The poems in Sphinx are written in the knowledge that one’s voice is something upon which everyone and everything already has a claim. They ask, how can I even begin to speak? What do I / they / we sound like? Whose voice is in my mouth right now? Speaking under the threat of silence on one hand, and the threat of noise on the other, these poems are deeply lyrical, deeply ugly; they contain healing rage and defiant joy, hatred and tenderness, and are redemptively motivated. Sphinx is speaking in and to the crisis. Which crisis? All of them. What have you got? This speaking necessitates new arrangements of language and address; belligerent, beautiful, female, Sphinx is the attempt.
Sphinx is a truly urgent, original, and electric new collection. The poems here are raw, addled, gorgeous and fizzing with anger and tenderness. Woodward has forged her own uniquely strange and affecting language, addressing knowledge, feeling, nature, and lived experience with the dazzling, futuristic sharpness of a robot mystic. These poems smell like violets and plastic, like what is to come - I urge you to read them.
- Rebecca Tamás, author of Savage