Jenne' Andrews is an American poet. She has three published chapbooks including the recent Blackbirds Dance in the Empire of Love, Finishing Line Press 2013.

A full-length collection, Reunion, Lynx House Press, was published in 1983; after a long hiatus to raise Golden Retrievers in Colorado, recent work has appeared in The Passionate Transitory, Belletrist Coterie, The Adirondack Review and Vox Populi, a journal of culture, politics and poetry published and edited by the august Michael Simms.

A bilingual collection of "Italiana," Bocca, Voce, Delirio, with translations by Lorenzo Luciani, will be released by Finishing Line at the end of 2016 and her latest collection, And Now, the Road, a finalist for the Autumn House prize in 2014, will be released by Salmon Poetry Ltd, Ireland, a highly regarded international house, Jessie Lendennie, Publisher, circa 2017.

Andrews holds the MFA in Creative Writing/Poetry from Colorado State University, is a literary fellow of the National Endowment for the Arts, and was full-time Poet in Residence for the St. Paul Schools from '74-78. She lived in St. Paul from 1971-78 during the first wave of the Twin Cities literary renaissance, and spent the summer of 1973 in Reggio Calabria, Italy.

The poet lives in northern Colorado's Poudre River Valley with her husband, fiction writer Jack Brooks; the couple has recently imported two British Golden Retrievers and expects a litter in June-- see the Ardorgold website for details. Contact: jenneandrews2010@gmail.com .

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Poem in Draft: The Good Fight

The Good Fight

One night coming home
I veered over the white line
so that a trooper swooped up
behind me, got out
and asked me what I was doing
out in the dark.

I nearly said
oh I was building a fire that overtook me—
I was speaking with someone
searching his face for some gift
and from behind his back he pulled out
 a small torch, acetylene so blue
I held my breath and then
because I had been so close 
my hair caught fire.  So I went away
up the road, singing

Until the flames went out 
and I found myself parked
over in the field where the corn 
had laid itself down like a garrison 
of resistance fighters
and there was no hiding
from myself.  We all fight the good fight
don’t you think so deputy?  

But he must have seen
something in my face; I put the papers back
in the glove box and  drove on
to the park where the geese
had fluffed themselves
in the cold and each stood shifting one leg
then the other in sleep,
to catch my breath.

It's true that I have a cache
of fireflies and psalms
for these long cold nights
but I keep turning back
to ride that carousel 
of absence and presence
the wooden horse with the blue bridle
slowing in its rise and fall,
rise and fall.

copyright 2011 Jenne' R.Andrews
all rights reserved

1 comment:

Maureen said...

I so like that first stanza! I keep coming back to this line: "...the corn had laid itself / down like a garrison of resistance fighters / and there was no hiding..."