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 23, 2011

A Poem for One Shot Wednesday....


Please note that I am posting my highly regarded new memoir, Nightfall in Verona, on its own blog, a chapter a day; a great read!  


Undertow

And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings like the stretching light
Of the river?

From The Swan, Mary Oliver


I was speaking with my hands
And then water, seeping
Into the house

My darker lover had arrived
The ghost, the undertow—who is that one
Who art thou
Take off your mask.

I went down the stairs in surrender…
I was pulled down
By my own weight, the lack of color
In my face

I am now the hue of wet stones
In autumn
Litanies and affirmations
Fall to the weariness

That seals my mouth
And I am dumb to tell
Of the marigolds I saw

Gleaming in the crevices
Of the mountain
As I fell
  
ii

What has happened here;
To survive I grow gills
But I am conscripted

To absence
To making a home
In a half-lit kitchen

Where there are no guests
Only forget me not place settings
In the cupboard

New pots and pans,
Sheen tarnished the second
You use them

This heart, they said
Now runs out
Of time, ticking away against

Silence left
By half-remembered
Psalms for the lost.

Have you seen the wild vole
Come to the window and press
Its nose against the glass

Compelled to include itself
In someone else’s home,
Or the barn swallow

Flinging itself on the high
Dust-thickened panes
Break its own wings 
  
iii

Have you seen the huerfano calves
Milling in the freight car
Lowing and carted away

Over the border
Into the poorly lit feedlot
Where eyeless men
Wait with stun guns

Please, stun me
With light 
Roll away these heavy stones

Staunch the incessant flowing
With clean, white
Terry cloth.

The blue rivers of my veins
Course along--
I am dust in the wind,
I am a dross of dried lavender
  
But the hands dance over song
They sing and dance



copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011


4 comments:

dustus said...

There is an enriching sense of wonder through your lines—an intrepid creativity that seems comfortable exploring notions and imagery of annihilation, as well as creation. Revealing journey in search of revelation.

Brian Miller said...

stunning imagery and nice flow...through the fall and all that followed the hands still dancing say much...smiles.

brokenpenwriter said...

Jenine, this is mesmerizing and beautiful. It reminds me of how I felt back in the 60's when Judy Collins haunting melodies filled my mind with words that carried me, as if on a sea-bourne wind. Your poetry does the same. You pull me in and out of your kitchen and thoughts as lightly as dust, never making me aware that you wrote this and thought about using words. It's absolutely ethereal yet solid as stone. Wonderful.

Shashi said...

Dear Jen

Wow... It was powerful.. your words were so beautiful..
'The blue rivers of my veins
Course along--
I am dust in the wind,
I am a dross of dried lavender'
Thanks for sharing..

ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com/2011/03/whispers-seed-and-senseless-living.html
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