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 .

Saturday, October 6, 2012

New Poem, Making Linguini, for DVerse Poetics and Beyond...

Posted for Dverse Poetics, and revised. 




Making Linguini



These are the hands used to tending,
preparing a formula of condensed milk,
egg yolks, corn syrup, safflower oil

to funnel into nursing bottles for the newborn
pups in their nest,
for the sake of sparing the Golden bitch
who laves all twelve to sleep.

These are the hands that now wander
into the kitchen at midnight,
a cold autumn wind and jazz with its clarinet,
calling the heart away to a liaison,

while they mound flour in the bowl,
add two eggs and one yolk, a splash of olive oil, 
a hint of salt.

These are the hands that gather up
the flour and the jellied marigolds
of the eggs, to knead against lack,

resting the dough then, dusting the pin,
pressing out a glistening elastic oval,
rolling it out on a floured board--

cutting and tossing the linguini
into boiling salted water, 
where small golden tongues 
dance toward al dente.

And these are the hands that never gripped
the sheets in birth-anguish, or touched
the newborn head at the gate of life,

that now undertake their pantomime
of tidying the kitchen like two flamingos
splashing in pooled rain,  

now pinching back the geraniums 
in the cold window,
pruning the self of yearning,
each intractable sprig.







copyright Jenne' R. Andrews October 2012

7 comments:

Mary said...

I love the repetition of the words "These are the hands" and the mention of all the things that the hands do. Nice!

Heaven said...

I like the hands busy with kitchen but sad that she never experienced the other joys of children ~ That last stanza is specially poignant and lovely ~

J Cosmo Newbery said...

Hands that have lived!

Brian Miller said...

while these hands may not know birthing they know birthing and creation, just in different ways...i like the allusion to the falmingos in the end as well...made me smiles....nice piece jenne

Arian Tejano said...

Beautiful, Jenne. This stanza grabbed me:

These are the hands that never gripped
the sheets in birth-anguish, or touched
the newborn head at the gate of life

Claudia said...

homemade linguini...nothing better..my aunt used to make her own noodles..and i second bri about the birthing and creation..

Sabio Lantz said...

"the gate of life" !
Nice