Leo Yankevich

Rookie - 183 Points (October 30,1961 / Farrell, Pennsylvani)

Leo Yankevich Poems

1. Mary Magdalene 2/11/2008
2. Mary 5/7/2008
3. Market 4/5/2009
4. Summit 1/28/2013
5. Jacob's Ladder,1888 3/9/2013
6. Trees, Walking 3/9/2013
7. Ultima Thule 3/10/2013
8. Godfather 6/22/2013
9. Elegy For Hanns Breitenbach (1890-1945) 2/22/2014
10. Promised Land 3/9/2014
11. Before His Majesty 6/19/2014
12. The Bell-Toller 6/19/2014
13. A Hundred Since The First 8/15/2014
14. Lazarus 4/29/2015
15. Karpatia 4/29/2015
16. Hedgehog 4/29/2015
17. Grey Wolves 4/29/2015
18. Céline 7/27/2015
19. Flags -new- 8/28/2015
20. Tine -new- 8/28/2015
21. Hospice -new- 8/28/2015
22. Tarn Catfish -new- 8/28/2015
23. The Donetsk Morgue -new- 8/28/2015
24. What They Found -new- 8/28/2015
25. Buk Near Donetsk -new- 8/28/2015
26. Lermontov, Verlaine, Trakl, Yesenin -new- 8/28/2015
27. The Careful Gardener 6/22/2013
28. Why Wars Happen, Beings On Earth Die 8/16/2014
29. Esse 6/19/2014
30. The Adolf Hitler Canal 4/8/2013
31. Six Feet Beneath The Snow 2/20/2015
32. Wake 3/9/2013
33. Witness -new- 8/28/2015
34. Childhood Leaves 3/9/2013
35. Pilitak 1/28/2013
36. Kolyma,1937 7/27/2010
37. Koniuchy, Eastern Poland,1944 7/27/2010
38. Metaphysics 5/7/2008
39. Reunion 3/13/2009
40. Old Tarts 9/4/2012
Best Poem of Leo Yankevich

Apollo’s Archaic Torso

(after the German of Rainer Maria Rilke)

We have no knowledge of his ancient brow
where pippins ripen. Yet his torso gleams,
reflecting the candela, luminous streams
that yet pour from his gaze, his glance’s glow

still radiant, though dimmed. If not, his bare
breast would not blind you in the silent turn
of hip and thighs, a smile not flash and burn
through groins, his genitals not ever glare.

If not, this stone would seem deformed and small,
the light beneath his shoulder’s sudden fall
not seem a preying panther’s shimmering mane, ...

Read the full of Apollo’s Archaic Torso

A Warning To Dissidents

Yes, pretty soon now they’ll be at your door.
They’ve orders and a warrant after all.
It doesn’t matter. You’ll be on the floor,
your wife and children having watched you fall.

Just then you’ll notice fallen scraps and crumbs,
the beauty of your startled wife’s pale feet,
the Celtic Crosses on your daughter’s thumbs,
the food above that you will never eat.

[Hata Bildir]