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 .

Sunday, April 1, 2012

New Poem for Magpie Tales Prompt:: Ologisms for the First Day of April

To participate in the Magpie Tales Sunday photo challenge click here. 

Parke Harrison Image

Ologisms for the First Day of April. 

Spring comes early to Colorado;
the birds congregate in anxiety,
caught off guard.

Not enough chaff, not enough,
the grackles rasp,
gathering twigs and clumps
of fox-fur in a furor.

Somewhere an ornithologist
studies a nest by climbing into it,
having taken off his shoes.

The canny great owls whose berth it is
to-wit to-woo and circle.

Beware of anything
With “ologist” in its name,
they cry to the doves
preening in the green frieze
along the creek.

My father heads the government car
up the dirt switchbacks
of San Francisco Peak, craning his neck
out the window to appraise the trees;
he is a forest pathologist,
we are his terrified children,
his hatchlings huddled in a Pendleton blanket
on the back seat.

My companion reports that the ospreys
nesting on the transformer up at the corner
survived last night’s lightning attack:
 “I saw them; they look o.k.”

We who have weathered every disaster:
foalings gone awry, whelps stuck
by the head, kittens trapped
under the house,
bellowing pygmy goats rushed in
for a c-section,
smile at each other, turning up
the hybrid CD
of the Bach B Minor Mass
recommended by the armchair

The delighted eschatologist sun
pulses closer with
its magnifying glass, in burning
of the kindled spring.


copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012


Daydreamertoo said...

Pheeeew what a ride
Loved it!
I'm not too keen on anything that ends in 'ologist' either! Very cleverly done.

Other Mary said...

Love all your '-ologies' and of course I love the Bach piece! :o)

Anonymous said...

Lovely, sweet, funny--okay a bit of menace, but gentle (remembered in a bit of sepia.) K.

hyperCRYPTICal said...

This is superb - written so perfectly I was there!

Anna :o]

Tess Kincaid said...

The birds have been anxious here, too, with the early arrival of spring. This is the third day in a row now, that a robin has been crashing into the dining room window to get in...poor thing...

cj Schlottman said...

Your words move silkily down the page, and your concrete images bring the birds to life. I love this.