Question

关于简单的英文诗歌欣赏

Answer 1

　　英语诗歌是英语语言的精华。它以最凝练的文字传递时间与空间、物质与精神、理智与情感。我整理了关于简单的英文诗歌，欢迎阅读!
　　关于简单的英文诗歌篇一
　　Skills

　　by Jonathan Aaron

　　Blondin made a fortune walking back and forth

　　over Niagara Falls on a tightrope—blindfolded，

　　or inside a sack， or pushing a wheelbarrow， or perched on stilts，

　　or lugging a man on his back. Once， halfway across，

　　he sat down to cook and eat an omelette.

　　Houdini， dumped into Lake Michigan chained

　　and locked in a weighted trunk， swam back to the boat

　　a few moments later. He could swallow more than a hundred needles

　　and some thread， then pull from between his lips

　　the needles dangling at even intervals.

　　I can close my eyes and see your house

　　explode in a brilliant flash， silently，

　　with a plete absence of vibration. And when I open them again，

　　my heart in my mouth， everything is standing

　　just as before， but not as if nothing had happened.
　　关于简单的英文诗歌篇二
　　Skunk Hour

　　by Robert Lowell

　　For Elizabeth Bishop

　　Nautilus Island's hermit

　　heiress still lives through winter in her Spartan cottage;

　　her sheep still graze above the sea.

　　Her son's a bishop. Her farmer

　　is first selectman in our village，

　　she's in her dotage.

　　Thirsting for

　　the hierarchic privacy

　　of Queen Victoria's century，

　　she buys up all

　　the eyesores facing her shore，

　　and lets them fall.

　　The season's ill——

　　we've lost our summer millionaire，

　　who seemed to leap from an L. L. Bean

　　catalogue. His nine-knot yawl

　　was auctioned off to lobstermen.

　　A red fox stain covers Blue Hill.

　　And now our fairy

　　decorator brightens his shop for fall，

　　his fishnet's filled with orange cork，

　　orange， his cobbler's bench and awl，

　　there is no money in his work，

　　he'd rather marry.

　　One dark night，

　　my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull，

　　I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down，

　　they lay together， hull to hull，

　　where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . .

　　My mind's not right.

　　A car radio bleats，

　　'Love， O careless Love . . . .' I hear

　　my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell，

　　as if my hand were at its throat . . . .

　　I myself am hell，

　　nobody's here——

　　only skunks， that search

　　in the moonlight for a bite to eat.

　　They march on their soles up Main Street：

　　white stripes， moonstruck eyes' red fire

　　under the chalk-dry and spar spire

　　of the Trinitarian Church.

　　I stand on top

　　of our back steps and breathe the rich air——

　　a mother skunk with her column of kittens swills the

　　garbage pail

　　She jabs her wedge-head in a cup

　　of sour cream， drops her ostrich tail，

　　and will not scare.
　　关于简单的英文诗歌篇三
　　Sky

　　by Anzhelina Polonskaya

　　Translated by Andrew Wachtel

　　He broke up the sky on the square and gave it like bread crumbs to birds.

　　Then he cut it in pieces and threw it to the beggars，

　　the crazies， the blind， and their panions.

　　But I got an end， *** ashed like a cup thrown to the ground，

　　lying on its back like a wounded soldier，

　　unplaining， as a harem wife

　　hiding her gaze behind a black veil.

　　The plains' bed is spread with houses， and everyone

　　beneath it ages like a slave chained in bondage;

　　save his high-cheek-boned face.

　　Tensing my voice I started to refuse my free portion.

　　But I stayed mute， the sky's mouth was filled with lead.
　　关于简单的英文诗歌篇四
　　Skylab

　　by Rolf Jacobsen

　　Translated by Roger Greenwald

　　We've e so far， thought the astronaut

　　as he swam around the capsule in his third week

　　and by accident kicked a god in the eye

　　——so far

　　that there's no difference anymore between up and down，

　　north and south， heavy and light.

　　And how， then， can we know righteousness.

　　So far.

　　And weightless， in a sealed room

　　we chase the sunrises at high speed

　　and sicken with longing for a green stalk

　　or the heft of something in our hands. Lifting a stone.

　　One night he saw that the Earth was like an open eye

　　that looked at him as gravely as the eye of a child

　　awakened in the middle of the night.
　　关于简单的英文诗歌篇五
　　Slanting Light

　　by Arthur Sze

　　Slanting light casts onto a stucco wall

　　the shadows of upwardly zigzagging plum branches.

　　I can see the thinning of branches to the very twig.

　　I have to sift what you say， what she thinks，

　　what he believes is genetic strength， what

　　they agree is inevitable. I have to sift this

　　quirky and lashing stillness of form to see myself，

　　even as I see laid out on a table for Death

　　an assortment of pomegranates and gourds.

　　And what if Death eats a few pomegranate seeds?

　　Does it insure a few years of pungent spring?

　　I see one gourd， yellow from midsection to top

　　and zucchini-green lower down， but

　　already the big orange gourd is gnawed black.

　　I have no idea why the one survives the killing nights.

　　I have to sift what you said， what I felt，

　　what you hoped， what I knew. I have to sift

　　death as the stark light sifts the branches of the plum.