Leo Yankevich Poems
|244.||Baroque Nativity Scene||3/13/2011|
|245.||A Hater Learns About Love||7/27/2010|
|247.||No Flowers, No Doves||9/22/2004|
|250.||After The Old Masters||2/7/2009|
|251.||Break Of Dawn||2/13/2008|
|252.||An Autumn Evening||12/26/2007|
|254.||At A Suicide’s Grave(1869-1897)||8/13/2009|
|255.||After 20 Years Of Marriage||5/12/2009|
|256.||A Warning To Dissidents||3/6/2006|
|257.||A Tiny Glow||9/20/2004|
|258.||A December Wish||2/11/2008|
|259.||Apollo’s Archaic Torso||5/4/2008|
Comments about Leo Yankevich
After 20 Years Of Marriage
Here is a river with a little boat
moored beside its bank. The boat's the colour
of oranges in the south of Greece, all bloody
and ripe with sweetness, while the bank's the colour
of meadows in the north of France, deep green
with a heifer's downy mane, a country rose.
Love, I shall never take you to those places.
I've squandered all my gold upon the water,
which for you mirrors the eternal sun.
As he lies mid his retinue of rats,
oblivious to the trickling water
and the maelstrom in the babbling sewer,
one might think his nose a hovel for flies
in the low and oppressive August heat,
but gladly he sleeps the sleep of the just,
like a foetus double-crossed in the womb.
Who but the passing ethereal white clouds,