優(yōu)美經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)句精選
優(yōu)美經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)句精選
詩(shī)歌朗讀、學(xué)習(xí)詩(shī)歌、并進(jìn)行詩(shī)歌創(chuàng)作和翻譯過(guò)程中都是一種美的感受,能夠讓學(xué)生體會(huì)其特有的韻律美,盡情發(fā)揮想象,馳騁在詩(shī)歌的海洋中。學(xué)習(xí)啦小編整理了優(yōu)美經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)句，歡迎閱讀!
優(yōu)美經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)句篇一
Nothing Stays Put
by Amy Clampitt
In memory of Father Flye， 1884-1985
The strange and wonderful are too much with us.
The protea of the antipodes——a great，
globed， blazing honeybee of a bloom——
for sale in the supermarket! We are in
our decadence， we are not entitled.
What have we done to deserve
all the produce of the tropics——
this fiery trove， the largesse of it
heaped up like cannonballs， these pineapples， bossed
and crested， standing like troops at attention，
these tiers， these balconies of green， festoons
grown sumptuous with stoop labor?
The exotic is everywhere， it comes to us
before there is a yen or a need for it. The green-
grocers， uptown and down， are from South Korea.
Orchids， opulence by the pailful， just slightly
fatigued by the plane trip from Hawaii， are
disposed on the sidewalks; alstroemerias， freesias
fattened a bit in translation from overseas; gladioli
likewise estranged from their piercing ancestral crimson;
as well as， less altered from the original blue cornflower
of the roadsides and railway embankments of Europe， these
bachelor's buttons. But it isn't the railway embankments
their featherweight wheels of cobalt remind me of， it's
a row of them among prim colonnades of cosmos，
snapdragon， nasturtium， bloodsilk red poppies，
in my grandmother's garden： a prairie childhood，
the grassland shorn， overlaid with a grid，
unsealed， furrowed， harrowed and sown with immigrant grasses，
their massive corduroy， their wavering feltings embroidered
here and there by the scarlet shoulder patch of cannas
on a courthouse lawn， by a love knot， a cross stitch
of living matter， sown and tended by women，
nurturers everywhere of the strange and wonderful，
beneath whose hands what had been alien begins，
as it alters， to grow as though it were indigenous.
But at this remove what I think of as
strange and wonderful， strolling the side streets of Manhattan
on an April afternoon， seeing hybrid pear trees in blossom，
a tossing， vertiginous colonnade of foam， up above——
is the white petalfall， the warm snowdrift
of the indigenous wild plum of my childhood.
Nothing stays put. The world is a wheel.
All that we know， that we're
made of， is motion
優(yōu)美經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)句篇二
Outside
by Michael Ryan
The dead thing mashed into the street
the crows are squabbling over isn't
her， nor are their raucous squawks
the quiet cawing from her throat
those final hours she couldn't speak.
But the racket irks him.
It seems a cruel intrusion into grief
so mute it will never be expressed
no matter how loud or long the wailing
he might do. Nor could there be a word
that won't debase it， no matter
how kind or who it comes from.
She knew how much he loved her.
That must be his consolation
when he must talk to buy necessities.
Every place will be a place without her.
What people will see when they see him
pushing a shopping cart or fetching mail
is just a neatly dressed polite old man
優(yōu)美經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)句篇三
Outside Abilene
by Harley Elliott
the full rage of kansas turns loose upon us.
On the mexican radio station
they are singing Espiritu de mis suenos
and that is exactly it tonight.
The spirit of my dreams
rises in the storm like vapor.
Deep clouds bulge together and below them
we are a tiny constellation of lights
the car laid under sheets of lightning
moving straight in to the night.
Before us are miles and miles of water and wind
優(yōu)美經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)句篇四
Outskirts
by Tomas Transtromer (Translated by Robert Bly)
Men in overalls the same color as earth rise from a ditch.
It's a transitional place， in stalemate， neither country nor city.
Construction cranes on the horizon want to take the big leap，
but the clocks are against it.
Concrete piping scattered around laps at the light with cold tongues.
Auto-body shops occupy old barns.
Stones throw shadows as sharp as objects on the moon surface.
And these sites keep on getting bigger
like the land bought with Judas' silver： "a potter's field for burying strangers."
優(yōu)美經(jīng)典的英文詩(shī)句篇五
Ox Cart Manby Donald Hall
In October of the year，
he counts potatoes dug from the brown field，
counting the seed， counting
the cellar's portion out，
and bags the rest on the cart's floor.
He packs wool sheared in April， honey
in combs， linen， leather
tanned from deerhide，
and vinegar in a barrel
hoped by hand at the forge's fire.
He walks by his ox's head， ten days
to Portsmouth Market， and sells potatoes，
and the bag that carried potatoes，
flaxseed， birch brooms， maple sugar， goose
feathers， yarn.
When the cart is empty he sells the cart.
When the cart is sold he sells the ox，
harness and yoke， and walks
home， his pockets heavy
with the year's coin for salt and taxes，
and at home by fire's light in November cold
stitches new harness
for next year's ox in the barn，
and carves the yoke， and saws planks
building the cart again
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