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 .

Thursday, June 23, 2011

A Pensive Poem for Thursday: Aftermath....


Blake, self-illustrated, the archives. 

Aftermath

I can accompany your memories
because I feel them. But on which strings
can I pluck for you the dark groans of your lust?

Rilke, New Poems

I know the rose of the body, how it quivers
When the bee is near.

I know its spent folding into itself
In the milky stream of the moonlight.

Have we not lived a ripe, briny season
Of unfurling permissions

But we tire, we begin to like songs
Of  regret.

Then the body prepares itself
For something else:  autumn

The banking of the fires.
Even if someone comes to the door

With a bouquet of innuendos
We stop the rose-pulse

In a lair of shadows
With the loquacious doves of our hands.







This draft was inspired by the quote from Rilke up today at the wondrous blog A Year with Rilke.

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011 

2 comments:

Maureen said...

Using Rilke as your inspiration is producing some lovely work, with such lyrical lines as "milky stream of the moonlight" (I like its contrast with "ripe, briny season"), "hosted the burden of beauty", and "bouquet of innuendos". The imagery of the last three lines is especially memorable.

The second reference to the moon seems to come too soon after the first; however, I do like the image of the moon "bleeding" in the sense of going through its phases, becoming eclipsed, peeling away invisibly.

This is an instance in which I don't think the addition of these particular images complements the poem. The poem holds its own.

jen revved said...

Thanks for your very cogent comment, Maureen. I had the same thought-- I greatly appreciate your insights. xxxj