Angol
Moriah Cohen's poems in this collection, Impossible Bottle, come together in this grand and cool intersection between the blood-pumping heart and the dendrite smashing brain. They live in that space and in this domain, they constantly surprise. These poems are physically and mystically driven. When an ephemeral state and a solid body collide we get lines like, "At the far end of a dream, I slice a part down the center of my hair, sink a guthook into a lamb's sternum." That word 'guthook' is emblematic of all the sweet sharpness in this collection. They remind me of the big band music of Charles Mingus. In particular his tune, "Boogie Stop Shuffle." Her poems do all three-they boogie, and they stop, and they shuffle. There is a music in this collection, Impossible Bottle, that is raw and dirty and tender and sweet. The title tells you immediately. Say it out loud. Sing it. Impossible Bottle. There is nothing out of reach here. Everything is possible.
-Matthew Lippman
