精美英文詩歌兩首

　　英語詩歌是英語語言的精華。它以最凝練的文字傳遞時間與空間、物質與精神、理智與情感。詩歌本身包含的豐富社會生活內容和藝術內涵，詩歌語言的獨特的美與和諧都使它們具有無窮的魅力。下面小編為大家帶來，歡迎大家閱讀!

　　精美英文詩歌：My Life's Calling

　　My life's calling， setting fires.

　　Here in a hearth so huge

　　I can stand inside and shove

　　the wood around with my

　　bare hands while church bells

　　deal the hours down through

　　the chimney. No more

　　woodcutter， creel for the fire

　　or architect， the five staves

　　pitched like rifles over stone.

　　But to be mistro-elemental.

　　The flute of clay playing

　　my breath that riles the flames，

　　the fire risen to such dreaming

　　sung once from landlords' attics.

　　Sung once the broken lyres，

　　seasoned and green.

　　Even the few things I might save，

　　my mother's letters，

　　locks of my children's hair

　　here handed over like the keys

　　to a foreclosure， my robes

　　remanded， and furniture

　　dragged out into the yard，

　　my bedsheets hoisted up the pine，

　　whereby the house sets sail.

　　And I am standing on a cliff

　　above the sea， a paper light，

　　a lantern. No longer mine

　　to count the wrecks.

　　Who rode the ships in ringing，

　　marrying rock the waters

　　storm to break the door，

　　looked through the fire， beheld

　　a clearing there. This is what

　　you are. What you've come to.

　　精美英文詩歌：La Coursier de Jeanne D'Arc

　　You know that they burned her horse

　　before her. Though it is not recorded，

　　you know that they burned her Percheron

　　first， before her eyes， because you

　　know that story， so old that story，

　　the routine story， carried to its

　　extreme， of the cruelty that can make

　　of what a woman hears a silence，

　　that can make of what a woman sees

　　a lie. She had no son for them to burn，

　　for them to take from her in the world

　　not of her making and put to its pyre，

　　so they layered a greater one in front of

　　where she was staked to her own——

　　as you have seen her pictured sometimes，

　　her eyes raised to the sky. But they were

　　not raised. This is yet one of their lies.

　　They were not closed. Though her hands

　　were bound behind her， and her feet were

　　bound deep in what would become fire，

　　she watched. Of greenwood stakes

　　head-high and thicker than a man's waist

　　they laced the narrow corral that would not

　　burn until flesh had burned， until

　　bone was burning， and laid it thick

　　with tinder——fatted wicks and sulphur，

　　kindling and logs——and ran a ramp

　　up to its height from where the gray horse

　　waited， his dapples making of his flesh

　　a living metal， layers of life

　　through which the light shone out

　　in places as it seems to through the flesh

　　of certain fish， a light she knew

　　as purest， coming， like that， from within.

　　Not flinching， not praying， she looked

　　the last time on the body she knew

　　better than the flesh of any man， or child，

　　or woman， having long since left the lap

　　of her mother——the chest with its

　　perfect plates of muscle， the neck

　　with its perfect， prow-like curve，

　　the hindquarters'——pistons——powerful cleft

　　pennoned with the silk of his tail.

　　Having ridden as they did together

　　——those places， that hard， that long——

　　their eyes found easiest that day

　　the way to each other， their bodies

　　wedded in a sacrament unmediated

　　by man. With fire they drove him

　　up the ramp and off into the pyre

　　and tossed the flame in with him.

　　This was the last chance they gave her

　　to recant her world， in which their power

　　came not from God. Unmoved， the Men

　　of God began watching him burn， and better，

　　watching her watch him burn， hearing

　　the long mad godlike trumpet of his terror，

　　his crashing in the wood， the groan

　　of stakes that held， the silverblack hide，

　　the pricked ears catching first

　　like driest bark， and the eyes.

　　and she knew， by this agony， that she

　　might choose to live still， if she would

　　but make her sign on the parchment

　　they would lay before her， which now

　　would include this new truth： that it

　　did not happen， this death in the circle，

　　the rearing， plunging， raging， the splendid

　　armour-colored head raised one last time

　　above the flames before they took him

　　——like any game untended on the spit——into

　　their yellow-green， their blackening red.