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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 .

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

New Poem: Dark Horses, Dark Angels, DVerse Open Link Night

 Fresh as flounder, this poem; thanks for stopping by and do join in Open Link Night at the DVerse Poets Pub.  Please also join us for Friday's Open Link Poetry Fest

If you have a few extra minutes, feel free to scroll down to read Lily Codington, Waking -- wonderful feedback.

 


 The one and only Mata-Harri




Dark Horses, Dark Angels

I come from a family of dark horses:
We put on the last burst of speed
Left in us at the end

Pass the favorite and cross
The finishing line, expiring
On the track.

I mean to say that every so-called
Addict or loser
Races against time to become
Live up to, transcend--

This one as well, as in today
Blazing and beautiful autumn
Wraps her arms around me while I

Wait out the hours for the soporific
That brings a momentary suffusion
Of gladness and something

Like peace of mind, a waking dream
So that I can type on, rolling my own poems
On my tongue like peppermints
Biting into them like chocolate-covered
Cherries

All the while listening to Anna Netrebko
Sing Rimsky Korsakov.
 
I want to be brave—the dark horses
Become dark angels were brave at the very end
Mother ran from the nursing home
Walked to the beauty shop
Smiled and died in the chair.

We wept without tears, bestowed upon her
The Mata Harri award and then I thought
She came back to life in me
So that I mistook the peony kimono
Of my own beauty
For a diagnosis.

ii

Some of us took a knitting needle
In the eye in the womb
And went on to sing Madama Butterfly
In Munich

Some of us checked out on Scotch
For all of WWII
And fell and freefell into dishabille
Into the cooling silences of ash.

Some of us are high and low
High and sweet and high
And come down with our wings
Burning.

We are your best contraband
Your geniuses, your raconteurs
Your exhibitionist's bangles
Of filigree and abalone:

Love us from a distance
To spare yourselves
Counsel us to hover farther

From the flame
To open the gate
where the dark horse waits
coursing the frost
for sign of her daybreak rider.



copyright Jenne' R. Andrews  2011 all rights reserved. 

8 comments:

Pat Hatt said...

Great piece, really vivid imagery through as you spin a storied tale, nice!

Maureen said...

The whole of that first section is a rush of strong imagery, its last stanza especially evocative in its implications. I could see the poem ending there. However, I like a lot the the opening of II; the lack of punctuation in that first line allows the line to be read at least three different ways, before the poem moves on to the gentle "I whisper to myself". Just those first two lines could stand for the entire section, leaving some ambiguity that would strengthen the impression of the poem overall. In III, you're back with very strong visual imagery that maintains power through the end of the third stanza. As always, the informed reader comes away marveling at how you work can work in a reference to Anna Netrebko with a mention of Mata Hari.

Beachanny said...

Dark horses, dark angels indeed. They push you out into the sunshine where the world is lighting its leaves to flame, to inflame your mind and your imagination. Your sadness burns like a transformative flame that lights the soul and provides comfort and shows the way - through dark woods and along rocky cliffs. We all travel those dark paths and pray for sunshine or candles at the very least.
Always well written! G.

Ann Grenier said...

Another amazing poem Jenne. I feel that I need a book of your poems to read again and again to better appreciate/understand/digest some of your lines.

Kerry O'Connor said...

Wow! This is such an amazingly powerful piece of writing about the bohemian spirit. I think the image that will remain with me for a long time is that of the old woman who defiantly dies in the chair at the beauty salon, but there is so much more to this piece than an individual story.

Mark Kerstetter said...

"Some of us took a knitting needle
In the eye in the womb"

Those lines stood out for me. The world is not kind to those who have taken a serious blow in the beginning of life. Mention it and they're likely to tell you you're making excuses for failure, you need to roll w/the punches, pick yourself up by the bootstraps, make your own future, etc. Sometimes, we bide our time in silence and darkness, dreaming of roaring through in the end.

johnallenrichter said...

Jenne, your cllections of words are absolutely beautiful and I think your imagination must be beyond compare! What a beautiful image I just had of you sitting in a soft light, "rolling" this poem while listening to Anna Netrebko. I don't know how to describe that, I mean it's not romantic but it's right up there on that highest level.. You mentionned gladness before describing your mother's death and that made me happy in a way, that you are at peace. And the second part of your poem is absolute art. World class Jenne... just wonderful....

beckykilsby said...

Jenne..I really enjoyed the interplay between the two sections.. the second providing a sharp and tangy counterpoint to the first. Beautiful word combos jump up regularly and demand attention. The reference to poems as peppermints on your tongue..rolling..tasting...and the bite into choc-coated cherries..delish..

My fave section though are the first two stanzas of the second section which were, for me, spot-lit.