Welcome....

Poet Jenne' R. Andrews was born in Albuquerque and has spent the last thirty years in Colorado. Her literary odyssey includes seven years in the Twin Cities and ten weeks in Italy.

But it is the American West that figures most strongly in Andrews' oeuvre and gives rise to her most lyrical work. Her newest collection of poetry, Blackbirds Dance in the Empire of Love, a short but powerful collection turning on her love of place, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press this year. Her poems have appeared in many signature journals, most recently in the new The Passionate Transitory, Belletrist Coterie, The Adirondack Review, and Poets for Living Waters.

Previous collections include Reunion, Lynx House Press; The Dark Animal of Liberty, Leaping Mountain Press, and In Pursuit of the Family, Minnesota Writers Publishing House, edited and published by her mentor, Robert Bly.

Ms. Andrews is also a former full-time Poet in Residence for the St. Paul Schools, a fellow of the National Endowment for the Arts in Literature, and earned the Master of Fine Arts Degree (MFA) in Creative Writing-Poetry at Colorado State. She has taught at the University of Colorado and has been an associate editor of The Colorado Review. She posts work in draft to this blog and reviews contemporary poetry at Loquaciously Yours.

Contact her on Facebook as Jenne R Andrews and Twitter @jenandrewspoet. e-mail: jenneandrews2010@gmail.com .

Sunday, April 22, 2012

New Poem, for Magpie Tales and Beyond.....


Image: Alex Stoddard
 
On Dreaming of an Old Lover

My dream of you pulses me
underwater.  Once immersed
I can speak to you only with my hands.

Why not tell me the truth now,
you far flung ash, infusion for
spring rye cresting 
on the fallow fields:  what now
left to lose, or to be overheard
by anyone left behind.

What became of us
the day you sent me away
to the mountains,
their dream-spell and
lavender immensity calling
to the weeping child within,

The hope they would shelter me
abrade away passion--
you, the farm with its rich
dark soil, the coal-eyed, long-haired
daughters all at my back.

What severed us
against our will,
forcing the pretext of forgetfulness,
regrets still burning
brightly as a hatch
of fireflies,

The singular shadow our lovemaking
made on the pale walls
of midnight, moon clearing
the gardens with her scythe.



copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012


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12 comments:

zongrik said...

i like the 4th stanza the most

altered states

manicddaily said...

Ah, this is lovely - sort of a miller's tale/Romeo and Juliet/ and more all rolled together. I love the hatch of fireflies and the last stanza (just beautiful), and the abrading of passion - great juxtaposition there. Longing throughout.

Your question very apt for mine--I am really a jokester you know, and post too fast perhaps--especially this kind of an overblogged weekend for me. Take care--k.

Brian Miller said...

oy....that last stanza is great...the shadow of the lovemaking and the scythe in the garden play well into the seperation you speak of earlier...nicely told jenne

Paige + Shauna said...

o. this poem is beautifully gothic jenne, you make me want to enter
this world, despite the sadness.

Al_One said...

There may be an end to passion. But there's another beginning after that.

Laurie Kolp said...

Really beautiful, heart-wrenching, Jenne. I especially like-

What became of us
the day you sent me away
to the mountains,
their dream-spell and
lavender immensity calling
to the weeping child within

Tess Kincaid said...

Beautiful Jenne...I love the notion of only being able to speak with hands when submerged...

sheila said...

poetic juices runneth over. lovely.

Mama Zen said...

"their dream-spell and
lavender immensity calling"

That is breathtaking.

jen revved said...

Thank you so much for stopping by-- I'll return the great favor. xxxj

Kerry O'Connor said...

How wonderful to see your work shared on Real Toads. I am a long-time admirer of your style, and the unique perspective you give to your subjects, and this poem is no exception. I loved the second sentence in the first stanza - for its perfect balance with the first. You have a way of combining the abstract with the concrete which makes for brilliant writing.