Quote of the Day
Devotedly, unostentatiously, Carcanet has evolved into a poetry publisher whose independence of mind and largeness of heart have made everyone who cares about literature feel increasingly admiring and grateful.
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Tookey, Galleymore & Fayyaz Shortlisted for Forward Prizes
We're overjoyed to announce three shortlistings in this year's Forward Prizes for Poetry - one in each category! read more
Phoebe Power Shortlisted for Somerset Maugham Award
We are delighted to share the news that Phoebe Power has been shortlisted for this year's Somerset Maugham Award from the Society of Authors, for her debut collection, Shrines of Upper Austria ! read more
Ken Cockburn Shortlisted for Oxford-Weidenfeld Prize
We're overjoyed to share the news that Ken Cockburn has been shortlisted for the 2019 Oxford-Weidenfeld Prize for translation, for his versions of Christine Marendon 's poems in Heroines from Abroad , a dual-language German-English text. 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
The way to the stomach is through the heart.Taken from 'New Poetries V'...
If he’s been eating with his eyes, ask him exactly how much
He’s been beholding. If his words are drowned out
By his actions, tell him not to protest so much.
A little yearning is a dangerous thing; he clearly hasn’t been
Eating his apple-a-day. If only the incision were skin-deep.
No wonder he’s blind. But even a worm will turn –
Softly, softly – from a piece of string to a length of old rope.
But give him enough and he’ll hang.
If God had meant us to fall, he’d have given us wings –
But then there’d be no work for drinkers.
So, those who cannot preach, practice.
Truth is wasted on the tongue.
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