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- [Ŷ] ÄêÇáÖ÷¸¾ ÍşÁ® ¿¨ÂŞË¹ ÍşÁ®Ë¹ ÉÏÎçÊ®µãÄêÇáÖ÷¸¾ ´©×Å˯ÒÂÔÚËıÕÉ·òµÄ·¿Îİ Ä¾ÖÆǽºó×ßÀ´×ßÈ¥ ÎÒ¶À×Լݳµ¾¹ı¡£ ÄÇʱËıÓÖÀ´µ½Â·±ß ½ĞÂô±ùÈË£¬Óã··£¬È´Õ¾ÔÚÄǶù Ò·¢²»Õû¶øĞßôö£¬ ¸§Â£ËıµÄÉ¢Âҵķ¢¸ù ÎÒ°ÑËı±È×÷һƬÂäÒ¶¡£ µ±ÎÒÇ·ÉíһЦÇı³µ¾¹ıʱ ÎŞÉùµÄ³µÂÖ·É³Û Äë¹ıƬƬ¸ÉÔïµÄÂäÒ¶ ÉùÉù ¹ûºÓ×ÓÒë The Young Housewife william carlos williams At ten A.M.the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband's house. I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb to call the ice-man,fish-man,and stands shy, uncorseted, tucking in stray ends of hair, and I compare her to a fallen leaf. the noiseless wheels of my car rush with a crackling sound over dried leaves as i bow and pass smiling. °¬¶û ººÄ·²® ·Ç·²Ö®Ó ÈÃÄãÔùÓèÎÒ¹ÅÀϵÄĞdz½£º ĞñÈÕ³õÉı ¶ÀÉÁĞÇ»Ô ¶ø²»½è¸øÎÒÄãµÄ¹ââ! ×¢£ºEL HOMBRE Î÷°àÑÀÎÄ£¬ÒâΪÈË¡£ EL HOMBRE It's a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part! ºìÉ«ÊÖÍƳµ Èç´Ë¶à ÒÀ Àµ Ò»Á¾ºìÉ« ÊÖÍƳµ ÓêˮϠ¾§ Ó¨ ³µÅÔһȺ °×É«Ğ¡¼¦ THE RED WHEELBARROW so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens ÏñÊ×Ê« ÈÃÉßµÈÔÚ ËûµÄݬ²İÏ ÈÃĞ´×÷ ´ë´ÇÊ滺¶øѸËÙ£¬ÃôÈñ ײ»÷£¬°²¾²µÈ´ı£¬ ÎŞÃß¡£ --ÓñÈÓ÷À´µ÷ºÏ ÈËÃÇÓ뱦ʯ¡£ ´´×÷¡££¨¹ÛÄî ´æÔÚÓÚÎïÖĞ£©·¢Ã÷£¡ »¢¶ú²İÊÇÎÒ·Ö»¯ ÑÒʯµÄ»¨¡£ A SORT OF A SONG Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait, sleepless. --through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones. Compose.(No ideas but in things) Invent! Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks. ¶íÂŞË¹Î赸 ¼ÙÈçÎÒ£¬µ±ÎÒµÄÆŞ×Ó°²Ë¯ Ó¤º¢ºÍ¿ÉªÁÕ Ò²°²Ë¯ Ì«ÑôÔÚìÚìÚµÄÊ÷ÁÖÉÏ¿Õ ÔÚ±¡É´ËƵÄÎíö°ÖĞ ÈçÒ»ÂÖ³ã°×µÄÔ²ÅÌ-- ¼ÙÈçÎÒ£¬ÔÚÎҵı±Îİ ÂãÎ裬¹Öµ®µØ ¶Ôמµ×Ó ÔÚÍ·¶¥»ÓÎè³ÄÉÀ ¶Ô×Ô¼ºÇáÇáºß³ª£º ¡°Îҹ¶À£¬Îҹ¶À¡£ ÎÒÉú¶ø¹Â¶À£¬ Îҹ¶ÀÖ®¼«£¡¡± ¼ÙÈçÎÒ×ÔÉÍÊÖ±Û£¬Á³ÅÌ ¼ç°ò£¬Ğ²¸¹£¬Íβ¿ ÔÚÀ³¤µÄ»ÆÉ«ÒõÓ°Ï£¬-- Ë»á˵ÎÒ²»ÊÇ ¼ÒÖĞ¿ìÀÖµÄÌì²Å£¿ DANSE RUSSE william carlos williams If I when my wife is sleeping and the baby and kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees,-- if I in my north room dance naked,grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: "I am lonely,lonely. I was born to be lonely. I am best so!" If I admire my arms, my face my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades,-- Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household? TO WAKEN AN OLD LADY Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze. Gaining and failing they are buffeted by a dark wind-- But what? On harsh weedstalks the flock has rested, the snow is covered with broken seedhusks and the wind tempered by a shrill piping of plenty. »½ĞÑÀϸ¾ ÍíÄêÊÇ Ò»ÈºÖ¨Ö¨½Ğ Ğ¡ÄñµÄ·ÉÏè ÂÓ¹ı ¹â»¬µÄÑ©ÃæÉÏ ¹âͺµÄÊ÷ÁÖ ·ÉÆğ×¹Âä ËüÃÇÈ𵵵ķç ÕÛÄ¥-- ¿ÉÓÖÊÇʲô£¿ ÑòȺÔڴֲڵIJݾ¥´ÔÖĞ Ğİí¬£¬ Ñ©ÉÏ ¸²¸Ç×ŲĞÆÆµÄ ×Ñ¿Ç ÔÚÖÚÉú¼âÀûµÄ µÑÉùÖĞ ·ç½¥Æ½ºÍ ÉϺ£Àí¹¤´óѧ 5# £¨ÍâÓïѧԺ£© ³²Àû±ó xrandj_333 ·¢±íÓÚ 2004-09-30 17:08 | ÔĶÁÈ«ÎÄ | ÆÀÂÛ(0) | ÒıÓÃ(trackback0) | ±à¼ : [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] ×îºóÒ³ ·ç¸ñÉè¼Æ£º someok