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 .

Sunday, October 9, 2011

New Poem, Rilke Variation: You with the Strange Violin


You with the Strange Violin

Strange violin, are you following me?
In how many far-off cities
has your lonely night spoken to mine?

The violin I keep hearing  Book of images, Rilke

I know this music maker
As if someone ragged, unseemly
In old fatigues,
A forlorn way of ambling through the street
Lingered in every cluster of shadows.

There are times as now
Hearing the luminous Sanctus
Of the Bach Mass in B Minor
Its measured and aching descent
Into the depths of beauty
I want to be devoured by such music

To give it all of me.
We in our smooth curtains of flesh,
Our numbered days, can only
Imagine

That there is a music maker whose
Grace notes come to us,
Like an annunciation,
That we are then her discerning eyes,
her parted mouth

Knowing this, we let the very wind
hollow us out with its careful knife,
Play us with its wild cherry bow
Until nothing is left
But the heart’s singular voice.


 Jenne' R. Andrews copyright 2011

3 comments:

Mama Zen said...

This is so delicate and lovely!

Ann Grenier said...

Once again...absolutely lovely. Flows over us like the music you describe.

johnallenrichter said...

absolutely stunning. I don't now where to begin here. It would have be from the start because that is where I started falling into this incredible piece of verbal ballet here..... how often "has your lonely night spoken to mine?" Jenne that is simply beautiful. Music does that to me, it follows my life and pierces into my soul, so much that I can tell you exactly where I was the moment I first heard a particular string of notes or chords, what I was doing at that moment and who I was doing it with. And when that music revisits it is like an epiphany of beauty, years, and memories circling through me. Yes, we definitely become "her discerning eyes, her parted lips..." Incredibly described and very beautifully well said.....