Author Archives: Paul Jacko

About Paul Jacko

Jacko was born in Czechoslovakia not long before the communist putsch in February 1948. He studied industrial chemistry there and left in 1969 for Australia, where he became a lawyer and established his own practice. He has now retired and beside hunting, fishing, camping, prospecting and playing golf he amuses himself by writing.

Hlas noci

…from the quills of the dead white poets Karel Toman (1877 – 1946) Město tě volá, odbojného syna, ó slyš. Ať kladivo jsi, nebo kovadlina, ty zníš. Odvěká píseň, boj a věčné drama hrá v tmách, a tvoje duše žíti … Continue reading

Posted in Czech, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

I Am He that Aches with Love

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   I am he that aches with amorous love; Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching, attract all matter? So the body of me to … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Beast and Man in India

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) They killed a Child to please the Gods In Earth’s young penitence, And I have bled in that Babe’s stead Because of innocence. I bear the sins … Continue reading

Posted in History, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

No Labor

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) No Labor-Saving Machine Nor discovery have I made, Nor will I be able to leave behind me any wealthy bequest to found a hospital or library, Nor … Continue reading

Posted in America, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

“I Had Not Tried the Wine…”

…from the quills of the dead white poets Osip Mandelshtam 1891 -1938 I had not tried the wine that ancients made, And had not heard of Ossian’s old tune; So why, on earth, I seem to see the glade, And, … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Mým snem jsi prošla

…from the quills of the dead white poets Karel Toman (1877 – 1946) Mým snem jsi prošla, jako zjevení alejí tmavou v půlnoci jde tiše. A skoupý vínek černé zeleni, jehož celovat chtěl čelo tvé i vlas, jež vadne, chřadne, … Continue reading

Posted in Czech, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Sea Dreams

…from the quills of the dead white poets Alfred Tennyson (1809 – 1892) What does little birdie say In her nest at peep of day? Let me fly, says little birdie, Mother, let me fly away. Birdie, rest a little … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The Fabulists

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) “The Vortex”–A Diversity of Creatures When all the world would keep a matter hid, Since Truth is seldom Friend to any crowd, Men write in fable, as … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

“Oh, Laziness, Come…”

…from the quills of the dead white poets Aleksandr Pushkin (1799 – 1837) (From “A Sleep”, II) 1816 Oh, laziness, come, come to me, alone. You’re called for by soft coolness and good rest; Only in you I see my … Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Post Christmas

 

Posted in America, Australia, Christianity, Culture | Tagged | 1 Comment

Zem?

…from the quills of the dead white poets Otokar Březina (1868 -1929) Sen rozkládá se za světem, za hvězdou hvězda, když půlnoc se tmí, a mezi nimi je jeden, krouží kolem bílého slunce, a let jeho hudbou tajemné radosti hřmí, … Continue reading

Posted in Czech, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The City of Sleep

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) (“The Brushwood Boy” — The Day’s Work) Over the edge of the purple down, Where the single lamplight gleams, Know ye the road to the Merciful Town … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

A Dream Within a Dream

…from the quills of the dead white poets Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849) Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Thought

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) Of persons arrived at high positions, ceremonies, wealth, scholarships and the like; (To me all that those persons have arrived at sinks away from them, except as … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Čisté jitro

…from the quills of the dead white poets Otokar Březina (1868 -1929) Když za jitra, snů množstvím zemdleni, jsme vyšli do zahrad, zem celou, jako duši svou, jsme zřeli v ohni rozkvétat; i ptali jsme se větrů, vod a stromů, … Continue reading

Posted in Czech, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Laws for Creations

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   Laws for Creations, For strong artists and leaders, for fresh broods of teachers and perfect literats for America, For noble savants and coming musicians. All must … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Lost Love

…from the quills of the dead white poets Alfred Tennyson (1809 – 1892) (From “In Memoriam”) I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods; … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The American Rebellion

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) 1776 Before Twas not while England’s sword unsheathed Put half a world to flight, Nor while their new-built cities breathed Secure behind her might; Not while she … Continue reading

Posted in America, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Birds of Passage

…from the quills of the dead white poets Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 – 1882) Black shadows fall From the lindens tall, That lift aloft their massive wall Against the southern sky; And from the realms Of the shadowy elms A … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Konečně je to možná věc

…from the quills of the dead white poets František Gellner (1881 -1914) Konečně je to možná věc, že ještě něčím budu. Do Afriky se vypravím dobývat zlatou rudu. A nebude-li ze mne nic, co tulák bez profese budu se s … Continue reading

Posted in Czech, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment