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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 .

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Revision: Fugitive - Posted for DVerse OLN and Beyond...

Please feel free to read my well-received piece on Adrienne Rich at Loquaciously Yours...





Fugitive

I have been running ahead of a thundering storm of crows
for days.  Years.  Multitudes of owls with piercing
eyes and talons.  Blizzards of infuriated snow that ache

To be ash, sky that would like to go dark or swallow itself.
I sang and sang last night to Handel and Mozart and then
we assailed each other with our tongues. On the radio, manifold

Voices spoke of the take-out of the patriarch terrorist, how
the late day sun irradiated a gull as it soared from cliff to white
cap to prow.  What is a mortal wound, a hit to the brain by way

Of the eye. Or a blow to the heart quivering in its silver casing
like a Derringer in a cupboard. I fled over the washboard road,
the bridge poised to fall, past ancient trees, wary neighbor, dogs

Milling at her gate. In his run a golden horse looked out at the
newly green field.  We together populated the rutted hours
in common vigilance, as if an armed stranger were working her way

To us from farm to farm, the night blooming dusk. Now my jaw is
tarnished, my spoons misaligned. Have you ever believed yourself
to be a mistake. What would you pay for a reprieve?   This useless

Chattering of sparrows in the plum blossoms-- who will love us.   
does it matter.   Write to live.  Paint to burn down the wormwood
of day. A priest claimed I don’t believe I’m loved and then

My windshield was pitted by gravel and I slid from the white
dress of my flesh. Our fugitive bodies, washed, swaddled,
“eased” into the sea. Only then, the fields on fire with lavender.
.


--from the forthcoming collection  Snafu .  
Do visit DVerse Poets Pub.... many wonderful writers..

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012

9 comments:

Brian Miller said...

dang...some wicked cool imagery and fascinating story telling....the to ash, early on and slipping from the white dress of your flesh....whew...i like jenne

Maureen said...

Your vivid imagery never disappoints: you employ beautifully that "thundering storm of crows", "multitudes of owls", "chattering of sparrows in the plum blossoms". And snow as "infuriated", that gull "irradiated", the fields afire with lavender also stick in the mind, as does the invocation to "[p]aint to burn down the wormwood / of day." As Brian says, "wicked cool"!

Kerry O'Connor said...

I feel like I am in the presence of one of today's great writers whenever I visit your blog, Jenne and today is no exception. Far and way one of the finest pieces of poetry I've been fortunate enough to read.

ayala said...

Lovely write with cool imagery !

Semaphore said...

This is a piece full of eloquence and illumination. Reading the first three verses, I had to do a double take - especially with the choice of images to illustrate the poem. As always, your images are brilliant, and your metaphors strong... but at times so demanding of the reader! Then I saw that I didn't have to take the pursuers (and the pursuit) as literal "things", that the pursuit itself was the central metaphor... and everything fell into place. Bravo!

Zoe Francesca said...

achingly good, filled with imagery that mingles so beautifully.

jen revved said...

Thank you, dear fellow poets and friends. I enjoy the Eucharist of our Tuesdays and all the other times. We are scattered all over the earth and yet come together with a common goal-- amazing. xxxj

Lady Nyo said...

Imagery powerful and galloping away.

Overfill the senses and brain and I don't know where to land...but this 'ride' is a rich stew and a challenge to take in.

Exciting work here, Jenne.

Lady Nyo

Beachanny said...

Yes at the end the truth of our oneness in nature burns brightly, our bodies yearning to give it up, our minds, our desires clinging to stripped branches and we deny our curses, and try to find our cures. Your poem brought that and more into brilliant relief.
Thank you for your generous and kind comment on my poem Passion. My faith remains resilient in a deity, my faith in this world's institutions regarding that faith is irreparably damaged. The nuns condemned me to hell. Perhaps I'll end up there; but if love can save me, perhaps there is hope yet. Thanks Jenne.