Jana Prikryl
How to Beat a Dead Octopus
It’s been argued that poetry is an ailing art—indeed, National Poetry Month itself often seems to me a defibrillator desperately applied to the limp body of lyric poetry, while the world’s novels and memoirs and tweets and video games mill around, loud, vertical, and indifferent—but reading the last five decades of poems in the *Review* is a pretty good antidote to such anxieties.
April 7, 2011