诗歌朗读、学习诗歌、并进行诗歌创作和翻译过程中都是一种美的感受,能够让学生体会其特有的韵律美,尽情发挥想象,驰骋在诗歌的海洋中。小编整理了关于简单好背的英文诗，欢迎阅读!

关于简单好背的英文诗篇1

Twenty Twenty Vision

by Mark Ford

Unwinding in a cavernous bodega he suddenly

Burst out：——Barman， these tumblers empty themselves

And yet I persist; I am wedged in the giant eye

Of an invisible needle. Walking through doors

Or into them， listening to anecdotes or myself spinning

A yarn， I realize my doom is never to forget

My lost bearings. In medias res we begin

And end： I was born， and then my body unfurled

As if to illustrate a few tiny but effective words

But——oh my oh my——avaunt. I peered

Forth， stupefied， from the bushes as the sun set

Behind distant hills. A pair of hungry owls

Saluted the arrival of webby darkness; the dew

Descended upon the creeping ferns. At first

My sticky blood refused to flow， gathering instead

In wax-like drops and pools; mixed with water and a dram

Of colourless alcohol it thinned and reluctantly

Ebbed away. I lay emptied as a fallen

Leaf until startled awake by a blinding flash

Of dry lightning， and the onset of this terrible thirst.

关于简单好背的英文诗篇2

September

by Joanne Kyger

The grasses are light brown

and ocean comes in

long shimmering lines

under the fleet from last night

which dozes now in the early morning

Here and there horses graze

On somebody's acreage

Strangely， it was not my desire

that bade me speak in church to be released

but memory of the way it used to be in

careless and exotic play

when characters were promises

then recognitions. The world of transformation

is real and not real but trusting.

Enough of the lessons? I mean

didactic phrases to take you in and out of

love's mysterious bonds?

Well I myself am not myself

and which power of survival I speak

for is not made of houses.

It is inner luxury， of golden figures

that breathe like mountains do

and whose skin is made dusky by stars.

O fresh day in February

Come along

with me under pine whose new cones

make flowers. In a mellow mood

let's take anything

and you're better

in the peaceful flowing

in the bech

in the bird who flys up

out of coyote bush，

bob cat who crosses the road.

For who could think I could see

the grace of other souls born， and reborn

before in crab shells

snail shells， the head of a grebe

molesin， new onions up. Drawn by

your clever sleigh of tortoise

I listen for the melody

to sing along.

关于简单好背的英文诗篇3

Sakura Park

by Rachel Wetzsteon

The park admits the wind，

the petals lift and scatter

like versions of myself I was on the verge

of becoming; and ten years on

and ten blocks down I still can‘t tell

whether this dispersal resembles

a fist unclenching or waving goodbye.

But the petals scatter faster，

seeking the rose， the cigarette vendor，

and at least I‘ve got by pumping heart

some rules of conduct： refuse to choose

between turning pages and turning heads

though the stubborn dine alone. Get over

“getting over”： dark clouds don‘t fade

but drift with ever deeper colors.

Give up on rooted happiness

(the stolid trees on fire!) and sweet reprieve

(a poor park but my own) will follow.

There is still a chance the empty gazebo

will draw crowds from the greater world.

And meanwhile， meanwhile‘s far from nothing：

the humming moment， the rustle of cherry trees

关于简单好背的英文诗篇4

To the Tune of "Telling My Most Intimate Feelings"

by Li Ch'ing-chao (Translated by Arthur Sze)

When night comes，

I am so flushed with wine，

I undo my hair slowly：

a plum calyx is

stuck on a damaged branch.

I wake dazed when smoke

breaks my spring sleep.

The dream distant，

so very distant;

and it is quiet， so very quiet.

The moon spins and spins.

The kingfisher blinds are drawn;

and yet I rub the injured bud，

and yet I twist in my fingers this fragrance，

and yet I possess these moments of time!

关于简单好背的英文诗篇5

Salmon

by Kim Addonizio

In this shallow creek

they flop and writhe forward as the dead

float back toward them. Oh， I know

what I should say： fierce burning in the body

as her eggs burst free， milky cloud

of sperm as he quickens them. I should stand

on the bridge with my camera，

frame the white froth of rapids where one

arcs up for an instant in its final grace.

But I have to go down among

the rocks the glacier left

and squat at the edge of the water

where a stinking pile of them lies，

where one crow balances and sinks

its beak into a gelid eye.

I have to study the small holes

gouged into their skin， their useless gills，

their gowns of black flies. I can't

make them sing. I want to，

but all they do is open

their mouths a little wider

so the water pours in

until I feel like I'm drowning.

On the bridge the tour bus waits

and someone waves， and calls down

It's time， and the current keeps lifting

dirt from the bottom to cover the eggs.