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an admirable concern to keep lines open to writing in Ireland, Scotland, Wales and America.
Seamus Heaney
News
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
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.

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

What Passing Bells

Rory Waterman

A policeman blocks the road so I stop
and tut and tap the wheel and find a sweet
and scrape it through its wrapper with my teeth.
More cars stop. Then bright rustling up the street
from snare drums and some reedy trumpet calls
remind us all what day it is. In front

the noise grows to a wail. The band files past,
the soldiers, local groups, then ranks of kids
half out of time, with backs and shoulders stiff,
some looking at us looking at them for
just long enough to say a thousand words
in glares. They don’t remember any wars

but TV ones, and nor (confess) do you:
just TV wars, most justice-compromised
in barren lands, for rich commodities
I’m using up, a quiet friend by my side
with best intentions, clothes from Oxfam shops,
our flask packed for a cold stroll by the sea.
Taken from 'New Poetries V'...
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