有關於經典英文詩歌朗誦
英語詩歌的特點和其他語言詩歌的特點一樣,都是形象的語言和富於音樂性的語言。小編精心收集了有關於經典英文詩歌，供大家欣賞學習!
Stealing The Scream
by Monica Youn
It was hardly a high-tech operation， stealing The Scream.
That we know for certain， and what was left behind——
a store-bought ladder， a broken window，
and fifty-one seconds of videotape， abstract as an overture.
And the rest? We don't know. But we can envision
moonlight coming in through the broken window，
casting a bright shape over everything——the paintings，
the floor tiles， the velvet ropes： a single， sharp-edged pattern;
the figure's fixed hysteria rendered suddenly ironic
by the fact of something happening; houses
clapping a thousand shingle hands to shocked cheeks
along the road from Oslo to Asgardstrand;
the guards rushing in——too late!——greeted only
by the gap-toothed smirk of the museum walls;
and dangling from the picture wire like a baited hook，
a postcard： "Thanks for the poor security."
The policemen， lost as tourists， stand whispering
in the galleries： ". . what does it all mean?"
Someone has the answers， someone who， grasping the frame，
saw his sun-red face reflected in that familiar boiling sky.
有關於經典英文詩歌篇2Success Comes to Cow Creek
by James Tate
I sit on the tracks，
a hundred feet from
earth， fifty from the
water. Gerald is
inching toward me
as grim， slow， and
determined as a
season， because he
has no trade and wants
none. It's been nine months
since I last listened
to his fate， but I
know what he will say：
he's the fire hydrant
of the underdog.
When he reaches my
point above the creek，
he sits down without
salutation， and
spits profoundly out
past the edge， and peeks
for meaning in the
ripple it brings. He
scowls. He speaks： when you
walk down any street
you see nothing but
coagulations
of shit and vomit，
and I'm sick of it.
I suggest suicide;
he prefers murder，
and spits again for
the sake of all the
great devout losers.
A conductor's horn
concerto breaks the
air， and we， two doomed
pennies on the track，
shove off and somersault
like anesthetized
fleas， ruffling the
ideal locomotive
poised on the water
with our light， dry bodies.
Gerald shouts
terrifically as
he sails downstream like
a young man with a
destination. I
swim toward shore as
fast as my boots will
allow; as always，
neglecting to drown.
有關於經典英文詩歌篇3Streetsby Naomi Shihab Nye
A man leaves the world
and the streets he lived on
grow a little shorter.
One more window dark
in this city， the figs on his branches
will soften for birds.
If we stand quietly enough evenings
there grows a whole company of us
standing quietly together.
overhead loud grackles are claiming their trees
and the sky which sews and sews， tirelessly sewing，
drops her purple hem.
Each thing in its time， in its place，
it would be nice to think the same about people.
Some people do. They sleep completely，
waking refreshed. Others live in two worlds，
the lost and remembered.
They sleep twice， once for the one who is gone，
once for themselves. They dream thickly，
dream double， they wake from a dream
into another one， they walk the short streets
calling out names， and then they answer.
有關於經典英文詩歌篇4Stonemason
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
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