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, May 6, 2012

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

This poem inspired by two photos and one narrative portrayed in a painting...

Supermoon at the Eiffel Tower, May 2012

River Irwell, R.D. Stainforth


Van Gogh wakes in the grave, leaning
into green cemetery silence,

Listening with the tuning fork filaments
of his residual ear.

Insomniac ghost, he sees everyone running,
whispering je ne sais quoi in the dark.

He billows off, the hem of his shroud trailing
in the elbow of the voluble Seine, looking up

To view a luminous ball resting on the tip
of the Eiffel Tower,

Great sentinel moon, rebuking all of Paris.
Now Sartre, Camus, Renoir gather at the tower;

It takes all of them, Van Gogh
calling the plays,

Their white wrists extended,
to tip the ball loose;

In unguarded amazement,
they watch it ascend, making its way

Like a ship of state across the molten skies.
In St. Petersburg , something tugs

At Dostoyevsky, entombed within eternal
dreams of infinite snow and forbidden love:

He finds himself in his dark carriage,
driver lashing the lathered team

Through the dormant frigid city,
where like the face of a vagrant

Revolutionary, the great moon hovers
over the Winter Palace in the square.

He summons the Brothers Karamazov
from the peripheral graves;

The volley once more and now the
opalescent immensity broken from its orbit
Travels on west, through one time zone
then another, over alpine ridges

To the piazza where the Carrera Dante,
in his mantle of forlorn pigeons,

Sees it--  ascendant luna errante--
over the Palazzo di Scaligeri.

All Veronese lamplight
is suddenly quenched in deference:

One expat had been saying to
another, sitting at a bistro table

After hours, But Thomas touched the stranger’s
wounds—explain that away.

And the other person could not,
except to say, We see what we yearn

To see;  look, broken from stone
Dante himself comes unto us,

Holding a great wayfaring moon
by a filigreed strand.

Jenne' R. Andrews
May 8, 2012

Caravaggio: The Incredulity of St. Thomas

 Dostoyevsky's Notes for a chapter of The Brothers Karamazov 

*je ne sais quoi -- fr. I don't know what... 
copyright Jenne' R. Andrews  2012  All rights reserved....


Anonymous said...

Just terrific. Funny, intelligent (of course), thoughtful, eye/mind-opening. Very clever, and the end with the debate about Thomas and Dante so wonderful.

It reminds a bit of the Monty Python Philosphers' football match, though really it is more ambitious than that -- k.

Anonymous said...

I meant philosophers - and also kudos. K.

Mimi Foxmorton said...

This is such a beautiful blog.

I love this take....and the super moon awakening......

Karen S. said...

Your writing feels like music! Your blog is exceptional, and the photo you added with Mag 116 is very stunning!

Sue said...

Listening with the tuning fork filaments
of his residual ear.

...and all the rest, too.

Just excellent.


Tess Kincaid said...

Intelligent write, Jen...I especially like Van Gogh listening with his residual ear...

Elisabeth Kinsey said...

Love the poem. Smart, full of images. Thanks!

Elisabeth Kinsey said...

Beautiful poem with smart language and images.

Ethna McKiernan said...

such a white-hot poem, Jenné! -

Berowne said...

Remarkable. I listened with all the power of my residual ear...

Anonymous said...

Inspired by a supermoon? Maybe resurrecting the souls of all these great artists - something about the moon that always brings out the reflective and the romantic....

Julián Esteban Torres López said...

What a wonderful nugget! You've got yourself a new fan.

Beachanny said...

Doesn't the poetic spirit cry out for a night like this? The moon exalts, lifts life from ashes, and the thoughts and words fill the mouths of those who said them as they walk among us as if by magic. This is a magical piece, full of imagination and inspiration. How deftly you roll the ball. I was there.