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 .

Sunday, March 20, 2011

One Shoot Sunday Challenge

Please note that I'm putting up my memoir, Nightfall in Verona chapter by chapter on its own blog-- great fun, a number of satisfied customers.  I'm so proud of my web design 101 efforts in Blogger...xj

Scroll down for One Shoot Sunday piece-- thanks-- Jenne'



Photo by featured photographer and poet James Rainsford.


Academic…

Beneath this lamp, a door. A door
Into a foyer and then a corridor
And then a room
Where a fire is laid
And someone sits, dreaming

Who stumbled in high
On Armagnac and holding forth
On the Romantics
His hand on a student’s thigh
An enamored girl.

He babbled on the night long
And all liquored him up
To hear half-remembered Coleridge
And tangled Shelley
And his own meditation on the door-lamp

In its tarnished sconce.
I am that lamp, he said, I am the light
And I am the reflection
Of the light.  Now everyone was confused
Like Plato they said

The real/ideal. 
God hates a fool
He said:
He let the orange syrup
Linger in his mouth

And snake down his throat
Mais oui.  This is the great theme
Of all of literature.
That we cannot have the one
Without the other.
.
Shortly, Jenny Wren
His student, in pursuit
Of her own sort of romantic education
Finished him against the tree
In the park, his long fingers

Fumbling under her skirt.
He came in ragged profanity
Whispering then “The child is father
To the man,” saw her to the train

Sorting his keys beneath
The world-weariness
Of his last good lamp,
Lust-emptied, spent.


Jenne' Andrews 

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011

2 comments:

dustus said...

Oh my! Now that's Academic, or a particular one. Your details begin a labyrinth of ideas, taking the reader through literary and philosophical themes to arrive at instinct. Also, kudos on your web design 101 efforts. Cheers, Jenne' Wonderful writing you share with us.

flaubert said...

That ending is quite powerful,Jenne`, excellent write.

Pamela