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Professor Jenne' Rodey Andrews, M.F.A., is a highly regarded American poet, critic and memoirist. Recent work has appeared in former Autumn House Publisher Michael Simms' Vox Populi (over fifteen poems) The Passionate Transitory, Belletrist Coterie, The Adirondack Review and elsewhere.

Andrews' current ms of poetry Beautiful Dust was a finalist for the 2014 Autumn House and she recently withdrew the work from Salmon Ltd, Ireland to protest unmoderated bashing of American writers by Irish writers on the press's social media pages.

Her most recent collection, Blackbirds Dance in the Empire of Love, lauded by Robert Bly and endorsed by poets Jim Moore, Dawn Potter and Patricia Kirkpatrick, appeared from Finishing Line Press 2013. A booklength collection Beautiful Dust was 2014 finalist for the Autumn House Press Poetry Prize and solicited by Salmon Press, Ireland. Turning on work set in the West and her native Southwest the collection is under submission to 2019 publication prizes.

Andrews is currently hard at work on two new memoirs: The Shame Garden: A Woman Writes of Isolation, Despair and Self-Redemption, which in intensely wrought and imagistic prose poetry chronicles the anatomy of shame; it is the poet's late-in-life tour d'force, sending the reader through Dante's circles of hell, the sewers of Paris ala Les Mis, mano a mano confrontations with the Alien mater familias, fusing literary and vintage cinematic works in an elliptical dance with human history and experience of being Other. The poet has no idea of what will become of this work but hopes it finds a home as memoir with a small press.

A four part interview with Andrews went live at poet Maureen Doallas's blog Writing without Paper in 2010.

Other collections include the full-length Reunion, Lynx House Press, The Dark Animal of Liberty, Leaping Mountain Press, and In Pursuit of the Family, edited and published by Robert Bly and the Minnesota Writers Publishing House.

Her work has been anthologized in Heartland II, Northern Illinois University Press, 25 Minnesota Vols. I and II, Wingbone: An Anthology of Colorado Poetry, Women Poets of the Twin Cities, Oil and Water and Other Things that Don't Mix, and elsewhere.

Essays have appeared in MPR's Magazine, The Colorado Review, The Twin Falls Times News, and miscellaneous journals.

IIt is Prof. Andrews' belief that one's collection of poetry must be judged on the quality of its craft, voice, and language, not its themes.


With Mr. Bly the memoirist Patricia Hampl wrote a forward to her first collection and is considered the "mother" of the modern American memoir although she arguably shares this title with Mary Karr for Karr's The Liar's Club. Andrews mentored Karr in Minneapolis when the former was circa 19.

Professor Andrews has had an illustrious teaching career at Colorado State University and the University of Colorado where she taught prelaw students in the making of argument and the issues-oriented seminar The American West. She was the highest rated instructor in the University Writing program during her tenure at Boulder.

Currently Professor Andrews writes daily at age 70, having been rendered housebound in 2007 in a fall from a horse, at home with her lover and companion of thirty years the fiction writer Jack Brooks, ten new poems a month, and is working on an additional memoir about her pioneer roots, "Territory Fever: The Story of an Albuquerque Family," posted as chapters are finished to Loquaciously Yours where the poet has produced over 450 essays in the past decade on a variety of topics as well as book reviews. Upcoming: a review of Ethna McKiernan's new Salmon Collection.

Ms. Andrews is also a Civil Rights Advocate advocating in 2019 for the civil rights of the poet Ping Wang who recently won the AWP Award for Memoir.

In 2015, after a long battle, Andrews extracted her MFA in Creative Writing/Poetry from Colorado State University, begun and finished in the 80's, self-advocating under the Americans with Disabilities Act. In fact Andrews was instrumental in the Colorado Commission on Higher Education's approval of the MFA at CSU.

She is a literary fellow of the National Endowment for the Arts, the Minnesota Arts Board Fellowship, was short-listed for a Bush Foundation Fellowship, 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, one of the first poets to inaugurate The Loft Literary Center, co-founding Women Poets of the Twin Cities which as noted boosted the careers of Mary Karr, Ethna McKiernan and others, and spent the summer of 1973 in Reggio Calabria, Italy which gave rise to the "voluptuous prose-poetry" memoir Nightfall in Verona posted in entirety here, designated by arts maven and former friend Caroline Marshall of NPR The Writer Reads as "fabulous."

Circa 2010 Andrews also founded a poetry group on She Writes which included Dawn Potter, Katha Pollock and other noteworthy writers, and supported the work of Meg Waite Clayton, fiction writer in addition to mentoring a number of other up and coming writers.

There is no way to estimate the influence on the lives and work of the some 12,000 students k-12 she met and encouraged in the seventies, but the poet James Tolan has attributed his career to her work as it was anthologized in Heartland II, Lucien Stryk, Editor. Professor Stryk read the title poem of In Pursuit of the Family on NPR.

As noted the poet lives in northern Colorado's Poudre River Valley with her husband, fiction writer Jack Brooks; the couple's daily life is centered around writing and enjoying their beautiful imported Golden Retrievers;-- see the Ardorgold website for details. Contact: jenneandrews2010@gmail.com.

Signed copies of the Blackbirds Dance collection, endorsed by James Moore, Patricia Kirkpatrick and Dawn Potter, are available from the poet. She posts new work below and is available for mentorship and virtual readings via Skype.

She is happy to critique ms. of poetry, fiction and memoir for a small fee.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Poem for One Stop Wednesday

Please also take a minute to read my feature on Fireblossom and my new post about the May Swenson Award at Loquaciously Yours.  Please also friend me on Facebook if you like! xxxj






Dancing with Winifred

Etta James sings At Last
And in the deeps of the night
I think of my aunt, Winifred
Who always said she needed no one
And ran a red light drunk

Jackknifed her best friend dead
Ended up in a body cast
Whereupon she threatened 
to hurl herself through plate glass
And said let me heal crooked

Cut loose, Freddy's dance was her own 
She drank hard, 
And wrapped her hair in a bun every day
Read the New Yorker
Greeted the liquor store kid
Leaning on her cane

Finally she collapsed from the weight
Of being herself.

She had said to me “I’ll always be here”
And she was.
Here new snow has come in
Like a cargo of swans, eyes
Scanning for open water
Behind black masks

I was a swan
But now I have a leg
A surgeon lied about
I drag through life like a log
His titanium plating failed
And it bent from the weight
I put on it myself

Now, look there, on my wall
At symmetrical
Isadora Duncan, her beautiful calves
The lines of her body, her long arms
Her hair whipping like a houri’s

The snow comes near
like Freddy's solicitous ghost
And I cannot go to it
And the leg sings to me 
from its black brace

ii

Over my desk Isadora Duncan
Bends and leaps in a gilded frame
Olive background, olive peasant dress
And then the pale outline of her arms
The angle of their rejoicing

Striving to embrace the sky
Each pale leg strong with muscular calves
No toe-shoes, the bare feet
Like a Greek woman’s
Summoning goats from the hills
Ouzo crazy and alone
Exulting in herself

Saxaphone riffs
And Etta
On the stereo, Winifred
Slamming down margaritas,
Swatting flies in the kitchen

Defiance became her
Dancing like Isadora
On the rim, at Chaco
Casting ashes into the ruins without a word
After my cousin Ann died
On intravenous Ethanol

I went off,
To be myself
And I am
Although I have a leg
Like a wing
Wandering off in its own direction
About to give up the ghost

And Isadora and I
And Etta and Winifred
And Ann Ellen,
Find a way to dance
On the radiant sky
Of the dark night.


 xx

Posted for One Shot Wednesday, a poetry-posting blog carnival feature of One Stop Poetry; join in!

 copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011


14 comments:

L.L. Barkat said...

The complexity of relationships and images in this set makes me ache. (I am like that when I come face to face with things of beauty.)

So much to love here, but I'll just share one of my favorite lines...

"And said let me heal crooked"

Brother Ollie said...

What a woman! What a poem...nice one shot JRA!

Corbie said...

An in depth magically written poem about relationships and pain that each has suffered. No greater pain than another yet equally great. A heartwrenching but truthful story that we can all see happening everday, if we would only look around. Thank you for sharing and hope to see you again for One Shot Wednesday! ~Corbie Sinclair

Brian Miller said...

delicious write...you capture your characters nicely making them real...

dustus said...

"Here new snow has come in
Like a cargo of swans"

Your poetry is always rich with imagery and emotion. There is a beautiful sadness conveyed throughout.

Anonymous said...

Jenne, you never disappoint. This is EXCEPTIONAL! As Dustus quoted "Here new snow has come in Like a cargo of swans"--that part took my breath away, I read it again and again. Stunning. What a complex, well-woven masterpiece! Cheers to you!
amy jo

hedgewitch said...

Searing and almost physically painful to read... the damage which these women bear as a common thread is almost a palpable weight. But I love the image of strength and grace you draw here with Isadora, and your language, as always, is a unique string of glittering gems.

Anonymous said...

Amen to the chorus of Amens. What a fine, gritty, true weave of history and the mystery of the heart, where dance is a fleeting, phantastical thing as we mortals stomp and grind and fall apart on the floor. Lord knows I thought booze made me dance. It only made me spin ... :) Great job, Brendan

Maude Lynn said...

"Finally she collapsed from the weight
Of being herself."

That shook me all the way through.

Alegria Imperial said...

Your poems always stun me, leaving me speechless! This one, because I love ballet and have worked with ballerinas, drew out a mountain heap of memories about their pain yet the 'daemon' that pursued them to soar on their toe-wings. This poem should be a dance narrative and choreographed; it would make a great ballet. Thank you for this exquisite gem, Jen!

Steve Isaak said...

Jazzy, literary, natural, amazing work.

Shashidhar Sharma said...

Dear Jen
Dear Jenne
I liked your second part a lot and the lines were perfect...
'Find a way to dance
On the radiant sky
Of the dark night.'
I enjoyed it so much. thanks for sharing.


ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com/2011/03/whispers-winter-dew.html
Twitter @VerseEveryDay

Claudia said...

great write...but this line caught me most..Finally she collapsed from the weight
Of being herself... just wow!

Luke Prater said...

lovely piece, Jenne' - enjoyed it.

Cheers m'dear

Luke @ WordSalad