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I'm filled with admiration for what you've achieved, and particularly for the hard work and the 'cottage industry' aspect of it.
Fleur Adcock
Thomas Kinsella to receive the Bob Hughes Lifetime Achievement Award
This week, it has been announced that Thomas Kinsella , one of Ireland’s greatest poets, will be honoured with the Bob Hughes Lifetime Achievement Award at the An Post Irish Book Awards 2018, in his 90th year. read more
PBS Spring 2019 Selection: Jane Yeh & Marilyn Hacker
We're delighted to announce that the 2019 Spring Selections for the Poetry Book Society include two Carcanet collections! read more
Jorie Graham Wins Bobbitt National Prize for Poetry
We are delighted to share the news that Jorie Graham has been named as the recipient of the 2018 Bobbitt National Prize for Poetry for her most recent collection, Fast , which we're extremely proud to publish. 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.
Incomprehensible Lesson Incomprehensible Lesson Fawzi Karim and Anthony Howell
Thousandfold Thousandfold Nina Bogin
Selected Poems Selected Poems Edmund Blunden Ed. Robyn Marsack
Swimming Chenango Lake Swimming Chenango Lake Charles Tomlinson Ed. David Morley
An English Anthology An English Anthology Leonard Nolens Tr. Paul Vincent
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Poem of the Day

Hartland Point

Neil Fleming

An envelope of mist up here, and a cream sea under the cliff,
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.
Taken from 'New Poetries VII'...
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