Quote of the Day
Carcanet [...] represents to me the legend on a fountain in the home-town of my childhood: 'Drink and be thankful.'
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Caoilinn Hughes wins Shine/Strong Award
Carcanet is delighted to announce that Caoilinn Hughes was presented with the Shine/Strong Award at the Mountains to Sea dlr Book Festival on Sunday 22nd March! read more
Carcanet shortlisted for the Bookseller Industry Awards!
Carcanet is delighted to announce we have been shortlisted for the Bookseller Industry Awards in the Independent Publisher of the Year category! 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.
Poem of the Day
The dialectics of love and uncles
All the way down there are conditionsTaken from 'New Poetries II'...
to fall over the edge of, expeditions
of cells ferning in turns curving on
down over the edge and falling on
over the farther edge.
A serious bird pecks at the scruff of a winter palm
the day after its feathery intentions have unfolded, calmly
triangulating Darwin and Marx two billion years along God's graph.
Between mouthfuls, a claw intercepts some dust from a transitory planet's path
and whirls its way into a dragon's seed.
Nothing will ever be the same again in that family.
Necessary if not sufficient, this bifurcating hour
digs a road through history and a tower,
frothing in diamond drops over the edge of order.
Like a tiara unravelling, said the queen's warder.
And oh, my love, this crystal fire makes you more warm
than anything my breast has known these many centuries.
Stay with me as my words fly through the waterfall.
A breath to left or right could wake the dragon's need
uncurling in a fresh grain of time.
Now here its uncle is again, this memory of a dinosaur,
fat-voiced on a cold day, triumphant over the cousin on the sour-berried tree.
Stuck on the dispossessed tendril of the graph, all he can hope for
is a fractal kiss turning him like a key.
Still you continue unfurling your strange attractors,
the ones the ants around the sugar bowl obey,
curving up the edge of upwards -
and I the sugar in the ants' tears,
tumbling out along my own spiralling love
up over the upwards of your unmapped laughter.
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