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 .

Sunday, October 30, 2011

New Poem: Insurrection, for Magpie Tales Photo Challenge

 Note:  My ongoing spate of insomnia has spawned a flurry of new poems, hopefully with not as many mixed metaphors as this statement.  Therefore, new work has been posted going back through last week;  in other words, please do scroll down.

The following draft is posted for Tess Kincaid's prompt on this day at Magpie Tales. xxxj

Photo, Tess Kincaid


The experience and inclination and affection we put into familiar things cannot be replaced. We are perhaps the last who still will have known such things. On us is the responsibility not only to remember them, but to know their value.

Rilke, Letters  

I made my way through the old house
Resurrecting its troves, from its cellar
A roll top desk, in the corner Mason jars
With sky in them and in the alcove
beneath the sheen of cobwebs, an old Royal
Its alphabet teeth chipped and crooked.

These things I brought into the daylight
And then into the living room
Where the sun poured in and the old wood
Took pints of lemon oil;

Out in the shop the old couple
Squatting there for little rent
Had filled barrels with things that one day
Might be useful and in one of these
A ream of thick, soft white paper--

How it terrified me to find
Those snowy fields waiting for my
Tracks over them, snowshoeing my way
Up toward the timberline of reconnaissance.
I packed the sheets away beneath the desk

And at night they escaped and flew
Through the dim air of the quiet house
Like demanding, impertinent snowy owls
Until as in today, twenty years later,
I caught them and stroked their feathers
Like a mad composer corralling grace notes
And sostenutti and legato, legato.

You will have to let me come to you
I said, locking them in the fragrant
Drawer, putting one sheet
In the typewriter,
My hands upon its assembling
Resistance fighters,
The insurrectionist keys.

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011
All rights reserved.


thingy said...

Wowie. What a good, good, write.

Anonymous said...

Oh, just lovely. The "timberline of reconnaissance," the old people, the owls, the stroked feathers. Living up to the introduction. K.

Kathy Bischoping said...

"Sostenutti" has so delicious a biscotti sound. That stanza of demanding owl and mad composer was especially beautiful.

Sioux said...

The last two lines were wonderful!

Mama Zen said...

A beautiful piece. That's terror I can definitely relate to.

Laurie Kolp said...

Beautiful and very touching.

Jinksy said...

snowshoeing my way
Up toward the timberline of reconnaissance

Excellent way to describe the writer's struggles!

Ann Grenier said...

An amazing poem as always Jen. Love your creative metaphors, you are a master of this mind stretching/clearing out of the cobwebs or fog that dulls the mind of so many of us. Beautiful.

Tumblewords: said...

Very nice! The last stanza is outstanding!

Tess Kincaid said...

Ah...snowy owls...beautiful write, Jenne...