WELCOME! BENVENUTI!

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, October 18, 2011

Another Taboo Poem for DVerse Open Link Night

Please have a good laugh at my expense and scroll down to comment.  DVerse Open Link Night is live and lively.   

Update:  the poet Sheila Moore, who initiated the challenge to write a taboo poem and read many, many responses, gave me the gold star....thank you, Sheila. xj

Sinner

So Kenny Aldredge and I were in the church basement
Stretched out on a Sunday school table

The very one I’d helped the kids color on earlier in the morning

There in old church quiet and Kenny writhing on top of me
Comes with a grimace, whispering oh, Jesus
And I’m straining to feel anything, beneath the skirt, the slip,
The girdle, the sanitary napkin

Mother made me wear because accidents happen
And this was her version of a chastity belt.

And Father Darrow stuck his pale face in
Gay as a green orchard stick he was and then 
he called my mother
And she roiled down the stairs like a harpie
on fire, pulled me up to her chin like 
a hand-me down blouse and shouted

Did you have intercourse with that young man?

No.  I said.  Never. 

We just dry-humped, if you don’t mind
My saying so
I said sotto voce as she withdrew
from my lair like a mutant witch

Nor did I tell her of my fantasies
Of parting the snowy clerical vestments 
at Communion
When a Cary Grant clone of a priest said
Take eat, this is my body

Don’t mind if I do, how carnal
And bad of me and profane that was

And I taught myself then, at fourteen
How to stroke and pinch and tease myself
To lowly moaning Tchaikovsky and I made a world
Of self-induced rapture

Holding me in good stead now, I tell you
Decades later, sand trickling faster through every glass
Stretched out in the redolent house, the dogs asleep
Sweet n' shut-down man in my life on the periphery

The genius pulpy ridge stirring when I
press her, press again
That sleeping dove nestled between my thighs
I stroke and rouse and slake and
make wait and build

Until my back flexed and arched, shaken
to my molten core, a nine-alarm fire
Races along my spine and I want to swallow
The universe, this relentless, gripping mouth

I become, stifling my own
Amen!, resting then
Thanking every god there is for 
being a woman with a decent pair of hands.


cc

copyright the lecherous Jenne' R. Andrews 2011 all rights reserved

28 comments:

Brian Miller said...

brave brave poem...i love it...great bit of story telling and i there were points i certainly held my breathe...smiles....

manicddaily said...

Ha! Very evocative, sensual, visual. One is there. (One is there.) Self-help. Haha!

manicddaily said...

Ha! Very evocative, sensual, visual. One is there. (One is there.) Self-help. Haha!

Brendan said...

Hymen and amen. What's charity without helping hands, er, glands, er sands? - Brendan

Mark Kerstetter said...

I don't know whether to laugh or cry, if you don't mind my saying so.

As story, description and great lyrical lines, this poem scores.

And it does something else. When Ms. Moore asked for taboo poems last Saturday, I thought of this subject, but didn't even try. The painter Egon Schiele and the novelist John Fante are the only artists in any medium I can think of who have explored the theme of masturbation in a serious manner. I just think this is an amazing write.

Theodore Daniel Richards said...

Wow! Now that's a REAL woman. God bless her! Hand work is less appreciated in these times than in the past. It takes a true artisan. Wow! Now that's a poem. Monstrous, sublime, sensitive, real, universal.

Claudia said...

now you are brave jenne..what a story!

Fred said...

Nice write, like the way you set the piece up with a religious-like setting to it, really added a nice contrast to the taboo verse to follow. Well done, thanks for the read

Pat Hatt said...

Wonderful piece, truly gripping and well done!

Victoria said...

Oh you naughty little girl. Why is it that the "forbidden" is so much more tempting? :0)

Beachanny said...

Tapping at the roots of it all, Jenne. You were right - it's the perfect accompaniment to Joe's offering today. I'm at a loss to say more except that you are fearless and faithful to your poetry and it shows with every write.

Timoteo said...

You deserve a hand for this one, so here's mine!

jen revved said...

I think that women writing of self-pleasure is somewhat rare-- so, I was a bit worried but thanks so much to each of you for the hand in things! xxxxj I post such heavy stuff normally, figured I'd kick back for once and let my grey hair/old freak flag fly. Love, J

Heaven said...

A brave write.. one topic which I don't venture to even try...and you are right, it is a challenge to write about these things. Nice story ~

lori said...

wow, there's more here than just pleasure. The pain of early experiences, embarrassment, ridicule. Hmmm. You've got me thinking on this one, but either way, it is brave as everyone else has said. Kudos for baring it all and holding nothing back.

yellowhousecafe said...

what a write, Jenne...isn't it crazy that if this were one of the male beat poets, or post modernists of today, we wouldn't even think, but a woman, gasp, talking about her sexuality with abandon. Most excellent...let that freak flag fly (love that!) ~

chromapoesy.com said...

Courageous (I know it's been said but it needs to be said again), sad in the shaming, honest, uncomfortable and thought provoking (like watching Dogville), and per Mark's comment Anselm Keifer (an artist) masturbated into a book for 20 years to make a diary of his loneliness. A work of art.

Sheila Moore said...

let my grey hair/old freak flag fly - LMAO at that comment. What a hoot! My elders always tell me that though their bodies and faces don't show it, their minds still feel and think like they are twenty years old. I guess this is true for you, too ;)

BTW, you get THE gold star for the best taboo poem I've read this week (and I read a lot of them :)

manicddaily said...

Hi Jenne--I didn't really get to comment on this before as in a rush. It's so brave and the details are so wonderful from the table at which you were just helping kids color to the mouth of the universe; the specifics of character and family (sanitary napkin chastity belt) to the universal. Tchaikovsky! Wonderful. K.

Arnab Majumdar said...

I am laughing, but it's not at your expense. Black humour is funny, isn't it?

Cheers,
Arnab Majumdar on SribbleFest.com

Ruth said...

Bravo! I should I say brave-o!

Well done, beautifully written, and nice stone fences massaged down.

Laurie Kolp said...

Honest and bold, hilarious and sensual; what a treat this has been!

The part about your mother making you wear a pad as a buffer made me LOL.

jen revved said...

Thanks again to each of you-- some conspicuous absences here this time but that's o.k.-- this is not everyone's cup of tea, so to speak. May we all write on! xxxxj

mrs mediocrity said...

taboo subject indeed, but you did a great job with it. bravo!

C Rose said...

Really enjoyed this, the thoughts of natural in our shamed world can be twisted you take that and add the humor needed to have the conversation. Wonderful write ~ Rose

Shashi said...

Its a fantasy and at that too for a very taboo subject to talk about ... Imagery is powerful and the going on, even more raw... and harsh and then turn around and become funny.... I enjoyed all the up and downs on this one...


Shashi
ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com/2011/10/whispers-wet-and-sandy-beach.html
Connect with me At Twitter @VerseEveryDay

johnallenrichter said...

Jenne, I've never been much of a hunter...... I've been hunting quail several times and have never bagged a single one. (Unless you count the one I pulled from the grill of my friends car, where it died as a result of having been struck at 60 MPH..) I've been rabbit hunting and only ever nearly shot my friend Jay. I have downed a couple of deer, but missed a thousand other chances for each one of those. My point is that I have never considered myself much of a hunter until now. After having read your poem I realized that I am quite the expert in dove hunting, and in fact your poem just excited all five and a half senses in this old hound dog...... Wow!

jen revved said...

LOL John-- a blur of wings, soft coos for you. xxxj