قصائد أجنبية

هذه القصيدة هي عبارة عن مونولوج درامي للشعر الحر، وهذه القصيدة كتبها شاعر ومؤلف وكاتب مسرحي اسكتلندي وهو كارول آن دافي (Carol Ann Duffy)، ويقدم المتحدث لعشيقته عيد الحب على شكل بصل

كتب جون دون (John Donne) هذه القصيدة، وهو كاتب وسياسي ومحامي وكاهن من القرن السابع عشر، بمناسبة فراق زوجته آن مور دون في عام 1611، وكان دون ذاهبًا في مهمة دبلوماسية إلى فرنسا.

.For marriage, love and love alone’s the argument Sweet ceremony, then hand in hand we go .Taking to our changed, still dangerous days, our complement We think we know ourselves, but all we know

Minutes before the rain begins I always waken, listening ,to the world hold its breath as if a phone had rung once in a far

He stalks in his vivid stripes ,The few steps of his cage ,On pads of velvet quiet .In his quiet rage

,King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport ;And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court ,The nobles filled the benches, and the ladies in their pride :And ‘mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed

There's a breathless hush on the freeway tonight Beyond the ledges of concrete Restaurants fall into dreams With candlelight couples

At the stoplight waiting for the light nine a.m. downtown San Francisco a bright yellow garbage truck with two garbagemen in red plastic blazers

?What happens to a dream deferred Does it dry up ?like a raisin in the sun —Or fester like a sore

.It was a long time ago .I have almost forgotten my dream ,But it was there then ,In front of me —,Bright like a sun .My dream

;LOVE, a child, is ever crying ;Please him, and he straight is flying ,Give him, he the more is craving .Never satisfied with having

In this game of life your family is the court .and the ball is your heart

Pull over. Your car with its slow breathing. Somewhere outside Topeka ,it suddenly all matters again those tractors blooming rust

Remember how we rowed toward the cottage ,on the sickle-shaped bay that one night after the pub loosed us through its swinging doors

A married state affords but little ease .The best of husbands are so hard to please

,We started speaking .Looked at each other, then turned away .The tears kept rising to my eyes .But I could not weep

!There they go marching all in step so gay .Smooth-cheeked and golden, food for shells and guns ,Blithely they go as to a wedding day .The mothers' sons

,I am lulled by the imprint of ancient tales .Written in blood red, vermilion hue ,Man and tattered dreadlocks us ,As dragonflies we drink our thirst

,Die, wild country, like the eaglehawk ,dangerous till the last breath's gone clawing and striking. Die .cursing your captor through a raging eye

,Remember the sky that you were born under .know each of the star's stories .Remember the moon, know who she is Remember the sun's birth at dawn, that is the

هي قصيدة للشاعرة جوي هارجو، تستخدم الشاعرة الصورة المركزية لطاولة المطبخ لربط جميع مجالات الحياة، الطفولة، والحب، والخسارة، والحرب، والبلوغ، والذاكرة كلها مرتبطة بالأحداث التي تحدث على الطاولة، يصبح الصورة المركزية لهارجو ، الجدول الذي يمثل كل المساعي البشرية.

We were running out of breath, as we ran out to meet ourselves. We .Were surfacing the edge of our ancestors’ fights, and ready to Strike .It was difficult to lose days in the Indian bar if you were Straight Easy if you played pool and drank to remember to forget. We

In this blue light ,I can take you there snow having made me a world of bone

;Absent from thee I languish still ?Then ask me not, when I return The straying fool ’twill plainly kill .To wish all day, all night to mourn

WHEN first I saw our banner wave ,Above the nation’s council-hall I heard beneath its marble wall !The clanking fetters of the slave

,To one who has been long in city pent Tis very sweet to look into the fair‘ And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer .Full in the smile of the blue firmament

:The Poetry of earth is never dead ,When all the birds are faint with the hot sun And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run ;From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead

,O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell Let it not be among the jumbled heap —,Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep ,Nature’s observatory—whence the dell

,Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold ;And many goodly states and kingdoms seen Round many western islands have I been .Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold

A planet doesn’t explode of itself," said drily" .The Martian astronomer, gazing off into the air