關(guān)于簡單的英文詩歌朗誦
關(guān)于簡單的英文詩歌朗誦
詩歌本身包含的豐富社會生活內(nèi)容和藝術(shù)內(nèi)涵,詩歌語言的獨(dú)特的美與和諧都使它們具有無窮的魅力,所以凡學(xué)習(xí)英語文學(xué)的人都會情不自禁要對英語詩歌傾注特別的熱情和關(guān)注。小編精心收集了關(guān)于簡單的英文詩歌，供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!
關(guān)于簡單的英文詩歌篇1
Two Countries
by Naomi Shihab Nye
Skin remembers how long the years grow
when skin is not touched， a gray tunnel
of singleness， feather lost from the tail
of a bird， swirling onto a step，
swept away by someone who never saw
it was a feather. Skin ate， walked，
slept by itself， knew how to raise a
see-you-later hand. But skin felt
it was never seen， never known as
a land on the map， nose like a city，
hip like a city， gleaming dome of the mosque
and the hundred corridors of cinnamon and rope.
Skin had hope， that's what skin does.
Heals over the scarred place， makes a road.
Love means you breathe in two countries.
And skin remembers——silk， spiny grass，
deep in the pocket that is skin's secret own.
Even now， when skin is not alone，
it remembers being alone and thanks something larger
that there are travelers， that people go places
larger than themselves.
關(guān)于簡單的英文詩歌篇2
Twilight: After Haying
by Jane Kenyon
Yes， long shadows go out
from the bales; and yes， the soul
must part from the body：
what else could it do?
The men sprawl near the baler，
too tired to leave the field.
They talk and smoke，
and the tips of their cigarettes
blaze like small roses
in the night air. (It arrived
and settled among them
before they were aware.)
The moon comes
to count the bales，
and the dispossessed
Whip-poor-will， Whip-poor-will
sings from the dusty stubble.
These things happen. . .the soul's bliss
and suffering are bound together
like the grasses. . .
The last， sweet exhalations
of timothy and vetch
go out with the song of the bird;
the ravaged field
grows wet with dew.
關(guān)于簡單的英文詩歌篇3
Two Horses and a Dog
by James Galvin
Without external reference，
The world presents itself
In perfect clarity.
Wherewithal， arrested moments，
The throes of demystification，
Morality as nothing more
Than humility and honesty， a salty measure.
Then it was a cold snap，
Weather turned lethal so it was easier
To feel affinity
With lodgepole stands， rifted aspens，
And grim， tenacious sage.
History accelerates till it misses the turns.
Wars are shorter now
Just to fit into it.
One day you know you are no longer young
Because you've stopped loving your own desperation.
You change life to loneliness in your mind
And， you know， you need to change it back.
Statistics show that
One in every five
Women
Is essential to my survival.
My daughter asks how wide is lightning.
That depends， but I don't know on what.
Probably the dimension of inner hugeness，
As in a speck of dirt.
It was an honor to suffer humiliation and refusal.
Shame was an honor.
It was an honor to freeze your ass horseback
In the year's first blizzard，
Looking for strays that never materialized.
It was an honor to break apart against this，
An honor to fail at well-being
As the high peaks accepted the first snow -
A sigh of relief.
Time stands still
And we things go whizzing past it，
Queasy and lonely，
Wearing dogtags with scripture on them.
關(guān)于簡單的英文詩歌篇4
Sexism
by David Lehman
The happiest moment in a woman's life
Is when she hears the turn of her lover's key
In the lock， and pretends to be asleep
When he enters the room， trying to be
Quiet but clumsy， bumping into things，
And she can smell the liquor on his breath
But forgives him because she has him back
And doesn't have to sleep alone.
The happiest moment in a man's life
Is when he climbs out of bed
With a woman， after an hour's sleep，
After making love， and pulls on
His trousers， and walks outside，
And pees in the bushes， and sees
The high August sky full of stars
And gets in his car and drives home.
關(guān)于簡單的英文詩歌篇5
Radio, Radio
by Ben Doyle
In the middle of every field，
obscured from the side by grass
or cornhusks， is a clearing where
she works burying swans alive
into the black earth. She only
buries their bodies， their wings.
She packs the dirt tight around
their noodle necks & they shake
like long eyelashes in a hurricane.
She makes me feed them by hand
twice a day for one full year： grain，
bits of chopped fish. Then she
takes me to the tin toolshed.
Again she shows me the world
inside her silver transistor radio.
She hands me the scythe.
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