Kelly Moffett believes the spirit lies in things–in landscape, air, water. Listen to this, from “Devotion”: “You have become both a wall and a parachute./ Just as lichen can be lichen but also holy food.” In her collection, A Thousand Wings, she leads us through a single day of reverent watching and listening, waiting for transformation, but remaining stubbornly human. Would that we all slowed down enough to want what she wants, “a more tangible space, like some thorny brush,/ I could stare into.” A lovely, aching book. Sarah Gorham
This book was a tidal wave. I felt immediately swept up in the humble grandeur of a monastery, where the book begins, only to be pulled into an undertow of memory and regret. Some of the hardest hitting poems were the ones in which she questions her marriage and motherhood. These poems had a Tu Fu-like simplicity to language and a desire to be forgiven, wanted, healed--this book was urgent and beautiful. I'll revisit it often.
This is actually my second time reading this collection. Several years after the first occasion, these poems had stayed with me sufficiently to warrant a great deal of sifting through my library history to identify (proof why I ought to have used Goodreads sooner), and revisiting. Every attempt to explain why they resonate makes me uncomfortable, which is itself sufficient justification for me.
This poetry collection is deeply personal. It is vivid and filled with soul. There is excellent thematic cohesion throughout. Moffett possesses rare skill and it is beautiful.