著名的英文詩(shī)歌有哪些
著名的英文詩(shī)歌有哪些
英語(yǔ)文學(xué)中，詩(shī)歌極其豐富多彩，學(xué)英文而不懂英文詩(shī)歌，不僅從審美角度看是個(gè)遺憾，而且從語(yǔ)言學(xué)習(xí)角度看，學(xué)一些詩(shī)歌，語(yǔ)言能力會(huì)大大提高。小編精心收集了著名的英文詩(shī)歌，供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!
著名的英文詩(shī)歌篇1
Night on the Great River [three translations]
by Meng Hao-jan
Translated by Gary Snyder， Kenneth Rexroth and William Carlos Williams
(I)
Steering my little boat towards a misty islet，
I watch the sun descend while my sorrows grow：
In the vast night the sky hangs lower than the treetops，
But in the blue lake the moon is coming close.
[translated by William Carlos Williams]
(II)
Night on the Great River
We anchor the boat alongside a hazy island.
As the sun sets I am overwhelmed with nostalgia.
The plain stretches away without limit.
The sky is just above the tree tops.
The river flows quietly by.
The moon comes down amongst men.
[translated by Kenneth Rexroth]
(III)
Mooring on Chien-te River
The boat rocks at anchor by the misty island
Sunset， my loneliness comes again.
In these vast wilds the sky arches down to the trees.
In the clear river water， the moon draws near.
[translated by Gary Snyder]
著名的英文詩(shī)歌篇2
Nights
by Harvey Shapiro
Drunk and weeping. It‘s another night
at the live-in opera， and I figure
it‘s going to turn out badly for me.
The dead next door accept their salutations，
their salted notes， the drawn-out wailing.
It‘s we the living who must run for cover，
meaning me. Mortality‘s the ABC of it，
and after that comes lechery and lying.
And， oh， how to piece together a life
from this scandal and confusion， as if
the gods were inhabiting us or cohabiting
with us， just for the music‘s sake
著名的英文詩(shī)歌篇3
Ontario
by Mark Levine
Beauty in its winter slippers pproached us by degrees on the gravel path.
We were hitching a ride out; had been hitching.
Our suitcase freighted with a few gardening tools lifted from the shed while the old man，
old enough，looked away.
He who went fishing at night (so he said) carrying in his pail a nest of tiny flame.
We were headed， headed out，we were going in a direction.
No tricks or intrigue， just a noisy ineptness.
If that's a word. Beauty， dipped in resin beneath its shag，
was always ready with the right curse to recite to our nature.
It is in us， it is，in the smokehouse in the woods and the old man looked away.
Song of experience.
There were treads in the snow.
We waited for our hitch.
There were train tracks which stung with clods of this region's rare clay.
We were boys， boyish， almost girls.
Left alone on the roof， we would have dwindled.
Incrimination called to us from the city and its fog-blacked lake，
called to us from the salvaged farms beyond the lake，
from the wilds beyond that.
Guilty was good
著名的英文詩(shī)歌篇4
Opal
by Amy Lowell
You are ice and fire，
The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
You are cold and flame.
You are the crimson of amaryllis，
The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
When I am with you，
My heart is a frozen pond
Gleaming with agitated torches.
著名的英文詩(shī)歌篇5
Operation Memory
by David Lehman
We were smoking some of this knockout weed when
Operation Memory was announced. To his separate bed
Each soldier went， counting backwards from a hundred
With a needle in his arm. And there I was， in the middle
Of a recession， in the middle of a strange city， between jobs
And apartments and wives. Nobody told me the gun was loaded.
We'd been drinking since early afternoon. I was loaded.
The doctor made me recite my name， rank， and serial number when
I woke up， sweating， in my civvies. All my friends had jobs
As professional liars， and most had partners who were good in bed.
What did I have? Just this feeling of always being in the middle
Of things， and the luck of looking younger than fifty.
At dawn I returned to draft headquarters. I was eighteen
And counting backwards. The interviewer asked one loaded
Question after another， such as why I often read the middle
Of novels， ignoring their beginnings and their ends. when
Had I decided to volunteer for intelligence work? "In bed
With a broad，" I answered， with locker-room bravado. The truth was， jobs
Were scarce， and working on Operation Memory was better than no job
At all. Unamused， the judge looked at his watch. It was 1970
By the time he spoke. Recommending clemency， he ordered me to go to bed
At noon and practice my disappearing act. Someone must have loaded
The harmless gun on the wall in Act I when
I was asleep. And there I was， without an alibi， in the middle
Of a journey down nameless， snow-covered streets， in the middle
Of a mystery——or a muddle. These were the jobs
That saved men's souls， or so I was told， but when
The orphans assembled for their annual reunion， ten
Years later， on the playing fields of Eton， each unloaded
A kit bag full of troubles， and smiled bravely， and went to bed.
Thanks to Operation Memory， each of us woke up in a different bed
Or coffin， with a different partner beside him， in the middle
Of a war that had never been declared. No one had time to load
His weapon or see to any of the dozen essential jobs
Preceding combat duty. And there I was， dodging bullets， merely one
In a million whose lucky number had come up. When
It happened， I was asleep in bed， and when I woke up，
It was over： I was 38， on the brink of middle age，
A succession of stupid jobs behind me， a loaded gun on my lap
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