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, August 12, 2012

New Poem: A Beautiful Sadness-- for Dverse Poets Poetics and Beyond...

Notes on a Beautiful Sadness

The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
     down in the flood of remembrance,
 I weep like a child for the past.

D.H. Lawrence, Piano

Oh but if there had been glamor
in that beautiful place. Or if the sadness

itself had a tint like the sunrise:
the adobe that held the small family

like a darkly veined hand in the alfalfa
incense of summer, the cicadas’

relentless ave verum. If the dark-eyed
infant in the christening gown had not

been as mortal, her skin listening, hearing
the rise and fall of remonstrating voices.

If the flower-lovely green-eyed mother
ever sang, or laughing, buoyed us,

if the father’s amorous play were ever
returned before us so that we could know

what happiness was. If down the hallway
of the years there had been a doorway

into light, an invitation to come into day
whole and brave and hungry, or the world

itself dance toward us in a red dress
of possibility. As it happens now, the house

is there shuttered, hollyhocks in flagging
ruin; the girl I was in the desert years

on-living, proffering me midnight roses,
her dark hair a wound.

Many thanks for this prompt, Stuart.  Just take a peek at my Italy poems in particular on this blog and you’ll see we’re kindred spirits.

A wonderful prompt to write of the “beautiful sadness” of melancholy grounded in locale ala D.H. Lawrence up today at DVerse Poets’ Pub

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012 


Maureen said...

All of the senses manifest in this lovely poem. So many beautiful images.

Anonymous said...

Hi Jenne, Yes, a beautifully sad poem--wasted chances. It is hard to transcend absences, especially as a child when one knows few differences. k.

Anonymous said...

This is tight, written with precision and some real excellent word usage. I interpreted this as focused on the family, the yearning for love which so often doesn't materialise within what should be the most loving environment of all. And in that very fact- that families are so often besieged with difficulties, turmoils, there lies a beautiful sadness- and you captured it so poetically, with such melancholy- well- it was excellent - very much enjoyed it- one of my favourite lines being the close- her hair a wound- loved this. Thank you for stopping by and thank you for sharing! P.s hope I interpreted it right! I often miss the mark and tend to go off on wild tangents! :)

Anonymous said...

Such melancholic tones... I loved the abode held the family like a darkly veined hand in the alfalfa incense of summer. Beauty all about and a sadness within

Brian Miller said...

wow. you really bring this to life jenne with your deft pen...smiles...the lines of the hallway leading to the light...i feel you in there esp in light of all that comes before it...nicely done...

Heaven said...

The rise and fall of remonstrating voices of the mother and father is telling ~ I do like the invitation, but how her desert heart wounds ~ Lovely writing ~

Mama Zen said...

Incredible imagery! "in the alfalfa
incense of summer" just took my breath away.

sheila said...

...and you continue to preach to the choir with me, Jenne. Childhood longing is indeed beautifully sad. So, nice to see your comment on my blog. Hope you are well.

Claudia said...

a beautiful sadness indeed...
loved esp. the world itself dancing toward us in a red dress of possibility...