Every now and then, a poem hangs in my head. Trevian Hunter’s short, untitled poem from NDQ 89.1/2 is one of those poems. I’ll just let the poem speak for itself. You know the rest: if you like what you’re reading here, check out more from our most recent issue, consider
One of the greatest pleasures of being the editor of NDQ is getting to hang out — whether virtually or far less frequently, in person — with the spectacular folks on my editorial board and to celebrate their work. This year has been a very good one for NDQ’s editors!
At my day job, I’m a historian and archaeologist. As a result, I think a lot about time. I think about how time feels, how we sense its passing, and what marks it leaves behind. I’m not sure, however, if I’ve ever explicitly thought about its scent. Fortunately, Gail Tirone’s
North Dakota Quarterly is housed at the University of North Dakota and published by the University of Nebraska Press. In other words, it is inextricably tied to its origins as an “academic” little magazine in the early 20th century and to the rhythms of academic life. It seems only fitting