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, August 19, 2012

New Poem: Drought at Solstice, for DVerse Poetics and Beyond..

Drought at Solstice

Even in drought Earth opens her wide mouth to the sun.
No rain, yet plums litter the yard, small ovals of dusk;

their tree shivers in the gnat-flecked currents of high
noon. We drink from the clouds the heat then drives away.

We feast our eyes on the emerald lawns as if we are immune
to the discontent that lives in the marrow like a sniper

flattened and vigilant on the pine-furred ridge.
And that earlier kiss on Monarch Pass, where

the snow-pack above timberline became the temporal
bowl for our summer desire. Now at the season's apogee,

what can we reap from these long afternoons, organza
sheers blurring the gray-green pastoral frieze?

Tenants of mid-August, equivocating raconteurs, we
would return to water to drowse in the laconic arms

of the sunny seas.  But the landlocked heart reins in,
yearning for the call of wild geese, the falling peach.



Brian Miller said...

oh i pine for fall...it is my fav season, the crisp cool...and after the heat of the summer i am ready for it...hard to retreat to water when you are land locked and on water restrictions surely....smiles...

Anonymous said...

Ah - so much richness here, so much to praise--the landlocked heart is just beautiful (but poignantly) sad as all else craves running off to sea! You tell a story, but also just weave the landscape so beautifully--

the snowpack bowl for a romance, that seems to have both hot and cold side the organza of the afternoons,
the dusk plums.

So glad you participated - thanks. k.

Maureen said...

Beautifully written, Jenne. What evocative images: plums as "small ovals of dusk"; snow-pack as "temporal bowl for our summer desire", the "long afternoons, organza / sheers..."; so many more. And then that "falling peach": wonderful.

Claudia said...

absolutely love the image of drinking from the clouds..

Sheila said...

a roller coaster of emotions underlie this - really enjoyed it.