關於英語詩歌演講朗誦稿

　　英語詩歌是英國文學的精粹,更是世界文學的瑰寶,集中體現了詩歌形式美與非形式美的高度統一併傳遞了詩歌的美學價值,給人以音樂美、視覺美、意象美。本文是關於英語詩歌，希望對大家有幫助!

　　關於英語詩歌：Road Trip

　　Road Trip

　　Davis McCombs

　　Over the singed and brittle roadside stalks,

　　over cotton, corn and stubble,

　　our car's dark bug-shape slithers.

　　Over the metal drainpipe, over the oil rig,

　　and the burned field where a windmill

　　cranks its pinch of rust, we are

　　a hurried sweep of shadow, a sleek chromatic

　　gleam the cold sun follows

　　with its blue-orange dot of concentration.

　　We scurry like a flea across the hide of something

　　both immense and underfed,

　　a creature from the mind’s culvert,

　　an animal concocted out of barbed-wire ribs

　　and cockleburs, the grass its rippling fur

　　through which our small wake passes like a shiver.

　　關於英語詩歌：The Names of the Trees

　　Laura Kasischke

　　I passed this place once long ago

　　when a man lived here with his four

　　daughters, peacefully, it seemed. Those

　　daughters took turns washing

　　dishes, doing laundry. Frothy pearls and

　　feathers in a sink. Soft

　　socks, warm towels, folded, clean, in

　　closets, drawers, and baskets, and

　　on shelves. To me

　　this was astonishing. The laundry

　　done by daughters! No

　　mother in the house at all. A weeping

　　willow grew in their back-

　　yard, but it was not a symbol then.

　　It could not have been

　　because this was the only tree

　　I knew the name of yet -- unless it was a tree

　　that bore familiar fruit. Like

　　an apple tree, a mulberry. This

　　willow's branches did not seem to be

　　branches at all to me, but

　　ribbons dangling loosely, tangling

　　girlishly. If there was any weeping, it

　　was inaudible to me. Was

　　I supposed to see it? One

　　of the daughters was only

　　a year ahead of me, and she

　　invited me once inside because

　　she wanted to play house with me. When

　　I confessed I wasn't sure what playing

　　house might mean, this girl

　　said she would teach me.

　　She was Mother for this reason.

　　I was the family dog. She

　　told me to eat Froot Loops

　　from a bowl on the kitchen floor

　　while on my hands and knees. We

　　laughed when I couldn't do it. But when

　　I was Mother, she

　　couldn't do it either.

　　That there was laughter!

　　A blue tablecloth.

　　Salt and pepper shakers shaped

　　like hands, which, put

　　together, appeared to pray. When

　　I was thirsty, another daughter poured

　　a cup of water for me, pouring

　　water with such confidence it

　　seemed to me that she

　　might have poured the first water

　　from the first tap. When, out

　　of curiosity, I went

　　into their bathroom and pretended to pee

　　I witnessed toilet paper printed with

　　forget-me-nots, along with a little dish

　　that held a piece of pink soap in it.

　　And, when, after this, I couldn't sleep

　　for three nights in a row, my

　　mother finally gave up

　　trying to comfort me.

　　關於英語詩歌：Famous Negro Athletes

　　Famous Negro Athletes

　　Adrian Matejka

　　after Jean-Michel Basquiat

　　We are all famous Sunday mornings at the Y.

　　That magnificent & rattled-rim space of big·timing

　　Sundays. Gym bag hung over the shoulder

　　of a matching sweatshirt Sundays. Touch one toe

　　then the other if you can kind of days. Ball shoes

　　crisp in the bag & What up, team? we say.

　　For real, on Sundays, we're sweating in quintuplicate

　　like a grinning team portrait. Knees swollen as roundly

　　as the composite basketball we play with. & sometimes,

　　the shoe-string glance from the trainer up front, the

　　straight up & down of would-be ballers orbiting the ball

　　court like paparazzi & handshake laughs at bad passes

　　have to be adequate when your jumper is so far off

　　somebody should staple flyers to telephone poles for it.

　　關於英語詩歌：The Trespass Fetches Herself for Sacrifice

　　HeidiLynn Nilsson

　　We are not surprised,

　　those of us who are made,

　　we've been told,

　　in God's image,

　　that our God, who has

　　neither tissue nor tail,

　　is a jealous God.

　　What makes us

　　snappish, after all, about God

　　is impeccability but

　　if jealousy makes us

　　also Godlike, and if that's

　　where our love turned wrong,

　　then light with light, loss with loss,

　　on the strict and ruined earth,

　　someone gets the very thing

　　he longs for -- and who

　　will let him? Lord I'm

　　desolate enough --

　　I see the fire

　　starving on a switch

　　after all of those years

　　making for him

　　myself into a forest.

　　關於英語詩歌：Honeymoon

　　Dorianne Laux

　　We didn't have one, unless you count Paris,

　　20 years later, after we'd almost given up on the idea.

　　We'd imagined one, long nights beneath

　　a warm celestial sky; him growing his beard,

　　me in a silk turquoise robe, floating, billowing,

　　on a deserted beach foraging for whole sand dollars,

　　jelly fish washed up on the shore, their glittering insides

　　visible, still pulsing through flesh made of glass,

　　but it never happened. We had to work through

　　our vacations, refinance the house, find someone

　　to cut down the cedar that threatened to bury us

　　with each storm. We wanted to make up

　　for the wedding, or lack of one, the granite

　　courthouse steps, the small room with a desk,

　　the flimsy document stamped with a cheap gold seal.

　　Even then we meant to have a party on the deck,

　　cheese and crackers, fruit plates, sparkling

　　grape cider in plastic cups, our friends on the lawn

　　calling you the Big Kahuna, me Mrs. Dynamite,

　　me calling you my Sweet Dragon, you calling me

　　your little Red Corvette. Instead, time found a way

　　to demand each minute, until one night,

　　after you'd gotten a small windfall in the mail,

　　you turned to me and said, I'm going to take you to Paris,

　　me in my ratty robe and floppy slippers, you

　　in your flannel pj bottoms and black wife beater,

　　muting the clicker when I said "What?"

　　and saying it again. Then we were there,

　　in our 60s, standing below the dire Eiffel Tower,

　　its 81 stories of staircases we couldn't possibly climb,

　　its 73 thousand tons of puddled iron, you

　　taking my picture for posterity, me

　　kissing you beneath the pathway of arched trees,

　　our voices echoing against the six million skulls

　　embedded inside the stone catacombs, me

　　saying, I guess you weren't kidding, you

　　taking my hand in the rain.