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 .

Saturday, October 8, 2011

A New Poem: Posted for DVerse Poetics

Facsimile sticker, Bach Score


Psalm of Ophelia

Voices in me speaking
 “shameful”, "Grief's
Daughter", I want to refute you

And I would
Were there not a sea-bell
Announcing a hurricane, out in the self's
rippling harbor
The great shadowy fish
Sadness makes
Beneath the surface
Maws like the harlequin's

Or a boy asleep in a red jacket
In a mausoleum
Who has gone before me.

O beautiful babbling waters
Of euphoria
Cascading choirs on the late day

The rain has fallen in sheets these
flagging hours
Flooding the porch
And the water so mentioned and named
My misdeeds I fell like the water-petal
from the heavens--

And then I was divided,
One voice soothing me
Another elaborating
My desperation.

But it is true
In the way that the passage
Of the mourning sky is:
This is how I manage
My sadness:
I put it to sleep now and then

And then I rise
And assent to life
And open the fermenting honey
Of pain, in its cloisonné jar

And rub it on my skin.


I have not come this way
Toiling up into the Himalayan
Ether where I have seen the goddess herself,
The snow leopard with the mountain sheep
In her mouth
And transfused myself with her beauty

Where I have strode with my sapling
Legs, my heart burning visibly
In my chest like a centaur’s

Not this far or for these long
Serpentine decades
To become her,

That porcelain wreck who bore me
Who tore me from her
Who blinded me to my own beauty;

No one knew
That Ophelia had a child.

sticker--- from a Bach score.  prompt: poem inspired by bumper sticker, dverse poets.
Jenne' R. Andrews Copyright 2011


Brian Miller said...

wow...the second part is certainly emotive...esp as you draw it to a close...torn from her and blinded to your own beauty...shivers...known

Anonymous said...

OMG, Jenn. Only you could take this theme and craft an epic. I agree with Brian, the line he quoted is wrenching and the final two lines, brilliant. Gotta go put on a Bach CD.

Anonymous said...

That porcelain wreck who bore me
Who tore me from her
Who blinded me to my own beauty;

A rending lament and fitting end to an affecting poem.

Kerry O'Connor said...

This is a remarkable piece of poetry - going far beyond the original prompt. You have created something very beautiful, almost surreal. I'm so glad I had the opportunity to read it today.

Sheila Moore said...

your words resonate with me as always. emotions raw and meaning deep...