最新诗歌欣赏：Bedtime Story
by Wanda Coleman
bed calls. i sit in the dark in the living room
trying to ignore them
in the morning， especially Sunday mornings
it will not let me up. you must sleep
longer， it says
facing south
the bed makes me lay heavenward on my back
while i prefer a westerly fetal position
facing the wall
the bed sucks me sideways into it when i
sit down on it to put on my shoes. this
persistence on its part forces me to dress in
the bathroom where things are less subversive
the bed lumps up in anger springs popping out to
scratch my dusky thighs
my little office sits in the alcove adjacent to
the bed. it makes strange little sighs
which distract me from my work
sadistically i pull back the covers
put my typewriter on the sheet and turn it on
the bed complains that i'm difficult duty
its slats are collapsing. it bitches when i
blanket it with books and papers. it tells me
it's made for blood and bone
lately spiders ants and roaches
have invaded it searching for food
诗歌欣赏：A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend：
I told my wrath， my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe：
I told it not， my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears，
Night and morning with my tears；
And I sunnèd it with smiles，
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night，
Till it bore an apple bright；
And my foe beheld it shine，
And he knew that it was mine，
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole：
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.
诗歌欣赏：Baudelaire's Ablutions
by Roger Fanning
Baudelaire， dead broke， nonetheless allowed himself
two hours for his morning ablutions.
（Warm water can be a 一 too.）
His razor scraping whiskers cleanly off
sounded like a file rassrasping
against prison bars. Never did this man
gulp a cup of coffee， bolt out the door
with a blob of shaving cream on one ear，
and go to a job. He composed himself.
Dead broke， he explored （in prose） six waterdrops
that quake in a corner of Delacroix's painting
Dante and Virgil！ Meanwhile， through his window
intruded softly the spiel of a fishmonger
as well as the stench. Many， many vendors still
singsong their wares， as a sort of wishwash drizzle
inducing human animals to mope， to yawn.
We all get bored： between mainstream culture （buy things）
and nature （in this case， rain）， people tend to snooze.
Poetry jolts awake the lucky few. I praise
the mirror－gazing mighty poet Baudelaire，
my hero， a fop full of compulsions，
a perfectionist to whom a single
tweezered nosehair brought tears of joy.
诗歌欣赏：Cement Guitar
All morning I've remembered St.
Ignacio's bruise，
jaundiced seagulls over Quonset，
November
and the gross white sky.
Days so long
you walk home fifteen miles from the restaurant.
Same waitress every day of your life
and she never remembers your allergies.
Nothing on the map but scone crumbs
and a drop of tea.
Just manifold food and a dead request
to bury the last of your seven receipts.
Mother of foster－wit， father of straw，
I can see how silence takes the place of those
who cut their thoughts in stone before they need them.
Stone is the past， and the past is a form of flattery.
Last winter， groups of children sent letters
in sadness for the late Christmas 一.
Addressed to those who managed the fishery，
who named the docks and decided the colors of unfinished boats，
the only way to read them was alive.
To think out loud about those children's names
was to forget what you meant by dying.
诗歌欣赏：Alone Looking at the Mountain
Alone Looking at the Mountain
All the birds have flown up and gone；
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other
Only the mountain and I.
诗歌欣赏：安娜贝尔·李
It was many and many a year ago，
In a kingdom by the sea，
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE；
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
She was a child and I was a child，
In this kingdom by the sea；
But we loved with a love that was more than love
I and my Annabel Lee；
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that， long ago，
In this kingdom by the sea，
A wind blew out of a cloud by night chilling my Annabel Lee；
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me，
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kindom by the sea.
The angels ，not half so happy in the heaven，
Went evnying her and me
Yes！That was the reason（as all men know， in this kingdom by the sea）
That the wind came out of the cloud，
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we
Of many far wiser than we
And neither the angels in heaven above，
Nor the demons down under the sea，
Can ever dissever my soulfrom the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annalbel Lee；
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee；
And so，all the night－tide ， I lie down by the side
Of my darling ， my darling ， my life and my bride，
In the sepulchre there by the sea，
In her tomb by the side of the sea.
很久很久以前，
在一个滨海的国度里，
住着一位少女你或许认得，
她的芳名叫安娜贝尔.李；
这少女活着没有别的愿望，
只为和我俩情相许。
那会儿我还是个孩子，她也未脱稚气，
在这个滨海的国度里；
可我们的爱超越一切，无人能及——
我和我的安娜贝尔.李；
我们爱得那样深，连天上的六翼天使
也把我和她妒嫉。
这就是那不幸的根源，很久以前
在这个滨海的国度里，
夜里一阵寒风从白云端吹起，冻僵了
我的安娜贝尔.李；
于是她那些高贵的亲戚来到凡间
把她从我的身边夺去，
将她关进一座坟墓
在这个滨海的国度里。
这些天使们在天上，不及我们一半快活，
于是他们把我和她妒嫉——
对——就是这个缘故（谁不晓得呢，在这个滨海的国度里）
云端刮起了寒风，
冻僵并带走了我的安娜贝尔.李。
可我们的爱情远远地胜利
那些年纪长于我们的人——
那些智慧胜于我们的人——
无论是天上的天使，
还是海底的恶魔，
都不能将我们的灵魂分离，
我和我美丽的安娜贝尔.李。
因为月亮的每一丝清辉都勾起我的回忆
梦里那美丽的安娜贝尔.李
群星的每一次升空都令我觉得秋波在闪动
那是我美丽的安娜贝尔.李
就这样，伴着潮水，我整夜躺在她身旁
我亲爱的——我亲爱的——我的生命，我的新娘，
在海边那座坟茔里，
在大海边她的墓穴里。
