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, December 25, 2012

New Poem: Christmas Morning 2 a.m.




Christmas Morning 2 a.m.

The new snow gleams
on the hedge, inheritance
of ermine. 
The men and boys in the Vatican
nave, incandescent Gloria,
all Italia attentive to the night.

How much we want this world
to be the fruit of grand intention,
our spinning through the abyss,
at the volition
of One love, relentless.

How much we ache for reassurance—
for that Nativity to have brought love
unto us, for the mind to reel,
all doubt fall away.

Stupor, soporific, name of names;
Holy Spirit, wholeness of surrender
to the wintry earliest morning.
Palestrina, Pieta, Bethlehem,
cantor singing Luke,

the patriarchs in their red caps:
stern similitude,
every prayer a filament
of yearning.

The young archangels
supplicants with one voice--
the restless heart, unbinding,

how profane the flesh,
with all this earth-bound
fear and wanting.



copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012

1 comment:

Timoteo said...

The ego bound existence is all about those two things...and only those two things. (You were up late waiting for Santa...did he come?)