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 .

Thursday, January 12, 2012

New and Perhaps Final Rilke Variation




The Hills of Italy/ Las Colinas di Italia


Painting in Winter

To the memory of Rainer Maria Rilke

Come, you last thing. I recognize you,
unholy agony in the body's weave.
Just as I burned in my mind, now I burn in you.
The wood has long resisted, holding back
from the flames you ignite

Rilke, Last Poems

The finality of days upon us,
the candle-tipped trees
in the window;
The rough tapestry
of the stubbled white cornfield.

Then the writer weaving,
the traveler pining, looking out
at the river flowing
in its beautiful green wideness--

Luminosity everywhere
and joyous tender Bach, filigree
of love and beauty.

We live indoors now
pulled in to the interior, its crooked lamps
and impasto poppies singing
from the white wall.

But what will be the last thing
in this abbreviate, flared up
quick to burn down life
with its holy jubilation
and crucial anguish?

We paint at sundown.
while a compline priest consecrates the sky
with the muted acrylic gold and orange
of winter

And we dip our brushes
into the color of flesh,
pouncing it into our limbs.



cc
copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012

1 comment:

Manicddaily said...

Jenne, I made a comment, now seemingly lost. This one just lovely--the pictures vivid and poignant, easily seen and deeply absorbable. I love a kind of simplicity of cadence too (even with filigree and compline.) K.