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关于简单好背的英文诗

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  关于简单好背的英文诗篇1

  Twenty Twenty Vision

  by Mark Ford

  Unwinding in a cavernous bodega he suddenly

  Burst out:——Barman, these tumblers empty themselves

  And yet I persist; I am wedged in the giant eye

  Of an invisible needle. Walking through doors

  Or into them, listening to anecdotes or myself spinning

  A yarn, I realize my doom is never to forget

  My lost bearings. In medias res we begin

  And end: I was born, and then my body unfurled

  As if to illustrate a few tiny but effective words

  But——oh my oh my——avaunt. I peered

  Forth, stupefied, from the bushes as the sun set

  Behind distant hills. A pair of hungry owls

  Saluted the arrival of webby darkness; the dew

  Descended upon the creeping ferns. At first

  My sticky blood refused to flow, gathering instead

  In wax-like drops and pools; mixed with water and a dram

  Of colourless alcohol it thinned and reluctantly

  Ebbed away. I lay emptied as a fallen

  Leaf until startled awake by a blinding flash

  Of dry lightning, and the onset of this terrible thirst.

  关于简单好背的英文诗篇2

  September

  by Joanne Kyger

  The grasses are light brown

  and ocean comes in

  long shimmering lines

  under the fleet from last night

  which dozes now in the early morning

  Here and there horses graze

  On somebody's acreage

  Strangely, it was not my desire

  that bade me speak in church to be released

  but memory of the way it used to be in

  careless and exotic play

  when characters were promises

  then recognitions. The world of transformation

  is real and not real but trusting.

  Enough of the lessons? I mean

  didactic phrases to take you in and out of

  love's mysterious bonds?

  Well I myself am not myself

  and which power of survival I speak

  for is not made of houses.

  It is inner luxury, of golden figures

  that breathe like mountains do

  and whose skin is made dusky by stars.

  O fresh day in February

  Come along

  with me under pine whose new cones

  make flowers. In a mellow mood

  let's take anything

  and you're better

  in the peaceful flowing

  in the bech

  in the bird who flys up

  out of coyote bush,

  bob cat who crosses the road.

  For who could think I could see

  the grace of other souls born, and reborn

  before in crab shells

  snail shells, the head of a grebe

  molesin, new onions up. Drawn by

  your clever sleigh of tortoise

  I listen for the melody

  to sing along.

  关于简单好背的英文诗篇3

  Sakura Park

  by Rachel Wetzsteon

  The park admits the wind,

  the petals lift and scatter

  like versions of myself I was on the verge

  of becoming; and ten years on

  and ten blocks down I still can‘t tell

  whether this dispersal resembles

  a fist unclenching or waving goodbye.

  But the petals scatter faster,

  seeking the rose, the cigarette vendor,

  and at least I‘ve got by pumping heart

  some rules of conduct: refuse to choose

  between turning pages and turning heads

  though the stubborn dine alone. Get over

  “getting over”: dark clouds don‘t fade

  but drift with ever deeper colors.

  Give up on rooted happiness

  (the stolid trees on fire!) and sweet reprieve

  (a poor park but my own) will follow.

  There is still a chance the empty gazebo

  will draw crowds from the greater world.

  And meanwhile, meanwhile‘s far from nothing:

  the humming moment, the rustle of cherry trees

  关于简单好背的英文诗篇4

  To the Tune of "Telling My Most Intimate Feelings"

  by Li Ch'ing-chao (Translated by Arthur Sze)

  When night comes,

  I am so flushed with wine,

  I undo my hair slowly:

  a plum calyx is

  stuck on a damaged branch.

  I wake dazed when smoke

  breaks my spring sleep.

  The dream distant,

  so very distant;

  and it is quiet, so very quiet.

  The moon spins and spins.

  The kingfisher blinds are drawn;

  and yet I rub the injured bud,

  and yet I twist in my fingers this fragrance,

  and yet I possess these moments of time!

  关于简单好背的英文诗篇5

  Salmon

  by Kim Addonizio

  In this shallow creek

  they flop and writhe forward as the dead

  float back toward them. Oh, I know

  what I should say: fierce burning in the body

  as her eggs burst free, milky cloud

  of sperm as he quickens them. I should stand

  on the bridge with my camera,

  frame the white froth of rapids where one

  arcs up for an instant in its final grace.

  But I have to go down among

  the rocks the glacier left

  and squat at the edge of the water

  where a stinking pile of them lies,

  where one crow balances and sinks

  its beak into a gelid eye.

  I have to study the small holes

  gouged into their skin, their useless gills,

  their gowns of black flies. I can't

  make them sing. I want to,

  but all they do is open

  their mouths a little wider

  so the water pours in

  until I feel like I'm drowning.

  On the bridge the tour bus waits

  and someone waves, and calls down

  It's time, and the current keeps lifting

  dirt from the bottom to cover the eggs.

  
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