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 .

Monday, September 9, 2013

New Poem: Dining Car, for The Mag and Beyond.....

Please note that my newest collection of poetry, Blackbirds Dance in the Empire of Love, Finishing Line Press, with endorsements from literary luminaries Jim Moore, Dawn Potter and Patricia Kirkpatrick and cover art by John Sokol, may be ordered now; books will be shipped in October. Signed copies may be purchased from me directly; e-mail jenneandrews2010@gmail.com . To read an advance review by the lovely Tess Kincaid, click here.  My new poem follows.

Dining Car

Mother’s old notes say we took the train
to Flagstaff  my second summer—
that we sat in the dining car and I looked out
mouthing vowels at the desert--  
even then in awe of it, the blue seas of sand,
red sandstone buttes jutting at heaven.

She said the black conductor took our tickets,
his face mooney and beaming;
that we had a Sterling service at breakfast
monogrammed RGL--Rio Grande Line—
poached eggs, quartered cantaloupe
for just the two of us.

Father was off in khaki in the woods
at the foot of San Francisco peak,
moving with the others like indolent
ghosts penciled into the Ponderosa,
harvesting them of the dwarf mistletoe
that lay popping in Petrie dishes
like fractured pearls.

But it was the train, the thunderous rolling on
like a cinematic dream, wheels
throwing off sparks, long high whistle
warning Black Angus cows to move
or be flattened, out on the Pajarito Plateau
where the tracks lengthened
to a vanishing point--

that a body could be in motion, arise,
float and fly.
That there could be holidays and reunions--
escape, the imagination winging
alongside keeping pace with the locomotive’s
kite of steam,
smelting a mirage of freedom down
to a palpable world.

 copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2013


poga poetry said...

nicely done

Helen said...

Amazing .. your exquisite poetry filled up every inch of my heart.

Kathe W. said...

fabulous imagery and rhythm

Tess Kincaid said...

Delicious write,Jen...mouthing vowels at the desert...oh I love that, especially...

Dick Jones said...

There's a wonderful sense of movement, landscape, location and the passage of time here. Powerful stuff!