This Poem was Submitted By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2005-01-20 22:54:11 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Writing begins to flow  connected to mood or blood pounding behind my eyes, follows sensation in my bones  of something a-borning which wants welcome but will  come anyway, even with no place to land. It's not my fingers hitting keys nor words appearing on the screen or the electronic hum  of the machine which cares  not at all. It's knowing that you read. Though I cannot hear your voice nor see your smile or scowl, I long to write a page whose corner you will bend.

Copyright © January 2005 Joanne M Uppendahl

This Poem was Critiqued By: Erzahl Leo M. Espino On Date: 2005-02-06 18:24:11
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Joanne, It's not my fingers hitting keys nor words appearing on the screen or the electronic hum of the machine which cares not at all. It's knowing that you read. Though I cannot hear your voice nor see your smile or scowl, I long to write a page whose corner you will bend. --- This alone caught my attention and my fingers to create a feedback. Yes, these comments are the source of our inspirations. As poets, we live and we are inspired by the good and bad reply of our readers. This somehow builds our character and hones our talents. Thanks for letting us readers be part of your journey and your continuous quest in poetry. Thanks for sharing a part of your life…we will surely treasure this. In other words, thanks for coming to our lives… Your words always leave an indelible mark in our hearts and in our thoughts…thanks for letting us bend your page for you have bend a page of our lives. As always, Erzahl :)

This Poem was Critiqued By: Jane A Day On Date: 2005-01-29 21:28:41
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dea Joanne, You have had such a productive month! The longing captured in this poem draws me in. The last line is especailly good. A-borning and which cares not a all seem a bit out the the diction of the poem. The open really leads us in. I like very much being in the house as well as outside with you. Jane
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wanda S. Thibodeaux On Date: 2005-01-23 16:16:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.93333
Dear Joanne, Can I just believe you wrote this just for me? "Writing begins to flow-connected to mood or blood-pounding behind my eyes-follows sensations in my bones-of something a-borning-which wants welcome but will come anyway, even with no place to land." It's not my fingers, or words, or the hum of an uncaring machine. "It's knowing that you read." Yes! Yes! That is it! To write and think that someone would mark that place to return to over and over again. That would be an absolute joy for any writer. You've captured that surprising need we all have and don't really know how to express. This for me is one of your best, there are so many best, I have to say I can no longer choose. I find this one to be exciting tho, a different perspective. Enjoyed so much! My very best wishes. Wanda
This Poem was Critiqued By: Paul R Lindenmeyer On Date: 2005-01-23 03:20:57
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.57143
Joanne, to seduce the beholders heart, one of many goals of the Muse. From "pounding behind my eyes" to "corner you will bend.", the movement of the light of the spirit through the prism of the authors heart. I have a friend who writes in one of his poems "I wish my words to sear the heart". Always a hope as we pen our new verse. As usual, a pleasure to read and comment on your work. Peace, Paul
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2005-01-22 20:11:57
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
HRH, JoUpNatem: I thought you were bound for Alaska then read you're not going until July. I am disturbed by how confused I'm becoming. This is a disturbing sort of poem, coming from you, unlike anything I've seen you pen. The poem feels very personal, directed at one person, and I don't feel intrusive since you posted it for review, but there's a message, very strong, as to your motivation to write. I do not take pieces literally so I'm quite aware this may be about Jen writing Bea. But we know it's not. I sat up straight, smiled, checked my current smilitude in the mirror (many blows to the face during the falls), and felt smug and loved and admired for surely JoUp, Emeritus, was telling me how she longs for me to read her work. Yep, it fits. You know how I love your poetry, what I say often touches that deep-down, guarded place where NO ONE enters. Then I read the last sentence and its ending phrase, "I long to write a page whose corner you will bend." Lovely, evocative linguistry but alas! not for me. I am so deflated like the earthed balloon. But I'll keep going and coming like your poem aborning with no place to land. Again, grand word choices. You know how OCD I am and ergo, I'd die before turning down the corner of a page. Even a paperback which has been rained on and curled into unreadability, I could never turn down a page corner! I have marked my place with a tissue, my checkbook, a pencil, a cigarette (unlit), a pill bottle, get the idea. I was going to add tampon but thought that too distasteful for TPL. The first stanza fascinates because I've never had a poem come that way, like the birth of a child. You have made this a physical, bodily going back, no stopping now. I love the sounds of "which wants welcome but will come anyway". Not merely the beauty of allits but the determination of this poem to be written. The second stanza confirms that the environs or place of the event (no place to land) matters not at all. You use a computer...when it HAS to come, a grocery list, on my arm because I have no memory now. Usually it is not the entire poem but a phrase I've wanted and cannot find. It's knowing that you read. Though I cannot hear your voice nor see your smile or scowl, I long to write a page whose corner you will bend. Fantastic and gratifying for this reader. Scowl suggests a male to me...that jutting jaw, that rugged scowl. A woman would make a moue, frown (daintily) or shrug her pretty little shoulders, at the least, pout a bit. I have a notion or two about the motivator of your poetry but my lips are sealed and my brain dysfunctional anyway. Can you tell how much I enjoyed your poem? Slightly reminiscent of the writer's blocks. This cuts to the bone, medullary, no captives taken. This is how it is for me, folks, and it can work for you, too. I think if my motivation was to please a male, it would be wet and noisy but your poem herein pleases me enormously. A treat to be read again and again. I told you I write for Seamus so I suppose I can say, me, too, but mine is a fantasy while yours is all too true. Your work is always winsome and winning and welcome to land here any time. Since you are poet of the year at TPL, many poets obviously feel the same. Brilliant and riveting. You do something to me...tra-la... MellO
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2005-01-22 15:14:35
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.95238
Joanne, adieux, and so the writer comes clean!! I like how you begin by directing this to the reader, and then actually dissecting the writer. I wonder whom we shall see, .. a curiosity indeed!! Reader Writing begins to flow connected to mood or blood – I like this, often writers tell me they are “without inspiration” to write (song writers as well), and I ask them what the write about, and they say, this..that… this… the first thing I tell them is to write from where they are, about where they are and where they want to go. Excellent perceptive in these lines!! pounding behind my eyes, follows sensation in my bones of something a-borning – Absolutely Love this word, (a-borning) quite descriptive. which wants welcome but will come anyway, even with no place to land. – Absolutely delightful in a mid-west virginny type of way!! I like it, and all the words which have a-wanted release from you have been mighty nice to be a-reading!! The landings whether smooth or not, were a welcome respite from everything else!! It's not my fingers hitting keys nor words appearing on the screen or the electronic hum of the machine which cares not at all. – how much truth can a ‘puter or type writer know without the fingers popping? I know my fingers type words that I didn’t know they had been told to type yet, and press keys that I no longer have to map out for them, but no matter, the words appearing on the screen are a scream, from the brain and my dreams. Excellent stanza!! It's knowing that you read. Though I cannot hear your voice nor see your smile or scowl, I long to write a page whose corner you will bend. – Bend my ears, hearken to your words, rejoice in amazement at the celebrity of creation!! How poignant, how representative, how, .. savoir-faire!! Joanne, I needed such a smile, thanks, I’ll be smiling to the skies today!! By the way, I read it, and this is my voice.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2005-01-22 03:00:24
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.81250
Joanne--IMO, almost an "Ars Poetica" addressing the seemingly forgotten second half of the tandem needed to complete the poetry circle/cycle. This simple, but apt title is as at home as the well conceived subsequent verbiage that starts out downplaying the creative "writing" process and setting a course for it's target (which it hits with a bullseye); "It's knowing that you read. Though I cannot hear your voice nor see your smile or scowl, I long to write a page whose corner you will bend." Hopefully, this post will be seen for it's relevance to any and all writtings. TLW
This Poem was Critiqued By: Kelly Denise LaBeff On Date: 2005-01-21 02:13:50
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.85714
Yes, Writing does do this! You said in your first stanza, "but will come anyway, even with no place to land." Augh, sometimes this even happens without warning like when words, thoughts, and images just start flowing-n-flowing and often during these times when the mind is so busy inspirations come so quickly there's actually an over flooding, thus a multitude of thoughts -some of the best, mind you, too- GO! Literally they just go away because there just wasn’t enough time to jot all those wondrous thoughts down, but it can be worse. Yes, worse! Although I love it when an earthquake of inspiration takes place I hate it, too, because sometimes unwritten thoughts when they “go” travel farther than intended and they can not be recalled. They become lost in a poetic medium somewhere between here and there. Isn’t it odd, it’s usually those [like a man‘s tale of the fish that got away] that sound so great as they come rushing in. It's almost discouraging, but its especially unkind when this happens right after a long period of writer's block, loosing good ones that is. You are one hundred percent correct, writing is part of a writer’s blood and bones. Furthermore, knowing that pleasure is sought and received from something you’ve written even if it gets read without the benefit of the author getting to hear or see the reader’s enjoyment, it’s the pleasure of this knowing that counts. Ego aside, I agree with you again that the anticipation of touching, moving, or inciting a reader inasmuch that the ownership of the very paper on which the author’s written word is scribed upon becomes as just sacred and cherished to them who possess it as it does to its author in terms of being overwhelmed on various levels. Okay, image this scenario: Devastation over a bent corner on such a page [I long to write a page whose corner you will bend] would be comparable to the turmoil that France felt when the Mona Lisa was stolen by one of its gallery patrons. A crusader stole and hid this famous painting for years in his tiny tattered flat because he believed the Mona Lisa grace its rightful place, the homeland of its artist in Italy. Once again, Joanne, you’ve written another jewel. I think editing that book for your friend paid off hugely as you are topping the charts! ML Kelly [It is late. I'm not going to proof read this review, so, allow me now to ask in advance the forgiveness I'm sure to need for vast writting errors ... thanks]
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2005-01-21 01:59:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.57143
It used to be in the still of the night as my head touched the pillow that words floated about inside my head......if not put on paper they were gone never to be found again......... Enjoyed the way you structured this beginning with the writing to your mood or blood flow......feelings and emotions reaching out to others is what is important......above all else it is in the knowing that one does read what we write that matters to our heart and spirit, it keeps us alive as well and going in search of more.... I used to so enjoy when someone would read one of my poems and then tell me it gave them shivers......that told me it reached their heart, they were touched and in so touched me as well. Thanks for posting and sharing this with safe, God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Latorial D. Faison On Date: 2005-01-20 23:56:46
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Very nice Joanne, You know I really liked this one. It takes something special for people like us to come back to the quiet place at TPL. I think there's something beautiful in both writing and posting the poetry as well as reading the work of others. I share the sentiments that you write about in this poem, and I do feel that they ring true from your heart. You have such a positive force here in both ways, as reader and critiquer. I think we can equate our relationships here to real life. I think that most of what we do here, however small it seems, is really what life (good life) is made of. I like the title of this one is simple. It's just who we are and how you see us, readers. And you push out the importance of readers to you, and how you are moved to write to be read all the more here. That's fantastic. I feel the same vibes often when I come here and read all of the great poems and all of the encouraging and helpful critiques. My favorite line in this poem is the last one. I just love how it sounds, but I love several other things that read so well here . . . Writing begins to flow (It's simple, but real. This is really what writing does in me too. It comes from somewhere, so many places deep inside, and it flows like rivers, like streams, like waterfalles sometimes, depending on the moment or the day) connected to mood or blood (definitely, the words flow out of either how we are feeling or who we are naturally, often biologically and all of that is so connected together. It's amazing that the words we pen come from surreal places as well real places) pounding behind my eyes, (we can always seem to see them before we write them, like little skits in our minds waiting to be released, acted out on paper through the pen or pencil or keyboard. Are we screenwriters and playwrights too? (smile), we could be) follows sensation in my bones (again you connect the act to our inner most beings, down to our bones. I'm a poet in my heart. I know that regardless of what anyone else says or believes. I can feel it in my bones. I completely identify with what you say. And the fact that readers come back time and time again to what lies within us is often all of the praise we'll ever need. Well, at least that's how I feel, and I have so much appreciation for the "Reader" who takes the time to read a little about me and what's in my head). of something a-borning which wants welcome but will come anyway, even with no place to land. (I love this line about coming eventhough it has no place to land. That's how I feel about so many poems that I write, and I often feel that the readers tell me truthfully where I've gone with it. That's why I love the critiquers here). It's not my fingers hitting keys nor words appearing on the screen or the electronic hum of the machine which cares not at all. (You're right. It's none of these things that we see. It's all inside. To others it appears to be the key tapping, screen staring thing for us, but it's not) It's knowing that you read. Though I cannot hear your voice nor see your smile or scowl, I long to write a page whose corner you will bend. (This is my favorite stanza/section. It's just the "knowing" that someone is out there, even when we don't know who it will be. We don't see them, but it helps to know that somewhere, some time, someone will take hold of a poem I wrote and think on it . . . Selah (smile). What a beautiful thought Joanne, and it sums up the real reason for why many of us do what we do. Poetry isn't a career, it's a passion for life). Thanks for sharing this one. I enjoyed reading it and rummaging through all of the thoughts you provoked on my way through it. It's about appreciation. It's about something so great, something we can't see, but yet it's so visible in our lives. I wrote a poem last week and the line said something like "some of the best people I've ever met are people I've never seen." And I was thinking of all of the people I've met through poetry, great, wonderful people all over the US and the world. I need to finish that poem. You've inspired me. Maybe I'll post it whenever I finish it. Great poem. Thanks again for sharing. Latorial
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