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.