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, September 15, 2011

New Poem - Westward -- for Friday Poetry Fest and Beyond

Join us at Friday Poetry Fest-- link live now.  


My eyes meet those of a local drunk
Over the avocados, at midnight:
Beneath the super store’s unflattering 
An instant tenderness between us.

He smiles, gives a thumbs up, wanders away
With his vapor trail
Of Scotch.  I course the aisles in my scooter
Grabbing yogurt and vegetables

And then we meet once more at the register
Now he seems intent on an exchange, sidling over
Beaming down at me

I know that florid and unshaven face
The widened and bloodshot eyes
The moony split-lip grin

He is my father, my uncle
I have walked in his broken down muddy
Boots; we have walked together

Down the corridors of bedlam,
To all of the edges there are:

Someone is at an AA podium in my head:
But, don’t tell me what the truth is
She shouts to a crowd of sibilant ghosts

How old, broken I must appear to him
I’m sober but don’t have legs I can readily use

He’s dying and he has long strong legs
That carry him out of the store, into 
the wet night.

He vanishes or disperses
Until there is only the yellow line in the road
And the markers laid down by the paving crew

That catch my headlights like goldfish
littering the road
Confusing things
When I am merely trying

To stay in my own lane, get home,
Bearing the burden of the groceries in,
Portaging myself by way of my walker
to the nearest listing wheelchair.

And I can’t tell you
Or even myself, the true truth of things
I love avocados and the dark

And the surging train that swiped by
like a sentence on fire just now
Bearing the salvaged and glory-bound west.

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011


erin said...

jesus, jenn, it is all right here,

And I can’t tell you
Or even myself, the true truth of things
I love avocados and the dark

i am weeping inside of me for everything, for you, for me, the man, even the avocados so desperately green and here, so undeniable. it is all a heartbeat.

beautiful beautiful you.


Ruth said...

Good god this is powerful. You are incredibly gifted at this craft. I am humbled by your . . . everything: sight, insight, language. I think you're one of the very best top notch poets out here.

Mystic_Mom said...

Jenne I don't know how you do it but you richly paint such feeling filled poems that I can see, hear, taste, touch and feel deeply. Brava my dear, Brava!

jen revved said...

Thank you, Erin, Ruth, Shanyn for such humbling and love-filled comments. Thank you especially for inspiring me with your beautiful work to carry on. xxxj

Timoteo said...

...a sentence on fire...

That describes your style to a "T"

Lisa B said...

This poem leaves me breathless...and speechless. Tremendous.

Semaphore said...

You have an ability that only a few writers have, which I aspire to - to take an ordinary circumstance, and to weave it into something extraordinary. Here then, a chance meeting at a supermarket becomes an evocation of relationships, of regret, of destiny, that elevates the ordinary above the fluorescent pallor of a grocery superstore. Excellent work!