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 .

Friday, April 1, 2011

New Poem


I have been reconstituting myself from
Soul-fragments, bits of shot glasses
Shards from the campy pottery of childhood,
The now irreplaceable fiesta ware
We so brazenly threw at each other

I was about to give my heart to you once more
I confessed desire for you, profound
Hunger for your mouth
And your hands—relearn me, I beg of you

But I caught myself and moreover
The wind brought the air
Back to life so that the fatalistic angels
That pursue me when I leave the back way
Dislodged me from the worn track
Of our conversation
I sped off and they followed

This goes far back far back to the salt box house
With the knotty pine walls
And the Brahms and the checked out mother
The sound of her ice in a tumbler of whiskey
The sallow tendons that bound us all to one another

And the swamped ship of fear
And longing she would
Shatter away and be carried off and plugged in
Current running through her brain going dark
And rebooting, coming back to life
A blank space for a time

A tabula raza at their mercy.
Why else would I be afraid of love
I refuse to let them come for me
Even though I danced on the canyon’s green
Inviting lip with you in the candlelight
As if there were no poised rapiers
In the room and no dying
Dogs and cats that neither of us had a fever
Or a tumor at the base of the spine
Touch me, end our dearth,  I said once more
And you shook your head. 

Deluded, I imagined it was some involuntary
Movement,  Left-tenant Pinkerton
With your studied reserve, your absence
Of candor—you told me of a belated
Honeymoon in the Pyrenees and voyeur that I am
I imagined you with another woman.

As I said the current running through me
And all goes dark dark I put on the Mozart
Solti in Salzburg, the surreptitious priests
Vested and gull-winged,
Someone assuredly needs to captain my soul
Leaving you there everything
Unresolved, reclaiming the delicious
Late night privacies of my loneliness.

Copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011


Jessica Kristie said...

I am in awe of this masterpiece. So many things I could say about the emotions that roll through this, but really it just struck me with heavy truth and honesty. Beautiful. xo

jen revved said...

I in turn humbled by your comment, Jessica-- thank you. Congrats on your new collection! xj

Brian Miller said...

dang. this takes off with a power opening...the broken shot glasses from out fiesta thrown at each other...and just gets better...relearn me...i so feel that line...really this is an incredible write...

Matt D said...

There are some really extraordinary lines here ...