關於適合朗誦的英文詩歌欣賞

  文學是一種語言藝術,詩歌又歷來被視作文學的最高形式。學習英語詩歌不但有助於開闊視野,陶冶性情,而且對於英語學習有很大幫助。小編精心收集了關於適合朗誦的英文詩歌,供大家欣賞學習!

  關於適合朗誦的英文詩歌篇1

  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.

  關於適合朗誦的英文詩歌篇2

  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.

  關於適合朗誦的英文詩歌篇3

  Thick Description

  Eleanor Chai

  I cut lines of ink as I read through the night.

  I imagine the margins on pages are slim wings

  between plankton and stars. I find what I need

  in far sources. I make them intimate,

  I make them mine with the speed of light.

  He was seventeen, just a man, still a boy and ready to die.

  A true sacrifice, a living encounter --

  This father has paid

  the sum of a daughter's dowry for his son to be consecrated

  with a rod through his cheeks and tongue. The boy's face,

  his mouth pierced and gaping, hangs on the page, helpless.

  His clove-jelly eyes float and metamorphose into my mother's

  eyes, eyes I can't possibly remember without images like his --

  images forbidden, seized and smuggled into my life.

  I can make anything mean what I need to find.

  The stolen scrap, the plosive glance saturated in

  longing is not looking at me: I am looking at it.

  Every description is thick with a will to revivify --

  reclaim, renounce, rename what is sought.

  Blind hunger drives when I read. A scream, the echo of

  a scream, hangs over that Nova Scotian village ... and bit

  by bit a village I've never seen swells into me. The ovoid

  mouth of my mother's life, its slivering silence exists

  in that scream -- unheard, in memory. She came alive

  forever -- not loud, just alive forever redeemed from her never

  with no speech. A noun transformed to modify

  action revived her, returned her to me.

  The words as they lay may refuse to say what you need.

  Drop to your knees. Crawl beneath the overhanging,

  the dangling down. Stroke the described,

  from underneath. It reeks of the atavistic

  to live. It survives by swallowing.

  關於適合朗誦的英文詩歌篇4

  The Mind Is Its Own Place

  Ann Townsend

  Mated and unmated,

  starlings swarm the willow

  with their devotions

  until the tree roils

  and sways, wing-beats

  sounding the torrent

  through which they swim.

  Dopamine, paroxetine,

  an injection of adrenaline

  into the bloodstream:

  these deliver the dissident

  fuel I crave for the mind's

  pleasure, and for its pain.

  Call it one song indispensable

  to trouble the branching

  arteries. The willow divinates

  toward water, switching

  in the breeze; it grazes

  the edge but cannot

  rest there. My fingertips

  pressed against my temples:

  ten points of sensation,

  a vaulted cage where

  starlings congregate

  to rustle their chaos,

  their alphabet blown to bits

  in the wind's rush.

  Yes, you heard me.

  Like an aviary, Plato said,

  the mind is full of birds.

  關於適合朗誦的英文詩歌篇5

  The Halo

  C. Dale Young

  In the paintings left to us

  by the Old Masters, the halo,

  a smallish cloud of light, clung

  to the head, carefully framed the faces

  of mere mortals made divine.

  Accident? My body launched

  by a car's incalculable momentum?

  It ended up outside the car. I had no idea then

  what it was like to lose days, to wake

  and find everything had changed.

  Through glass, this body went

  through the glass window, the seatbelt

  snapping my neck. Not the hanged man,

  not a man made divine but more human.

  I remember those pins buried in my skull,

  the cold metal frame surrounding my head,

  metal reflecting a small fire, a glow. All

  was changed. In that bed, I was a locust.

  I was starving. And how could I not be?

  I, I . . . I am still ravenous.