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 26, 2011

Two New Rilke Variations and An Elegy for the Master...

Note:  This group of poems was also posted on Facebook...

Of the Moon, Drifting in Silence

The way that body, the moon, sublime, purposeful,
suddenly steps out over the peak,
bringing the night to serene completion.
Just so my voice rises purely
over the mountains of No More….

Rilke, The Moon,  Uncollected Poems

And she is quietly supple as well
Drifting over the black branches;
They reach for her like old women
Wanting to be released from the body.

She eases along through the pulsing stars
Like a boat for our grief;
We collect our tears in thin paper
Let them go to her and looking back

See that she has dissolved all
In the mist that accompanies her.

What permission does this give us?
To exhale our follies,
To love again.



Bell Song

Sound, no longer defined
by our hearing. As though the tone
that encircles us
were space itself expanding.

The Bell, Rilke

What is that ringing
In the thin air of the valley
The church bells are quiet

The geese have passed
On the river of knowing,
Northward to the cache of chaff
on the white prairie

Perhaps the heart is a bell
Holding the psalms of winter
Ringing out within

Or a shaded house’s interior
With its pools of yearning
shimmering outward from the center
Like the water’s mute responsiveness
To a pitched stone;

Perhaps the bell was cast
And its tongue set
From the hardening fabric
Of one leave-taking after another.


Elegy: Rilke Requited

Master and voluble one
I hear uncommon music each day
That of Bach, his great tenderness
His rich, note-flecked manuscripts
flying through the pale air
Like blackbirds aroused by
A footfall

So that an unseen violinist draws his bow
Over time’s strings,
And anguish flees with the shadows.

But you, looking out at the Tyrol
From a train to Bavaria
Your hand moving over a page
In brisk and dancing notation—

The world outside flowed into you
So that you became its voice.

Now we who are enamored of your singing
Call you Divine as Orpheus was,
In the complex oratorio of your living

How you died open-eyed,
So bravely present
And compassed to this world.


cc

3 comments:

Lady Nyo said...

What? no commments???

These are marvelous additions to Rilke, in fact, I like yours much more.

Lovely, lyrical poetry.

Lady Nyo

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Gloriously beautiful, with some wonderful images. Wow.

Mama Zen said...

Beautiful work!