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, February 2, 2012

New Poem: The Body Leans

The Body Leans

For Cary

This body lists and leans,
a galleon come through the tradewinds:

What is its port of call?
It has dreamt of an island,

Gilded apples heavy, spangling
the bough.

It has not forgotten one ember
of the love that singed its skin.

It yearns to come home
to set sail, jettisoning

The anchorage of memory.
It has been drinking cup on cup

From the waters of Lethe.
It has sent its soliloquies out

In pale blue bottles.
It has made its heart transparent

Like a glass swan burning on high
in lonely starlight.

It moves from room to room,
task to task—the coffee, the bread,

The paint, applied, pounced, softened;
It wants this done to its own flesh

By a loving and prescient hand.
It circumnavigates the waters of morning

Back into its lair, a sea cave for
mnemonic rocking, where it is safe

From the relentless eye of the sun,
beneath a moon engorged

With eternity’s weeping,
high in the night rafters of the soul.


copyright Jenne' R. Andrews  February 2012


Maureen said...


Have you recorded any of your poems, Jenne? This has such a lovely cadence and would seem to lend itself so well to being spoken.

Mama Zen said...

"It has sent its soliloquies out
In pale blue bottles."

That is such an exquisite image!

Manicddaily said...

Hi Jenne,

I love the gilded apples that remind me both of Helen and Yeats--though I think my favorite lines are these:

It has been drinking cup on cup

From the waters of Lethe.
It has sent its soliloquies out

In pale blue bottles.

As if it is almost bartering in the waters of forgetfulness. K.

Robert Gibson said...

Because I am doing metaphors in my poetry workshop these jumped out at me - esp the first one:

"The colossal winging griffins of shame,
the billowing blue elephants of regret,
the hounds of failure all with their
hot, rancid breath."

MAN... they're awesome!

Love the poem as a whole, too ...

Steve Isaak said...

Great work. =)