Leo Yankevich

Freshman - 926 Points (October 30,1961 / Farrell, Pennsylvani)

Leo Yankevich Poems

1. An Interview With The Oldest Man In Europe -new- 2/5/2016
2. Lazarus 4/29/2015
3. Karpatia 4/29/2015
4. Hedgehog 4/29/2015
5. Grey Wolves 4/29/2015
6. Céline 7/27/2015
7. Flags 8/28/2015
8. Tine 8/28/2015
9. Hospice 8/28/2015
10. Tarn Catfish 8/28/2015
11. The Donetsk Morgue 8/28/2015
12. What They Found 8/28/2015
13. Buk Near Donetsk 8/28/2015
14. Lermontov, Verlaine, Trakl, Yesenin 8/28/2015
15. Do Not Shed Tears For The Drowned Boys 9/9/2015
16. Refugees 9/9/2015
17. Hindenburgstraße 8 9/9/2015
18. Kitten 11/1/2015
19. A Tree And Its Fruit 11/1/2015
20. Archie Bunker Rhymes 11/1/2015
21. Mother Europe 11/1/2015
22. Deep Sleep 11/1/2015
23. Your Mother’s Eyes, Your Father’s Chin 11/1/2015
24. Dream: Milosz 11/1/2015
25. Seven 11/10/2015
26. A Magic Mountain 11/20/2015
27. Neanderthal 11/22/2015
28. Nowica 12/6/2015
29. After Hieronymus Bosch 12/7/2015
30. Sunday Morning 1/10/2016
31. In Fear -new- 2/1/2016
32. Summit 1/28/2013
33. Jacob's Ladder,1888 3/9/2013
34. Trees, Walking 3/9/2013
35. Ultima Thule 3/10/2013
36. Godfather 6/22/2013
37. Elegy For Hanns Breitenbach (1890-1945) 2/22/2014
38. Promised Land 3/9/2014
39. Before His Majesty 6/19/2014
40. The Bell-Toller 6/19/2014
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

Racked Beauty

Blest be the dawn, the luminous blue-slate,
the arch transfused by the glorious sun,
and blackbirds chanting hymnals in prickly bushes,
and rooks high over fields coughing up love.

Blest be the winds about the furrowed brow,
and the joyful whispers of dying leaves,
the maples staggered blissfully behind barbed fences
above the tombs of the newly redeemed.

[Hata Bildir]