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 .

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Revisiion/New Poem: Anomie

Photo James Rainsford


I clung to the bars of the dream and they were said,
And pain's derisive hand had given me rest
From the night giving off flames, and the dark renewing.
from Tears in Sleep, Louise Bogan

When did this alienation start
She asks, that one
I paid in ripened wheat
To crack open the ruddy fist
Of my heart

I was in an orange grove
Over the sea
My hands among the laden boughs
And someone pushed me
Into the briny soil.

But so are we all
Set upon at times
And repudiated
Even by our own.

This—she said to me
Or a voice within me

And to these chimerical forms
Within forms I replied

I have tears to say:
Have you counted
The many deaths
Worldwide, at this hour
The stalemates and overdoses?
Have you seen the weeping roses
On the impromptu graves?

I wait here for the cicada song
For the golden flags of autumn
For the memory of a kiss
To burn like the kiss itself.

I wait for the ballast of this body
To fall away. 
I pray that the spirit soars free

In translucent updraft
With each spiral shedding skin on skin
Of self-forsaking folly
And failed intention.

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews  jenneandrews2010@gmail.com 


Maureen said...

The sadness is just barely below the surface over which the words flow so smoothly, the cadence especially lovely in the concluding lines. I've always appreciated how you've used the imagery of nature, the sea and birds in particular.

Morning said...

amazing flow.