Leo Yankevich

Silver Star - 3,432 Points (October 30,1961 / Farrell, Pennsylvania)

Leo Yankevich Poems

241. Black Oak 5/15/2008
242. Bethlehem 5/7/2008
243. Baroque Nativity Scene 3/13/2011
244. A Hater Learns About Love 7/27/2010
245. Barcelona,1936 2/12/2008
246. No Flowers, No Doves 9/22/2004
247. Ah, Love 2/6/2009
248. Eastertide 9/22/2004
249. After The Old Masters 2/7/2009
250. Break Of Dawn 2/13/2008
251. An Autumn Evening 12/26/2007
252. Babcia 4/10/2011
253. At A Suicide’s Grave(1869-1897) 8/13/2009
254. After 20 Years Of Marriage 5/12/2009
255. A Warning To Dissidents 3/6/2006
256. A December Wish 2/11/2008
257. A Tiny Glow 9/20/2004
258. Apollo’s Archaic Torso 5/4/2008

Comments about Leo Yankevich

  • Margaret O Driscoll Margaret O Driscoll (7/13/2015 4:10:00 AM)

    Glad I checked out your poetry, just read Mother In The Garden and it nearly had me in tears!

    9 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Amir Mohammad Islami Chalandar (6/6/2014 7:51:00 AM)

    excellent poems. you are great in explaining your feels. i invite you to read my poem

  • Dennis N. O'brien Dennis N. O'brien (10/27/2012 6:04:00 PM)

    Thanks for posting your poems here - I enjoy reading them.
    Best wishes
    Dennis N. O'Brien

  • Michael Shepherd (9/21/2004 8:13:00 AM)

    Leo - I am moved by and admire your poems enormously. Will you tell michael@shepherd87.fsnet.co.uk if you have published, or intend to publish? Best wishes.

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

The Last Silesian

Above us: cawing rooks and grey clouds.
Around us: leafless trees and falling snow.
It’s late in January, 60 years
since Gleiwitz-Petersdorf was “liberated.”

Anne, a frail and tiny woman of eighty,
and the last Silesian on our street,
points her left hand toward the frozen ground
and rests her right upon a walking stick.

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