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This Poem was Submitted By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-07-12 18:21:08 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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A Poem Is. . .

a needle to lance a boil, a pen to draw a lily’s face. It's a wedding rite of silk and prayers, a paper whisper whistling through woods of wind, of rain. It’s clatter, like the snapping of twigs while deer eat crabapples. Maybe a poem can sing like water going down the drain or blood coursing through the veins, or your deepest attention to the green field. It’s your soul leaping through the pages-- heart beating, breaking like waves, slapping like a beaver’s tail on the pond of today.

Additional Notes:
For Rick

This Poem was Critiqued By: Jana Buck Hanks On Date: 2004-08-02 03:05:00
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.47059
Yes, Joanne, a poem is all of these wonderful things....and more. It takes a certain kind of person to notice the beautiful things around us and share what is seen through pen and paper or on an artists canvas. Thanks for bringing these things again to my imagination. Bright Blessings Jana

This Poem was Critiqued By: Lynda G Smith On Date: 2004-07-20 09:27:53
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Joanne... How aptly you describe the tools of defining moments; the potential a poem has to be the surgical instrument that can cut to the quick of an issue, or grace a form with words unseen and unconnected before the revelation of the verse, the carrier or power, be it beauty in the sound of nature, or nature in the beauty of sound. We live through our poems and share with those who read, the essence of who we are as people, and in the moments reliving, pass on to them through the 'blood' of our poems the potential to feed the multitudes. These images and sounds both soft and sharp spill into my senses and ask me to pay attention to what lies beneath the words, that I too might feast on crabapples or fly on the wind through woods...taking me with you on a path I have never travelled before. The flow works wonderfully here, the power within us to connect with music, water and our bodies life force lead us to the focus, the music of the spheres...as old as time and philosophy....concentration, awareness, openess and appreciation. the reader rides the poets purpose, following, heeding, I have lept through these pages my heart beating, echoing the rythym of the waves, the eternal undulation of energy through word and thought. And I was captivated by your metaphore of the 'beaver's tail on the pond of today'! Symbolic of the need to warn, to pay heed to what is going on around us, but also to realize the moment in each poem, and through our poems, to lay before the reader an exclamation... a wake up call. Poets and artists, writers and musicians have ever been the prophets, the forerunners of needed action and activism. But to manage this call through such superb poetry, is rare. Thank you for reminding me of what we can accomplish when we write. Lynda

This Poem was Critiqued By: Jacob W Roberts On Date: 2004-07-19 20:19:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.50000
Well...generally the word "soul" in poems is blase and over done. I suggest re-thinking what you might want to do with it. I'm being petty here because the rest of the poem I really like. Form and content match well (especially in stanza one). It's self-reflexive, self-indulgent. On that note, maybe change the title to "My poem is..." or "This poem is..." It would make the poem a little more honest, or precise is maybe what I really mean here. Another note on diction, why the "maybe" in stanza two? Well anyway, very pleasant. Lovely, even. Jake

This Poem was Critiqued By: G. Donald Cribbs On Date: 2004-07-19 17:07:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Joanne, I quite enjoyed this poem of yours. It has a nice beat and rhythm and the tone is light and smooth as it flows from line to line. You've created a vivid image compounded and peeling back like the layers of an onion. Some beautiful and exquisite work in the imagery of the poem especially. Here are some thoughts: a needle to lance a boil, a pen to draw a lily’s face. It's a wedding rite of silk and prayers, (beautiful and unexpectedly lovely image!) a paper whisper whistling through woods (love the whisper/whistling/woods...nice alits) of wind, of rain. It’s clatter, like the snapping of twigs while deer eat crabapples. (I love, love, LOVE this image. Very nice detail make this work well!) Maybe a poem can sing like water going down (I like how the enjambment here makes this reader stop and think about the possibilities of "water going down" and where...) the drain or blood coursing through the (nice correlation. Yes, water and blood are often related...) veins, or your deepest attention (nice enjambment here too...) to the green field. It’s your soul leaping (I know what that's like! ;) through the pages-- heart beating, breaking like waves, slapping like a beaver’s tail on the pond of today. (Wonderful ending here. I love the work of the beaver and how it relates to the saliency of the now and of the present. Being mindful of what's important rather than living in the past or the future. Nicely done, nicely laid out and peeled back for us, the reader.) Warm regards, Don

This Poem was Critiqued By: Rick Barnes On Date: 2004-07-19 16:24:42
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Joanne, How daring! This comes at a particularly important juncture for me. As you are aware poetry is always surprising me with it's daring do and zen nature too. Themes come in seasons I don't always understand even after their having passed. For one odd reason or another I am always writing within a context. I don't why I do this but I always have. This work, "A Poem Is...", serves to remind me that each poem is a context within itself. I forget that from time to time. Each work is complete. It is almost as if a book of poetry should be composed of but one poem. We read it, set it aside, and think about it until we are ready for the next "book". How succinctly and poetically you you approach the raison d'etre of it all. I can think of specific poems that have emerged to lance a boil, draw a lily's face, that textured silk and prayer and went whistling ahead of me into wild. And there is certainly no shortage of clatter surrounding purpose. I understand well the sound of my own blood coursing through my veins in circular purpose of gathering and giving oxygen and the source being fed by the very drain it returns to. Where I blink blind is presisely where your vision is clearest. It is "your deepest attention to the green field" that fulfills me like no other poet can. It is "your soul leaping through the pages" that draws so many to your work and serves to inspire others to look at the world poetically. That you would dedicate this to me is enrichment beyond measure. You astonish me. Rick

This Poem was Critiqued By: Erzahl Leo M. Espino On Date: 2004-07-18 21:05:24
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Hi Joanne, Wow, those words sure took my breath away! How did you do that? I know how…you equally matched Rick’s superb piece “Dancing For The Gods”. This is an outstanding response to it and I am sure, Rick is very much delighted on the offering…this is too much from what he can expect. Amazing! a needle to lance a boil, a pen to draw a lily’s face. --- First line into is such a taste of your “playfulness”. Second line trims it with so much poetry in words and images. Great combination! Attention-grabber! It's a wedding rite of silk and prayers, --- Nostalgic and powerful, sweet and charming a paper whisper whistling through woods of wind, of rain. --- I enjoyed the “whis” and other “w”s alliteration, so nature-like…inspiring and suits the subject “poem” very well. You are very good in this! It’s clatter, like the snapping of twigs while deer eat crabapples. --- You are good in “deers”, and this is just perfect…your subjects are never off to the whole beauty of your piece. They are perfect ornaments to the totality of your message! Enjoyable! “Maybe a poem can sing like water going down the drain or blood coursing through the veins, or your deepest attention to the green field.” --- Yes, your words have music in its own…they are orchestrated with your fine words, images and subjects…the details you put into it are really incredible…they are versatile, they are magic… It’s your soul leaping through the pages— --- Dramatic, I like this very much! heart beating, breaking like waves, slapping like a beaver’s tail on the pond of today. --- “today”, this adds personality to your wonderful poem. Again, this is awesome! There is always something new in your poetry…even you use “deer” or “dragonflies” many times, you always put new things out of it. Again, this entry is as fresh as God’s mercy…”new every morning”. The ending leaves me longing for more…how I wish you had listed more… Again, you never disappoint! You always have this “poetry” and “nature” formula that results “beauty” and “inspiration”. Your poetries are truly a must-read in TPL. One will never regret spending time reading your gems. Thank you for sharing your talent with us! Always a fan, Erzahl :)

This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2004-07-13 17:19:02
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Joanne-This one reminds me of "...Autograph" (it has that power!-IMO-when listened closely to it). The speaker infers that "A Poem Is..." anything and everthing at the moment: actually, whatever the reader(s) wants it to be (only limited by self). The combination of plain language-from the almost crude opening line "a needle to lance a boil..." and nonliteral verbiage ending of expressive similes "... breaking like waves, slapping like a beaver's tail..." create a sequential vivid probing tool that should touch something in everyone at some time/place while being read. How can one not notice "...a paper whisper whistling through woods of wind, of rain." The impossibility and imagery of the phrase is goose-bumping (save some of those meds, better yet, pass them among us-smile). I did want to mention the excellent musical phrase produced by the simile and rimes in stanza #3 ("...like water going down a drain or blood coursing through the veins..."). An itty, bitty question: why wasn't the continuity kept for lines one in stanzas #2 and #3 (A Poem Is... a song like water... and A Poem Is... your soul leaping... (not even a suggestion--smile). Thanks for sharing this superb personalized piece (Rick, you lucky so-n-so-smiles). TLW

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2004-07-12 19:08:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
LL: The 1st 'ars poetica' I've seen from you and dedicated to your friend. I cannot miss this one! Free verse with all your poetics at their peak. In fact, I would call this a song because your choice of words creates a symphony. Your allits are strong and coupled with the internal rhymes and assonance, my foot is patting. Frankly, dear one, I don't much care for the "lance a boil" opener but I'm too fastidious and a true poem can lance with the best of needles/scapels. But then: "a pen to draw a lily's face. It's a wedding rite" ...I like the pen to write the rite... "silk and prayers" are rustling in my head "a paper whisper whistling through woods of wind..." So sweetly sibilant does your whisper whistle in the windy woods. Excellent, imperial enchantress. Following the soft rite and concomitant whispers, you quickly segue to the consonantal crunching of crabapples by deer and the twig-tweaking by someone (thing) unseen The juxtaposition is perfect. Stanza 2, please remove the "maybe" for you deftly show us the truth of your simile; the water down the drain is a sucking-singing or a swirling-song or a snortle-tune... but song it is. Likewise the coursing of blood through the veins. Musical? I cannot account for others' blood flows but yours, Rick's and mine sing. Yours is a harmonious alto, Rick's a mellow cabaret singer (I'm alluding to the Tony Bennett/Neil Diamond variety), mine a torch singer with a treble (and a drawl). Poets are one with green fields, so no quarrel there. BTW, nice internal rhyming in S 2. And your coda is dancing Rick, leaping through pages of poetry, "heart beating, breaking like waves". Loveliest simile but oh-so-sad if his heart is breaking to the song as does mine and I'm sure many other persons'. Then after all this high emotion, poet brings us back home from the dizzying heights she has taken us and a poem is nature, the natural world where beavers create music by slapping their tails on the pond. Oh, so exquisite, Joanne! The only thing I would change beside deleting "maybe" is that because I'm OCD, I want each stanza to have the same number of lines. I'm getting on my own nerves now and we are supposed to keep it brief (which I love). A Poem Is a Brown Study of Other Poets. Wonderful poem, LL. Brava and an armful of lilies. Nekk

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