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 7, 2011

New Poem for Weekend 1 - Contagion

Names of the Missing -  Oil on Canvas  Stuart Codington Andrews

Note: the epigraph of the following poem is in italics. My poem starts after it.   Links to SC Andrews' View Gallery and Kerry O'Connor's poem in full follow the poem.   


               (mute to the sun, deaf to the
                            trees, blind to wind)
they come: the Children come hurtling
through the hay....  
See my hands?
               (Thinly-sliced, white-webbed
                             scars, freshly bleeding.)
And my face, the diagonal cuts crying like
hungry new mouths?...  

from the poem Catcher, by Kerry O’Connor**.

What I have left of you
Like a tow-head catcher in the wheat

An oblique contagion
Inferences of affiliation

Like the whisper of the ripe field
Where the larks sway
On moist skyscraping ladders—

The tall wheat, bowed
To imminent harvest.

So are we bowed, waiting.
Caught, of and with you

In time’s unfurled
blue waterfall of epitaphs

Le bonne heure:  the hour
Of  hours, quel plaisir—that pleasure

So monumental I trembled
For years.

Received from you
Love’s glint in the brown eyes

Above me, like Gabriel

Or when I was looking down at you
Swaying on my stalk
Like the maternal wheat

Ripe, la madura de la madre--
Feeding you the bread of my body.
Amore.  Listen now
To the bell song of the wheat
Las campanas
En los campos

And the expectant tingling
Of  tines in the barn
The combine, waking
Shaking off its rust.


Can you hear me, amor
From the black lap
Of the ash
Al hondo de las cenizas
The depths of the ashes

Can you see us
The dark-haired girls
In the pumpkin patch
The rabbits
Los conejos corriendos
Running for their lives

Can you hear
The far off cry of the children
Looking for you

In the honeyed light
Of endless afternoon--

Make out the word
De sus bocas tan pequenas
From their tiny mouths..


O please
Orita, mira mis manos
See these hands now
Not look at them—but see.

See where I tried to cut
Love’s tendon
And the red blood of the truth
Spurted from the vein

So that I sutured you
Back into me.

See, look back, remember
Make your reconnaissance
Like the hungry-eyed owl
Over the surging pastures
The virulent green morning.

I adored you.  Ti adore’.

Now see the scars fade away
Hear the din of the harvest die down

The ashes whisper among themselves
Where shall we go?  Which way
North, West.

Y orita  para que viento?
And now, by what wind.

Jenne' R. Andrews
July 8, 2011

All rights reserved

Read Kerry O'Connor's gorgeous poem "Catcher"  in full here.
See other work by Stuart Codington Andrews here.



Kerry O'Connor said...

Just beautiful, Jenne, knowing where you are coming from and what anguish you must be suffering at present, I am only too happy that my words found resonance in your heart.

Maureen said...

There is loss deeply measured in these gorgeously lyrical lines.

I like your brother's painting; the eye rivets to the sky and mountains.

jen revved said...

Thank you Kerry and Maureen-- Kerry, I hope many read your spectacular poem. Thank you for the inspiration...xxxj

Mama Zen said...

This is really moving and lovely.

Luke Prater said...

fine piece Jenne'

jen revved said...

Thank you MZ and Luke! xxxj