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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William Letford on the BBC!
As part of a special series of programmes on the BBC covering the Edinburgh Festivals this summer, Scottish-born poet and roofer William Letford was filmed on an Edinburgh tram performing his poem 'Thurs hunnurs a burds oan the roofs'. read more
Sinead Morrissey reads from T S Eliot Prize-winning Parallax at the Royal Fesitval 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.
Fall in, Ghosts: The War Prose of Edmund Blunden Ed. Robyn Marsack
The Best of Poetry London Ed. Tim Dooley and Martha Kapos
Mari Magno, Dipsychus and other poems Ed. Anthony Kenny
Poem of the Day
Christs bloody sweate
Fatt soyle, full springe, sweete olive, grape of blisseTaken from 'The Collected Poems of S. Robert Southwell'...
That yeldes, that streames, that powres, that dost distil
Untild, undrawne, unstampde, untouchd of presse
Deare fruit, cleare brooks, fayre oyle, sweete wine at will
Thus Christ unforc'd preventes in shedding bloode
The whippes the thornes the nailes the speare and roode.
He Pelicans he Phenix fate doth prove
Whome flames consume whom streames enforce to die
How burneth bloud howe bleedeth burning love
Can one in flame and streame both bathe and frye
How coulde he joyne a Phenix fyerye paynes
In faynting pelicans still bleeding vaynes
Elias once to prove gods soveraigne powre
By praire procur'd a fier of wondrous force
That blood and wood and water did devoure
Yea stones and dust beyonde all natures course
Such fire is love that fedd with gory bloode
Doth burne no lesse then in the dryest woode
O sacred Fire come shewe thy force on me
That sacrifice to Christe I maye retorne
If withered wood for fuell fittest bee
If stones and dust yf fleshe and blood will burne
I withered am and stonye to all good.
A sacke of dust a masse of fleshe and bloode
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