关于适合朗诵的英文诗

英语诗歌文学意境和音乐意境丰富性的特点决定了诗歌教学要借助诸多手段引导学生品味诗歌的意境,产生共鸣。小编整理了关于适合朗诵的英文诗，欢迎阅读!

关于适合朗诵的英文诗篇一

Scrapbook

Kim Addonizio

This is me, depressed out of my mind,

frailing the banjo, spilling red wine

on the white

king-sized

luckily-hotel's-and-not-my-

goose down comforter, this is me

walking and waxing nostalgic through the girlish shadows

of tall palm trees, the déjà vus

flying through the scene

suddenly, like those three

unnameable and therefore beautiful white birds.

This is me as a slowly-tearing-itself-apart cloud

and marveling

at a fire palely and flamily

emerging from a bowl, wavering

up through stones of cobalt glass. The air

wavers back. This is me in love

with the beauty of blue glass in flames, this is me on drugs

prescribed by my doctor

as I try once more

to sneak into night's closely guarded city,

my hollow horse ready

to wreak my demons and Blue Morphos

on the citizens of my sleep. I am most

myself when flashing rapidly

my iridescent wings, drinking

the juice of fallen fruit. Then again

look for me under your bed

where the ugly premodern vampires

still hide. The undead and I are lying

in wait. We are very interested in you

though this is still me. We are unstable and true.

We believe in the one-ton rose

and the displaced toilet equally. Our blues

assume you understand

not much, and try to be alive, just as we do,

and that it may be helpful to hold the hand

of someone as lost as you.

关于适合朗诵的英文诗篇二

Semblance: Screens

Liz Waldner

A moth lies open and lies

like an old bleached beech leaf,

a lean-to between window frame and sill.

Its death protects a collection of tinier deaths

and other dirts beneath.

Although the white paint is water-stained,

on it death is dirt, and hapless.

The just-severed tiger lily

is drinking its glass of water, I hope.

This hope is sere.

This hope is severe.

What you ruin ruins you, too

and so you hope for favor.

I mean I do.

The underside of a ladybug

wanders the window. I wander

the continent, my under-carriage not as evident,

so go more perilously, it seems to me.

But I am only me; to you it seems clear

I mean to disappear, and am mean

and project on you my fear.

If I were a bug, I hope I wouldn't be

this giant winged thing, spindly like a crane fly,

skinny-legged like me, kissing the cold ceiling,

fumbling for the face of the other, seeking.

It came in with me last night when I turned on the light.

I lay awake, afraid it would touch my face.

It wants out. I want out, too.

I thought you a way through.

Arms wide for wings,

your suffering mine, twinned.

Screen. Your unbelief drives me in,

doubt for dirt, white sheet for sill --

You don't stay other enough or still

enough to be likened to.

关于适合朗诵的英文诗篇三

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.