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	<title>Leo Yankevich &#187; Translations</title>
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		<title>An Autumn Evening</title>
		<link>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/22</link>
		<comments>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/22#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 24 Jun 2008 22:11:48 +0000</pubDate>
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		<category><![CDATA[Georg Trakl]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[&#160; The brown village. A darkness often treads Along the walls that stand in autumn. Mock- Shapes: man as well as woman, dead now,&#160;walk In the cold parlours to prepare their beds. &#160; Here young boys play. A heavy shadow spreads Over brown dung. Servant women walk Through the moist blue, and sometimes their eyes [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Angels</title>
		<link>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/249</link>
		<comments>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/249#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 07 Jun 2010 08:02:09 +0000</pubDate>
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		<category><![CDATA[Boleslaw Lesmian]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[&#160; Where do they come from? From whose love do they throng? And who so meted out their christening That their breasts are never deprived of song And their wings never without rustling? Who dreamt them up? Who drew them from his mind&#8217;s eye? And for what reason underneath the earth? And for what paradise [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Apollo’s Archaic Torso</title>
		<link>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/28</link>
		<comments>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/28#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 25 Jun 2008 16:30:23 +0000</pubDate>
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		<category><![CDATA[Rainer Maria Rilke]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[&#160; 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&#8217;s glow &#160; still radiant, though dimmed. If not, his bare breast would not blind you in the silent turn of hip and thighs, a smile not [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Asters</title>
		<link>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/313</link>
		<comments>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/313#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 09 Aug 2010 12:08:39 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Translations]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Gottried Benn]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://leoyankevich.com/?p=313</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#160; Asters&#8212;sweltering days, old entreaty, spell, the gods shed timid rays, an hour upon the scale. &#160; Once more the golden flocks, the sky, the light, the veil. What breeds the familiar flux of wings before they fail? &#160; Once more now the lust, the rush of roses, and you&#8212; the summer&#8217;s leaned to watch [...]]]></description>
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		<title>December 1942</title>
		<link>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/206</link>
		<comments>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/206#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 30 May 2010 19:28:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Translations]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Peter Huchel]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[How resounding is the winter squall. Hole-riddled the loam walls of Bethlehem’s stall. That’s Mary murdered at the entrance gate, Hair frozen to the bloody stones and grate. Masked in rags, three soldiers limping by Cannot burn from her ear the infant’s cry. The last canteen sunflower won’t get them far. They seek the way [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Killing Fish</title>
		<link>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/244</link>
		<comments>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/244#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 07 Jun 2010 07:40:36 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Translations]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Stanislaw Grochowiak]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://leoyankevich.com/?p=244</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#160; What&#8217;s she crying about&#8212;this old crone eaten away by salt, This poor sick woman with a petunia in her hat at two? And why&#8217;s this fish doing somersaults Amid fragile lipsticks and scattered rouge? &#160; And why does she keep staring at the fish like that, What&#8217;s its sickly mouth trying to tell her? [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Last Spring</title>
		<link>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/408</link>
		<comments>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/408#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 28 Aug 2011 21:11:09 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Translations]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[&#160; Take the forsythias deep within, each leaf, and when the lilac blossoms on the lawn, mix it, too, with your blood and joy and grief, the dark soil that you depend upon. &#160; Sluggish days. All have been gotten through. And if you do not ask: the start or close, then perhaps the hours [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Night</title>
		<link>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/32</link>
		<comments>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/32#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 29 Jun 2008 13:20:01 +0000</pubDate>
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		<category><![CDATA[Aleksander Blok]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://leoyankevich.com/?p=32</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[first appeared in The New Formalist]]></description>
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		<title>Silver</title>
		<link>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/253</link>
		<comments>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/253#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 07 Jun 2010 08:11:14 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Translations]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Boleslaw Lesmian]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[&#160; Night has come, eager to shed its skin For chills in the drowsy dew. Oak sighs, Blindly believes in Thyme, believes in The power of Thyme&#8212;over the skies. &#160; Light-by-light, light dies in a dim glade&#8212; And light&#8217;s death moves a wood to sorrow. Midnight expires before a gate, But the gate&#8212;silvers with tomorrow. [...]]]></description>
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		<title>The Akkerman Steppe</title>
		<link>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/42</link>
		<comments>http://leoyankevich.com/archives/42#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 18 Feb 2009 15:44:34 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Translations]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Adam Mickiewicz]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[&#160; I launch myself across the dry and open narrows, My carriage plunging into green as if a ketch, Floundering through the meadow flowers in the stretch. I pass an archipelago of coral yarrows. &#160; It&#8217;s dusk now, not a road in sight, nor ancient barrows. I look up at the sky and look for [...]]]></description>
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