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 .

Friday, November 4, 2011

New Rilke Variation: Gauntlet


If only people could perceive the mystery in all life, down to the smallest thing, and open themselves to it instead of taking it for granted.

Worpswede, Letters to a Young Poet

This bodily delight
this scent of you
of where you were
the cotton slip of the pillowcase

The shower
where the steam aches
with absence.

And of the other bodies
of the small kit fox
shibboleth trotting sideways
slipping like a shadow
just out of the reach of our wheels

We who thunder down the highway
blind and blinded.

The pulsating, quivering bird
I hold in my hand like a feathered heart

A heart with fine bones
so readily fractured.


Does anyone have the Midas touch
looking out from the seawall
to bring back the vainglorious light

But it is no small thing to marvel
at the sky
to offer one’s remorse
to the tigress of the clouds

Gilded immensity of fate
creeping paw over paw
across the horizon. 


Timoteo said...

No small thing, indeed.

With love,

Kerry O'Connor said...

Such beautiful words and images - both real and metaphoric: the tentative fox, the great tigress pawed clouds, the vainglorious light.. and behind all these the emotions of what it means to be alive.
Another fine piece inspired by Rilke.

James Rainsford said...

Gloriously engaging as usual. Evocative imagery and a truly authentic voice. Brilliant!

Mama Zen said...

Such beautiful images! Your writing makes my heart ache.

jen revved said...

Thank you, dear friends, for such heartening and lovely comments! xxxj

Lorenzo — Alchemist's Pillow said...

Very compelling imagery, Jen. The shower with steam aching absence is incredibly alive and suggestive. And to see a bird held in one's hand as a feathered heart!

erin said...

so this should be our call to living, to pay witness to every seemingly small and incidental glory.

jen, yesterday, (and this is our game in the car) travelling down the highway i shrieked over the trees, the sky, the light. this part is not the game. this part is so very real. and my children rolled their eyes. (here is the game.) i asked them, but don't you get so excited by life? and my daughter answered, yes, but not in the car with you. with anyone else, yes. i was stunned, not understanding how this could be possible when i am so excited. and then she said, with you you never have your eyes on the road. how can i be excited for life when all i do is fear death? oh, how this made me happy.