適合大學生朗誦的英文詩歌

　　英語詩歌以其獨特的文體形式充分調動、發揮語言的各種潛能，使之具有特殊的感染力。讀來雋永，富有音韻美。小編精心收集了，供大家欣賞學習!

　　篇1

　　My Parents Have Come Home Laughing

　　by Mark Jarman

　　My parents have come home laughing

　　From the feast for Robert Burns， late， on foot;

　　They have leaned against graveyard walls，

　　Have bent double in the glittering frost，

　　Their bladders heavy with tea and ginger.

　　Burns， suspended in a drop， is flicked away

　　As they wipe their eyes， and is not offended.

　　What could offend him? Not the squeaking bagpipe

　　Nor the haggis which， when it was sliced， collapsed

　　In a meal of blood and oats

　　Nor the man who read a poem by Scott

　　As the audience hissed embarrassment

　　Nor the principal speaker whose topic，

　　"Burns' View of Crop Rotation，" was intended

　　For farmers， who were not present，

　　Nor his attempt to cover this error， reciting

　　The only Burns poem all evening，

　　"Nine Inch Will Please a Lady，" to thickening silence.

　　They drop their coats in the hall，

　　Mother first to the toilet， then Father，

　　And then stand giggling at the phone，

　　Debating a call to the States， decide no，

　　And the strength to keep laughing breaks

　　In a sigh. I hear， as their tired ribs

　　Press together， their bedroom door not close

　　And hear also a weeping from both of them

　　That seems not to be pain， and it comforts me

　　篇2

　　My Century

　　by Alan Feldman

　　The year I was born the atomic bomb went off.

　　Here I'd just begun， and someone

　　found the switch to turn off the world.

　　In the furnace-light， in the central solar fire

　　of that heat lamp， the future got very finite，

　　and it was possible to imagine time-travelers

　　failing to arrive， because there was no time

　　to arrive in. Inside the clock in the hall

　　heavy brass cylinders descended.

　　Tick-tock， the chimes changed their tune

　　one phrase at a time. The bomb became

　　a film star， its glamorous globe of smoke

　　searing the faces of men in beach chairs.

　　Someone threw up every day at school.

　　No time to worry about collective death，

　　when life itself was permeated by ordeals.

　　And so we grew up accepting things.

　　In bio we learned there were particles

　　cruising through us like whales through archipelagoes，

　　and in civics that if Hitler had gotten the bomb

　　he'd have used it on the inferior races，

　　and all this time love was etching its scars

　　on our skins like maps. The heavens

　　remained pure， except for little white slits

　　on the perfect blue skin that planes cut

　　in the icy upper air， like needles sewing.

　　From one， a tiny seed might fall

　　that would make a sun on earth.

　　And so the century passed， with me still in it，

　　books waiting on the shelves to become cinders，

　　what we felt locked up inside， waiting to be read，

　　down the long corridor of time. I was born

　　the year the bomb exploded. Twice

　　whole cities were charred like cities in the Bible，

　　but we didn't look back. We went on thinking

　　we could go on， our shapes the same，

　　darkened now against a background lit by fire.

　　Forgive me for doubting you're there，

　　Citizens， on your holodecks with earth wallpaper-

　　a shadow-toned ancestor with poorly pressed pants，

　　protected like a child from knowing the future.

　　篇3

　　My Aunts

　　by Adam Zagajewski ***Translated by Clare Cavanagh***

　　Always caught up in what they called

　　the practical side of life

　　***theory was for Plato***，

　　up to their elbows in furniture， in bedding，

　　in cupboards and kitchen gardens，

　　they never neglected the lavender sachets

　　that turned a linen closet to a meadow.

　　The practical side of life，

　　like the Moon's unlighted face，

　　didn't lack for mysteries;

　　when Christmastime drew near，

　　life became pure praxis

　　and resided temporarily in hallways，

　　took refuge in suitcases and satchels.

　　And when somebody died it happened

　　even in our family， alas

　　my aunts， preoccupied

　　with death's practical side，

　　forgot at last about the lavender，

　　whose frantic scent bloomed selflessly

　　beneath a heavy snow of sheets.

　　Don't just do something， sit there.

　　And so I have， so I have，

　　the seasons curling around me like smoke，

　　Gone to the end of the earth and back without sound