In her extensive collection of poetry, Rosemary Dunn Moeller tunnels deep into the experience of living on the land whether that be the waters of Nantucket Sound or the grasslands and fields of South Dakota. Her poetry is an experiment in sound and rhythm, rich with internal rhyme and meticulous pacing as well as stunning metaphors such as "sunsets are orange to blue experiments in color wheels." Her work celebrates the natural world in anthems to the flight of birds and the slow migration of clouds. She is "a gatherer of words" planting those words in this book in the way that farmers gather and plant seeds in soil, carefully and full of hope. She is also brave enough to explore the terrain of her own body and to discover the unexpected beauty and freedom of aging. -- Mary Alice Haug, author of Out of Loneliness
Rosemary Dunn Moeller's collection of poetry reads like an avian symphony. Like a gentle melody, "Ode to Oriole" compares an oriole's instinct to prepare "with feet and claws" her "avian opus," a nest that is strong and flexible. While the speaker admits the bird did this in less time than it took her to knit her own baby's blanket, they both are "driven" to protect and "warm" their young ones. In "Above Pearl Creek," the author depicts how egrets, new transplants in her Midwest prairie, have adjusted to the prairie. She "an urban wearer of tinted lenses" has attempted to adapt. She looks for beauty in her high perch on the second floor of her home. Here she sees the fruits of their labors: green fields of corn and blue jays in the apple trees. With a little
poco-a-poco, the narrator of "Mated for Life" reflects on how nature and people are so alike: "Clouds are all males . . . who refuse to ask directions; "Swans are exquisitely beautiful slobs with messy nests. . .reeds and weeds sticking out all over." Like her own home, littered with all sorts of treasures she and spouse pick up on their various flights, "they return to refurbish knotty nests," and brood "upon their memories." She claims jealousy because the egrets have found home on her prairie, the speaker will gather her mate to migrate at times to "lift and float and drift" elsewhere. She too needs to find "salty ocean" because like her often-dry prairie pasture, she "needs moisture to survive." In a cacophony of complaints, at first the narrator's spouse sounds reluctant to change, to migrate, for he has "never left the farm in winter." While he sits in his new environ feeling "guilty in his recliner," he reads "modern strategies" for his new bridge group and slowly "sips a third cup of coffee." Dunn-Moeller's speaker looks for home wherever she travels, a quest for belonging. This comparative living between nature and humanity guides the reader through this
brillante trove of bird poems to end in a harmonious cadence. -- Cynthia Frank-Stupnik, author of
Where Two Rivers Meet, A Novel of Minnesota Main Street Women
