Leo Yankevich

Rookie - 56 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. Wake 3/9/2013
7. Trees, Walking 3/9/2013
8. Ultima Thule 3/10/2013
9. Godfather 6/22/2013
10. Elegy For Hanns Breitenbach (1890-1945) 2/22/2014
11. Promised Land 3/9/2014
12. Before His Majesty 6/19/2014
13. The Bell-Toller 6/19/2014
14. A Hundred Since The First 8/15/2014
15. The Careful Gardener 6/22/2013
16. Why Wars Happen, Beings On Earth Die 8/16/2014
17. Esse 6/19/2014
18. The Adolf Hitler Canal 4/8/2013
19. Six Feet Beneath The Snow 2/20/2015
20. Childhood Leaves 3/9/2013
21. Pilitak 1/28/2013
22. Kolyma,1937 7/27/2010
23. Koniuchy, Eastern Poland,1944 7/27/2010
24. Metaphysics 5/7/2008
25. Reunion 3/13/2009
26. Old Tarts 9/4/2012
27. Lobb Ghyll Viaduct 8/3/2012
28. Tombstone 6/17/2012
29. Invocation 3/14/2009
30. Kant’s Shadow 2/12/2008
31. Tobias To His Angel 9/5/2010
32. Somewhere Over Germany,1945 5/12/2009
33. Vengeance Is Mine, Says The Lord,1943 5/12/2009
34. Two Dates 2/11/2005
35. Rust Belt 11/12/2008
36. Moonshine,1969 11/12/2008
37. Leaves 5/7/2008
38. Silesian Landscape 2/13/2008
39. Water 6/5/2008
40. Hank 2/11/2008
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.

[Hata Bildir]