The Week We Lived Dangerously

Perhaps we spend too much time in our luxurious Ronan-designed HQ. We’ve certainly been accused to dwelling too long in the theoretical ivory tower of academe. But between the two, we can still get in some ziplining from time to time. This week, we embraced the dangerous and awesome side of poetry. We may be almost 100, but we’re 29 for life, baby!

Is your local coffee-house reading scene getting staler than day-old baguettes? Be like Simon Armitage and launch your poems into space, scro!

Opium addiction— it’s bound to be the next retro drug craze. Call it “Keatsing.”

All this excitement aside, we are concerned that we might be losing our Attention Span. Wait! Look! Cats!

Do you long for the more dangerous days when the Beats roamed? Here’s a free Ginsberg fix to get you through the weekend.

You’re a poet. You grind it out every day. But you don’t quite feel like you’re getting a foothold in the poetry world. Maybe your poems aren’t awesome enough.

Start by forgetting everything you know. Elisa Gabbert breaks poetry down to the molecules.

Check out some work from a bona fide political prisoner, and admit that you’re nowhere near the edge and the man isn’t really getting you down.

All is not lost. You have until Sunday to compose an award-winning haiku.

Next time you travel by air to engage in some extreme activities, presumably in a far-flung nation without an extradition treaty, we suggest you go through the security checkpoint at PHX toting a banned book.

Oh no! The internet tough guys are at it again.

Mary Jo Bang reexamines Helen of Troy, the woman so dangerously “white-hot” that she could start wars. Real wars, off the internet.

Under the leadership of our archivists, our time capsule continues to grow. At some point, we may shoot it into space. The night is young.