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 .

Saturday, March 10, 2012

What /Who I Was Doing in 1999.... for DVerse Poetics

Boy howdy, this is an entertaining prompt for today's DVerse Poetics.  I wouldn't say I was exactly in love in '99, more like having a few last flings...

Bad-Ass

One day in the cafe
the tall drink of water from Savannah
with all the chrome
said the run from Ogden to Denver
hauling the U.S. mail
got to him;

He ran blue eyes over me
where I sat reading the paper--
he had silver hair and long fingers
and still used Old Spice.

In the parking lot a kiss; later a call
and then I went to get him;
call me millennium man, he said
your sugar daddy of the new year.

And he wore a tooled silver six-gun with chamois smooth skin
loaded with an ever-ready cache of warm silverfish ammo
I loved in my holster
where I would yearn and smolder.

Why would you drink me down
Like a milkshake that way
he asked
in the wake of a hot first go
half out of our clothes in the kitchen
nice girls don't do that

Nice boys don't let them --
if they want to come back
my riposte.

How'd I get under your skin, he'd tease
when I played that song
while he suckled me hard
like a neonate Hampshire boar.
  
He'd go no holds barred
until I was on the edge,
get up and drift off
to smoke;
I'd finish myself off in the dark
with one sympathetic hand
in one smooth glissade, biting my lips,
holding something back
not my heart.

He never thawed or flinched;
I'm your millennium man he'd say,
taking out his comb.
He would dress and smoke
and pace and drive away
and here it is again,
the new year, 3 a.m.,

The horseplay and innuendo
and unfinished business
of our bruised mouths,
small whirlpools now
in the tide of my blood.


copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012

8 comments:

Claudia said...

ha...you should never trust one who still uses old spice....goodness...what an encounter..tight write like we're used from you..

Brian Miller said...

wow so 1999 was a hot year for you...smiles....nice descriptors as well...i like the kinda outlaw, wild west feel you overlay jenne

Mystic_Mom said...

Jenne - oh wow...this is just wow!

Anonymous said...

Oh my gosh, now THAT is heat sister!!! Wow, surely I'm blushing. :)

I have always loved your creative use of language, the visuals you draw forth with your words. I was grinning at the Old Spice bit; I think I bought that for my dad on just about every birthday and every Christmas.

This leaves me wondering who is the greater badass, you or the millenium man?

These are my favorite parts:

"the tall drink of water from Savannah
with all the chrome"

"He ran blue eyes over me"

"In the parking lot a kiss; later a call"

I really loved the back and forth conversation in italics. Very effective. I can picture the facial expressions and other nonverbals.

"nice girls don't do that
Nice boys don't let them --
if they want to come back
my riposte"

"I'd finish myself off in the dark
with one sympathetic hand
in one smooth glissade, biting my lips"

"small whirlpools now
in the tide of my blood"

I'm so glad you liked the prompt; you did a fantastic job!

~Shawna
rosemarymint.wordpress.com

Mama Zen said...

Oh, outstanding!

Beachanny said...

This gave me a catch in the throat. How even something so double edged can be written with such clarity and lyricism. This, as much as any piece of yours, rings with beauty and authenticity, and might I say a personal bravery. Excellent.

Timoteo said...

Nice girls don't do that...but who likes nice girls?
This poem is what I've come to fancy, and adore, and to just sit here in slack-jawed amazement about you.

Heaven said...

Whew...a searing and beautiful write from you...how you described him so well (so cold and unflinching) and as well as your night...enjoyed this ~