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, August 14, 2012

New Poem: A Shell and Her Peignoir-- posting for The Mag, DVerse Poets OLN and Beyond...

Photo by Francesca Woodman

The Shell and Her Peignoir

I came to your door, my peignoir open;
I carried the heavy scalloped shell

that stores your leavetakings,
where I speak the dearth between us.

As attuned to your sleep as a conch its
ocean, I had heard your solitary

pleasure-cry, across all the dark house
and selling my soul, breaking, still

sought you out.  I, Venus, full on in
the flesh,  laid myself bare where you

saw my heart, said nothing. You would
have been stone not to take me in;

I soared over you with my long wings,
in the dialect that speaks love in its

very making. Do you not see me still
in that doorway, the aching weight

of truth in my arms, attentive tautness
of my breasts, belly shower-damp,

my hand at the hem parting the way
to your bliss? See now what comforts

are left: flames are embers, daybreak
frost coats the glass; I am only

a semblance, a voice in your pale ear’s
shell, leaching all my unspent grief.

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012


Berowne said...

Highly effective, and quite moving...

joanna said...

ah, if we could all learn to speak with the voice of the goddess within. :) wonderful, melancholic sensuality here.

Heaven said...

Unspent grief...very nice.

I like the aching weight and dying embers ~ Superb writing Jenne ~

Maureen said...

Given what I know about Woodman, this poem could have been written for her. The conch as metaphor is lovely.

Karen S. said...

"leaching all my unspent grief" really defines so vividly her trials through the short days of her life....nice soft tones you offer us, which set very deeply!

Helen said...

Your poem is awesome ...... erotic in all the right places.

Semaphore said...

Absolutely breathtaking, absolutely brilliant. I feel like kidnapping your poetry and raising it as my own.

Anonymous said...

Agree with Sam - this is one of my favorites of yours - it is just beautiful, breathtaking, so well-done, evocative, sensual, sad==k.

Anonymous said...

ps - your use of the shell especially great here. As you take something a bit gimmicky and make it really wonderful. I mean, I think it is meant to be quite profound in the image - but you take it to a different level for me at least. k.

Brian Miller said...

very nice heat to this one ma'am...smiles....ha i love sam's comment as well...this one is def a keep jenne....

ayala said...

A beautiful poem ! Enjoyed the share.

Helena said...

WoW! Quite an intense and moving poem.

Mama Zen said...

I love what you did with the shell!

John Allen Richter said...

You come to my door looking like that and you're in, baby! No stone here... eh, or well, for the most part! Venus lives! Great poem Jenne.....

Tess Kincaid said...

The aching weight of truth in my arms...gorgeous write Jen...