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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 > 超級(jí)經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)歌欣賞

超級(jí)經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)歌欣賞

時(shí)間: 韋彥867 分享

超級(jí)經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)歌欣賞

  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)啦小編整理了超級(jí)經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)歌,歡迎閱讀!

  超級(jí)經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)歌篇一

  Stone Bird

  by Pattiann Rogers

  I remember you. You‘re the one

  who lifted your ancient bones

  of fossil rock, pulled yourself free

  of the strata like a plaster figure

  rising from its own mold, became

  flesh and feather, took wing,

  arrested the sky.

  You‘re the one who, though marble,

  floated as beautifully as a white

  blossom on the pond all summer,

  who, though skeletal and particled

  like winter, glimmered as solid as a bird

  of cut crystal in the icy trees.

  You are redbird—sandstone

  wings and agate eyes—at dusk.

  You are greybird—polished granite

  and pearl eyes—just before dawn,

  midnight bird with a reflective

  vacancy of heart like a mirror

  of pure obsidian.

  You‘re the one who flew down

  to that river from the heavens,

  as if your form alone were the only

  holy message needed. You were alabaster

  then in the noonday sun.

  Once I saw you rise without rising

  from your prison pedestal

  in the garden beneath the lime tree.

  At that moment your ghost

  in its haunting permeated every

  regality of the forest with light,

  reigned with disdain in thin air

  above the mountain, sank in union

  with the crosswinds of the sea.

  I remember you. You‘re the one

  who entered in through my death

  as if it were an open window

  and you were the sound of the serenade

  being sung outside for me, the words

  of which, I know now, are of freedom

  cast in stone forever.

  超級(jí)經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)歌篇二

  Such a Good Dancer

  by Douglas Goetsch

  Desperate to be part of the night,

  we jerked like a bunch of spazzes

  to that screaming eunuch, Michael Jackson.

  Randi Muelbach kept remarking

  You're such a good dancer!

  drawing closer, letting me grab her

  saggy ass. My boogying was a sort

  of two-step hip gyration while holding

  my plastic cup of grain alcohol level.

  I had perfected the arm that remained still,

  kept it out like a bird feeder. Randi

  glued elbows to waist and swung

  forearms, hands and hips furiously.

  She was sweating something fierce.

  Her perfume was foul swamp flowers.

  From the futon on her floor I watched

  her pull her dress over her head.

  Fat and sadly flat-chested,

  legs already bluing with veins, thick

  knees knocked in, the way the back

  wheels of a Volkswagen buckle with a load.

  Disgusted with myself——two years

  in college and still a virgin——I would

  stick my dick in a girl and end that.

  As she stepped out of her underwear

  I said, After tonight I don't want us

  to ever talk again. OK?

  That's what I said.

  She looked down at me and said

  Sure, like it was nothing.

  Through the cinderblock walls

  I could hear that whole dorm writhing

  on a Saturday night. Even Kim Putnam,

  the born again who wore only long skirts

  and was losing her hair, was getting banged

  and moaning like a wild woman.

  Sometimes it sounded like a crowd

  ooh-ing and ahh-ing at a car accident;

  sometimes I heard the night as one fuck

  xeroxed and traveling room to room

  like a rumor, or luck——good or bad,

  either way, I wriggled and fought

  on top of Randi Muelbach,

  who kept whispering in my ear

  Such a good dancer.

  超級(jí)經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)歌篇三

  Summer Holiday

  by Robinson Jeffers

  When the sun shouts and people abound

  One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of

  bronze

  And the iron age; iron the unstable metal;

  Steel made of iron, unstable as his mother; the tow-

  ered-up cities

  Will be stains of rust on mounds of plaster.

  Roots will not pierce the heaps for a time, kind rains

  will cure them,

  Then nothing will remain of the iron age

  And all these people but a thigh-bone or so, a poem

  Stuck in the world's thought, splinters of glass

  In the rubbish dumps, a concrete dam far off in the

  mountain……

  超級(jí)經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)歌篇四

  Suicide of a Moderate Dictator

  by Elizabeth Bishop

  This is a day when truths will out, perhaps;

  leak from the dangling telephone earphones

  sapping the festooned switchboards' strength;

  fall from the windows, blow from off the sills,

  —the vague, slight unremarkable contents

  of emptying ash-trays; rub off on our fingers

  like ink from the un-proof-read newspapers,

  crocking the way the unfocused photographs

  of crooked faces do that soil our coats,

  our tropical-wight coats, like slapped-at moths.

  Today's a day when those who work

  are idling. Those who played must work

  and hurry, too, to get it downe,

  with little dignity or none.

  The newspapers are sold; the kiosk shutters

  crash down. But anyway, in the night

  the headlines wrote themselves, see, on the streets

  and sidewalks everywhere; a sediment's splashed

  even to the first floors of apartment houses.

  This is a day that's beautiful as well,

  warm and clear. At seven o'clock I saw

  the dogs being walked along the famous beach

  as usual, in a shiny gray-green dawn,

  leaving their paw prints draining in the wet.

  The line of breakers was steady and the pinkish,

  segmented rainbow steadily hung above it.

  At eight, two little boys were flying kites.

  
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