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 .

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Poem: Paraffin, Posting for DVerse Poets and Beyond...

 To participate in the weekly DVerse Poets Pub meme, click here.  
Feel free to check out my poem A Rumor of Uranium, first antiwar poem I've written in many years.  xj 


Eva Braun as a Young Girl

 
Paraffin

We are troubled that our cheap candles burn down
so quickly.  There are many lamps in the house
but we for sometime now have preferred candlelight 

not one side of your face light, one dark. Then we both
go dark and it is too hard.  I need at least to see your
outline, that of the window and the cats lumped

and dreaming on the bookcase.  Old love should make
a spontaneous flame between us or kindle us within
but it cannot.  Finally you dig out the red buffalo

kitsch candle from twenty years back, Sears in Boulder,
when we ran a horse ranch together, rarely slept
fought in sandstorms and I watched you on the green

tractor off in the distance.  On match-flare then I see
what is temporal:  Easter night. Our hands, knotted. 
the years in such velocity the breath catches when

we speak of it.  The buffalo has been behind glass for decades
and now within minutes is sway-backed, a flame wavering
in its shoulder.  I tell of you of the auburn bison that came

in spring, dotting the fields on the hill overlooking
the alabaster Never Summer Range. And of the wings in the dark
rising up in front of the truck on the dirt lane.  And of the mule deer

in the front yard in the heart of town. Now we are reminded
of the demands around us, the yellow cats, the dogs.  You
pull formula for the lagging kitten into the eye dropper. 

I had thought to hover here, in the darkness of my old room,
but abruptly evening wicks down to midnight—so it is 
that you were there, I was and then the verging tide

of half-lit tallow, the final minutes of our imperiled
choreography, when we are wax defectors
from a Russian ballet poised on the sea-cliff’s edge.

cc

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 

10 comments:

Maureen said...

Wonderful image of the buffalo-styled candle burning down, becoming sway-backed (I think of burdens here, what gets carried into the future, leaving us with memory, half-worked possibilities, what's pressed into darkness but not forgotten).

Beachanny said...

Juxtaposition of the American West, rugged and working, beauty on the large scale juxtaposed with the delicacy and perfection of Russian ballet - one has the sense of the candle in the china cabinet resting next to the delicate bone china. Beauty here take a spectrum of forms.
Well writ!

ayala said...

A nice capture with some lovely lines!

marilyncavicchiaeditorpoet said...

Lovely! I especially like the last line.

manicddaily said...

Yes - a great choice of image - easy to relate to but vivid, and the evening wicking to midnight - beautiful description of how it in fact works. k.

Natasha Head said...

Absolutely stunning write! It's been sometime since I've visited, and I should be ashamed of myself. The easy voice of your pen allows me to fall into this time, this place...I should be so lucky as to write like this.

Charles Elliott/Beautyseer said...

This is lovely, and at the same time poignant. The sense of things relegated to the past, of decades spent together, of candles burning down too fast -- as life itself does. The image of the swaybacked buffalo candle!

One wonders whether if candelight is really preference or a need for economy that motivates the candlelight, but even sadness on inadequate Social Security looks better in candleglow. Enjoyed this!

Louise said...

Beautiful language and images you use here...a joy to read :)

Jessica said...

There is really beautiful narrative here! Reads lovely.

jen revved said...

Thanks to all-- deeply appreciated; we who write in isolation cannot know what chord we strike unless we put the work out there... have not been all that sure of this poem but thanks very much! I am slow to make the round these days but do eventually...xxxj