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學(xué)習(xí)啦 > 學(xué)習(xí)英語 > 英語閱讀 > 英語詩歌 > 適合大學(xué)生朗誦的英文詩歌

適合大學(xué)生朗誦的英文詩歌

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適合大學(xué)生朗誦的英文詩歌

  英語詩歌以其獨(dú)特的文體形式充分調(diào)動、發(fā)揮語言的各種潛能,使之具有特殊的感染力。讀來雋永,富有音韻美。小編精心收集了適合大學(xué)生朗誦的英文詩歌,供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!

  適合大學(xué)生朗誦的英文詩歌篇1

  My Parents Have Come Home Laughing

  by Mark Jarman

  My parents have come home laughing

  From the feast for Robert Burns, late, on foot;

  They have leaned against graveyard walls,

  Have bent double in the glittering frost,

  Their bladders heavy with tea and ginger.

  Burns, suspended in a drop, is flicked away

  As they wipe their eyes, and is not offended.

  What could offend him? Not the squeaking bagpipe

  Nor the haggis which, when it was sliced, collapsed

  In a meal of blood and oats

  Nor the man who read a poem by Scott

  As the audience hissed embarrassment

  Nor the principal speaker whose topic,

  "Burns' View of Crop Rotation," was intended

  For farmers, who were not present,

  Nor his attempt to cover this error, reciting

  The only Burns poem all evening,

  "Nine Inch Will Please a Lady," to thickening silence.

  They drop their coats in the hall,

  Mother first to the toilet, then Father,

  And then stand giggling at the phone,

  Debating a call to the States, decide no,

  And the strength to keep laughing breaks

  In a sigh. I hear, as their tired ribs

  Press together, their bedroom door not close

  And hear also a weeping from both of them

  That seems not to be pain, and it comforts me

  適合大學(xué)生朗誦的英文詩歌篇2

  My Century

  by Alan Feldman

  The year I was born the atomic bomb went off.

  Here I'd just begun, and someone

  found the switch to turn off the world.

  In the furnace-light, in the central solar fire

  of that heat lamp, the future got very finite,

  and it was possible to imagine time-travelers

  failing to arrive, because there was no time

  to arrive in. Inside the clock in the hall

  heavy brass cylinders descended.

  Tick-tock, the chimes changed their tune

  one phrase at a time. The bomb became

  a film star, its glamorous globe of smoke

  searing the faces of men in beach chairs.

  Someone threw up every day at school.

  No time to worry about collective death,

  when life itself was permeated by ordeals.

  And so we grew up accepting things.

  In bio we learned there were particles

  cruising through us like whales through archipelagoes,

  and in civics that if Hitler had gotten the bomb

  he'd have used it on the inferior races,

  and all this time love was etching its scars

  on our skins like maps. The heavens

  remained pure, except for little white slits

  on the perfect blue skin that planes cut

  in the icy upper air, like needles sewing.

  From one, a tiny seed might fall

  that would make a sun on earth.

  And so the century passed, with me still in it,

  books waiting on the shelves to become cinders,

  what we felt locked up inside, waiting to be read,

  down the long corridor of time. I was born

  the year the bomb exploded. Twice

  whole cities were charred like cities in the Bible,

  but we didn't look back. We went on thinking

  we could go on, our shapes the same,

  darkened now against a background lit by fire.

  Forgive me for doubting you're there,

  Citizens, on your holodecks with earth wallpaper-

  a shadow-toned ancestor with poorly pressed pants,

  protected like a child from knowing the future.

  適合大學(xué)生朗誦的英文詩歌篇3

  My Aunts

  by Adam Zagajewski (Translated by Clare Cavanagh)

  Always caught up in what they called

  the practical side of life

  (theory was for Plato),

  up to their elbows in furniture, in bedding,

  in cupboards and kitchen gardens,

  they never neglected the lavender sachets

  that turned a linen closet to a meadow.

  The practical side of life,

  like the Moon's unlighted face,

  didn't lack for mysteries;

  when Christmastime drew near,

  life became pure praxis

  and resided temporarily in hallways,

  took refuge in suitcases and satchels.

  And when somebody died it happened

  even in our family, alas

  my aunts, preoccupied

  with death's practical side,

  forgot at last about the lavender,

  whose frantic scent bloomed selflessly

  beneath a heavy snow of sheets.

  Don't just do something, sit there.

  And so I have, so I have,

  the seasons curling around me like smoke,

  Gone to the end of the earth and back without sound

  
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