唯美英语诗歌精选读本

“诗是百花之蜜,一切学问的精髓,智慧的本质,天使的语言。”诗歌在人类语言发蒙之时就产生了,原始人在劳动过程中的呼声、祭祀过程中的歌词都可以成为诗歌。本文是唯美英语诗歌，希望对大家有帮助!

　　唯美英语诗歌：Scullers at Dawn

Arne Weingart

Like all artists

you start out in the dark

pushing off

alone from the silent docks

of the thousand

black rivers and black lakes

with no special

purpose in mind not transport

or carnage

or measurement not even

for pleasure

exactly but for speed in

these narrow

fragile boats you tie in and

you move your slides

forward you set your hands

at the catch

and now all at once you pull

the sun explodes

like blood behind your eyes

and the black world

moves under you toward morning

　　唯美英语诗歌：Good Pink. Bad Pink.

Carol Potter

When the child in mid-tantrum tried riding her pink scooter

directly off the platform and onto the packed train at 28th

& Broadway, her un-brushed hair bunched up in the back, her pink

jacket open, limbs flailing, we pretended to not see. Next to me

a man was leafing through the Sotheby's catalogue. Out the corner

of my eye, I could see a Matisse I'd never seen before, then

Duchamp. The edges of the woman all in pieces. Cubed. Like the child

in front of me. Hair, hands, eyeballs askew. Civilization

in its tweed coat on my left. The paintings he was studying

but would not exactly share with me. I went back to minding

my own business but then mother took the scooter back from

mad daughter who started twisting and screaming again.

I thought of telling her she could get arrested. Sent to reform school.

Adopted out. Anything. Her older sister smiled at me beatifically,

as if to say, Look what I put up with. She'd been dissembling,

enjoying her sister's disintegration. Someone else the bad one.

Which I never got from my sister, nor her from me. That public tantrum.

What we took apart we took apart quietly and in private.

Like that nude descending her staircase, one piece at a time; the steps

not looking like steps. Just odd blocks.

　　唯美英语诗歌：Thirst

Nikia Leopold

The marigold has grown

So dense with leaves

and pungent blossoms,

rain glances from it,

missing the glazed pot.

Even in this downpour, roots

know drought, flowers wilt,

the way we extend ourselves,

obscuring our deepest needs,

sleeping without dreams,

growing cover that kills.

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