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 .

Monday, December 3, 2012

New Poem: Piano Lesson, for Magpie Tales and Beyond...

 To see the image that inspired this poem, click here....

Piano Lesson

Time’s hands on my shoulders, I teach myself
again, the Brahms Waltz in Ab;
my old teacher’s ghost sits in the shadows.

That’s right; it’s all in the placement
of the hands.

The chipped ivory keys gleam below the piano’s
mahogany sail.
I count, and gather up the rich chords.

My small old hands, their small masteries.

But those grey-blue eyes upon me:
time took them away;
an inference and vapor,
where she sat at the baby grand
playing an arthritic Rachmaninoff.

Note by note, time consumed her love 
of all loves--
a cellist with a bow tie, a white goatee,
watching from the doorway.

Her semblance flickers on within me
Like white sheers on a summer evening:

Be glad of time; how it carried
us away so gently, like chords
in a pianissimo,

like a resolute metronome with an eye
on the clock of heaven.

Jenne' R. Andrews Copyright 2012 


Berowne said...

Quite remarkable, and moving...

Tess Kincaid said...

...like a resolute metronome with an eye on the clock of heaven...gorgeous...this took me back to my old piano lesson days...elegant write as always, Jen...

Other Mary said...

Jenne you are a masterful poet. Beautiful and moving and elegant. I love the 'flicker like white sheers' and so many other bits that make up the whole. Kudos.

Robyn Greenhouse said...

A beautiful poem - I could just se her love of all loves in the doorway !

Deborah Batterman said...

I've read this poem four times now, each time bringing deeper resonance. It brought back memories of my own early days learning to play, and the pleasure I still take from playing even intermittently. Yes, it's all in the placement of the hands. . . .' Beautiful poem. I know you'll have a special appreciation for what I wrote about 'Playing the Piano' http://thesmartlyny.com/2011/03/playing-the-piano/

The Solitary Walker said...

Excellent. Really liked this, Jenne.