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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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Carcanet's European Library
To tie in with the Read Europe Tour, which was launched in Manchester last night, we're celebrating some of Carcanet's finest European poets. 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.
Winter Migrants Winter Migrants Tom Pickard
Beyond the Barbed Wire Beyond the Barbed Wire Abdellatif Laabi Ed. André Naffis-Sahely Tr. André Naffis-Sahely
Quennets Quennets Philip Terry
Dirt Dirt William Letford
Selected Poems Selected Poems Nancy Cunard Ed. Sandeep Parmar
What Must Happen What Must Happen Jeffrey Wainwright
Playing the Octopus Playing the Octopus Mary O'Malley
The Windows of Graceland The Windows of Graceland Martina Evans
Holy Toledo! Holy Toledo! John Clegg
Visible Voices Visible Voices Nicolas Barker
John Masefield John Masefield Muriel Spark
Poem of the Day


Andrew McNeillie

It waited for him in the dusty treatises
On his father’s bookshelf, in the back stacks
Of the local library, in the rare book room
And the manuscript collection on the fifth floor,
In the basement where they kept the well-thumbed
Periodicals and crumbling theology texts.
Unshelved and displaced, uncatalogued and overdue,
It waited in the background while he scanned
The entries and noted the citations, memorizing
The names of authors, writing down titles.
It shuddered when he read about the infinite
Starry spaces and the fast-moving river
Into which he would never step twice,
And it paused in the margins of the ancients,
In archaic Greek rituals and thunderous voices
Rising out of the whirlwind. He could not
Hear it breathing between the pages, belabored
In German, trilling in Spanish, stammering
Backward in Hebrew. He did not listen
To it crying softly in the trees
Like a prophecy, though it waited for him
Nonetheless, a patient and faithful oblivion,
An emptiness, which he would not call God.
Taken from 'In Mortal Memory'...
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