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 .

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Poem for Solstice Week and One Shot Sunday

Bear with me while I work with prompt photo.  In the meantime please enjoy this photo and poem posted yesterday.  xj 









Photo: for NASA, Duane Hilton. 

Solstice Moon


Such is the amazing play of the powers:
they give themselves so willingly,
swelling in the roots, thinning as the trunks rise,
and in the high leaves, resurrection.

Rilke  The Book of Hours


This year the solstice moon rode high and briefly.
A mere week ago the lilacs
Broke from their silken sleep
Before that the last unfurling
snows of April.

Why so much time lost?
We cross the bridge no one has thought
To rebuild although it leans and sags:
A risk, like lifting our eyes
To the mute heavens.


ii

Once I had a mare I kept back in the shadows
Of an old blighted cottonwood.
One night I walked to see her
She nuzzled my hands
Dissolving my wounds in her eyes

I remember losing my fear
Riding high on her neck
Her sharp hooves biting the gravel

If we say the solstice is our youth
Where are we now
our body clocking
Its seasons, chimes ringing in the heart
On the hour.

iii

No more talk of ancestors
Their hunting of mountain lions
Their building of roads.

Let us stand in the sea of almond milk
Poured over us by the moonlight
Like two young horses dreaming
of infinite meadows

Along boundaried miles
Of perilous wire.


 cc

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews

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