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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)于簡(jiǎn)單的英文詩(shī)朗誦

      關(guān)于簡(jiǎn)單的英文詩(shī)朗誦

      時(shí)間: 韋彥867 分享

      關(guān)于簡(jiǎn)單的英文詩(shī)朗誦

        詩(shī)歌朗讀、學(xué)習(xí)詩(shī)歌、并進(jìn)行詩(shī)歌創(chuàng)作和翻譯過(guò)程中都是一種美的感受,能夠讓學(xué)生體會(huì)其特有的韻律美,盡情發(fā)揮想象,馳騁在詩(shī)歌的海洋中。小編精心收集了關(guān)于簡(jiǎn)單的英文詩(shī),供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!

        關(guān)于簡(jiǎn)單的英文詩(shī)篇1

        Report from the Skinhouse

        by Jan Beatty

        I went looking for the body.

        The apple, tree, the river.

        Gliding voice, curve of arm,pearly blue uterus.

        Muscled calf, the neptune green eye,

        blood with the same taste as mine.

        Why do I write my report this way?

        An adopted child needs to find a face.

        What does a real mother's body look like?

        River, chalkline, bloody cave?

        I am replica of nothing.

        birthmother, conjurer, boneshaker, witch,

        let me smell your skin just once,

        I'll give you your bloody daughter.

        關(guān)于簡(jiǎn)單的英文詩(shī)篇2

        Rhode Island

        by William Meredith

        Here at the seashore they use the clouds over & over

        again, like the rented animals in A?da.

        In the late morning the land breeze

        turns and now the extras are driving

        all the white elephants the other way.

        What language are the children shouting in?

        He is lying on the beach listening.

        The sand knocks like glass, struck by bare heels.

        He tries to remember snow noise.

        Would powder snow ping like that?

        But you don't lie with your ear to powder snow.

        Why doesn't the girl who takes care

        of the children, a Yale girl without flaw,

        know the difference between lay and lie?

        He tries to remember snow, his season.

        The mind is in charge of things then.

        Summer is for animals, the ocean is erotic,

        all that openness and swaying.

        No matter how often you make love

        in August you're always aware of genitalia,

        your own and the half-naked others'.

        Even with the gracefulest bathers

        you're aware of their kinship with porpoises,

        mammals disporting themselves in a blue element,

        smelling slightly of fish. Porpoise Hazard

        watches himself awhile, like a blue movie.

        In the other hemisphere now people

        are standing up, at work at their easels.

        There they think about love at night

        when they take off their serious clothes

        and go to bed sandlessly, under blankets.

        Today the children, his own among them,

        are apparently shouting fluently in Portuguese,

        using the colonial dialect of Brazil.

        It is just as well, they have all been changed

        into small shrill marginal animals,

        he would not want to understand them again

        until after Labor Day. He just lays there.

        關(guān)于簡(jiǎn)單的英文詩(shī)篇3

        Parent's Pantoum

        by Carolyn Kizer

        for Maxine Kumin

        Where did these enormous children come from,

        More ladylike than we have ever been?

        Some of ours look older than we feel.

        How did they appear in their long dresses

        More ladylike than we have ever been?

        But they moan about their aging more than we do,

        In their fragile heels and long black dresses.

        They say they admire our youthful spontaneity.

        They moan about their aging more than we do,

        A somber group——why don't they brighten up?

        Though they say they admire our youthful spontaneity

        They beg us to be dignified like them

        As they ignore our pleas to brighten up.

        Someday perhaps we'll capture their attention

        Then we won't try to be dignified like them

        Nor they to be so gently patronizing.

        Someday perhaps we'll capture their attention.

        Don't they know that we're supposed to be the stars?

        Instead they are so gently patronizing.

        It makes us feel like children——second-childish?

        Perhaps we're too accustomed to be stars.

        The famous flowers glowing in the garden,

        So now we pout like children. Second-childish?

        Quaint fragments of forgotten history?

        Our daughters stroll together in the garden,

        Chatting of news we've chosen to ignore,

        Pausing to toss us morsels of their history,

        Not questions to which only we know answers.

        Eyes closed to news we've chosen to ignore,

        We'd rather excavate old memories,

        Disdaining age, ignoring pain, avoiding mirrors.

        Why do they never listen to our stories?

        Because they hate to excavate old memories

        They don't believe our stories have an end.

        They don't ask questions because they dread the answers.

        They don't see that we've become their mirrors,

        We offspring of our enormous children.

        
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