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 .

Monday, May 23, 2011

Playful Poem for Monday and Magpie Tales....

Baroque Oil-- Banquet with Lute -- Nicholas Tournier....

Written for Magpie Tales Photo Prompt-- ala the amazing Ms. Tess Kincaid-- merci et voila....

D’Artagnan’s Tryst

D’Artagnan approached me in the garden; he kissed my white neck.
He said his horse was tired; I led the stallion to a manger-full
Of the best rye on the farm.

He followed me to the room beneath the eaves, unbinding
My hair.  Mon pere was asleep in the next room and in the arms
Of my musketeer I smothered my cries, whispering
Quel’arme f à double trenchant -  O double-edged sword!

Claude of the hunting party brought in partridge and fresh-picked pears;
I made a coq au vin and we laughed.  Night was slow to crest in the window
And my heart pounded beneath my bodice, watching my lover tear the meat
Apart with his white teeth.

Sweet revelry, and “Endless Pleasure” strummed on the lute—we drank and rose to dance in the dawn.

D’Artagnan’s horse rested, he caressed me once more with his brown eyes,
Vaulted into the saddle—“J’reviens,” he had written on a scrap of parchment
That I tucked into my bodice, turning away to let the sunrise pink of my face
Fade, the heartache crest, telling not one soul-- 

Et maintenant, je ne peux pas croire….

(And now I can’t believe it…)

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews  2011

1 comment:

Donna B said...

ooooooo la la....very nice!