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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 29, 2011

A Poem for a Splendid Occasion...

A Poet Reacts to the Royal Wedding

I see myself peering into the windows of the television and the scrim where the bride in her swan-gown is passing.

As if what I witness could be a soporific for lost ardor--

The green day and the wind singing and the choir and the motet.  The Benedictus, the Arch-Bishop with the clouds of hair, the Ubi Caritas.  The people and the ones outside but part.  A quiet, hatted queen and her aged prince.

Two swans rise and ascend; the two united wave and drive away. The trumpets of the lilac blossoms bend with the terrible weight of spring.  Rise like them, in spite of what comes. Rise above.  Dry your tears.  Exult.

 Long the day.  Long and hard the years.  The Abbey Carillon, the singing, the scars, the stigmata, the weeping. Oh hunger to turn the great clock back decades.  Oh lost soul.  Oh out of words.  Oh long night and deep fears, and that our youth is taken from us. 

And the laughter and the beauty of the impending night that occludes, obliterates, softens the hardness in us.  


c
copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011