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White Moth
-The White Moth is a fragile creature, one that sacrifices its purity in pursuit of the light.- White Moth is the debut book by the up-and-coming young poet, Maya Elphick. Maya Elphick is a poet, writer and English Literature student from Norfolk in the UK. She has been publishing poetry on her Instagram page @m.g.petri since 2017. Additionally, poetry lovers can find samplings of Elphick's work in several poetry anthologies, Splintered Souls , To Our Mothers , and Steady Odes to our Fathers .
- GenresPoetry
139 pages, Paperback
Published November 10, 2019
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
January 18, 2020
I know the author and I am trying to make this review as unbiased as possible.
I have never given a book of poetry more than 4 stars before. And it's not because I don't like poetry, I've just never felt a connection with an anthology that I could relate to so much. There are often some poems I enjoy and feel with, some I like the sound of but there are always others that let me down. White Moth was a rarity and I loved it.
A short collection of emotions I let loose:
p52 - The Contortionist felt like a reflection of current me,
p62 - Cobblers made me relive sad moments from high school,
p73 - The Commute showed annoyance but authority,
p94 - The Creative made me tear up inside.
...and these are just a few examples. I'll admit I began the book thinking the poems were just okay but carrying on from about a third of the way till the end, I was HOOKED. Maya is just 17 writing some really beautiful pieces of work that blow my mind and I honestly wish I could be doing something as cool as this. Highly recommend this read - 4.5/5 stars.
I have never given a book of poetry more than 4 stars before. And it's not because I don't like poetry, I've just never felt a connection with an anthology that I could relate to so much. There are often some poems I enjoy and feel with, some I like the sound of but there are always others that let me down. White Moth was a rarity and I loved it.
A short collection of emotions I let loose:
p52 - The Contortionist felt like a reflection of current me,
p62 - Cobblers made me relive sad moments from high school,
p73 - The Commute showed annoyance but authority,
p94 - The Creative made me tear up inside.
...and these are just a few examples. I'll admit I began the book thinking the poems were just okay but carrying on from about a third of the way till the end, I was HOOKED. Maya is just 17 writing some really beautiful pieces of work that blow my mind and I honestly wish I could be doing something as cool as this. Highly recommend this read - 4.5/5 stars.
January 28, 2020
White Moth
By Maya Elphick
Some debut books of poetry crash and burn on jagged rocks of “good effort” before they even take flight.
While others don’t even require take-off… they just rise and soar, dragging you behind with the wind in your hair, and leave you wanting more.
This perfectly crafted book by young Norfolk-based writer Maya Elphick is definitely one of the latter.
White Moth is a veritable nose-gay of verse and free thought which will leave even the most casual reader spellbound.
From the lyric simplicity of On My Mind at 2am which explores the writer’s half-awake sleeping thoughts, to the gorgeously inspiring Dylan (still unsure whether the subject is Bob Dylan or someone else) Miss Elphick leaves no poetic stone unturned.
Just take these lines as a taste:
What once wetted your lips
and floated in a bottle
has dried up,
along with the love you had for your wife.
Her red lips smeared onto her cheeks,
a faded rosiness,
a parched beauty.
And the nights are cold and
come with a dark metal taste,
a flooding of black stars,
a howl down the chimney
that wakes the baby.
(Dylan)
White Moth is awash with flight, sight and sound, from the “pluck pluck” of pulling petals in Dew to the sound of rain in Hotel and later Borneo, to the in-out of the tennis ball in Centre Court… the words take you to where you ought to be.
Indeed to reference greatness my favourite poems Hotel (again) and 4 Months Later both have a taste of the cigarette smoke and warmed Malbec of Canadian songwriter Joni Mitchell, and as such are timeless.
Waiting in your cafe,
our cafe
once.
Chimes from china teacups
coming from behind the counter,
clinks marking moments like coffee stains
on blouses
that make me think of that afternoon
where clumsy, nervous hands spilled
as you walked in.
(4 Months Later)
There are also examples of fine observational poetry in Shoplifter and some wondrous experimental lines such as in Gallery, where time literally slows across the page.
And if you need convincing, just suck and see August – a classic almost straight out of the top drawer of the Mersey poets:
Meat cleaver cut face
mottled with red,
full and heavy,
a salty weight.
Will it always be her?
Every time?
Every summer?
Pinhole pricked throat,
nailing voice,
hammer, screwdriver,
bricked up little mouth.
Will it always be her
who you leave me
in the rain for?
(August)
White Moth is perhaps the finest debut book of poetry I have read for many years.
Highly recommended.
Nic Outterside
By Maya Elphick
Some debut books of poetry crash and burn on jagged rocks of “good effort” before they even take flight.
While others don’t even require take-off… they just rise and soar, dragging you behind with the wind in your hair, and leave you wanting more.
This perfectly crafted book by young Norfolk-based writer Maya Elphick is definitely one of the latter.
White Moth is a veritable nose-gay of verse and free thought which will leave even the most casual reader spellbound.
From the lyric simplicity of On My Mind at 2am which explores the writer’s half-awake sleeping thoughts, to the gorgeously inspiring Dylan (still unsure whether the subject is Bob Dylan or someone else) Miss Elphick leaves no poetic stone unturned.
Just take these lines as a taste:
What once wetted your lips
and floated in a bottle
has dried up,
along with the love you had for your wife.
Her red lips smeared onto her cheeks,
a faded rosiness,
a parched beauty.
And the nights are cold and
come with a dark metal taste,
a flooding of black stars,
a howl down the chimney
that wakes the baby.
(Dylan)
White Moth is awash with flight, sight and sound, from the “pluck pluck” of pulling petals in Dew to the sound of rain in Hotel and later Borneo, to the in-out of the tennis ball in Centre Court… the words take you to where you ought to be.
Indeed to reference greatness my favourite poems Hotel (again) and 4 Months Later both have a taste of the cigarette smoke and warmed Malbec of Canadian songwriter Joni Mitchell, and as such are timeless.
Waiting in your cafe,
our cafe
once.
Chimes from china teacups
coming from behind the counter,
clinks marking moments like coffee stains
on blouses
that make me think of that afternoon
where clumsy, nervous hands spilled
as you walked in.
(4 Months Later)
There are also examples of fine observational poetry in Shoplifter and some wondrous experimental lines such as in Gallery, where time literally slows across the page.
And if you need convincing, just suck and see August – a classic almost straight out of the top drawer of the Mersey poets:
Meat cleaver cut face
mottled with red,
full and heavy,
a salty weight.
Will it always be her?
Every time?
Every summer?
Pinhole pricked throat,
nailing voice,
hammer, screwdriver,
bricked up little mouth.
Will it always be her
who you leave me
in the rain for?
(August)
White Moth is perhaps the finest debut book of poetry I have read for many years.
Highly recommended.
Nic Outterside
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews