Jenne' R. Andrews is an American poet. Her career began in 1969 with the mentorship of Robert Bly, former Colorado Poet Laureate Mary Crow, and the Canadian poet Tom Wayman. Her first published poem appeared in The Colorado Review in 1971. Her first collection was published in 1974 by Robert Bly, that same windfall year, she received a literary fellowship from the National Endowment of the Arts and she was appointed full-time Poet in Residence of the St. Paul Schools for four consecutive years before ever completing her Bachelor's Degree. She holds B.A., M.A. and M.F.A. degrees from Colorado State University.

As Andrews was born in New Mexico to a mother of pioneer/Victorian heritage and is a longtime resident of the Poudre River Valley in northern Colorado, the American West figures strongly in Andrews' oeuvre and gives rise to her most lyrical work. Her first collection of poetry in thirty years, Blackbirds Dance in the Empire of Love, appeared in November 2013, from Finishing Line Press. She was a finalist for the Autumn House 2014 Poetry Prize--one of the most prestigious publication prizes in the country among an imposing field of twenty candidates for the prize out of a total of 500 submissions with her collection And Now, the Road.

Her expanded chapbook Blackbirds Dance is available signed from the poet or from Finishing Line; follow the links for an order form. Order the Collection here. Contact Andrews as follows: Facebook as Jenne R Andrews and Twitter @jenandrewspoet. e-mail: jenneandrews2010@gmail.com .

Saturday, April 27, 2013

New Poem, Instruction Manual, for The Mag and Beyond.....

To participate in the lovely Tess Kincaid's Sunday meme The Mag, click here.

Monhegan's Schoolteacher  Jaimie Wyeth 

Instruction Manual

What you look for
isn’t in any book.  It is the song
the body loves to sing

and knows by heart,
where you towel your hair,
nude in winter’s window. 

If you fear
the task at hand, pretend
you’ve unpacked the text,

that the instructions are etched
on your eyelids
when you dream.

Think of it, and the body stirs
in the winter window;

it is not a rubric
but an art--
this bel canto
the body longs to sing.

is here—according
to a winter's worth 
of words, 
he has seen
your alert breasts.

He has the fierce look
of desire:
he is poised there

beyond the window
in a nook of shade.

Be woman, be the song,
close the book.

Let him in.

to the tender entrance
of the sun.

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012 


Maureen said...

Lyrical loveliness, Jenne. Especially beautiful concluding stanza.

Maya said...

Delectable comes to mind. <3

Tess Kincaid said...

Bel canto, indeed...lovely write, Jen...