关于长篇经典英文诗朗诵

2017-05-11

诗歌是一种典型的文学形式,它既属于文学,又是一种艺术。古今中外,对于诗歌的研究从未间断,我们在研究的过程中发现诗歌的美,同时又在前人研究的基础上创造出更好的诗歌作品。小编整理了关于长篇经典英文诗,欢迎阅读!

关于长篇经典英文诗篇一

Sticks

by Thomas Sayers Ellis

My father was an enormous man

Who believed kindness and lack of size

Were nothing more than sissified

Signs of weakness. Narrow-minded,

His eyes were the worst kind

Of jury — deliberate, distant, hard.

No one could out-shout him

Or make bigger fists. The few

Who tried got taken for bad,

Beat down, their bodies slammed.

I wanted to be just like him:

Big man, man of the house, king.

A plagiarist, hitting the things he hit,

I learned to use my hands watching him

Use his, pretending to slap mother

When he slapped mother.

He was sick. A diabetic slept

Like a silent vowel inside his well-built,

Muscular, dark body. Hard as all that

With similar weaknesses

— I discovered writing,

How words are parts of speech

With beats and breaths of their own.

Interjections like flams. Wham! Bam!

An heir to the rhythm

And tension beneath the beatings,

My first attempts were filled with noise,

Wild solos, violent uncontrollable blows.

The page tightened like a drum

Resisting the clockwise twisting

Of a handheld chrome key,

The noisy banging and tuning of growth

关于长篇经典英文诗篇二

Stonemason

by James O'Hern

My stonemason John says

he uses Elberton granite from Georgia

It has the best grain and lasts the longest

How long is long I ask

Oh he says a thousand years

I want more than hard gray stone

to guard her silence

I want stone that stays alive

a megalith jammed deep into earth

an antenna to amplify the signals

emitted from her ash and bone

I went to Ireland

looking for the perfect stone

found stone cottages and monuments

mountains and fields of stone

continuous rows of stonewalls

wound round the island like an offering

I found stone carvings of mermaids

and ancient unnamed river gods

a Sheela-na-Gig I thought I recognized

having seen her name

on the walls of a cave in the Dordogne

along with her portrait cut and shaped

on the rounded surface of soft white stone

There are no stones

where my mother and I were born

only the jagged edges of memory

ground down by the desert molcajete

to caliche and polished round pebbles

leaving no trace of history

but an abandoned pulque farm

an adobe jail

and a dried up river bed

关于长篇经典英文诗篇三

Stone Bird

by Pattiann Rogers

I remember you. You‘re the one

who lifted your ancient bones

of fossil rock, pulled yourself free

of the strata like a plaster figure

rising from its own mold, became

flesh and feather, took wing,

arrested the sky.

You‘re the one who, though marble,

floated as beautifully as a white

blossom on the pond all summer,

who, though skeletal and particled

like winter, glimmered as solid as a bird

of cut crystal in the icy trees.

You are redbird—sandstone

wings and agate eyes—at dusk.

You are greybird—polished granite

and pearl eyes—just before dawn,

midnight bird with a reflective

vacancy of heart like a mirror

of pure obsidian.

You‘re the one who flew down

to that river from the heavens,

as if your form alone were the only

holy message needed. You were alabaster

then in the noonday sun.

Once I saw you rise without rising

from your prison pedestal

in the garden beneath the lime tree.

At that moment your ghost

in its haunting permeated every

regality of the forest with light,

reigned with disdain in thin air

above the mountain, sank in union

with the crosswinds of the sea.

I remember you. You‘re the one

who entered in through my death

as if it were an open window

and you were the sound of the serenade

being sung outside for me, the words

of which, I know now, are of freedom

cast in stone forever.

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