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, December 3, 2010

Poem for First Weekend in December--

How We Burn

Life aches to fill us up and I mean
That the blueness of the sky
Penetrates and colors
The skin and veins of the hands
Of someone in mourning.
I mean that clustered red wing blackbirds
Sing for us not only the sun
Or their mother the earth
That when we lift up our eyes
We see clouds writing
A hieroglyphic on heaven, a forming
And breaking without
That is also within

Do you know what I mean
A better question might be do I know
What I mean
Working away in my cheap apartment,
The yard man out trimming the hedges
In December -- ?--
There are heralding small lights
In the laundry room
In a box: Will someone 
think to elaborate
upon those neatly cut edges?

I strive to give voice to why it is that we
So love the dying ancient trees that caress
This robin’s egg dome of atmosphere,
or that at times we breathe in 
and out, hunched over a map
Of our own lives like a sea captain
By lamplight whose ship
Is filling with water

As if we are each at a grand piano, we try
For some unnoticed
And unscored chord
Or we fling down a ring of silver keys
As if some augury lay there

I trace my way back
to need and lack
And think, I’ve mastered
Singing and transcending,
 all you can do
But still the white mare 
with the immense
Dark eyes I put down in June
Waits for me, at the edge of the inner
Emerald field.
The way she would turn
To look at me says
You will never cut out of yourself
Your love and hunger for the world


Maureen said...

Jenne, this has such beauty, the emotion controlled but full on, the imagery of water and music and breath and breathing still all moving through your lyrical voice. The first stanza is a knockout - I hear it clearly! - and those concluding lines are marvelous.

jen revved said...

oh my gosh, you are so kind and supportive, Maureen. thank you, thank you-- i wasn't sure...xxxj

Timoteo said...

Oh man...oh man...