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, November 26, 2010

Poem for Weekend...

As If You Were No One

As if you had no essence
Were only breath
Against the autumn air
You reach for definition
You arch toward the clouds
Seeking the hands
Of the sun
To make you

As if no one
Had rocked you in a hand-hewn
Swaddled you
Given you a name
Dug from pioneer dust
Veins of silver in the old mines

As if you had no dimension
Came to life as half
Of some misshapen
Being of little consequence
You walk into the field
Wings at your temples
Brightness so blinding
You fall back against the car


You falter here
Season on season
A ghost-like shape
In the abandoned swing
Haunting a garden hidden
By a garrison of poplars

But these now turn and drop
Those brazen leaves
That shimmered all summer
On the indigo sky

Your encampment
The cold stones
Where you first lit matches
To see something blue
And burning


You come and go
Your heart in your hand
Traveling light
Limping out to winter's
Ragged grey
Meeting place
Someone stopped by
And snow-shoed away

How far will you climb
This time
To the well in the square
In the small town
over the Mediterranean
Where part of you lives
Readily toasting
Fireworks from a yacht
On the horizon

How will you know
When you are free
Will there be cheering
Puccini at twilight
A remorseful hand in your hair,
Or better, your own hand there
Soothing and reminding
You to break bread
With yourself

copyright 2010 Jenne' R. Andrews
all rights reserved-- permissions required

1 comment:

Pete Marshall said...

blimey i was grabbed from the opening lines...a great write and thanks for sharing..pete