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學(xué)習(xí)啦 > 學(xué)習(xí)英語 > 英語閱讀 > 英語詩歌 > 著名的英文詩歌有哪些

著名的英文詩歌有哪些

時間: 韋彥867 分享

著名的英文詩歌有哪些

  英語文學(xué)中,詩歌極其豐富多彩,學(xué)英文而不懂英文詩歌,不僅從審美角度看是個遺憾,而且從語言學(xué)習(xí)角度看,學(xué)一些詩歌,語言能力會大大提高。小編精心收集了著名的英文詩歌,供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!

  著名的英文詩歌篇1

  Night on the Great River [three translations]

  by Meng Hao-jan

  Translated by Gary Snyder, Kenneth Rexroth and William Carlos Williams

  (I)

  Steering my little boat towards a misty islet,

  I watch the sun descend while my sorrows grow:

  In the vast night the sky hangs lower than the treetops,

  But in the blue lake the moon is coming close.

  [translated by William Carlos Williams]

  (II)

  Night on the Great River

  We anchor the boat alongside a hazy island.

  As the sun sets I am overwhelmed with nostalgia.

  The plain stretches away without limit.

  The sky is just above the tree tops.

  The river flows quietly by.

  The moon comes down amongst men.

  [translated by Kenneth Rexroth]

  (III)

  Mooring on Chien-te River

  The boat rocks at anchor by the misty island

  Sunset, my loneliness comes again.

  In these vast wilds the sky arches down to the trees.

  In the clear river water, the moon draws near.

  [translated by Gary Snyder]

  著名的英文詩歌篇2

  Nights

  by Harvey Shapiro

  Drunk and weeping. It‘s another night

  at the live-in opera, and I figure

  it‘s going to turn out badly for me.

  The dead next door accept their salutations,

  their salted notes, the drawn-out wailing.

  It‘s we the living who must run for cover,

  meaning me. Mortality‘s the ABC of it,

  and after that comes lechery and lying.

  And, oh, how to piece together a life

  from this scandal and confusion, as if

  the gods were inhabiting us or cohabiting

  with us, just for the music‘s sake

  著名的英文詩歌篇3

  Ontario

  by Mark Levine

  Beauty in its winter slippers pproached us by degrees on the gravel path.

  We were hitching a ride out; had been hitching.

  Our suitcase freighted with a few gardening tools lifted from the shed while the old man,

  old enough,looked away.

  He who went fishing at night (so he said) carrying in his pail a nest of tiny flame.

  We were headed, headed out,we were going in a direction.

  No tricks or intrigue, just a noisy ineptness.

  If that's a word. Beauty, dipped in resin beneath its shag,

  was always ready with the right curse to recite to our nature.

  It is in us, it is,in the smokehouse in the woods and the old man looked away.

  Song of experience.

  There were treads in the snow.

  We waited for our hitch.

  There were train tracks which stung with clods of this region's rare clay.

  We were boys, boyish, almost girls.

  Left alone on the roof, we would have dwindled.

  Incrimination called to us from the city and its fog-blacked lake,

  called to us from the salvaged farms beyond the lake,

  from the wilds beyond that.

  Guilty was good

  著名的英文詩歌篇4

  Opal

  by Amy Lowell

  You are ice and fire,

  The touch of you burns my hands like snow.

  You are cold and flame.

  You are the crimson of amaryllis,

  The silver of moon-touched magnolias.

  When I am with you,

  My heart is a frozen pond

  Gleaming with agitated torches.

  著名的英文詩歌篇5

  Operation Memory

  by David Lehman

  We were smoking some of this knockout weed when

  Operation Memory was announced. To his separate bed

  Each soldier went, counting backwards from a hundred

  With a needle in his arm. And there I was, in the middle

  Of a recession, in the middle of a strange city, between jobs

  And apartments and wives. Nobody told me the gun was loaded.

  We'd been drinking since early afternoon. I was loaded.

  The doctor made me recite my name, rank, and serial number when

  I woke up, sweating, in my civvies. All my friends had jobs

  As professional liars, and most had partners who were good in bed.

  What did I have? Just this feeling of always being in the middle

  Of things, and the luck of looking younger than fifty.

  At dawn I returned to draft headquarters. I was eighteen

  And counting backwards. The interviewer asked one loaded

  Question after another, such as why I often read the middle

  Of novels, ignoring their beginnings and their ends. when

  Had I decided to volunteer for intelligence work? "In bed

  With a broad," I answered, with locker-room bravado. The truth was, jobs

  Were scarce, and working on Operation Memory was better than no job

  At all. Unamused, the judge looked at his watch. It was 1970

  By the time he spoke. Recommending clemency, he ordered me to go to bed

  At noon and practice my disappearing act. Someone must have loaded

  The harmless gun on the wall in Act I when

  I was asleep. And there I was, without an alibi, in the middle

  Of a journey down nameless, snow-covered streets, in the middle

  Of a mystery——or a muddle. These were the jobs

  That saved men's souls, or so I was told, but when

  The orphans assembled for their annual reunion, ten

  Years later, on the playing fields of Eton, each unloaded

  A kit bag full of troubles, and smiled bravely, and went to bed.

  Thanks to Operation Memory, each of us woke up in a different bed

  Or coffin, with a different partner beside him, in the middle

  Of a war that had never been declared. No one had time to load

  His weapon or see to any of the dozen essential jobs

  Preceding combat duty. And there I was, dodging bullets, merely one

  In a million whose lucky number had come up. When

  It happened, I was asleep in bed, and when I woke up,

  It was over: I was 38, on the brink of middle age,

  A succession of stupid jobs behind me, a loaded gun on my lap

  
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