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 .

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

New Poem: The Open-Hearted Horse



The Incomparable Egyptian Arabian Stallion Ali Saroukh, Silver Maple Farms, Santa Ynez.



The Open-Hearted Horse

With their whole gaze
animals behold the Open.
Only our eyes
are as though reversed
and set like traps around us,
keeping us inside.
That there is something out there
we know only from the creatures' countenance.

From the Duino Elegies  Rilke

There is a certain horse I pass
every evening, cutting through a stable
on a rutted right of way;
he looks out with a dark intensity
from luminous solitude

At the valley splashed in shadow under
a drifting quarter-moon.  He hears
the coyotes cry in their turning-year
fever, knows the fox-yelp

Of hunger: his galvanic haunches
ripple, and he noses the wind
singing its way in from
the Wyoming line.

The beauty of this cheval d’or
breaks my heart. Who keeps him from
his fullest self? Can no one see
he lives for coursing low

Over the fields, tail up, mane 
flying, a young and confident rider 
well up on his neck like a jockey, 
who has fed him love and apples

And said to him: show me more
of this world, this wide and tingling
bowl of yielding turf?  

Even if only in a daydream, we should 
sprint such a horse in euphoria down 
the rows of alfalfa gone to seed

For the open is a road out of
the half-lit bunker where our daily 
lives unravel and try to knit 
themselves whole again

Until the burl of dropped stitches
is left to disentangle itself in a drawer,
in the mind’s coldest room

And a lullaby to the self is really 
a psalm of yearning, how we long 
to know another living thing, to rest
our heads against it, speaking its name.





The Magnificent Majestic Noble SMF-- Silver Maple Farms.


copyright Jenne' Andrews 2011

3 comments:

Dawn Potter said...

I like the penultimate stanza very much. I think you could end the poem there, with the image of the resting head.

jen revved said...

Thank you, dear Dawn! I do have a tendency to overstate, I know. I've given it a shot; we'll see. xxxlove, j

jen revved said...

I took part of your suggestion and like it better now-- besitos, J.