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 .

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Poem for One Shot and Beyond....

With many others, I've been caught up in a recent trial around the death of a little girl.  I've rendered a number of unsolicited opinions on my other blog-- see links above-- but I wanted to try my hand at something of an elegy.  This poem may strike some of you as macabre-- it is graphic, but tender, I feel.  xj


 In memoriam

Miss Polly had a dolly
Who was sick, sick, sick.
The doctor came
With his bag and his hat,
And he rapped on the door
With a rat-a-tat.tat…..
 - from a nursery rhyme

No body no crime they say.
Yet, a body speaks. A small body speaks
With its bones, where it was left.

Journal entry 2011

Lovely singing bones
Under the crooked tree
Sunlight bathing them
Moonlight shielding them
Rain calming them

The bone-music
Of the thing that was unwanted
The thing cast off
In the lost and found
Of the deep dark woods.

Flesh turned to bone
In the simmering wood
The small fingers
The little, grasping hands

The round head’s home
A bone flower
A mushroom knob of silk
With teacup eyes
Concertina teeth.

Where there was a song
An echo
Like a wood pecker,
An s.o.s.
A rat a tat tat

Who said that?
Who found the bones?

The man in the moon.
The hurrying tribe of owls.
Midnight eyes
In star-spangled branches

This little item in a wounded wood
In its tattered clothes--
Born again
From the hot wet womb
Of a plastic sack.

Find me, sings the thigh bone.
Play me, says the rib-harp--

Thigh bone, shin bone
Knucklebone, teeth.
The loony June moon
In the swampy wood:

I am a weeping metronome
Set to the telltale clatter
Of her xylophone bones.

One Shot Wednesday is a weekly meme sponsored by One Stop Poetryhttp://onestoppoetry.com.  Join up and  join in.  xj  

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011 

 photo Getty images:  little girl is Eva Braun, baby is her sister.  


Timoteo said...

Ironic that your style here is a bit more lilting, considering the subject matter--which, in fact, makes the poem all the more effective. I couldn't help but think of Caylee Anthony.

Alegria Imperial said...

Nothing macabre in it--it's poetry to the hilt, Jenne! I wish I could pick a line but each line is a golden chain to the next and the next. The tone is perfect for the subject--of little girls doing their 'nana-nana-na', to taunt or tease. And thus, the form works like a vise on the subject that you wrap in layered images, making it more gripping, heartbreaking so deeply into the soul. But of course, it's you, Jenne, of the laurel heights writing it! I love it!

Brendan said...

No one living down this way - not on this ship of fools -- could properly sing for this child's bones. Thanks for giving the task to the wind, and the moon, and peace of still things. - Brendan

Mama Zen said...

This is really, really moving.

Ruth said...

It's chilling. To the bone. Almost more than I can bear.

Your language is very beautiful, and I admire your skill very much. Well done.

jen revved said...

Thanks to each of you for taking the time to read and comment on my work: it means the world. Love, Jenne'