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Quote of the Day
an admirable concern to keep lines open to writing in Ireland, Scotland, Wales and America.
Seamus Heaney
Parwana Fayyaz wins Forward Prize for Best Single Poem
We're delighted to announce that Parwana Fayyaz has won the Forward Prize for Best Single Poem with her poem 'Forty Names', published in PN Review 241! read more
Carcanet Announce New Video Series
We're thrilled to announce that we've teamed up with Pixel Assist to produce a new series of videos for our YouTube channel, featuring poets reading from both Carcanet and PN Review. read more
Elaine Feinstein Dies at the Age of 88
We are saddened to announce that Elaine Feinstein (b. read more
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Browse Carcanet's Jubilee Bundles here - five bundles each for £50!
Fifty Fifty Fifty Fifty Ed. Robyn Marsack
Smart Devices Smart Devices Carol Rumens
New Selected Poems New Selected Poems Elizabeth Jennings Ed. Rebecca Watts
Vital Stream Vital Stream Lucy Newlyn
Double-Tracking Double-Tracking Rosanna Mclaughlin
The Action The Action Roger Garfitt
Afterwardness Afterwardness Mimi Khalvati
Impossible Loves Impossible Loves Dario Jaramillo Tr. Richard Gwyn
Poem of the Day


Evan Jones

Some names are words for grief,
graceless words for failure.
Actaeon was a crowd, a lonely man,
and in the end nothing,
awaiting his descent into simple witlessness,
cold beside a river of fire, who,
the story goes, either wandered
into a grove sacred to Artemis
and saw her bathing naked
or boasted he was the greater hunter.

And so, enduring the deep wrath of god,
thinking, No way out of this,
about to surrender it came to him that,
like any hound or creature in this world,
he too had yearned and hunted.

Later on in the underworld, he began to wonder
about symmetry, his cousin, unborn heirs
to the throne of Cadmus and whether or not
he’d been forgiven: a crowd, a lonely man,
nothing, awaiting his descent into witlessness,
and so cold near Phlegethon,
boundless river of fire.

Some men have grief in place of dreams.
How cold and sad an end those men will come to:
white caps over the blue, no linden trees
or red acorns under which to find shade,
and not one god to pray for mercy to.
Taken from 'New Poetries V'...
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