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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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News
Phoebe Power Longlisted for Michael Murphy Memorial Prize
We're delighted to share the news that Phoebe Power has made it onto the longlist of the 2019 Michael Murphy Memorial Prize with her debut collection, Shrines of Upper Austria . The Michael Murphy Memorial Prize is a biennial prize for a distinctive first book of poetry in English published in Britain or Ireland. read more
Ned Denny Wins Seamus Heaney Prize
We're over the moon to share the news that Ned Denny has been awarded the The Seamus Heaney Centre Poetry Prize 2019 for his debut collection, Unearthly Toys: Poems and Masks . The announcement was made at the Award Night in No Alibis Bookstore in Belfast on Tuesday 2nd July. read more
Dunya Mikhail is the PBS Autumn Wild Card!
We're really pleased to share the news that Dunya Mikhail 's In Her Feminine Sign has been chosen by the Poetry Book Society as their Wild Card in the Autumn 2019 Selections! read more
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.
Fur Coats in Tahiti Fur Coats in Tahiti Jeremy Over
City of Departures City of Departures Helen Tookey
In Nearby Bushes In Nearby Bushes Kei Miller
In Her Feminine Sign In Her Feminine Sign Dunya Mikhail
So Many Rooms So Many Rooms Laura Scott
The Silence The Silence John Greening
Tripping Over Clouds Tripping Over Clouds Lucy Burnett
The Action The Action Roger Garfitt
Poem of the Day

For Edward Thomas

Sasha Dugdale

Not a cloud in the sky and the pier hangs in mist
No swiftness and not a cloud to mark this soul
But brightness all around so fiercely torpid
Nothing can be seen at all.

The front is so wide I walk with my eyes closed
And the sea breathes shallow as a roosting dove
My unblemished soul goes shapeless through the light:
Pale calf-hide, it has need of the cloud’s love.

There you stand, like the fish upon its tail,
Who tasted all the various hells upon the earth
And was marked for ever by the passage of a cloud
And the rain, and the birds, and all such things of worth.
Taken from 'Joy'...
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