關(guān)于最經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)朗誦精選
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關(guān)于最經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)朗誦篇1
Ode to the Air Traffic Controller
by Joshua Beckman
Melbourne， Perth， Darwin， Townsville，
Belém， Durban， Lima， Xai-Xai planes
with wingspans big as high schools
eight hundred nine hundred tons a piece
gone like pollen， cumulus cirrus
altostratus nimbostratus people getting skinny
just trying to lose weight and the sky
the biggest thing anyone ever thought of
Acceptance， Vancouver， Tehran， Maui
school children balloons light blue nothing
one goes away not forever， in fact
most people， at least if you are flying
Delta， come down in Salt Lake City
Fairbanks， Kobe， Aukland， Anchorage
from Cleveland a hundred Hawaii-bound Germans
are coming in low， not to say too low
just low pull up Amsterdam pull up Miami
historically a very high-strung bunch
smokers eaters tiny planes must circle
we have bigger problems on our hands
New York， Tokyo， Hong Kong， Paris
the boy who has been ignoring dinner
throws thirteen paper planes out the window
does it look like this? Tashkent， Nome， Rio，
Hobart， yes yes it looks just like that
now do your homework Capetown Capetown
lots of rain good on one good on two
go three go four go five go six
Mau， Brak， Zella， Ghat， an African parade
good on two good on three
please speak English please speak English
good on five good on six gentlemen：
the world will let us down many times
but it will never run out of coffee
hooray! for Lagos， Accra， Freetown， Dakar
your son is on the telephone the Germans
landed safely Seattle off to Istanbul
tiny planes please circle oh tiny planes
do please please circle
關(guān)于最經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)朗誦篇2
Piazza Gimma
by Fabio Mórabito
Translated by Geoff Hargreaves
I spy on the building
closest to hand
a movement that begins
out on its balconies
as the day's routine，
the early tasks of morning
with their stock and styleless gestures，
flowers again.
I fall in love at this one hour
when people most repeat themselves，
least connected to their inner lives
and packed with habits laid down long ago.
There's a woman I observe who
constantly appears in bathrobe，
on floor eight， with coffee cup，
matronly blonde， in love with life
casting glances at her wider world while taking
two quick sips or three，
and then with an erotic shake
loosens up the sugared lees， to reach
the best of sips， the last， the sweetest. . .
all before quite waking up.
Before you quite wake up，
blonde of the morning， hold fast
to ritual tasting， self-communion.
Off from your balcony，
at last emerged from sleep，
slip inside your home， by now yourself，
make gestures of your own，
not those somebody has bequeathed to you
關(guān)于最經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)朗誦篇3
Pickle Belt
by Theodore Roethke
The fruit rolled by all day.
They prayed the cogs would creep;
They thought about Saturday pay，And Sunday sleep.
Whatever he smelled was good：
The fruit and flesh smells mixed.
There beside him she stood，——
And he， perplexed;
He， in his shrunken britches，
Eyes rimmed with pickle dust，
Prickling with all the itches Of sixteen-year-old lust
關(guān)于最經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)朗誦篇4
Panther
by Ned O'Gorman
When the panther came
no belfrey rang alarums，
no cleric spat his tea.
When the panther came
the sky and lawn were still.
The panter came
through forest，
through field，
up to the wall
and my one blossoming cherry tree.
I had constructed
the world as it was
and had pared the body
from the customs of languor.
It pressed its nose against the pane and its gears
ground me away into ribbons
of dissonance.
It turned and sauntered
into the shadows. Its
paw marks on the earth
like cherries too ripe in a white bowl.
關(guān)于最經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)朗誦篇5
Odysseus to Telemachus
by Joseph Brodsky
My dear Telemachus，
The Trojan War is over now;
I don't recall who won it.
The Greeks， no doubt， for only they would leave
so many dead so far from their own homeland.
But still， my homeward way has proved too long.
While we were wasting time there， old Poseidon，
it almost seems， stretched and extended space.
I don't know where I am or what this place
can be. It would appear some filthy island，
with bushes， buildings， and great grunting pigs.
A garden choked with weeds; some queen or other.
Grass and huge stones . . . Telemachus， my son!
To a wanderer the faces of all islands
resemble one another. And the mind
trips， numbering waves; eyes， sore from sea horizons，
run; and the flesh of water stuffs the ears.
I can't remember how the war came out;
even how old you are——I can't remember.
Grow up， then， my Telemachus， grow strong.
Only the gods know if we'll see each other
again. You've long since ceased to be that babe
before whom I reined in the plowing bullocks.
Had it not been for Palamedes' trick
we two would still be living in one household.
But maybe he was right; away from me
you are quite safe from all Oedipal passions，
and your dreams， my Telemachus， are blameless.
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