Poetic Obituaries: [Samuel Menashe's] were very short poems.

Many were only four lines long. He began with more, but then worked to make them as concise as possible. They were honed down to the essence, sculpted like stones. He left them on scraps of paper all over the apartment.

"A flock of little boats/Tethered to the shore/Drifts in still water/Prows dip, nibbling"

from The Economist: Samuel Menashe

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