Devon Moore (Poetry) | Syracuse, NY
Devon Moore grew up in Buffalo, NY and currently lives, writes, and teaches in Syracuse, NY. A former Syracuse University Fellow, she is the author of the books All Throats Sound Animal (Cider Press Review, 2018), which won the 2017 Cider Press Review Editors’ Prize, and Apology of a Girl Who Is Told She Is Going to Hell (Mayapple Press, 2015), which was a finalist for the Binghamton University Milt Kessler Poetry Book Award. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Gulf Coast, Meridian, The Cortland Review, New Ohio Review, Juked and elsewhere.
Blurbs, Press, & Reviews
The poems of Devon Moore’s All Throats Sound Animal are elegiac—many of them responding to a father’s death—and yet, at the same time, lively, bursting with wishes, with curiosity for and delight in the natural world, with Gwyneth Paltrow being Gwyneth Paltrow, with deep sonic pleasure. Mourning is not some bedridden, curtains-drawn activity for Moore’s speaker; hers is a raucous, pulsing, world-filled reckoning with loss—and the imperative to keep going. To read this book is to confront how we are haunted, nomadic, hungry creatures.
In All Throats Sound Animal Devon Moore has assembled poems from the empathetic imagination—alert, simultaneously delicate and strong, like raw silk. This is a collection to be read carefully and slowly for this is a poetics of compassion.
Devon Moore is a poet gifted with the voice and vision of love, persistently true, even in pain. Her poems give that gift in ways that leave me, page after page, astonished and grateful.
Book of water, ashes and bone—Devon Moore’s moving, elemental debut is part autobiography of toughness, and part meditation on desire. Apology of a Girl who Is Told She is Going to Hell is deeply rooted in the sensual delights and fierce realities of the material world: the smell of oranges, a morphine drip, wind chimes, a plastic feeding tube, “grapefruits and Freon and light.” These shining poems open themselves again and again to pleasure, even while they serve as “armor against the pain of this world.”
Devon Moore makes spaces that are theaters for the soul. She makes them carefully and fearlessly, shining light into the dark places, sounding the depths, taking their tensile weight and assessing what it means to be the living girl, woman, survivor. In attics, basements, bedrooms, back porches, shoeboxes, urns, sheds, rest stops and the interiors of cars are the material she must sift through to find her inheritance. Sometimes the spaces are exploded with longing or love or shame or skepticism. What I like best about Moore’s work is the great reciprocity, the generosity that allows the “closeness to what hurts us” be conducted into our being.
Devon Moore’s poetry is lifelike – revealing, rhapsodic, comic, and inviting. Even poignant. After reading her book, I’ve decided that if she is going to Hell I’d like to join her.