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, December 30, 2012

New Poem: Element, for The Mag and Beyond

Photo:  Ronaldo Stainforth


Consider the forest fire, all that it leaves
for the earth.

Contemplate the evidentiary power
of half-smoked cigarettes, the private conflagration
of a family in trouble--

imagine the boy on the bed gripping the sheet,
the gash in the chest from the father's
broken-tooth saw;

the younger child crying "Somebody do something!"
again and again,
the mother pulling on her cigarette, rocking herself:

"...cleft for me. Thou art cleft for me."


Conceive of it. Element of night, all human
darkness, smelted down.

The astounding harmlessness
of ash, even more
than calm waters,

how you can scatter absence, work it
into the soil of small hardy pines,
their webbed roots gripping red clay.


I fed them both back to the earth,
pouring out the boxes
of fine powder, sifting them,
torched clean of sin,
through my fingers.

That day, I read the Rubayat
in the March wind
over the rose I had planted
in the mica-flecked powder
a mother had become.

Nothing at all happened, when I did this.
No gust blew me off my feet;
I didn't have nightmares.

That rose died, but I sing on to the rose
in my mind, sanguine and hardy,
in its hand's breadth cradle of ash.

Do participate in the lovely Tess Kincaid's Sunday Meme/Photo writing prompt.  

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2012 


Maureen said...

The first of the three is especially strong, Jenne. I like that each, which I think can stands on its own, gives new interpretation to the image and how beautifully they come together with the narrator still in song.

Wishing you much success and continued wonderful writing in 2013!

Kerry O'Connor said...

It has been a while since I visited your site, but my, oh, my your poetry is just as brilliantly conceived and rendered as ever. Such a voice!

I hope your writing goes from strength to strength in 2013.

Tess Kincaid said...

Raw and dark and personal...powerful stuff, Jen...