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 .

Friday, March 6, 2015

New Poem: Notes on a Day in England

Notes on a Day in England

I turn on the PC
to be treated to a series of photos
of friends spending the day in York.

Several of us are peering into the window
of this romance.  A solemn yet generous-voiced
Englishman.  A beautiful American woman.

Figuratively along for the ride,
we muse over the photos, the stark
yet tender rowhouses, the cathedral--
“Yorkminster”--
embracing the air with Gothic arms.
the grey stucco on grey sky; 
an aristocratic dark ale
shared in a dark inn.

We are not voyeurs--only
want these two
to keep warming their hands 
by the light
in each other’s eyes--

our attention says, “Godspeed.” 
Our conjecture recognizes the potential
for delirium—the ecstatic—
and how it is to part,
how deep the aching.

One afternoon forty years ago
I released the hands clasping mine,
staunching my tears
as he wept as well, and the train
pulling out of Turin station
bore him away 
like the welter of night.

Here it is a blue and diminishing day.
My love reads in the next room;
we are old, vulnerable
to the next hard thing
which we know will befall
as surely as bad weather descends
over the valley.

We think that we will face
all things bravely,
even when one of us
is removed from our daily lives
and where he sat or where we lay
inexorably pools with absence.

 How necessary
to give over to love, how definite
the great sundial of late winter
cottonwoods casting their own
courageous shadows
over last year's grass.    



copyright Jenne' R. Andrews

2 comments:

Tess Kincaid said...

Beautiful beyond words Jen...brought tears to my eyes...

Cat-tails: here be wagging tales said...

Delightful, Jenne. Absolutely delightful!