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 .

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Poem for One Shot Wednesday/One Stop Poetry

The Angel of Her Discontent

I  think I could do it now without so much
as a body shudder or a blue-lipped sigh---
fill my pockets with stones and in the inner
weeping of a fallen seraphim
walk into the sea. This is what Woolf did,
not looking back. For I am tempted out of paradise
my dream of recovery worn to opalescence
on the edge of the blue span beneath
the cirrus over the foothills.  I home to those hills;
I want to meld into them 

Where water makes stones, water and wind,
rain and storms and after, we find 
a petrified owl of obsidian, blackly flashing 
from the forest floor.  
In my fever I count the garnets like lark's eyes 
in a box of my great grandmother’s. 
They were some kind of rosary as if grace 
arose from incantatory whispers. 
A friend writes of Lucifer falling into blueness, 
drawn to beauty in spite of himself--. 
if he were only not so made of vitriol but I know 
of that rich, dark nectar.  I am Lucifer 

Or  Lucifer's Lucia, in the gardens of blood-red roses. 
We each need an intervening angel 
yet I would strike even Gabriel with a petroglyph
So that he folds his wings like night and expires
through time, clear and icy black air trying to get my soul
to safety-- it would disintegrate, its fragmenting lost
satellite self, and I with it then.


A photo of Eva Braun as a child on my desk.  Hitler locked her
away but she roamed above the sea with her Scottish terriers
trotting behind.  She poured dark wine into his crystal goblet.  
It was 1939. She must have even been beautiful, 
her hair in damp tendrils

Framing her face,  as she popped the cyanide 
capsule and folded into death like a white silk scarf. 
Perhaps I will name the angel of my discontent Eva Braun.

I ask of this semblance in the corner of my heart, she
who billows softly there in ghostly rectitude; How do you forgive
yourself for hurling the stones of words at someone and striking him
in the temple, sending him into aphasia-- if it had

Evolved to an amnesia but he remembers, and his eyes-- blue, watering,
Disconsolate, maddening you with how easily wounded he is
when you need him to be more than inexhaustible--
Who can endure a stoning.  A woman in a burkah, destroyed
in this manner for love?.  He cannot will himself away, even
from the time you took the Italian shoes and fed them to the stove
and the next day, there were the shoes’ iron stays, remnants
of a fallen Dorothy,  in the ashes.

I am one who has consigned herself to a lair, who roams at night. Fill
my pockets with rain.  Put silver coins on my eyes and sew closed
my mouth.  Think nothing of the thin cries of my bones, the absurd
beating of my wings at the midnight hour;  walk away.

April 13, 2011


Visit One Stop Poetry and take a chance on the meme-- a good time always shared.
Copyright Jenne' R. Andrews, 2011 


Brian Miller said...

some damn fine imagery and story telling jen...love the blend of ethereal in the first coming down to earth there in the second...and you hold tight the cord of emotion...nicely played.

Fireblossom said...

Have you seen "The Hours", Jen? I think you'd like it, if you haven't.

I love that third stanza, with its obsidian, and the following stanza, which continues the stoney way.

It's refreshing in a certain way to come here...I read so many of the One Shot posts and what is missing in the great majority of them is the poetic image. Not so here. Here, they overflow, they are everywhere.

As writing, I love the final stanza, but I don't like its meaning. I'd have to yank you out and kick your ass. I'd unstitch your mouth, throw the coins away, saying scream, fight, carry on.

Ami Mattison said...

Well, you had me from the beginning with the allusion to Woolf's pocketful of rocks, and then the images just came in mesmerizing waves so I couldn't stop reading. Even Part II with its more translucent language and narrative didn't break the spell--only fortified it more fully with emotion. Sorrowful, lovely, lyrical, and as always, fine, fine writing!

Claudia said...

a poem with hitler and eva braun in it...dark and intense..and yes...reminds me of a dark period of german history..sometimes i think we have never quite recovered from this..

signed...bkm said...

Your writing is profound...and I need to read more of it...I read your bio and see that you must of grown up in Minnesota at the same time I did..or close...I was raised on a farm 20 miles east of St Cloud.....the state still provides images deeply driven into my mind....great work...bkm

jen revved said...

Thanks to Brian, FB, Claudia, Ami, BKM-- I know it's on the dark side, meant a bit tongue in cheek but wanted to go its own way. FB-- it's good to know someone would unstitch that mouthy mouth! xxxj

Kim Nelson said...

I most appreciate your efforts to show both the light and the dark, as in Lucifer and Gabriel and your reactions to each one. The lens turned on intention, then back on effect is a smart device, giving insight a most interesting angle. I shall return!
And did you notice I have an angel statue illustrating a recent post?

Jannie Funster said...

Fill my pockets with bubble wrap
and tell Gabriel and Lucia Lucifer
I'll be out on the Sargasso
spinning straw into moonbeams
and weeds into crowns for the
orphans who've not yet been to sea.

See how you ignited my poetic fires!! Good poems always get my mind a-dabbling in new places.

Thank you.

Alegria Imperial said...

Some feelings have no equivalent in words. They hover around the words. The mist that hangs about thus make of the words what it doesn't seem when read. The mind reaches out to the heart for a soul. Once they do touch, the feelings leave the carcass of the words. That's how your poems affect me as this one again, Jenne! Speechless is the common word for it...ahhh or a deep breath its briefest expression. Thanks again!

Luke Prater said...

fine piece, for reasons such as this -

worn to opalescence > oh yes
on the edge of the blue span beneath
the cirrus over the foothills.


Vinay said...

beautiful imagery indeed, intense and well woven! I liked it.

My Post Is Here

Promising Poets Parking Lot said...

confidence is your words is cool.

eloquent delivery.

Enjoyed this, awesome talent.

Invite you to join poets rally week 42 by sharing a free verse today.
Appreciate your input.

Hope to see you in!
Have A Blessed Easter!