The eye is drawn to that single yellow star
that no wise man will follow.
The hunched men in caps, the grimacing woman
her eyes screwed up, cheeks hollow.
We look and look again until we burn a hole
in the paper. We strive to learn
from their resignation but it is beyond us.
We let them burn.
Source: Poetry (February 2008).
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This poem originally appeared in the February 2008 issue of Poetry magazine
George Szirtes was born in Hungary and emigrated to England with his parents—survivors of concentration and labor camps—after the 1956 Budapest uprising.
Szirtes studied painting at Harrow School of Art and Leeds College of Art and Design. At Leeds he studied with Martin Bell, who encouraged Szirtes as he began to develop his poetic themes: an engaging mix of British individualism and European fluency in myth, fairy tale, and . . .
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