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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 .

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Poem for DVerse Poets Poetics Prompt: Pop Art

Posting today for the D'Verse Poetics Challenge to write in some way about pop art.  As we are in the throes of a trial itself a 3D production in the vein of pop art, about someone acclaimed as an artist,  here is my elegy to the memory of MJ.






Meditation on the Death of a Pop Icon

And so was the manchild flung into death
As if off a building but not by intention
So that he lay on a white shore
Spread-eagled, arms wide apart
Eyes god-ward, mouth parted
As if he had tried to embrace
And reassure the sky

At the bedside the poison drip
The line to the catheter in the leg
The pump bringing not sleep
But oblivion

And so sadly, the o.d.’d and weeping penis
In its plastic coat, its tears collecting
In a household jar.

Forget the Caribbean medic and his foolish
Greed.  This death
Was written into time on the first
Of a thousand and one injections
The first of a million and one tablets
Under the tongue.

The lost boy tattoed on
A red grimace
ranged far and wide
From his fairy land of trains
And lonely elephants

To Bahrain, to Ireland, toiling
Through denial’s arid kingdom
Bearing his fears on his back
Like a dwarf his hump.

It’s all right now; life has put all aright
With its broadly artful death
How we may send ourselves up and out
of this world

Like smoke, a fading writ of many sorrows
And delusions of redemption and windfall
that falter at the last like wing-clipped doves
from a magician’s frayed sleeve.



copyright Jenne' Andrews 2011

12 comments:

Claudia said...

thinking of michael jackson always makes me sad - when i see his early videos, listen to his music - i think he was an incredibly talented singer and artist - but somehow couldn't handle the pressure or whatever it was...esp. your last stanza sums up that sadness masterfully

Brian Miller said...

i remember on hearing of his death...i enjoyed his early work and lost him later in life...but he was one of those icons that on hearing it was hard to believe...intense imagery and gritty a bit..the catheter, yeah....nicely spun jen

Victoria said...

Jen, I believe this is the most effective poem I've read on his tragic, useless death. It saddens me to see such talent go to waste...same with Amy Winehouse. He was a child who never had a chance to be a child. Beautiful.

Mary said...

Jen, I am impressed with this poem. I thought about writing one about him, but I decided it was too big a topic for me right now. You did it justice. You have captured the 'lost boy' and his death. So sad, so very sad.

Brendan said...

The "broadly artful death" is perhaps what saved this aging pop star from the oblivion not only fell into but made his final white mansion... To have this all writ so large before our eyes made it hard to feel much surprise at the event, but you re-enter it here (as the Doctor is tried for his role in assisted suicide) with a deft, undaunted touch. It's masterful. - Brendan

C Rose said...

His life examined within the pop culture influence done so well in your words. ~ Rose

henry clemmons said...

a fading writ of many sorrows ... what a line!!!! I too think Jackson's death was a shame and a loss. Can't judge about things I don't know, but he was a hell of a performer. Great write.

lori said...

It's so sad when this type of needless death occur. Makes me sad to the bone that no one could stop this needless end. Really gripping piece about a tragic icon.

Mama Zen said...

That last stanza is gorgeous. This is really moving.

Morning said...

some striking imagery here, enjoyed your poetry.

Glad to meet.

Heaven said...

A nice tribute to the talented but lost boyman of our time.

I like those lines about his death...injections and tablets .. so sad that he ended up this way.

wolfsrosebud said...

Some people have a culture of their own... maybe we're all dreamer?