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.

“I Know the Only Truth…”

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Marina Tsvetaeva (1892 – 1941) 1915 I know the only truth! The others – cast aside! There’s no need for the men of Earth to fight with others! Look, there’s the … Continue reading

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to my love

…from the quills of the dead white poets Edmund Spenser (1552 – 1599) One day I wrote her name upon the sand But came the waves and washed it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came … Continue reading

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The Vagabond

…from the quills of the dead white poets Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 – 1894) From Songs of Travel Give to me the life I love, Let the lave go by me, Give the jolly heaven above And the byway night … Continue reading

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The Dismantled Ship

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   In some unused lagoon, some nameless bay, On sluggish, lonesome waters, anchor’d near the shore, An old, dismasted, gray and batter’d ship, disabled, done, After … Continue reading

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Večer

…from the quills of the dead white poets Fráňa Šrámek (1877 -1952) Přetiché ruce modřínů a tišší ještě tvář, v těch tichých rukách spočinu a zahledím se v tvář: Co bylo, už se jenom zdá, co zdálo se, je blíž, … Continue reading

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Life

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   Ever the undiscouraged, resolute, struggling soul of man; (Have former armies fail’d? Then we send fresh armies – and fresh again;) Ever grappled mystery of all … Continue reading

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“No, Not with You…”

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Mikhail Lermontov (1814 – 1841) 1841 No, not with you I fell in love so fast, And not for me your beauty is succeeding; I love in you my suffering preceding, … Continue reading

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Večer

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Fráňa Šrámek (1877 -1952) Přetiché ruce modřínů a tišší ještě tvář, v těch tichých rukách spočinu a zahledím se v tvář: Co bylo, už se jenom zdá, co zdálo se, je … Continue reading

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England’s Answer

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban; Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man. Flesh of the flesh … Continue reading

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Podzim

  …from the quills of the dead white poets   Karel Toman (1877 – 1946) Hle, stříbrná hvězda v modřínech tryskla na pokraji lesa. A zádumčivý večer závoj stáh na svět i duše. Kdes v pustnoucí vile alt vroucí zpívá. … Continue reading

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When you are old

…from the quills of the dead white poets William Ernest Henley 1849 -1903 When you are old, and I am passed away – Passed, and your face, your golden face is gray – I think, whate’er the end, this dream … Continue reading

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“Night, Streets, the Lantern…”

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Alexandr Alexandrovich Blok (1880 – 1921) Night, streets, the lantern, the drugstore, The meaningless and dusky light. A quarter of the century more — All fall the same into your sight! … Continue reading

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Sentimentální žádosti

  …from the quills of the dead white poets František Gellner (1881 -1914)   Má touha rameno hubené v pláči vášnivém zvedá. Teplo zhaslého plamene v studeném popeli hledá. Sentimentální žádosti v duši mé křídlama tlukou. Má touha pláče a … Continue reading

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Tests

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   All submit to them where they sit, inner, secure, unapproachable to analysis in the soul, Not traditions, not the outer authorities are the judges, They are … Continue reading

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Pokoj s nábytkem

  …from the quills of the dead white poets František Gellner (1881 -1914) Šli světem v mladém horování zprvu – a pak již bez zájmu. U starých vdov a mladých paní své žití tráví v podnájmu. Na stěně z oprýskaných … Continue reading

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Year that Trembled and Reel’d beneath Me

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   Year that Trembled and Reel’d beneath Me! Your summer wind was warm enough, yet the air I breathed froze me, A thick gloom fell through … Continue reading

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Březen

…from the quills of the dead white poets Karel Toman (1877 – 1946) Na naší studni ráno hvízdal kos. Jde jaro, jde jaro. A když jsem okno na sad otvíral, šeptaly pukající pupeny: Jde jaro, jde jaro. Bez chvěje se … Continue reading

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The Dagger

…from the quills of the dead white poets Mikhail Lermontov (1814 – 1841) 1838 Yes, I like you, my knife of damask pledge, My friend so bright and so cold, A thoughtful Georgian forged you for his revenge, A free … Continue reading

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Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau

  …from the quills of the dead white poets William Blake (1757 – 1827) Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau: Mock on, mock on: ‘tis all in vain! You throw the sand against the wind, And the wind blows it … Continue reading

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The Grey-Eyed King

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Anna Akhmatova (1889 – 1966) Hail! Hail to thee, o, immovable pain! The young grey-eyed king had been yesterday slain. This autumnal evening was stuffy and red. My husband, returning, had … Continue reading

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