Tag Archives: Leo Yankevich

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Your Mother’s Eyes, Your Father’s Chin

Santiago_Matamoros,_18th_century136 words

When you kneel down to feed the poor
they’ve got to have your mother’s eyes,
your father’s chin. Spurn, curse the Moor.

Muhammad scornful to the core
dreams of a Euro Paradise
when you kneel down to feed the poor.

Stupidity is not a cure.
Look at the anger in their eyes,
hate in their mouths. Spurn, curse the Moor.  Read more …

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ReFugees

kurds-iraq-syria-refugee.si55 words

Ten thousand cuckolds in Iceland
invite ISIS into their beds.
Merkel lifts her heavy hand,
lecturing on conscience, weds
it with betrayal, giving a shove
to Deutschland’s honest working poor,
demanding, in the name of love,
that Poland and Hungary take more.
Read more …

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Do Not Shed Tears for the Drowned Boys

73 words

Do not shed tears for the drowned boys
like flotsam on the Turkish shores.
Free from their fathers’ stupidity,
their wings bear the Trojan horse
to the ruins of antiquity
and to the altruistic Norse.

Weep rather for the fair-haired boys
and for the blue and green-eyed girls,
Read more …

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Archie Bunker Rhymes

BushandDwarf57 words

A cuckservative wooed the vote of Diego,
and married a dwarf from south of Laredo.
The Koch brothers offered him a lump,
and then along came Donald Trump
to put an end to Pinko correctness.
Careless with words? The effect was:
the return of our beloved free speech,
Read more …

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Flags

white-house-rainbow76 words

Gay Pride is raised, and Dixie’s down.
The Kenyan king inside his House
has it lit to reflect his crown.
Ms. Jenner’s teats swell in her blouse.

Read more …

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Céline

Celine0464 words

Three pamphlets in which he spared none
do not diminish my esteem.
Rats in a stable are not horses.
(How well he knew their beady eyes,
steaming sewers and twisted knives!)

The pamphlets are medals on his chest,
pearls of truth upon his canon,
while the gnawed brown beams of Europe
crumble in the metro slums
and France relents once more, and burns.

 

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“Grey Wolves” & “Hedgehog”

9789042929159100 words

Grey Wolves

At midnight they descend the hill,
(fur and flesh caught between their teeth),
howling at the moon and stars,
delighting in the knee-deep snow,
and in the purity of the pack,
while the wise red fox hunts alone.

28 April 2015  Read more …

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“Lazarus” & “Karpatia”

SleepingInGraveyard143 words

Lazarus

I came back, the wind whistling in my ear,
dove on my elbow, crow on my torn cuff,
but I could not remember; the long lost year
having left the hourglass like the love

that sifted through my hands less able now.
Dry mouth my only friend and fiercest foe,
I wobbled past each flowering branch and bough,
neuropathy on fire from sole to toe.

Read more …

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The Ghost of Metre is as Dead as Friedrich Nietzsche’s God

737 words

urnRobert Vas Dias, London Cityscape Sijo (Perdika Press, 2012)

Darius Victor Snieckus, The Slow Wheel (Paekakariki Press, 2012)

Kate Foley, A Fox Assisted Cure (Shoestring Press, 2012)

Wynn Wheldon, Tiny Disturbances (Acumen Publications, 2012)

Piotr Gwiazda, Messages (Pond Road Press, 2012)  Read more …

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Six Feet Beneath the Snow

crowtombstone58 words

Deep from head to toe
into the second sleep,
sister to the crow,
she does not hear me weep.

A continent away,
a sky and ocean apart,
I am her last born stray,
I with my leaky heart.  Read more …

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Rhine Meadow, 1945

116 words

capturedgermansoldiersHow bitter to abandon the King Tiger,
long 88 pointed toward the blackened sky;
to flee west for three days in the spring snow
from the T34s of the Red Army;
to toss the Luger, and wave the white flag,
a riddled rag mocked by the grinning victors;
to receive a rifle butt to the jaw
and not a bar of Hershey’s Chocolate;
to wake, with a headache, to a small breakfast
of mud and grass, a cup of yellow piss;
to struggle to hold up a brother in arms,
captured in newsreels that taunt to this day;
to turn your collar toward the camp of saints,
condemned to bear the whips and scorns of time.

 

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Two New Poems

JapaneseCatfish

19th-century Japanese print of “namazu” (the catfish that cause earthquakes) being restrained by a rock.

145 words

Tarn Catfish

When viewed from the grey bridge above
they are black submarines that wait
to be refueled. Each collared dove
is their tanked diesel, the sandy shore
of the green isle their pastel plate.

With gaping mouths they drag them down
to the bone yards of pike and bass,
to the cold water, deep and brown,
then they release them at the door
between the clouds that pass and pass.
 
 
Read more …

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The Counter-Currents 2014 Summer Fundraiser 
An Appeal from Our Writers

tigerpumpkin1,016 words

During last year’s Counter-Currents Summer Fundraiser, a number of our writers issued statements of support. They are just as valid now as then, so we are reprinting them here.  Read more …

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What They Found

BeholdtheWar119 words

“The dead came back from Jerusalem,
where they found not what they sought.”
—Carl Jung, Seven Sermons to the Dead, Sermon I, 1916

Beneath a leaden sky:
street merchants peddling wares,
old harlots exposing breasts,
grimaces and stares,
rats, flies and other pests.

Read more …

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The Donetsk Morgue (October 2014)

donetskmorgue104 words

Some lie alone on carts,
while others who are new,
wait stacked up on the floor.
For you see: there’s a queue
inside the Donetsk morgue.

Death masks and private parts
here are processed and tagged,
cadavers on display,
mere torsos, arms and legs,
mouths open, nothing to say.  Read more …

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BUK Near Donetsk

Buk-m2_ky54 words

Beside the fields of rye and flax
there is a road that leads to birches,
pocked with dark puddles and tank tracks,
above which no white dove perches.

Green men pray to another Christ,
a Fulcrum falling overhead,
a saviour or a poltergeist,
the sun behind it, fierce and red.

Read more …

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Why Wars Happen, Beings on Earth Die

ReedsSunset57 words

Above the reeds the red clouds gather.
The boats moored at the river bank
reflect the blood, half full of water.
If only we knew whom to thank.

We look up at the darkening sky,
sun as if sinking, moon aflame,
the figurative language a lie,
and know for sure life is to blame.

13 August 2014

 

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Unity Mitford

117 words

“She learned to walk again, but never fully recovered. She was incontinent and childish.”

She had sat at the Chancellor’s feet, a rival
to Eva Braun, highborn, blue-eyed, contrary
to the reds, dykes and faggots of Bloomsbury,
armed with only Campbell’s Flowering Rifle.
Surely she’d been guilty of high treason?
(Albion is a better place today,
a heaven for the black man and the gay!)
Nevertheless, this was not the reason Read more …

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A Hundred Since the First

sunflowersukraine92 words

For five days the blowflies have cleansed their bones.
Now they lie waiting for the August rain,
for holy water, afterlives beyond Ukraine,
sure heaven neither judges nor atones?

Atop camo uniforms, their sun-bleached skulls
resemble cauliflowers amid rapeseed,
fodder for architects and lords of greed
who build Earth’s fences and tear down Earth’s walls.

Read more …

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Light in a Dark Age:
Leo Yankevich’s Journey Late at Night

JourneySmall1,794 words

Leo Yankevich
Journey Late at Night: Poems and Translations
San Francisco: Counter-Currents Publishing Ltd., 2013

Leo Yankevich is an American poet who was born and raised in the somber coal-mining and rust belt environs of Pennsylvania. But he is also of Polish-Lithuanian ancestry, so another part of his genetic and cultural makeup comes from the dark forests of Central Europe — Read more …

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Promised Land

bentonindian2121 words

Rousseau’s brave savages
had circled her covered wagon,
leaving vestiges
of life that could have been:

dreams of a promised land,
a son and rag-doll daughter,
a scalped Scottish husband,
and not a drop of water.

Read more …

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Elegy for Hanns Breitenbach (1890–1945)

statue112 words

You disappeared in the dead of winter,
but not like Yeats. No wife or mistress
were at your side. A hole and splinter
alarmed you, but did not distress.

Duty called. You would not part
your sculptor’s studio, Read more …

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Somewhere over Germany, 1945

30 words

At the gates of heaven
he did not know the names
beyond the bombing bay.

But many miles away
he could still see the flames
judging the dead in Dresden.

Read more …

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Counter-Currents Radio Podcast No. 80 
Greg Johnson interviews Leo Yankevich on Art & Politics

Leo Yankevich

Leo Yankevich

56:34 / 205 words

To listen in a player, click here.

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Greg Johnson interviews leading formalist poet Leo Yankevich, Read more …

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Philosopher

Plotinus

Plotinus by Raphael

154 words

Editor’s Note:

From Leo Yankevich’s Journey Late at Night: Poems and Translations, forthcoming from Counter-Currents. 

For a moment as brief and long as eternity
he sees what the blind man sees in the blink of an eye:
a sun that never sets, forms wrought from gold, purity
before it falls or is restored to grace, the grey sky

Read more …

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Praised Be

Baby-Birds-wild-animals-4636213-800-641124 words

Editor’s Note:

From Leo Yankevich’s Journey Late at Night: Poems and Translations, forthcoming from Counter-Currents.  Read more …

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Forthcoming from Counter-Currents! 
Journey Late at Night:
Poems & Translations

JourneySmallSan Francisco: Counter-Currents, 2013
178 pages

Release date: November 21, 2013

Hardcover: $30 [wp_eStore:product_id:175:end]

Paperback: $18 [wp_eStore:product_id:176:end]

Leo Yankevich is one of the leading poets of our time. Read more …

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The Counter-Currents 2013 Summer Fundraiser 
If You Were Waiting Till the Last Minute . . .
Plus New Audio & an Appeal from Leo Yankevich

lastminute411 words

The last minute is almost here . . .

Since our last update, we have received ten new donations totaling $1,010. That means that our total so far is $35,079.29. Read more …

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The Dream

Mikhail_lermontov

Mikhail Lermontov, 1814–1841

184 words

Translated by Leo Yankevich

High noon in Dagestan, I lay marooned
In blistering heat, a bullet in my breast.
Smoke still rose in the valley from my wound
As drop-by-drop I watched blood flowing west.

I lay upon the loam of that strange land,
Cliffs closing in, the sun soon touching peaks,
Reaching past the mountain with its hand
To burn my dreaming brow and death-pale cheeks.

Read more …

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Eschatology

Franciscus_Gysbrechts_Vanitas113 words

When the mind melts in the cave of the skull,
forsaken, alas, like everything else,
will some victorious Socrates crawl—
out of the depths, like a most secret self—

beholding all things as they really are?
Then, apostolic, but shunning the smell,
will he crawl back down inside—to pole-star
and enlighten the blind monkeys in hell?

Read more …

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