Quote of the Day
I'm filled with admiration for what you've achieved, and particularly for the hard work and the 'cottage industry' aspect of it.
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Carcanet is Shortlisted for the IPG Alison Morrison Diversity Award!
We’re so, so happy to have been shortlisted for the IPG Alison Morrison Diversity Award! read more
Martina Evans Shortlisted for Pigott Poetry Prize
We're over the moon to share the news that Now We Can Talk Openly About Men by Martina Evans has been shortlisted for the Pigott Poetry Prize in association with Listowel Writers’ Week, chosen by adjudicators Jo Shapcott and Ian McMillan. read more
James Womack & Rory Waterman Shortlisted for Ledbury Forte Poetry Prize
We're so pleased to announce that James Womack and Rory Waterman have been shortlisted for the Ledbury Forte Poetry Prize with their respective collections On Trust: A Book of Lies and Sarajevo Roses . Earlier today, the Ledbury Poetry Festival announced the six collections shortlisted for the prestigious Ledbury Forte Poetry Prize for Second Collections published in Britain and Ireland in 2017 and 2018. read more
Sinead Morrissey reads from T S Eliot Prize-winning Parallax at the Royal Festival HallListen
Welcome to Carcanet Press, one of the outstanding independent literary publishers of our time. Now in its fifth decade, Carcanet publishes the most comprehensive and diverse list available of modern and classic poetry in English and in translation, as well as a range of inventive fiction, Lives and Letters and literary criticism.
Poem of the Day
An envelope of mist up here, and a cream sea under the cliff,Taken from 'New Poetries VII'...
Four gulls twenty feet off the geometry, vectoring,
Sea-roof patrol, slideways, nothing to report, no fish anyhow.
Somewhere down there you can hear the lighthouse singing,
Sitting under the headland, dressed entirely in pearls,
Patched into history, calling them all back, over and over.
What I like is that they thought this up, they wanted it
Enough to climb down, morning after morning, carrying stones,
And build a tower in the grey-green roar, the sloping.
Each one was dangerous, each one took years and lives.
Promising starts would wash away; so would the careless.
They did it for the drowned to be undrowned. For love, really.
Anyway sometimes after a hard day you’d get a sunset.
You could sit on the rocks and smoke a pipe,
Looking at Lundy Island, hoping for porpoises.
The Carcanet Blog Dollhouse on Fire: Sheri Benning read more Rebecca Goss on Alison Watt read more Jane Yeh: On Misfits, Outsiders and Klaus Nomi read more 'We can love our past not because it was easy, but simply because it was ours': Thomas McCarthy read more PN Review 246: Editorial read more The Face Behind 'PoetryEast' read more
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