優(yōu)美的經(jīng)典英文詩(shī)歌精選
優(yōu)美的經(jīng)典英文詩(shī)歌精選
英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌作為文學(xué)的表現(xiàn)形式之一,在分類、節(jié)奏、韻律、構(gòu)思、詞序、選詞等方面都自成體系,以自己獨(dú)特的形式展示著詩(shī)人對(duì)生活的理解。小編精心收集了優(yōu)美的經(jīng)典英文詩(shī)歌，供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!
優(yōu)美的經(jīng)典英文詩(shī)歌篇1
The Portrait
by Stanley Kunitz
My mother never forgave my father
for killing himself，
especially at such an awkward time
and in a public park，
that spring
when I was waiting to be born.
She locked his name
in her deepest cabinet
and would not let him out，
though I could hear him thumping.
When I came down from the attic
with the pastel portrait in my hand
of a long-lipped stranger
with a brave moustache
and deep brown level eyes，
she ripped it into shreds
without a single word
and slapped me hard.
In my sixty-fourth year
I can feel my cheek
still burning.
優(yōu)美的經(jīng)典英文詩(shī)歌篇2
The Orchid Flower
by Sam Hamill
Just as I wonder
whether it's going to die，
the orchid blossoms
and I can't explain why it
moves my heart， why such pleasure
comes from one small bud
on a long spindly stem， one
blood red gold flower
opening at mid-summer，
tiny， perfect in its hour.
Even to a white-
haired craggy poet， it's
purely erotic，
pistil and stamen， pollen，
dew of the world， a spoonful
of earth， and water.
Erotic because there's death
at the heart of birth，
drama in those old sunrise
prisms in wet cedar boughs，
deepest mystery
in washing evening dishes
or teasing my wife，
who grows， yes， more beautiful
because one of us will die.
優(yōu)美的經(jīng)典英文詩(shī)歌篇3
Canon 501
by Brian Swann
The song was moist， filing away，
drifting while we drifted， something
in blackface， Al Jolson of birdland，
not quite right， prophesizing until hoarse
who knows what. The locals say he
draws poison from you， angatkuk，
shaman， though they don't believe it.
Then the incongruous smell of
chrysanthemum crossed us up and
we remembered the service-station
with someone in handcuffs. Probably
a mistake， said the attendant， though
they do get violent. The prisoner yawned.
Our map lumbered from point to point
as if trying to remember something itself，
anything. We tossed it and got out.
On the long walk back the tundra looked cozier
by moonlight， everywhere the same，
white as bleached whalebone. But
things had not been right all day.
In the damp heat everything was wobbly，
even the bride at the old mission who
seemed to grow clouds like companions，
drawing them after. I glimpsed a ring
of seal-fur flash on her wrist. Mm-hmm，
unh-hunh they went. The honeymoon
was spent beyond the rigs. It was enough
for them it didn't rain or snow though
the driftwood fire they made beside the boats
was all smoke. The sea sounded obscure
as if it had no shape and was empty.
We tried to capture it on Canon 501
and sent it south， but even that seemed staged.
優(yōu)美的經(jīng)典英文詩(shī)歌篇4
Carentan O Carentan
by Louis Simpson
Trees in the old days used to stand
And shape a shady lane
Where lovers wandered hand in hand
Who came from Carentan.
This was the shining green canal
Where we came two by two
Walking at combat-interval.
Such trees we never knew.
The day was early June， the ground
Was soft and bright with dew.
Far away the guns did sound，
But here the sky was blue.
The sky was blue， but there a smoke
Hung still above the sea
Where the ships together spoke
To towns we could not see.
Could you have seen us through a glass
You would have said a walk
Of farmers out to turn the grass，
Each with his own hay-fork.
The watchers in their leopard suits
Waited till it was time，
And aimed between the belt and boot
And let the barrel climb.
I must lie down at once， there is
A hammer at my knee.
And call it death or cowardice，
Don't count again on me.
Everything's all right， Mother，
Everyone gets the same
At one time or another.
It's all in the game.
I never strolled， nor ever shall，
Down such a leafy lane.
I never drank in a canal，
Nor ever shall again.
There is a whistling in the leaves
And it is not the wind，
The twigs are falling from the knives
That cut men to the ground.
Tell me， Master-Sergeant，
The way to turn and shoot.
But the Sergeant's silent
That taught me how to do it.
O Captain， show us quickly
Our place upon the map.
But the Captain's sickly
And taking a long nap.
Lieutenant， what's my duty，
My place in the platoon?
He too's a sleeping beauty，
Charmed by that strange tune.
Carentan O Carentan
Before we met with you
We never yet had lost a man
Or known what death could do.
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