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Sinéad Morrissey Shortlisted for Pigott Prize 2021
We are thrilled to share the news that Sinéad Morrissey has been shortlisted for the 2021 Pigott Poetry prize with Found Architecture: Selected Poems! read more
Sasha Dugdale Shortlisted for Derek Walcott Poetry Prize
Congratulations to Sasha Dugdale, who has been shortlisted for the 2021 Derek Walcott Poetry Prize with her most recent collection, Deformations! read more
Carcanet Shortlisted for Small Press of the Year Award
We are overjoyed to announce that we've been shortlisted for the Small Press Award in this year's British Book Awards! 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.
B (After Dante) B (After Dante) Ned Denny
Deer on the High Hills Deer on the High Hills Iain Crichton Smith Ed. John Greening
Moving Day Moving Day Jenny King
Shadow and Refrain Shadow and Refrain Alex Wong
American Mules American Mules Martina Evans
American Originality American Originality Louise Glück
The Extasie The Extasie John Gallas
Mornings In the Dark Mornings In the Dark Graham Greene Ed. David Parkinson
New Poetries VIII New Poetries VIII Ed. Michael Schmidt and John McAuliffe
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Poem of the Day

Majid Sits in a Tree and Sings

Rebecca Cullen

This morning, I wake with a bird in my heart.
My mother smiles only for me. I bash my car into the wall.
Sometimes she tells me to be quiet. Today, she laughs.

The men came in the hottest part of the day.
A walk, my love, a small walk, she says.
In the stairwell, the mothers hold their children.

The guns shine in the sun. I am a man,
this is no time for play, I do not hide.
We shuffle in, look for a seat in the stands.

A big black bird comes down from the sky.
 The grown-ups hold their breath. They are blinking a lot.
The bird likes the meat hanging on the goalposts.

Tonight, my mother says I can sleep in her bed.
I make my back into a curved shell against her legs.
She strokes her palm across my forehead.

In the middle of the night, I watch her on her knees.
She tips her head backwards. I see all of her neck.
Taken from 'New Poetries VII'...
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The Carcanet Blog Jenny King: Moving Day read more Iain Crichton Smiths New Music: John Greening read more John Gallas: The Extasie read more Roped to Catullus: Isobel Williams read more New Poetries VIII: Vahni Capildeo on Padraig Regan read more Louise Glck: On Realism read more
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