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 .

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

New Poem Posted for DVerse OLN and Beyond...

Revision.  To participate in DVerse Poets Open Link Night click here.  

Riesgo II

Today I see footage of rainwater sluicing
down the brick-paved hill of
the Calabrian village;
the wet temples of pale stucco, their intimacy
and privacy, like the Chaco ruins where
I played as a child.

A world away,
the call to prayer from a minaret
on a blood-rich dusk:
dark forms passing
voicelessly in the street.

But, to live above the sea
in the dangerous weather knowing
you could be washed away!

To jettison the load of obligation
the tonnage of fear
that confines you to a shuttered room
where you dance the tarantella
of loneliness!


In Calabria my friend
leans from her window into the rain,
fearing that her small nesting hen
has been washed downhill from the villa,
along with the lip of her garden. 

Once I bought a pregnant mare;
The foal could not be delivered;
They lay together on the earth
Like a great orchid
And its sundered petal.

Now, the February Chinook comes in
from Wyoming,
rough-handed lover that nips and bites
and takes at will: the standing snowmelt

In the grass, for its parched lips
and where the mares due in June
stand, tails to the wind. 

Look, then:  how undone the world
from all the bone-shattering
feats of love.


copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012


Anonymous said...

How we all stand upon precipices and find ways to gain emotional control when witnessing may be all we can hope for. Deeply affecting and richly imagined, thank you.

Brian Miller said...

oy a gorgeous close to the jenne...the second half of this really took off for me...from the fear of the nest, to the mares to the tails....your last bit there is the most evocative though...

did you actually play in pueblo ruins?

Lorna Cahall said...

This is so powerful - the immensity of loneliness and of space/time. And it ends in such a grounded way, in that wintry contrast. So fine!

Timoteo said...

The last stanza. Just gotta shake my head and say, "Yep...yep."

Anonymous said...

Wonderful weaving of beauty and loss. Great poetry.

Matthew Quinn said...

Wonderful weaving of beauty and loss. Great poetry.

(not sure my wordpress identity worked, trying google)


Mystic_Mom said...

Your poems lift my spirits and break my heart...love this Jenne!

Charles Miller said...

Jenne, a richly nuanced poem, pulling meaning from such diverse times and places. I hear voice of memory as well as its wise courage torn from adversity and character. The following lines struck so deeply at the root, finding a golden bell:

rough-handed lover that nips and bites
and takes at will: the standing snowmelt

In the grass, for its parched lips
and where the mares due in June
stand, tails to the wind. 

Beachanny said...

I see the words I was thinking are posted above. This rich tapestry, this weaving of life, weather, and details whirling as wind gusts the last bits of snow and the horses huddle for warmth knowing the world is on the turn, that light lasts longer, and the meadows stretch toward spring. Lovely.

Maureen said...

You create a beautiful setting for this poem. Water, as reflected in rain, the sea, the snowmelt, seems at once cleansing and purifying and yet it cannot wash away the depth of feeling carried in "tonnage of fear" and the dance of "the resolute tarantella / of immense loneliness". That final stanza is beautiful and sad.

mrs mediocrity said...

oh my, wow.
yes, the bone-shattering feats of love. this is life, and poetry.
i love this.

Semaphore said...

No matter how often I read your work, I am amazed at it. And that you do it so seemingly effortlessly! Bravo!

Anonymous said...

This is just wonderful, Jenne. (As I always say,) one of my favorites. The description of the lost mare and foal as orchid/petal, and then the mares at the end--the bone=shattering feats of love--just terrific. K.

ayala said...

You created a beautiful piece here, the final stanza lovely !

Victoria said...

I feel like I need to genuflect or something before your ability to create a sense of place and the most stunning images. Wow!

Mark Kerstetter said...

The terrible and sometimes delirious beauty of nature is in your poems. How can the world be so cruel and so beautiful at the same time?