" assonance incorporated here. The link between sleeping human, through the pillow metonymy, and sleeping marigold, guarding the dreamer within the house, is nicely explored. To me, the marigold suggests a miniature sun-image, and its radiating layers of patterns have a spiritual context. Even in a flower, the cosmos is replicated.
Here the steaming cup
warms my fingers,
and books stand by
in somber readiness.
Use of "somber" is an interesting choice! The tangible study of words, as opposed to the unlimited vistas of the imagination, also contrasts the weight of mortality with an implied otherness. The steaming cup that warms the fingers might just be a metaphor for another type of insight. We learn more than is contained between the covers of any text. What we learn will lead us to the gate. The "readiness" of the books can prepare us for the journey, especially if they're words of wisdom from illuminati who will advise the seeker.
Seasons grow about
this house, like ivy
blanketing an old tree.
I am held in this space
below the stars,
above earth’s
pumping heart.
The natural imagery suits so well; the seasons compare beautifully to ivy! The "old tree" then becomes the speaker as well as her home. The home itself transforms into the planet's surface itself, as the speaker, as Shakespeare says, is "crawling between earth and heaven". The earth is personified as a being with a heart; I note that the stars and their realm are not given similar qualities. How, indeed, can we interpret the life-force of the out-of-reach?
Home is the all the truth I know;
it stays my longing for another place
where beside the gate,
a radiant angel waits.
Lovely "a" assonance all through this final strophe!! The cadence is lilting and hopeful; the diction is simple and specific. "All the truth I know" is of necessity confined to what we have here, in our flesh-lives. But the final word, "waits", implies that we are destined for more than this. The radiant angel may well be your own son, noew an emissary from the larger Presence. It is worth commenting that the waiting process is mutual. Therefore, the angel must have a prior bond, or why would he wait only here, only for this one soul?
This is a poem that reaches behind the reader's eyes and into the mind; from thence, it goes straight to the heart.
My Best Always,
Brenda
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2004-05-29 09:55:48
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.88889
Hi, Joanne,
I am tired of waiting for this one to get to the top of my list, so I will do it now.
Your poems are always gobbled up as soon as they are posted. This is lovely Joanne
it flows like Emily D and has the rich images of a Blake. I think the
revisons are good. One small suggestion:
Home is the all the truth I know;
it stays my longing for another place
where beside the gate,
a radiant angel waits.
Most of the images are so great and the language so amazing that this ending seems ordinary.
Is there some way you could spruce up that angel? Perhaps a more unusual adjective is
all that it needs.
Best,
Roni
This Poem was Critiqued By: Irene E Fraley On Date: 2004-05-17 15:06:07
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
There is a wonderfull flow to this poem. The imagery is excellent (as usual), the tone is almost one of musing. The use of the imagery in refference to time is very well done. I sat for a few minutes, just struck with the idea of Time (seasons in proigression) wrapping about the house. What a wonderful image! My favorite image was the books standing by in somber readiness. I truly identify with this poem. The tone at the end though, made me somewhat uncomfortable. I rather suspect that is "my stuff", or perhaps an echo of hidden feelings.
Thanks for this poem Joannne. I don't expect that this has been much of a critique, but I honestly don't see anything that needs changing.
Take care,
Rene
This Poem was Critiqued By: Jordan Brendez Bandojo On Date: 2004-05-16 03:38:04
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.77778
Dear Auntie Joanne,
I would love to stand by at your gate and use my senses:
to smell the perfume of the flowers while touching some of the
marigolds and the ivy...and more exciting is to bulge my eyes in seeing
the radiant angel. Who could be that angel? Maybe your son?
Another heavenly poem rife with embellishing poetic devices.
The only unwanted thing I see is the article "the" in the first line of the
last stanza, "Home is [the] all the truth I know;". But it's not a big deal.
Thanks for sharing the 'gold' in your pen, once again, Auntie Joanne.
Jordan
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rick Barnes On Date: 2004-05-14 11:35:29
Critiquer Rating During Critique: Unknown
Joanne,
Hmmm...the muses must confuse us. Either that or after careful consideration they simply could not agree upon whom to send this essence to, Mell or you. It is certainly a study in visions. I have just told Mell how I have always distrusted the concept of "home" as an actual location. (Read my review of Ms. Morris' "Where The Heart Is".)
It's odd. Every time I read another work of yours it adds one more brush stroke to the picture of "Joanne's World." I remember reading once where Wyeth said he wished he had left Christina out of "Christina's World".
From having known you,I know exactly what he meant. Your self portrait is a painting of your surrounds. There are those of us who are,"on the earth, but not of it." And then there are those who declare:
Home is all the truth I know
where cares turn to the pillow
and marigolds sleep
outside my door.
You seem to be saying, "my cares are no more an affair upsetting the world than those of my marigolds".
Here the steaming cup
warms my fingers,
and books stand by
in somber readiness.
At home in this world is take what small pleasures are offered and grasp them with all of the senses. It is not enough to experience the warm liquid with but one of our senses. We must feel it warm our hands, let the aroma serve up past and future memories. It must be all the more an experience for the cup itself. You have your favorite cup, don't you? Yes, you do! And it brings you comfort knowing that the thoughts of others put down in print lay patiently within reach. They read like past lives forgotten or previous positions of stars not so much foretelling as fullfilling the one who is now Joanne.
Seasons grow about
this house, like ivy
blanketing an old tree.
This line is the essense the muse knew would come from a writer such as you, (and I might add Mell:)
"My lilac tree courses with sap of trust,
Truth, and tears, and its blooms toss
Like virgin-velvet runes."
I am held in this space
below the stars,
above earth’s
pumping heart.
Here the self conscious Joanne reflects for a moment. Aware of herself as a single raindrop on its way back to the ocean of all that is. But make no mistake, this only an inventory moment, for
Home is the all the truth I know;
it stays my longing for another place
where beside the gate,
a radiant angel waits.
What vision you have. I think at times I would gladly trade my focus for your depth of field, but then, we can't have that can we? No we can't.
Rick
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne Duval Morgan On Date: 2004-05-14 07:56:09
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Yes, beautiful sentiments. I was surprised by the notation, in my mind your writing, may need revision. I always thought you woulnt get caught in the words, justpure expression.
We akk have that, Liliacs return every year, and each pplace has a momoery of you.
I think I understand the two closing stanza's a great del. The angel your son. the date metafore for going home, to where he waits.
It's beautiful, classic poetry I think, and reads well. Even though my brain is having troule come up with the caragory it is placed it. It is you, and I'm glad you reposted......Luv, Jo
Don't worry about the score joanne, just keep posting, I don't care about the contest, just beautiful poetry.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2004-05-14 06:27:48
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.28571
Who can critique something like this?
The syrup is so thick I'm stuck to the plate!
I need air. I need air...
I must be reading this at the wrong time of day.
It's too well-done for me.
I need 'em raw and kickin' in the morning.
Where's Scheffer...my coffee, boy...my coffee...
This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2004-05-14 06:01:25
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.66667
Joanne–You and MM must be joined at the hip or at least have some type of
connecting thread: there wasn’t a single post/crit from either of you for May,
then uncannily you both offer similar ditties on the same day within in minutes
of each other (is that a coincidence or what?-smile).
The speaker’s simple opening line belies the import of the title and its affect on
this free verse’s tone: A deliberate mix of plain and non-literal language create
imagery of a sober home life/interim existence for the protagonist (stanzas #1/2).
In stanza #3, I loved the great analogy of lines 1 thru 3;
“Seasons grow about
this house, like ivy
blanketing an old tree. “(Image of this alone is worth note)
However, stanza #3's, lines 4 thru 7 perplexed me: does the word ‘held’, as used
in this context mean (figuratively) against ones will or (literally) it’s just
not time to move/leave from the present realm? In any case or whatever context,
that one word intrigued me (any clarification offered would be appreciated-smile).
Stanza #4 is what caps this piece off (even w/the extra “the”-smile): repeat of the
first line and title serves to make an emphatic statement of the speaker’s faith by
inference of an ethereal residency upon her “ultimate move.”
The subject matter, language, tone, line breaks, conciseness, and paucity of punctuation
made this an excellent/interesting read. TLW
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lennard J. McIntosh On Date: 2004-05-13 23:02:43
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.83333
Re: "Beside the Gate"
Here is a "no place like home" theme much older than The Wizard of Oz, and yet, as fresh as
our next meal, or the certainty of a smiling face. It is presented in four quatrains
[excepting the 3rd stanza of seven lines], and in a cadence pleasing to the ear.
Writer: "Home is all the truth I know"
Len: As the first line of the first and last stanzas, the above phrase becomes a
refrain. In shorter works it doesn't stand out as clearly, however, it's visible and does a
good job of supporting the theme. It's a good choice of one of the many techniques available
to propduce strong writing style.
Writer: "the steaming cup
warms my fingers,
and books stand by
in somber readiness."
Len: The hot beverage, and food for the soul constitutes home as the one real,
meaningful facet of many individuals. This isn't particularly nice, but the writer drives home
the point, with a skillful use of allegory. [cup; books.]
Writer: "Seasons grow about
this house, like ivy
blanketing an old tree."
Len: My word, this is rich simile. It also connotes the picture of love, secuity, in
the ivy's embrace of the tree. [home]
Writer: "beside the gate,
a radiant angel waits."
Len: This coup de grace of the narrator's argument comes at the end: an angel to
insures the security for which so many yearn.
This work is impressive , right down to its title. Just look at the internal
assonance: "place/gate/waits." These combinations create a euphany not managable by
run-of-the-mill poets. It takes knowledge of the craft and the skill to put it to work.
Congratulations to the writer.
A fellow poet, Lennard McIntosh
This Poem was Critiqued By: G. Donald Cribbs On Date: 2004-05-13 19:05:11
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.75000
Dear Joanne,
I like this one, but I think it can go a bit farther. I'm going to encourage you here to take a few more steps with this one. I think it's going places. A very good start, though, I must say!
I love the concept you're working with here, comparing this life and the one to follow. I love the very personable and approachable debate going on throughout the poem. But, I do have a bit of feedback, so please bear with me as I go through. As my mother said, take what you like and leave the rest. Obviously, this is first and foremost your poem. I would not wish to tread on your toes. So, if I cross a line, please let me know, and I will retract my opinion.
Beside the Gate [this does work, since it's not given away until the end. Just a personal pet peeve of mine that a poet use a different phrase to further build upon or draw out some aspect of the poem.]
Home is all the truth I know[,]
where cares turn to the pillow[,]
and marigolds sleep
outside my door. [beautiful. very articulate!]
Here the steaming cup
warms my fingers,
and books stand by
in somber readiness. [sounds warm and cozy, a delightful place to be!]
Seasons grow about
th[e] house, like ivy
blanketing an old tree.
I am held in this space
below the stars,
above earth’s
pumping heart. [I love the calm, yet questioning tone here...very nicely done!]
Home is the ["]all the truth I know[" place];
it stays my longing for another place[,]
where beside the gate,
a radiant angel waits. [you've got just enough here to clue us in to where you've gone in your mind's eye or in your heart, perhaps. A wonderful ending.]
Hope that helps! Just wanted to offer my "readerly perspective."
Warm regards,
Don
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2004-05-13 18:05:26
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.75000
Hi Joanne,
I missed critiquing your first post of this poem and was surprised to see that Rachel
and Sandra helped you do a revision...I have never anything from you that I thought needed
to be revised!
Home is all the truth I know...this one line mirrors the sentiments of my existance...
where else can you forever find truth but right under your
nose in your home wherever that may be
where cares turn to the pillow
and merigolds sleep outside my door.... such feelings of contentment in these lines..lovely
here the steaming cup warms my finger....I love mornings and a steaming cup of coffee is
excuisite
and books stand in somber readiness....a hot cup and a good book to read...what is more
perfect than that? Writing poetry perhaps!
seasons grow about
this house like ivy
blanketing an old tree...I am always trying to grow ivy as I would love it to twine around
my trees or cover a fence with its beauty..but alas it usually dies
which is strange as I can grow most other things..maybe I try too
hard
I am held in this place
below the stars
above earth's
pumping heart.......this is my favorite stanza..it is just beautiful beyond words..the idea
of earth's pumping heart comes only from a gifted pen such as yours
home is(the)all the truth I know...I was a little confused about the first 'the'but you may
have meant to leave it out or use a comma for smoothness
it stays my longing for another place...why would anyone this content long for anything else?
where beside the gate,
a radiant angle waits...I was hoping you would use an angle in this poem as it is so fitting
with the theme...this is wonderful..it goes on my list!
Blessings...Marlyn
This Poem was Critiqued By: Sandra J Kelley On Date: 2004-05-13 14:41:35
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.50000
Joanne, lovely. I love the details and the sense of longing that you create in this poem. You really show us what holds you here even when something is calling you away. I love earth's pumping heart. As always your poem is wonderful I am glad I came across it today.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2004-05-13 14:19:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Dearest LL:
This is my first day back on the computer but I want to say congrats
for your double win! Guess who was pulling for you, as always? This time I
had a bit of vp.
Thanks also for the help. I try to keep a perspective on life, but four walls
do not give much scope. Plus the horrid depression is almost worse than the
body pain.
I must comment, however briefly, because not an hour ago, I posted a poem
about "home." I find the continuing coincidences interesting.
Yours is worthier (big surprise) and you employ the metaphor of gate awaiting
by your ultimate home which is a lovely ending...but oh, the beauty in between!
Home is all the truth I know
where cares turn to the pillow
and marigolds sleep
outside my door.
Your linguistry grows like your (now) sleeping marigolds. Your
opening line is brilliant, LL. Home is also the place where feelings
are revealed in pillows (soft crying) so the marigolds' sleep will
not be disturbed.
Superb assonance.
Here the steaming cup
warms my fingers,
and books stand by
in somber readiness.
While the cup warms your hand, the books stand ready to warm your mind
and spirit. The play with "somber readiness" is a fine touch.
The home you depict is an appealing abode as one knows the kettle is
on the hob, books abound for perusal...a place I want to be.
I find somber an unusual adj. for books then I recall your penchant
for sentries. Am I close?
Seasons grow about
this house, like ivy
blanketing an old tree.
I am held in this space
below the stars,
above earth's
pumping heart.
Your simile that house is covered by seasons as ivy "blanketing" an old tree...
quite marvelous. Such resonant imagery...the idea of internal coziness of the
house is strengthened in this stanza.
Grow/old/below and ivy/tree and stars/heart and etc, etc.
You use the word "held" by the house and I take it as if in someone's arms,
not against your will or a prison-like place.
Home is all the truth I know;
it stays my longing for another place
where beside the gate,
a radiant angel waits.
The repetition of the 1st line works well here and you tell us that your home
quells or satisfies the longing for your true home in empyrean realms.
And there he is, your special angel, waiting for this moment when he may
welcome you home.
Of course, this metaphor adds to the pearly gates notion and the sentinel angel.
Simply exquisite writing, LL.
I find peace and acceptance of what is in your poem but an underlying pining
for your ultimate home. The feeling leaves me in a melancholy state although poet
does not convey that yearning directly.
Another deftly-done poem by our Joyful Emeritus who is of such tender sensitivity
to her surroundings, she doesn't wake her snoozing flowers. A treasure beyond
measure and I will stop now for my rest but you have lightened my darkened room
with the beauty of your words.
Brava!
Best always,
Mell
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