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, November 6, 2011

New Poem: Cemetery

 Posting for the lovely Tess Kincaid's Magpie Tales prompt today-- this exquisite photo..... xxxj


Memorial to one lost, an ascendant
house of stone.
Trees releasing the infinite rice paper

Notations of autumn, shadows
making their way like pensive
and sotto voce courtesans
across the late grass.

Do not think song is not immanent
in the grave: See how among
the many headstones the sumacs

Burn on the hearths of day:
What ignites the delighting choir of
these red red leaves

But the dear paisans of the beneath,
the disintegrate body that was once
an integrate bearer of a name

That, now, as it settles to bone dust
leaches out calcium, salt of unspent tears
like those of an underworld

Ophelia whose hair entwines itself
among the roots as if she asks
to be reborn merely

As the live oak with its supplicant
limbs and unfurled hands, with their
infinite reach skyward.

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011


Kathy Bischoping said...

The trees do have a Japan-and-ricepaper feel (stanza 2). But the leaching bone dust and entrance of an underworld Ophelia are my very favourite parts.

Mary Ann Potter said...

Whaht beautiful imagery, especially the supplicant limbs of the oak! A well-crafted poem that gives so much more than death, grave, and darkness. Bravo!

Anonymous said...

I loved the unspent tears, but for me, the last two stanzas really came alive, as it were. No--the whole poem is beautiful, but the vision of Ophelia rooted among the graves reaching skyward was really very gripping. Just great. Shades of Whitman. K.

JJ Roa Rodriguez said...

nice take!


Other Mary said...

Oh wow Jenne, this is amazing. Love where you've taken this. Kudos.

Isabel Doyle said...

Love your pensive courtesans ...

Beachanny said...

What life your poem has employing this beautiful death imagery! Each image descending, as though the soul's journey first must decay into a hades, then reconstruct before it passes through an autumnal veil of transcendence to move toward paradise. Exquisite.

HyperCRYPTICal said...

Love it!

Anna :o]

Carrie Burtt said...

Love this Jenne'....truly beautiful. :-)

Carrie Burtt said...

skyward reaching....this is a lovely poem Jenne. :-)