關於英語詩歌演講朗誦稿

  英語詩歌是英國文學的精粹,更是世界文學的瑰寶,集中體現了詩歌形式美與非形式美的高度統一併傳遞了詩歌的美學價值,給人以音樂美、視覺美、意象美。本文是關於英語詩歌,希望對大家有幫助!

  關於英語詩歌:Road Trip

  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.

  關於英語詩歌:The Names of the Trees

  Laura Kasischke

  I passed this place once long ago

  when a man lived here with his four

  daughters, peacefully, it seemed. Those

  daughters took turns washing

  dishes, doing laundry. Frothy pearls and

  feathers in a sink. Soft

  socks, warm towels, folded, clean, in

  closets, drawers, and baskets, and

  on shelves. To me

  this was astonishing. The laundry

  done by daughters! No

  mother in the house at all. A weeping

  willow grew in their back-

  yard, but it was not a symbol then.

  It could not have been

  because this was the only tree

  I knew the name of yet -- unless it was a tree

  that bore familiar fruit. Like

  an apple tree, a mulberry. This

  willow's branches did not seem to be

  branches at all to me, but

  ribbons dangling loosely, tangling

  girlishly. If there was any weeping, it

  was inaudible to me. Was

  I supposed to see it? One

  of the daughters was only

  a year ahead of me, and she

  invited me once inside because

  she wanted to play house with me. When

  I confessed I wasn't sure what playing

  house might mean, this girl

  said she would teach me.

  She was Mother for this reason.

  I was the family dog. She

  told me to eat Froot Loops

  from a bowl on the kitchen floor

  while on my hands and knees. We

  laughed when I couldn't do it. But when

  I was Mother, she

  couldn't do it either.

  That there was laughter!

  A blue tablecloth.

  Salt and pepper shakers shaped

  like hands, which, put

  together, appeared to pray. When

  I was thirsty, another daughter poured

  a cup of water for me, pouring

  water with such confidence it

  seemed to me that she

  might have poured the first water

  from the first tap. When, out

  of curiosity, I went

  into their bathroom and pretended to pee

  I witnessed toilet paper printed with

  forget-me-nots, along with a little dish

  that held a piece of pink soap in it.

  And, when, after this, I couldn't sleep

  for three nights in a row, my

  mother finally gave up

  trying to comfort me.

  關於英語詩歌:Famous Negro Athletes

  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.

  關於英語詩歌:The Trespass Fetches Herself for Sacrifice

  HeidiLynn Nilsson

  We are not surprised,

  those of us who are made,

  we've been told,

  in God's image,

  that our God, who has

  neither tissue nor tail,

  is a jealous God.

  What makes us

  snappish, after all, about God

  is impeccability but

  if jealousy makes us

  also Godlike, and if that's

  where our love turned wrong,

  then light with light, loss with loss,

  on the strict and ruined earth,

  someone gets the very thing

  he longs for -- and who

  will let him? Lord I'm

  desolate enough --

  I see the fire

  starving on a switch

  after all of those years

  making for him

  myself into a forest.

  關於英語詩歌:Honeymoon

  Dorianne Laux

  We didn't have one, unless you count Paris,

  20 years later, after we'd almost given up on the idea.

  We'd imagined one, long nights beneath

  a warm celestial sky; him growing his beard,

  me in a silk turquoise robe, floating, billowing,

  on a deserted beach foraging for whole sand dollars,

  jelly fish washed up on the shore, their glittering insides

  visible, still pulsing through flesh made of glass,

  but it never happened. We had to work through

  our vacations, refinance the house, find someone

  to cut down the cedar that threatened to bury us

  with each storm. We wanted to make up

  for the wedding, or lack of one, the granite

  courthouse steps, the small room with a desk,

  the flimsy document stamped with a cheap gold seal.

  Even then we meant to have a party on the deck,

  cheese and crackers, fruit plates, sparkling

  grape cider in plastic cups, our friends on the lawn

  calling you the Big Kahuna, me Mrs. Dynamite,

  me calling you my Sweet Dragon, you calling me

  your little Red Corvette. Instead, time found a way

  to demand each minute, until one night,

  after you'd gotten a small windfall in the mail,

  you turned to me and said, I'm going to take you to Paris,

  me in my ratty robe and floppy slippers, you

  in your flannel pj bottoms and black wife beater,

  muting the clicker when I said "What?"

  and saying it again. Then we were there,

  in our 60s, standing below the dire Eiffel Tower,

  its 81 stories of staircases we couldn't possibly climb,

  its 73 thousand tons of puddled iron, you

  taking my picture for posterity, me

  kissing you beneath the pathway of arched trees,

  our voices echoing against the six million skulls

  embedded inside the stone catacombs, me

  saying, I guess you weren't kidding, you

  taking my hand in the rain.