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: firstname.lastname@example.org .
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Poem for One Shoot Sunday
Male form beyond forms, Platonic body of love, body of God.
That stone could be white and rounded as lunar ice.
How is it that love for the body compels the hands to hew
to chisel, to sand and shape--
The weeping fleshly flesh of the maker,
the sculptor, in his Hellenic nightmare,
The blackguards of the papacy,
The Medici's gilded follies--
Italy's verdure, her heart in ruins--.
David looks toward Rome but doesn't breathe.
Vigilance incarnate, bold.
Brother of tides and rain
Son of Adam and Eve
Transfixed in ash when the mountain
flowed forth lucent red tide.
Ardor at rest. Figs from the Garden
that burst in the mouth.
Ciao, bello. Mi amore.
The eye takes her pleasure,
the mouth savoring its lemony gelato--
A caress of the thighs, the instep
Profanes the contour of the puer eternis
Recalls the burning touch of a boy.
copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011