最新英語詩歌朗讀大全

　　英語詩歌是高校英語專業文學課程的重要組成部分之一,因其精練含蓄、富於意象、意境深遠,英語詩歌教學往往成為文學課程的難點。本文是最新英語詩歌，希望對大家有幫助!

　　最新英語詩歌：In-law

　　Tara Bray

　　The cries of the killdeer agitate

　　like demons delicate and ruthless,

　　the bird ten steps ahead in harsh light,

　　the wheat soft and green,

　　thoughtless heads at the mercy of the wind.

　　A pheasant hunkers down in dust,

　　its splendor tucked tight, muted

　　by land squared off and measured.

　　The family is almighty, the yellow day cold.

　　I am outside, tended by wind I hate.

　　What world is this?

　　The sun so strange and everywhere.

　　最新英語詩歌：The Meeting

　　Alfred Corn

　　Rekindled consciousness, abrupt as a slap

　　That makes identity slot in, its clip

　　Coinciding with that signature

　　Stride acquired roughly the same year

　　I learned the best defense was an offense.

　　It's been my hup-two-three-four ever since.

　　Close to an hour of floating unawake

　　Over a book, my mind on coffee break,

　　Indifferent to the train's compulsive surge

　　At minus-fifty feet. I felt submerged

　　Beneath whitewater's liquid hammers, some

　　Cool, tumultuous onrush of time....

　　Amphibian! embody your emphatic

　　Renascence at street level. Twilit, lamplit

　　Hours stretch ahead, where, with a high-test

　　Line smoothly unreeled, players will all cast

　　Themselves in the lead role, while those they've turned

　　Out to meet will do the same in turn.

　　Recurrent happenstance: it sort of steadies.

　　First I, then you, will swim the crowd's brisk eddies

　　And swirls, we'll fist-bump, hug, invent smart-aleck

　　Putdowns and tender compliments alike.

　　And when it's time to remove hooks, oh, we'll

　　Be careful, we'll be kind as possible.

　　最新英語詩歌：The Name of the Island Was Marriage

　　Bruce Beasley

　　I

　　The name of the island was Island and the name of the Friday

　　was Good. Sunflower roots lay smoked on a bed of moss

　　over sea-flattened stones and sealed in a cedar box, like a tiny

　　coffin on the china: the unpent

　　smoke outpuffed its alderwood burn on our cheeks.

　　The constituents of a thirty-year marriage

　　lay before us, like a mis-en-place:

　　ingredients of pleasure, local

　　and strange. We assembled them as if we had never

　　used them before, like the raw

　　deer hearts strewn with wildflowers, pearls

　　of herring roe scooped up on branches of hemlock.

　　Stinging nettles, sweet, long-roasted: where,

　　where now was their sting?

　　II

　　To name an island for the very idea

　　of an island: its insularity, its

　　nonnegotiable unfluidity.

　　All pent in by what it is not --

　　the restless aqueous -- so its name

　　insisted it was what it was.

　　The name of the marriage had come to be Angry Teen.

　　The name of the marriage had come to be Did We Fuck Up.

　　Skunk cabbage burst all over from the roadside murk,

　　more xanthic than sunflowers or than noon sun, more

　　skunk-scent-insistent than skunks. The decedents

　　of the earliest settlers, said the brochure's typo, still live on the island today.

　　So the dead walk here, all

　　pent in by what they are not.

　　III

　　The island was Island Island. The god

　　was I AM WHO I AM. As

　　in the beginning He made each thing, it seemed

　　to startle Him to realize

　　it was good, as if good

　　were something else He gave birth by merely

　　having it in His mind.

　　Glimmers of saltwater poured off the clay and marl

　　and dry was born. Island lay isolate, not-wet

　　in the wet. Is land was born.

　　We smoothed and refrosted the marred

　　crust of what we'd made, and

　　the idea of marriage was reborn, the idea

　　of marring unborn.

　　IV

　　The chef came to our room to fix the unstoppable furnace.

　　He smelled of sorrel and roasted oysters and sage as he knelt

　　to fiddle with the gas-blast. Dolce far niente painted on the wall.

　　The sweet accomplishment of nothing.

　　Only when God began to do, after untimeable stasis,

　　did He find out how good

　　His pouring-apart of opposites -- sunrip and earth, up-

　　tick of skunk cabbage and its stench, and

　　sunflower root and the dark box it huddled in -- might be.

　　Let us divide decedents

　　from descendent, motherfather from son. Somewhere, even here, a furious

　　angel struggles in air to aim his chalice

　　exactly to catch each blood-spurt off the cross.

　　It must be saved. In three days the decedent will live

　　again and want back His blood. The island's name

　　in some no-longer translatable tongue was said

　　to be Island, as if island

　　were all that an island could be. The name of the marriage, as if

　　we made it, by calling it, so

　　was said -- behold, it startles us still -- to be good.