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      學(xué)習(xí)啦 > 學(xué)習(xí)英語(yǔ) > 英語(yǔ)閱讀 > 英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌 > 關(guān)于著名英文詩(shī)歌朗誦精選

      關(guān)于著名英文詩(shī)歌朗誦精選

      時(shí)間: 韋彥867 分享

      關(guān)于著名英文詩(shī)歌朗誦精選

        詩(shī)歌是人類的語(yǔ)言瑰寶,可以提高人的精神修養(yǎng)、藝術(shù)修養(yǎng)和語(yǔ)言修養(yǎng)。學(xué)習(xí)啦小編整理了關(guān)于著名英文詩(shī)歌,歡迎閱讀!

        關(guān)于著名英文詩(shī)歌篇一

        Once in the 40's

        by William Stafford

        We were alone one night on a long

        road in Montana. This was in winter, a big

        night, far to the stars. We had hitched,

        my wife and I, and left our ride at

        a crossing to go on. Tired and cold but

        brave—we trudged along. This, we said,

        was our life, watched over, allowed to go

        where we wanted. We said we'd come back some time

        when we got rich. We'd leave the others and find

        a night like this, whatever we had to give,

        and no matter how far, to be so happy again

        關(guān)于著名英文詩(shī)歌篇二

        National Poetry Month

        by Elaine Equi

        When a poem speaks by itself,it has a spark

        and can be considered part of a divine conversation.

        Sometimes the poem weaves like a basket around two loaves of yellow bread.

        "Break off a piece of this April with its raisin nipples," it says.

        "And chew them slowly under your pillow. You belong in bed with me."

        On the other hand,when a poem speaks in the voice of a celebrity

        it is called television or a movie. "There is nothing to see,"

        say Robert De Niro,though his poem bleeds all along the edges

        like a puddle crudely outlined with yellow tape

        at the crime scene of spring.

        "It is an old poem," he adds.

        "And besides,I was very young when I made it."

        關(guān)于著名英文詩(shī)歌篇三

        On Translation

        by Mónica de la Torre

        Not to search for meaning, but to reedify a gesture, an intent.

        As a translator, one grows attached to originals.

        Seldom are choices so purposeful.

        At midday, the translator meets with the poet at a café at the intersection

        where for decades whores and cross-dressers have lined up at night for passers-by toperuse.

        Not a monologue, but an implied conversation.

        The translator's response is delayed.

        The translator asks, the poet answers unrestrictedly.

        Someone watches the hand movements that punctuate the flow of an incomprehensible dialogue.

        They're speaking about the poet's disillusionment with Freud.

        One after another, vivid descriptions of the poet's dreams begin to pour out of his mouth.

        There's no signal of irony in his voice.

        Nor a hint of astonishment, nor a suggestion of hidden meanings,

        rather a belief in the detritus theory.

        關(guān)于著名英文詩(shī)歌篇四

        One First Try and then Another

        by Brian Blanchfield

        Careful, a night set on edge

        the European tradition of virtuoso

        and the raw desire to articulate.

        I pushed them both backward on the bed in the end

        and each played on, one first

        try and then another.

        Soft then on succession thought.

        The instrument all torso is loved where are held

        fitting the flown down housemartin with a reed

        or belying midway uncertainty

        in tandem the hands, and acts adolescent.

        A natural vaults a natural

        development, his farther back barn jacket

        American and strewn as if spare.

        Thought soft the crescendo all along

        saws, neither stroke inward or from the heart

        except it begins unbecoming

        building in roomy youth.

        We have our no, libido, go.

        Then all limbs arms and loudly I don't want to

        play down the skillless touch

        關(guān)于著名英文詩(shī)歌篇五

        Natural Causes

        by Mark Cox

        Because my son saw the round hay bales——

        1200 pounds apiece, shrink-wrapped in white plastic——

        lining the fields,

        we have had to search all evening

        for marshmallows.

        Two stores were out. Another

        had one stale and shrunken bag.

        The fourth had three bags, but no wood for fire,

        so we went back to the first.

        And I needed newspaper to start the kindling,

        which is how I know Earl Softy died Monday,

        at home, in his sleep, of natural causes. So rarely

        we know how we know what we know.

        Don't turn the page. Sit with us awhile,

        here by the fire in New Hampshire.

        Have a marshmallow.

        Because my wife and I love each other

        and wanted something of, and more than, ourselves;

        because my little son has imagined heaven in the pasture land,

        even death tastes sweet

        
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