WELCOME! BENVENUTI!

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 .

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

New Poem

Please scroll down two posts to One Stop/Magpie poem.  Do read this one if you've time.  Thanks!  xxxj



Cheval and I Dream in the Wind

I braid and unbraid my fingers in the dark
Demanding of that cave where I rest
Why was there never
A marriage or a child. 
 
The dark has nothing to say to me
Except to make a bouquet of shadows. 
Sleep won’t be coerced
And the pillows are heavy and hard

And there is the high-voiced
Tender lance of the wind,
Slicing in from the Wyoming border.

Sometimes I want to flag down
Some jaded trucker
And be taken away
But I am on the highway of shadows
Of impossibility.
As my father once said, in the “twilight”
The crepuscule, perhaps the last decade


If that, or, burning up time as Gallager says,
“like a madwoman eating pearls”

Flour and salt call to me
From the cupboard.
I could lay my woman’s hands on these things,
The butter, the canned peaches
To make something
Where my sadness was

I have given in to the sorrows
That gleam on their strand,
Pearls around my throat.  My loquacity
Is my shield but I burn
And hide
Here in the familiar dark room
I return and return to,
Waiting to be reborn.
  
ii

Worse than my angst:
No one has come to release cheval d’or
From his run.  He dies inside
And no one sees this
But I, the neighbor who comes and goes
In her white beaten up truck.  I imagine
Taking my walker
Down the stairs and bracing myself
To drag my leg with me into the  barn
Unlatching the door to the stall
So that Cheval steps out.

He would look at me with his deep velvet eyes
And nose me to learn my name
And my purpose.
I would tell him that he is to leave
Under cover of the dark
Gathering up mares along the way

As if he would not reach the freeway
Where the ghost ships of the night,
The rigs hauling goods from the edges of the world
Would mow him down.

Iii

Once I sought transfiguration
In someone’s arms.
It was afternoon, two voices
Pouring from the radio
Love scene Act I, La Boheme.


My lover’s kisses
Broke me open.  He parted my legs
And wrote his name upon me
And I shuddered in delight
And then I was alone,

And my sorrow came back.

In a bed born along by a dream-wind
Out into emerald oceans
Reunited with a family healed
My mother and father’s dark hair
My brother’s laughter.
I am not lost, all is not lost
But the well of tears, the dearth
The living on empty-armed.


xx


copyright Jenne' R. Andrews
2011

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