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, July 28, 2011

New Poem for Friday Poetry Fest

 Draft written for Friday Poetry Fest-- join us. xxxj 



Poplars in July

I do not know where either of us can turn
Just at first, waking from the sleep of each other.
I do not know how we can bear
The river struck by the gold plummet of the moon,
Or many trees shaken together in the darkness. 

Leave-taking, Louise Bogan


Tell me how the silver poplars
Edged their way in year on year
First along the lip of the creek
Then surrounding the pens
We built for the golden dogs

Sure of foot and deep of root
They planted themselves
And sweep the hours
Dawn to dusk—they recall
The calumnies of the old farmers
Who drove broken plows
Into the creek and left them there

Who it was that shot the beaver
With an arrow through the heart
And dared to be glad of it.

Poplars have I fed you
With the bodies of the gilded dogs
The champion to be and his get
The puppies too small to thrive

The moon has wept over you—
Its amber tears harden
On the roof’s edge
The mutinous young owls
Lift from your branches

One day I will not see you
I will be tucked away
Into the life of the threadbare

The sky drinks your chlorophyll
So that it can stay strong
For we who cling to the earth
We whose gravity pulls like a fever
At summer’s verdant heart.



cc

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews jenneandrews2010@gmail.com 

8 comments:

erin said...

i wonder how closely you live with nature. it seems to me you are there with your fists in it. or rather, you are there and it has its fists in you.

unforgiving poem. perhaps the best kind. now it has its fists in me.

xo
erin

Zoe said...

The moon has wept over you—
Its amber tears harden
On the roof’s edge

LOVE it!!!! This lament strikes deeply - tonight will see me hugging my knees as I silently weep through the cold winter night.

Kerry O'Connor said...

I think this may be my favourite of any poem of yours I've read Jenne. No words of mine in praise here can match what you have written.

Just read...

Mystic_Mom said...

Jenne, this is just stunning...you weave together so much with an economy of words, and yet the images don't just overflow, they come together and at the end I want you to keep telling me more! More!

River said...

I really like your style. I don't believe I have read your work before. So thank you for visiting me to bring me to you. I shall blogroll you so I am reminded to come again. Beautiful piece.

Also, I would like to invite you to summit to The River. info on submissions
http://theriverpaper.wordpress.com/

jen revved said...

Thank you very much, each of you. I do adore those leaning, singing trees, reaching to heaven. xxxj

Uneven Stephen said...

Awesome, so beautifully descriptive and though-provoking. "Sure of foot and deep of root" and "One day I will not see you / I will be tucked away / Into the life of the threadbare" are a few of my favorite lines. I'm so glad I stumbled unto your poetry today!

Timoteo said...

Echoes of my childhood in farm country...stunning work.