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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, August 11, 2011

A New Poem: Impasse

Posting as well for Friday Poetry Fest--

Revised:
Impasse

Are there relations of the heart that embrace
what is most cruel for the sake of wholeness?
For the world is only world when
everything is included

Rilke.

From blue midday
Silences I look out,
From a prison without razor wire

But that one I make when a prayer
Becomes a curse.  I can think only
of famine--Somalians in a long
human chain toiling

Over the desert, dark thumbprints
in bright cotton
Knowing that many will fall.

What is there to say, to them
When theirs is the language
Of hunger and thirst.

I test my luck again,
Sending my heart into a grove.
But I only hear phantom laughter
From the vertebrae arrayed
like a broken harp

In the impassable wood.
The sparrows there will not talk
The splayed trees
Acquiescent to drought, leaf-spare.

One link melts into the earth
Another forged in place.
Is this God at work

The necklace of the starving
On the white sand
The small skull near the road?

The mind shudders away
To paint a still-life of blushed
peaches over all of it,

An overlay, the heartening text
Of summer, a ripeness
not of death.




cc

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews jenneandrews2010@gmail.com 

8 comments:

Mark Kerstetter said...

This poem is stunning - a voice to the inability to speak - complex emotions - beautiful and terrible. The "One link melts..." stanza is a high point for me.

Steve Isaak said...

Potent, demands-to-be-reread-a-few-times writing. Superb.

Zoe said...

Hmmm.... and the layers... this is discomforting. But I like it. Thanks Jen for hosting another Friday Fest. :)

Mystic_Mom said...

"language of hunger and thirst"
This is a very moving poem, strikes to the heart and leaves images on the mind...wrought so well my dear!

Mama Zen said...

"In the impassable wood.
The sparrows there will not talk"

I found that incredibly expressive.

Kerry O'Connor said...

I think the image of starving Somalians is etched on all our brains this week. Thank you for drawing attention to their plight.

jen revved said...

Many thanks to each of you-- saludos, and a great week-end! xxxj

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

An impasse indeed. Beautifully expressed. At the end I was sad and heavy despite the summer ripeness; and so one should be. The detail of the small skull was heartrending.