Announcing the Dakota Access Poetry Prize!

Celebrating our recent Submittable subscription (which means we can now take submissions on line (and that we once again haz accessible), NDQ is now accepting submissions for the first Dakota Access Poetry Prize (DAPP). This prize is in line with our forthcoming collection of essays on the humanities in the age of austerity. To

NDQ has Reopened Submissions!

It is with a good bit of excitement that we announce that North Dakota Quarterly has reopened submission for fiction, poetry, and non-fiction for a volume to be published this fall. As part of this process, we’ve revised our submission guidelines to reflect the changing character of the board and, we

Nostalgia Springs Eternal

A Review of Deerhunter’s Double Dream of Spring By Dave Haeselin A confession: I haven’t listened to Deerhunter since 2007, the year that saw the release of the band’s album Cryptograms. Their music never really spoke to me and I had plenty of other bands to listen to. 2007 is

This Humble Vessel Called Earth

“Earth may be considered as a small spaceship with limited supplies or resources revolving around the sun with the human race as the crew and the United States and other highly developed nations as the officers. The entire crew is responsible for those actions which modify the ship’s condition, i.e.

Philip Roth (1933-2018)

Indignation fills the hearts of all our countrymen by Adam Kitzes   I am not in the habit of fashioning headstones for writers on the occasion of their passing, but in the case of Philip Roth, this one line of his stands out for consideration. It made its appearance in

In Search of ‘Gentle Abrasion’

As I write this, I’m off to California (for a trad musician like myself, such an act cannot help but summon this song) in search of a little “gentle abrasion.” That’s a salaciously poetic way of stating what, in plainer terms, amounts to a more humble kind of declaration. I’m

Austerity, Now and Then

Greetings! I’m Sheila, nonfiction editor here at NDQ, and I’m taking over blog responsibilities for the next few weeks while Bill Caraher, our editor and publisher, is off doing field work in Greece.   “I propose” (the thing took all his strength) “oh what the hell” he cried; “what’s stopping

Baby

Baby Jessica Walsh She met a man who was really a cursed spindle in a barn no one had checked She faded into a farmhouse thinned to brittle bought chickens and called them all baby Her back her nerves her skin burn a bonfire in between the charms he mixed

Upon Retirement

Upon Retirement Jessica Walsh Tumble shine my bones, articulate me in the anatomy lab where all who used my name may scrape wrist and rib seek heart shell smell ghosted marrow tap my sternum as if to listen for my permission thrumming low down bones steer my jaw around what

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