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, June 2, 2011

Lyric Poem for Thursday June 2, 2011

note-- accidentally published draft that is to go elsewhere on blog-- disregard-- jra, Saturday 6/4.

Overture, everyone with lit candles,  Aida, Arena di Verona, Italia 

At the Window, William Merrit Chase, Reproduction

Ein Traum

There is a window—I live on one side
Looking out at the green world.  Green from the rain,
The strong blades of the iris, in the stocked pool
the fat trout of spring, the bristling geraniums on flagstone
Their arias of red and pink.

I am behind glass.  Because of the time it is
In a human’s seasons.  Because of not walking
But limping through the world
Fighting for breath

Fighting through, merely to sit on a bench
At a fountain
The dog’s head on my lap.

Because Self sees a separateness,
And bows down its head.

I see girls in the fountain.  I listen
To Netrebko and Villazon; my heart takes wing
And it flies and dips and swoops all over the world,
The seas, the opera festivals
To Munich, and Verona.

The body is the beached hull of a ship.
Water calls to it, pleads with it. 

Beached is beached—done in is done in.
The mourning dove sings for me
The nightingale sopranos sing for me
The poets write for me

I try for the old largesse of the heart
And the insurgencies of the will.
Done is done—my capital
I thought inexhaustible,
Spent. I remember
The lover’s mouth
And I weep.

We who cage ourselves
Deny that a latch slides back
That one wing and one leg
might service our yearning.

I drink rich coffee, at the window
Alone, the woman and the green day
On the lyric I and why
Like a fool in love one keeps singing
Keeps making her way.

Because the heart is unfettered?
The ageless heart soars and dips
Moans and laughs
And weeps.

Such weeping in every land-
Beauty pierces the skin
With its small glittering knives:
Starlight burns the skin.
Lovers lean against one another
in every language—in Allemagna,
Venetia, Hamburg.

At dusk, the campfires kindled.
The midnight joy of owls
the soft lips of the sea.

Jenne' R. Andrews
June 2, 2011

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011

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