唯美英語詩歌精選讀本
唯美英語詩歌精選讀本
“詩是百花之蜜,一切學(xué)問的精髓,智慧的本質(zhì),天使的語言。”詩歌在人類語言發(fā)蒙之時(shí)就產(chǎn)生了,原始人在勞動(dòng)過程中的呼聲、祭祀過程中的歌詞都可以成為詩歌。本文是唯美英語詩歌，希望對(duì)大家有幫助!
唯美英語詩歌：Scullers at Dawn
Arne Weingart
Like all artists
you start out in the dark
pushing off
alone from the silent docks
of the thousand
black rivers and black lakes
with no special
purpose in mind not transport
or carnage
or measurement not even
for pleasure
exactly but for speed in
these narrow
fragile boats you tie in and
you move your slides
forward you set your hands
at the catch
and now all at once you pull
the sun explodes
like blood behind your eyes
and the black world
moves under you toward morning
唯美英語詩歌：Good Pink. Bad Pink.
Carol Potter
When the child in mid-tantrum tried riding her pink scooter
directly off the platform and onto the packed train at 28th
& Broadway, her un-brushed hair bunched up in the back, her pink
jacket open, limbs flailing, we pretended to not see. Next to me
a man was leafing through the Sotheby's catalogue. Out the corner
of my eye, I could see a Matisse I'd never seen before, then
Duchamp. The edges of the woman all in pieces. Cubed. Like the child
in front of me. Hair, hands, eyeballs askew. Civilization
in its tweed coat on my left. The paintings he was studying
but would not exactly share with me. I went back to minding
my own business but then mother took the scooter back from
mad daughter who started twisting and screaming again.
I thought of telling her she could get arrested. Sent to reform school.
Adopted out. Anything. Her older sister smiled at me beatifically,
as if to say, Look what I put up with. She'd been dissembling,
enjoying her sister's disintegration. Someone else the bad one.
Which I never got from my sister, nor her from me. That public tantrum.
What we took apart we took apart quietly and in private.
Like that nude descending her staircase, one piece at a time; the steps
not looking like steps. Just odd blocks.
唯美英語詩歌：Thirst
Nikia Leopold
The marigold has grown
So dense with leaves
and pungent blossoms,
rain glances from it,
missing the glazed pot.
Even in this downpour, roots
know drought, flowers wilt,
the way we extend ourselves,
obscuring our deepest needs,
sleeping without dreams,
growing cover that kills.
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