Samuel Menashe
Don’t know why — it seems so slight — but I keep returning to this poem, “The Stars Are” by Samuel Menashe, from the most recent (September) issue of Poetry magazine:
The stars are
Although I do not sing
About them —
The sky and the trees
Are indifferent
To whom they please
The rose is unmoved
By my nose
And the garland in your hair
Although your eyes be lakes, diesWhy sigh for a star
Better bay at the moon
Better bay at the moon
Oh moon, moon, moon
