唯美經(jīng)典英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌大全
唯美經(jīng)典英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌大全
英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌是高雅的語(yǔ)言藝術(shù)之一,大多是對(duì)真、善、美的謳歌,對(duì)人類精神文明的禮贊,是光華燦爛的明珠、美妙絕倫的樂(lè)曲;是形美、聲美、意美的和諧統(tǒng)一。小編精心收集了唯美經(jīng)典英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌，供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!
唯美經(jīng)典英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌：Otherhood
D. A. Powell
I spent a long time preparing to be an other.
Evening classes at the church in the basement
with my partner (he wanted to be an other too)
panting on the floor. Breathe. Breathe.
We didn't fit in with the other others.
But we wanted to be others so we did
what the other experts told us. You'll be good
as others. Trust your natural othering instinct.
My other instinct was to flee. Somehow
I managed to be a good other, a model
other the others could point at and say
that's what an other should do. That's how
an other should be. I helped other others
other along the way. A kind of other support.
But I was never cut out to be an other.
That's the thing. I do not think other
well. Some others are just good at it.
Other others, like me, should just leave
it to others, and let the others take charge.
Who do I look like anyway. Your other.
唯美經(jīng)典英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌：Road Metal
Timothy McBride
-- for my grandmother, Margaret Kelly
"You don't need that," she'd tell us when we'd beg
Two cents for bubblegum or licorice.
A bricklayer's daughter, she'd grown up hard
As cement -- never reached 100 pounds,
Lived on potatoes and tea, cut her own hair.
Husband gone, youngest child killed in the street,
She carried a ball peen hammer up her sleeve
On the daily walks she made us take all over town,
Crossing the river and the canal, circling the miles
Of Eastman Kodak's smokestacks, through the invisible
Hops-scented cloud of the Genesee Brewery,
Past the burned-out storefronts of the '67 riots,
Never stopping at the church where the brother
She wouldn't speak to, a Catholic priest,
Celebrated morning mass. We followed her
Through drain pipes and alleys. We crawled under a gap
She found in the fence beside the KEEP OUT sign
And up onto the tracks of the New York Central Line,
Startled when she unclasped (this once) her change purse
And gave us each three pennies to lay on the polished rail.
When the tank cars and ore jennies had passed,
We sifted through the ballast rock
She said was called "road metal," excited as prospectors
For the ruined and unspendable glints of warm copper
Lincoln's face flattened to a smudge
Our first lesson in what our city's daily freight
Can do to words like "God" and "Trust."
唯美經(jīng)典英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌：Apples
Gillian Clarke
They fill with heat, dewfall, a night of rain.
In a week they have reddened, the seed gone black
in each star-heart. Soft thud of fruit
in the deepening heat of the day.
Out of the delicate petals of secret skin
and that irreversible moment when the fruit set,
such a hard harvest, so cold and sharp on the tongue.
They look up from the grass, too many to save.
A lapful of windfalls with worms in their hearts,
under my thumb the pulse of original sin,
flesh going brown as the skin curls over my knife.
I drown them in water and wine, pushing them under,
then breathe apples simmering in sugar and spice,
fermenting under the tree in sacs of juice
so swollen they'd burst under a wasp's foot.
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