Leo Yankevich poems
Leo Yankevich(October 30,1961 / Farrell, Pennsylvani)
Apollo's Archaic Torso
- by Leo Yankevich 169
(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,
not burst beyond the limits of the skies,
starlike, until there is no point or plane
blind to your ways. You must change your life.
A December Wish
- by Leo Yankevich 161
You hear the sound of carols from afar.Bright bulbs and tinsel, cinnamon and cloves.
Beyond a hill of snow you see a star.
Here you can look at stacks of Christmas trees,
buy nuts and raisins, fruit from nearby groves,
cards inscribed in gold: “joy, love and peace.”
And you can eat kielbasa from a spit
as fat drips sizzling in makeshift stoves
and zlotys are exchanged and butts are lit.
Here you can watch fat women slaughter fish
if you stand in the line and bear the shoves,
pretending that you really have a wish.
And for a moment you can close your eyes
and can forget the cold that pierces gloves
and see a diamond necklace in the skies,
or Jesu here among the city doves.