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 .

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Four Winter Interludes.

 (one-shooters-- peruse these or scroll down to "Dusty Kiss"-- thanks!)

Perhaps I don't need to say the following, but in case:  I've been so serious in my work, so down, and it seemed time to play.  I wanted to see if I could recast some of my indiscretions as a kind of lyrical erotica-- chiefly for the sake of some belly laughs for the writer and the reader.  A genre unto its own and not much of quality vis a vis the dance of language and the humor out there ... I'll be posting a poem by Theodore Roethke soon that started these trains rolling for me years ago-- thanks for your comments!  Very encouraging...J"

1. Cherries Jubilee

We put on Coyote-Ugly
long scrapped for better R and B
and then my pink negligee
long retired
to the sad end of the closet

You, burned out trucker
closet blue-grass ace
from the Ever Open Cafe
sat with the long-stemmed goblet
on your lap
breaking a smile:

You had a stent
in your white white chest
days and hours left, we knew it

That's why we got drunk at the steakhouse
slipped and slid over the ice
to my house
And I stripped for you
a nipple into the Merlot
and into your oh my goodness mouth;

So then.  Time for the send-off.
You tipped your ball cap back, looked at your watch
and we stepped into my bedroom
down to our skin
face to face

You opened your eyes wide
to tease me
swung each of my legs
over your shoulders
Be my Kenworth, baby
you said

That cherry stem thing with your tongue
ran me out of breath
Oh Lord, I can't stop, I  said
My body in a downhill skid of rapture
An eighteen wheeler running off the road

Amen, you whispered when I came,
grinding against my slick gears

Your turn, old man:
Damn blood pressure meds
You growled
Then oh babied me
And caught your breath
When I downshifted and braked
To keep from slamming into
A porcupine.

Don't die yet, I said
we laughed
And out in the pens
fire and ice telegraphed
across the species,
mares heads up, all ears.

2. Bad-Ass

One day in the cafe
the tall drink of water from Savannah
with all the chrome
Said the run from Ogden to Denver
hauling the U.S. mail
got to him

He ran blue eyes over me
where I sat reading the paper
he had silver hair and long fingers
and still used Old Spice

In the parking lot a kiss later a call
and then I  went to get him
call me millenium man, he said
your sugar daddy of the new year.

And he wore a hard silver six-gun 
with chamois smooth skin
loaded with an ever-ready cache 
of warm silverfish ammo
I loved in my holster
where I would yearn and smolder

Why would you toss my milkshake back
just drink me down like that
he'd ask
in the wake of a hot first go
half out of our clothes in the kitchen
nice girls don't do that

Nice boys don't let them --
if they want to come again
my riposte

How'd I get under your skin, he'd tease
when I played that song
while he suckled me hard
like a neonate Hampshire

He'd go no holds barred
until I was on the edge
get up and drift off
to smoke
I'd finish myself off in the dark
with one sympathetic hand
in one smooth glissade, biting my lips,
holding something back
not my heart

He never thawed or flinched
I'm your millenium man he'd say
taking out his comb
to mend his silver pompadour
ala Cary Grant
he would dress and smoke
and pace and drive away
and here it is again,
the new year, 3 a.m.

The hungry innuendos
of our bruised mouths
small whirlpools now
in the tide of my blood.

3. Mon Cherie

Mr. Chamber of Commerce
drunk as an owl on the full moon           
tells me about picking up a hooker
when he was on shore leave in Paris.

"She took me up to her pensione
put a red high heel on a chair
and slipped two little silver balls out of herself
and set them on the table.

I hope you don't mind, she said,
"They glowed in the darkness
Like Pluto and Uranus
while she purred her silky self
around me like a cat.

"What are those for
I asked
a little wet behind the ears
and she, kind enough not to laugh
said they keep me tight, cherie
And she was."

I laughed with lover boy
and finished off
his Dom Perignon
It was two a. m. and we hit the sheets
and I bled him of his longing
looking at the ceiling
because he came and went.
and I got there by happy accident
against his cooling haunches.
I'd picked him up by Coors light
at the steakhouse
Do you work for Hewlett Packard
he'd asked
because i'd come in
to make a kill
in that silver lame' dress
from the going out of business sale at Ross.

Absolutely not I said,
reaching down below the bar
and peeling off my panty hose,
putting them in his hand.
Not unless you'd call these

One margarita a piece later
we went out to his new Escalade;
Let me lock the truck up, I said
sliding out to the blue chevy I'd parked
at the back where the cooks hired in
from Guadalaraja smoked
on break, missing nothing

Enjoy your steak,
one I knew called to me in Spanglish.

Is that what you drive?
Nope.  My Beemer's at home.
We roared down the late highway;
sparks from his Lucky Strike
flying up from the open window

When he sobered up in the aftermath
he looked at me
with pure terror
dropping me off, laying down
a patch of smoking rubber
to get away

So that when someone
had an airborne cardiac event,
crashing a Cessna into lover- boy’s warehoused
collection of priceless cars

I laughed and toasted him
We were tight, Cherie--it's all right
blowing the smoke from the barrel
of my cooling pearl-handled Derringer.

4. Carpentry

You furrow on your knees through the carpet
And clamp on to my ass
I have a mouthful of dust
You aren't nailing me
You’re building a house
Each 16 penny long and straight,
In deep, stapling limb to limb

Raise high the roofbeams
I cry out
Slathering myself
With Kama Sutra cream
Someone with an eye on the prize
Comes slick and singing
Out from under her hood
She thinks all this new construction
Is Better Homes & Gardens good

I prime her with my fingertips;
She’s airtight now
But she foams at the mouth
The last of my on-all-fours decorum
Takes a Greyhound south

We improvised;
The blueprint's proof--
We built a penthouse
Without a foundation
So paramount our elation--
The neighbors, I hiss
Get off the roof!

You install the final hasp
shriek sotto voce at the moon
  A Home at Last!

Copyright Jenne’ Andrews 2011
All rights deserved


Brian Miller said...

dang these are wicked good...i can tie a cherry stem...

Anonymous said...

oh my gaaawwdd these are great!! The most exciting (and clever, witty, talented!) poems I've read in a long long while! I'm a fan!

hedgewitch said...

Normally, I loathe erotica, frankly. It's 9 times out of 10 pretentious and even more ego-maniacal or contrived than the usual misty moon-puffy clouds-twisty tree branch fare, with body parts substituted. But I read and enjoyed every word of these four poems--they were(if you don't mind an old fashioned term) literature, and damn good poetry as well. You both made me relate to your contemporary characters' world, and took me back to memories of my own. Excellent, fascinating and meaningful writing.

jen revved said...

Brian, AmyJo and Hedgewitch-- my gosh, you make me feel so much better. (I knew some sweet one stop...er...man, here, would say he could tie a cherry stem...but anyhoo....thanks for calling them literature, HW. I hope to hell so. xxxxj

Maureen said...

Maybe I should have waited until just before bed time to read these.

jen revved said...

Possibly. But thanks for stopping by...I have a few more, unfortunately. xxxxj

jen revved said...

Zetta Brown said these were "steamy"-- Doug said they were dreamy. xj