如何读诗的读后感大全
《如何读诗》是一本由[英] 特里·伊格尔顿著作，北京大学出版社出版的平装图书，本书定价：40.00元，页数：255，特精心从网络上整理的一些读者的读后感，希望对大家能有帮助。
●首图上架
●终于啃完了，针对英语语言特征展开的诗歌分析评论，比如抑扬五音部、头韵、近韵等等，中文读者看来其实无感甚至陌生艰涩。对自己帮助不算太大，不过有些具体诗句的分析倒是能看出作者敏感犀利的文本感悟力，接下来打算读朱光潜的《诗论》。
●即使是被说成是入门书，也具有相对较深的智性内涵，但是有一点文论基础，又肯专心看进去的，会体会到那种英式学者才会给你的智性愉悦
●作为一本英文诗歌理论入门，的确非常实用。但分析诗和感受诗是两回事。就像解剖后的每个人体部件并非人一样。
●回到肌理。
●这本书还是适合有点诗歌理论基础的人阅读。翻译痕迹很明显，有的词可能在中文语境里没有对应的，生译过来很难懂，个别句子明显是英语句法特点，不太顺畅。总体来说，是一本能给人带来启发的导读性书籍。确实应该按原著前言所述，从第四章“寻求形式”、第五章“如何读诗”和第六章开始读，会更好理解。
●伊格尔顿说过自己享受写通俗读物，晚年重新拾起一些利维斯，做点普及工作。楼上评论可能对伊格尔顿本人不是特别了解吧，左翼利维斯主义者才能写出这样的读物，以细读为基础又出乎新批评。张目部分是最后几页：永远历史化。
●“大多数人之所以不理睬大多数诗，是因为大多数诗不理睬大多数人”这本书亦复如是。
●【送书活动】免费送全新纸质书，数量有限，送完即止；有兴趣的朋友可以豆邮我了解！豆邮时请注明书名
《如何读诗》读后感(一)：如何读诗
哈罗德布鲁姆有一句很短且很通俗易懂的话： 读诗要当成诗来读。 在我看来，诗歌文本之所以有魅力并且能够吸引人的原因是-----在诗学的程度上而言诗歌作品是一种沉淀下来的精华艺术。
如果诗歌是精致的瓮，那么诗歌是将文学作品的一部分的高度密集在一个狭小的空间内，用艺术的言语组织和艺术的结构和艺术的声韵来表达诗人的作品。
《如何读诗》读后感(二)：就这？
这本书我给了一星，说白了就是给翻译，我也不太明白上面一群给高评的朋友是怎么想的。
第二章有一节叫做“诗和道德”，那么他的道德是什么单词呢？是moral，moral居然翻译成道德的？？？？诗歌是道德的？？？我的天难道这里不是应该翻译成精神的吗？？？
《如何读诗》读后感(三)：爱诗就是爱文学，爱陀思妥耶夫斯基，就是爱文学❤️
打卡《如何读诗》作者：特里•伊格尔顿
我最喜欢这句话——
“现实是对我们背过身去的东西，抵制着我们幼稚的、让世界应当像镜子一样为我们服务的要求。”
印象最深的还有，伊格尔顿拒绝认为区分诗与散文的标志是押韵，格律，或是意象，他举例说普鲁斯特的节奏感不比史蒂文斯差，伍尔夫散文里也充斥着大量隐喻。就我个人而言，我认为诗歌的意义体现在两点——
第一，诗是对于普通日常，贫乏单调的事物进行一次崭新的，神圣的，审美性的关照，我惊叹于帕斯捷尔纳克《马堡》“风像船夫，滑过椴树林。”同时我也惊叹于艾略特在《J·阿尔弗雷德·普罗弗洛克的情歌》中，写“趁黄昏正铺展在天际，像一个上了麻醉的病人躺在手术台上”，拉金在他的《日子》写“日子所用为何？日子是我们的居所”。我认为诗恢复了万物的尊严。
第二，诗不说教。它的道德感就在于以精微而准确的语言，让读者直觉性地领悟精神内涵。
其实在我心中，文学的本质就是诗。伟大的小说如果只满足于简单的讲故事，没有诗性的渗入与关照肯定不行。作为陀爷脑残粉，我想起了《卡拉马佐夫兄弟》中印象最深的两段话——
（一）
“我也在受苦遭罪，可我仍然不算活着。我是不定方程式里的一个未知数。我只是生命的一个幻影，失去了所有的开端和终极，最后连自己叫什么也忘了。你在笑……不，你不在笑，你又在生气。你老是生气，你关心的只是智慧，可是我再次向你表示：我愿献出在星辰更高处的全部生命、所有头衔和荣誉，唯求能化作一个七普特的商人老婆的灵魂，在教堂里向上帝敬献蜡烛。”
（二）
“我还是活着，看得见太阳；纵然看不见太阳，我仍然知道有太阳。”
这两句话，在我看来，便是诗。
《如何读诗》读后感(四)：教人读诗，非常好
我开始理解诗了，尽管诗还不太愿意理解我。最初是为了理解唐宋诗歌，后来读懂了一些现代诗。很细致条理的讲解了分析诗的方法，或者说诗歌解读多重意义的基础在于阐释，而阐释是具有基本的方法的。举个例子：杜尚的《泉》。对于不懂艺术的人无法理解其意义，对于搞哲学美学文学的人，会从外部或本专业进行吐沫横飞的解读，唯有接受过系统训练的艺术生才能看出这个作品符合古典艺术标准，符合《蒙娜丽莎》的阴阳分割比例，才对传统艺术构成了巨大的挑战。诗歌一定是有门径的，然后才能结合个人进行多元阐发。在这里，作者打破了私人体验的神话，从第一章“批评的功能”到第四章“如何读诗”，一以贯之。其中有一点我很喜欢，他将诗歌情感归结为语言属性而非道德品性，这就解释了元好问所说的“心画心声总失声”的问题。当然，我觉得还可以进一步推衍这个思路：如果有作品的作者是无意识混合了道德和语言的力量，表现出真实的情感，那么文学批评家可以只针对其表达效果进行分析，不能煞有介事的把道德算作文学技法。除非作者是有意识的，“故意”混杂了情感与语言，在这种情况下才能称其使用技法，这种技法本身及其带来的复杂情况才值得分析。好像我总是无法跳脱出创作角度进行思考。
诗歌高贵的原因也就找到了：其具有高度凝缩的方式。
比如我写的这首论诗诗：
《形式主义》
我发现现代诗比我想的要难写，
如果绯红的花朵下没有蕴藏果实，
如果深海中三道渔网缠住一条小鱼。
每一个诗行都承载了其内容。（当然现在看，第三行要比第二行承载的意义多一点，但二者都重复阐释“诗行凝缩”问题，不够好）其形式的重要区分了那些简单将句子切割的话和不入流的诗歌。
“凡是杀不死我的必定使我强大”，有人说是尼采说的，如果尼采真的说过，翻译应该是“凡是使我置于死地才能让我感受到生命”，否则无法体现其“冒险”的理念。说起尼采，我经常开他得梅毒的玩笑。奇怪的是很多人打着尼采或者其他人的旗号去掩饰自己欲望的生活。但得梅毒的人很多，成为尼采的几乎很少。并不是得了梅毒就能变成尼采，也不是跟艺术家睡觉就能获得艺术，反而是成为艺术家的路上要十分艰辛，突然有点出格，方觉特色。我觉得道理挺感动的，可咋就许多人反着来？可能说的话不通俗，我们这有一句老话：“学好不容易，学坏一出溜”。就是这个意思。
以上这一大段话，从“冒险”开始，接上“大概是许多人厌倦了朝九晚五的工作和奉献学术事业的伟大理想，开始搞学生吧。”这句话承载的内容，如果是道德者或熟悉语境者或熟悉我本人者，会认为使用了反讽的技巧，如果是非道德者或批判者，则可以认为是“米菲斯特式”语句。
最后要说明的是，情感真挚可以用语言建造，但不是所有语言都能建造。前些日子一个老师突发去世，另一个老师撰写一篇怀念文。众师生纷纷转发。大概我没有“巧遇”过灵车，也无法在车子“掉头”后望着灵车“越走越远”。可能作者有后视能力，可能作者扭着脖子从后车窗看的（这体位有些难拿捏）不管怎样，其情感的真挚性都无法令我全身心的相信，相反还读出其他诡异的情感。大概，我是文学理论专业，也许，是我天生不太会共鸣。
《如何读诗》读后感(五)：对爱德华·托马斯相关引用
伊格尔顿把爱德华·托马斯的这首《五十捆柴》和威廉·柯林斯的《夜颂》、威廉·华兹华斯的《孤独的收割者》、杰拉德·曼雷·霍普金斯的《上帝的伟大》一起，收入《如何读诗》的最后一章《四首自然诗》，并分别对四首诗进行了分析。
他指出，英国自然诗到爱德华·托马斯出现了一个变化，即“一个诗人真的在自然中间工作”。这也是我在最初的阅读时所感受到的——托马斯不是作为一个旁观者或是一个与土地相关的社会阶层中的置身事外者而进行写作的，他的诗歌本身就是“自然”的一个过程，而非对自然的关照。
在华兹华斯那里，孤独的割麦女总逃脱不了浪漫主义的美的象征，在霍普金斯那里，自然也和上帝挂钩。总之，在这些文人诗的传统里，“自然”已经不再是自然的了。只有爱德华·托马斯把自然本身进行了自然主义的处理。也许正因为如此，写作了《自然主义者之死》的爱尔兰诗人谢默斯·希尼也频频向爱德华·托马斯致敬。
《五十捆柴》在当代的生态主义者那里也许是一首怪异的诗。尽管爱德华·托马斯的诗中经常呈现工业革命以来英国乡村生态景观的变迁，但他却尽量把这种工业焦虑降低到美学的范畴内，而不在经济或生态的角度来思考这个问题。就拿其诗歌中频繁出现的“火车”意象来说，爱德华·托马斯不是将其作为工业文明的“污染”的符号来处理，而是尽力描述其与英国乡村其他固有事物之间在美学上的和谐状态。可以说，爱德华·托马斯是第一个意识到火车进入乡村的后果的人，但是这种意识却没有明显的陌异感，他反而尽力使这些新的变化在乡村变得“自然化”。如《雄心》这首诗（以下中译本未经注明都来自我自己的试译）：
雄心
在那一天之外我从不知道何谓
雄心。一夜霜冻之后，三月的
太阳尚未照亮，西南风还没有来到。
寒鸦已经开始欢呼并且高翔，
其中一只正独自竞飞，
像一位黑衣战士高声
向宽阔的天空提出挑战和威吓。
而一只啄木鸟则用一声响亮的长笑
嘲弄着猫头鹰最后的眼泪中的悲伤。
在有人群骚动的山谷
使珍珠似的云烟朝高塔落下它的白翅膀，
而黑色的树和白色的草地上
却有比天堂里最幸福的时刻还多的快乐。
一列火车呼啸着穿过山谷，在它身后
高高地托起着一朵云形成的一动不动的
白色凉亭，首尾相连，纹理若锦，
它以仙女似的沉默触摸着火车的啸声。
在这场持续里时间是无力的。我会坐着
并且想像是我创造了最初的美。
用呼吸赐予它生命，并且是它的主人，
其他什么也没有，除了这缠绕的祥云和白霜。
我是全能的，甚至不为自己一事无成
而悲伤。但结局像钟声一样降临：
凉亭倾圮，火车呼啸着奔向远方。
但倘若这就是我所知晓的雄心，
那我所知不详的雄心又是什么？
尤其是这几句诗：“一列火车呼啸着穿过山谷，在它身后/高高地托起着一朵云形成的一动不动的/白色凉亭，首尾相连，纹理若锦，/它以仙女似的沉默触摸着火车的啸声。/在这场持续里时间是无力的。我会坐着/并且想像是我创造了最初的美。”诗人在此充满了自我意识，他想象是自己创造了“最初的美”，这种最初的美指的应该就是作为近期技术结果的蒸汽机和作为历史的乡村自然事物之间并置带来的美，而爱德华·托马斯是它的第一个发现者。同时，他对这种最初的美却丝毫没有惊讶感，仿佛它和手工时代的事物毫无二致似的。而在《艾德尔斯托普》这首有名的诗中，爱德华·托马斯也把车站这一新生事物描述为像一块裸露的岩石一般“自然”的场地。
艾德尔斯托普
是的。我记得艾德尔斯托普——
这个名字，因为一个炎热的下午
快车罕见地在那儿停下了。
那是在一个六月的下旬。
蒸汽嘶嘶响。一个人清了清喉咙。
空空的月台上没有一个人离开
也没有一个人来。我看到的只是
艾德尔斯托普——仅仅一个名字
以及柳树，柳叶菜，还有野草
和蚊子草，还有干草堆，
同那高空中的云朵一样宁静，
一样有寂寞的美。那一刻
有一只乌鸫在近处唱歌，
在它周围，更远，更迷蒙的地方
是牛津郡和格洛斯特郡
百鸟传来的啼鸣。
在《五十捆柴》里，同样，伐木这件事本身既不涉及神秘，也不涉及暴力。换句话说，它对宗教和生态同时保持了冷淡的距离。这使爱德华·托马斯成为一位独特的“自然”诗人。树木通过刀斧朝死亡与炭火的转化没有任何异化的痕迹。尽管诗歌最后三行无意间隐约透漏了时代气息，一股不安的情绪从文字的末梢漫延出来。战争，仿佛在千里之外进行的，也在这平静的乡村留下了一些音讯，一些盼望。这首写柴火——人类的手工制品——的诗，却把人类的痕迹降低为季节一样的自然之物。“这个春天则太迟了；褐雨燕已经来过”，诗人若有若无地把乡民砍柴取火理解为一件物候现象，和植物的荣枯、鸟类的筑巢和迁徙、动物的过冬联系在一起。换言之，爱德华·托马斯笔下的人物仍然生活在时令之中，生活在与自然规律的最贴切的类比中。也许正如诗人所断言的：“我并不能比/知更鸟或鹪鹩预见或掌握更多。”这真是一首朴素的、需要想很少的诗。人就在这种表面的短见里体验了鸟类的生存方式。
伊格尔顿认为诗人关注的不是木柴作为审美对象，而是其作为使用价值，是有道理的。但这种使用价值同时不涉及商品和货币，它是原始的物物交换的一部分。交换的一端是人类，另一端是大自然。
与面对自然事物时的折衷立场一致的，是诗人尽量在自己的诗歌中避免反讽。这几乎是二十世纪诗歌界最大的毒素。爱德华·托马斯的诗相比而言是干净的，没有任何斧凿痕。它的低调、务实、反修辞的特征和它所呈现的事物的样貌取得了惊人的一致。
爱德华·托马斯的诗是一种召回，它使我们感知到工业文明的伊甸园里的生活。它使我们确信，在任何时候，生活都会呈现出一种漫不经心的、“最初的美”。
附《五十捆柴》
它们竖在地上，头朝地，五十捆柴
曾是珍妮·品克斯榛树和梣树林间的灌木。
如今，它们紧拢在篱笆边，
成为一片密林，只有幻想能够独自
捎着老鼠和鹪鹩钻过。明年春天，
会有一只乌鸫或知更鸟在那儿筑巢，
习惯于它们的存在，认为它们保有
对于一只鸟而言永恒的什么东西：
这个春天则太迟了；褐雨燕已经来过。
将它们捆来时天太热了：
但愿它们永不温暖我，尽管它们不得不
点燃好几个冬天的火炉。当它们成为灰烬时
战争兴许就结束了，许多其他事情
也已结束了，或许吧，我并不能比
知更鸟或鹪鹩预见或掌握更多。
伊格尔顿《爱德华·托马斯的<五十捆柴>》全文 中译本见陈太胜译的伊格尔顿《如何读诗》第六章《四首自然诗》
Edward Thomas, ‘Fifty Faggots’
The final work to examine is Edward Thomas’s ‘Fifty Faggots’, written early
in the twentieth century:
There they stand, on their ends, the fifty faggots
That once were underwood of hazel and ash
In Jenny Pinks’s Copse. Now, by the hedge
Close packed, they make a thicket fancy alone
Can creep through with the mouse and wren. Next Spring
A blackbird or a robin will nest there,
Accustomed to them, thinking they will remain
Whatever is for ever to a bird.
This Spring it is too late; the swift has come,
’Twas a hot day for carrying them up:
etter they will never warm me, though they must
Light several Winters’ fires. Before they are done
The war will have ended, many other things
Have ended, maybe, that I can no more
Foresee or more control than robin and wren.
It is a change to find a poet actually working in the midst of Nature. In Collins’s ‘Ode to Evening’ we see no signs of labour at all, and the poet’s stance to the landscape is purely contemplative. (Much the same is true of the novels of Jane Austen, which hardly ever portray anybody at work on the landed estates which form their backdrop.) Wordsworth is watching someone else working but not working himself, and the reaper’s labour is not the focus of his attention. The Hopkins poem is sharply critical of work upon the natural world, which it can see only as a form of ravage and pollution. In this poem, however, Nature is not a landscape to be surveyed but a working environ- ment to be engaged with. Work is the process by which human beings trans- form their natural environment in order to meet their needs, and Thomas makes no sentimental apology for hacking faggots (or bundles of firewood) from a copse. Country people need to keep warm in winter, and relate to Nature not primarily as an aesthetic object but in terms of its use-value. It is generally town-dwellers who gaze upon Nature as a timeless aesthetic spectacle, in what one might call the day-tripper view of the countryside. They do not typically see Nature as fuel and food – as something to eat as well as something to stare at. Whereas ‘Fifty Faggots’ is clearly a poem by someone who lives in a rural environment, knows his way around and names the landscape in familiar local terms (‘Jenny Pinks’s Copse’) rather than, like Collins, in the more exalted nomenclature of myth and allegory. Nature comes to us not ‘in itself’, but as socially mediated: Thomas is interested in the way it is woven through with human meanings and purposes, and not just human ones either: even the birds see Nature not as a reality in itself but as somewhere to nest. Even so, this is not a natural landscape which is centred on the human. ‘Man’ is not lord of all he surveys, appropriating what he wants from Nature with the consumerist lack of effort of a Wordsworth plucking memories like pansies as he wanders on his way. Thomas’s relationship to Nature is among other things one of sweat and struggle: carrying the faggots up to the hedge was an arduous business, which he tells us with a pleasant touch of wit has warmed him more than the fires that the wood is intended for ever will. Nature is not a blank text to be inscribed as the fancy takes you, but recalcitrant stuff with a life of its own. The closing lines of the piece – ‘. . . many other things / Have ended, maybe, that I can no more / Foresee or more control than robin and wren’ – ‘decentres’ the supposedly privileged nature of human consciousness by stressing its ignorance and fallibility, thus putting humanity on the side of the equally agnostic birds rather than raising it above them. ‘. . . that I can no more / Foresee or more control than robin and wren’ presumably means that the poet can no more foresee or control the future, or indeed events happening elsewhere in the present, than the birds can. But it is also possible to read ‘robin and wren’ as the objects of the verbs ‘foresee’ and ‘control’, so that the line comes to mean ‘I can no more foresee or control these events than I can foresee or control robin and wren.’ This involves some grammatical strain, since you can speak of foreseeing a disaster but not, normally, of foreseeing a bird. Yet this possible sense lingers within the more obvious mean- ing of the line, to suggest humanity’s lack of control or dominance over its surroundings, the way it cannot second-guess either the natural or the human processes at work around it. The human is also dislodged from any particularly exalted status within Nature by the poem’s quiet insistence on how alien natural things are to us, as well as how intimate. Humans and animals interact within the same con- text, as mice and wrens may creep through the faggots which the speaker has stacked, and birds will later come to nest in them. Yet they also inhabit their own quite separate time-schemes, worlds of meaning and spheres of activity, and the very interaction of these with each other shows up, ironic- ally, how different they are. A bird’s idea of eternity is inscrutable to us, though we can assume it is not the same as ours. Its comings and goings intersect with our own history and practice, but also cut through them like an alter- native universe. It is as though different worlds sit cheek by jowl, interrelated but non-interfering. Whereas natural landscapes are often seen as static and changeless, Thomas’s poem is alive with transformation. The faggots were once ‘under- wood of hazel and ash’, and will soon be consumed to ashes of a different kind. What looks like a static object is just a kind of snapshot or cross- section of a complex temporal process. A world which is actually a set of processes appears to us like a set of fixed objects. Stacked by the hedge, the bundles of firewood ‘make a thicket’, which (since thickets are fairly fixed features of a landscape) lends a kind of deceptive air of permanency to what is actually a bunch of sticks in transit from copse to winter fires. This, presumably, is how the mouse and the wren will treat it, just as the nesting blackbird and the robin will behave as though this ephemeral pile of timber has always been there and always will be. Even so, it is too late for what will happen next year to happen this year; the two temporal frames are disjoint. The speaker inhabits different time-schemes, too. The wood-carrying which took only a brief time to heat him up can be contrasted with the longer- term destiny of the faggots, one which will stretch the length of several winters. And this time-stream can be measured in turn against the great public time- frame known as political history, so that the First World War, in which Thomas fought and was killed, will be over before the faggots have been used up. It is odd to think of such a modest, local event as the consumption of firewood in an English village outlasting such a global narrative as the war. No grand totality of these various time-schemes appears possible: they do not seem to add up to some master-narrative which would make sense of them all. Instead, for Thomas as much as for Thomas Hardy, it is the ironic, contin- gent, purely random way they collide with each other which is most ima- ginatively compelling. Things exist in the present, but also, in a ghostly, indeterminate kind of way, in the future. They have a similarly hazy existence, through memory, in the past. Memory and anticipation are faculties which only human animals possess, furnished as they are with the power of imagination. Robins pre- sumably do not cherish fond memories of their infantile years, or blackbirds expect the farmer to return next Wednesday at ten minutes past three. Only an animal with language is able to do that. So the speaker knows more than mouse and wren, but much of what he knows concerns how much he doesn’t know. One might almost claim that human beings have consciousness in order to know what they don’t know. They are aware of their own ignorance and powerlessness, as birds presumably are not; and it is this alone, perhaps, which raises them above their fellow animals. Human beings live in the subjunctive mood, as well as in the indicative one. If the poet has an edge over the birds in knowing that there is such a thing as the future, he is nevertheless as ignorant as they are of what it might hold: ‘. . . many other things / Have ended, maybe’. ‘Things’ is significantly vague, and the fact that they have ended is by no means sure. So one cannot even be certain of events which have already taken place, let alone those still to come. Only the future will disclose whether something which might have ended in the present really has done so, so that once more we have a cross- ing and merging of time-streams, this time within human history itself. Projecting ourselves forward in imagination lends our lives an anxiety and instability to which blackbirds are immune. The present is hollowed out by the way it intimates a set of possible futures, just as it is overshadowed by the various pasts from which it evolved. Yet it is not quite that living in time robs us of solid self-identity in a way that can be contrasted with the replete- ness of the faggots. For they, too, as we have seen, have a history, and thus only an illusory self-completeness. The difference is rather that we live out the chancy, provisional nature of our history in the form of lack, desire and imagination, whereas the natural life-forms around us do not. The fleeting, open-ended nature of things, despite many a poetic cliché to the contrary, is not simply to be lamented. In fact, this poem is not neces- sarily lamenting it at all. Transience means among things that the war will not last for ever, even if the poet’s confidence that it will be over before the faggots are finished is somewhat at odds with his general agnosticism. Envisaging the future may make you dissatisfied with the present, but it may also prevent you from absolutising it. The ‘many other things’ that may have ended are not necessarily all positive. Just as a fugitive feature of the land- scape (the faggots) can be mistaken by a bird for a customary one, so aspects of a customary way may have vanished overnight with the military upheaval. But we should not conclude that this is all to be regretted. It is the sheer fact of ephemerality, rather than the specific losses and gains that it brings, that seems to preoccupy the poem. The piece is full of a sense of clashing per- spectives, ironic juxtapositions and relative standpoints. In this sense, its very form is ‘liberal’, questioning the kind of dogmatic rhetoric which was asso- ciated with the war itself. It makes a virtue out of not being sure, at the same time as its closing lines betray the insecurity which such a lack of assurance can breed. The mood of the poem, then, is not elegiac. In fact, Thomas is too busy thinking in these lines to indulge in any very intense emotion. It is hardly the kind of compliment one could pay to, say, Tennyson. The language of the work is low-key, businesslike and briskly anti-rhetorical. It accepts in its level-headed way the clashing, ironic, untotalisable nature of things, but it is not excessively stoical about it. The tone of the last few lines is matter-of- fact and a touch wry, rather than nostalgic. The poet himself intrudes on the scene he portrays only at a couple of points. Sensibility is subordinated to deｓｃｒｉｐｔion. There is no deep subjectivity at stake here. Yet the sense of a poetic personality – ironic, unassuming, coolly realistic, really rather English – comes strongly through. It is a poem which, in an understated, self- effacing English way, refuses to flaunt its superbly accomplished technique.
希尼的《爱德华·托马斯走在拉甘斯路上》 中译本见雷武铃译《区线与环线》
Edward Thomas on the Lagans Road by Seamus Heaney
He's not in view but I can hear a step
On the grass-crowned road, the whip of daisy heads
On the toes of boots.
ehind the hedge
Eamon Murphy and Teresa Brennan -
Fully clothed, strong-arming each other -
Have sensed him and gone quiet. I keep on watching
As they rise and go.
And now the road is empty.
othing but air and light between their love-nest
And the bracken hillside where I lie alone.
Utter evening, as it was in the beginning,
Until the remembered come and go of lovers
rings on his long-legged self on the Lagans Road -
Edward Thomas in his khaki tunic
Like one of the Evans brothers out of Leitrim,
Demobbed, 'not much changed', sandy moustached and freckled
From being, they said, with Monty in the desert.
· From District and Circle by Seamus Heaney, published by Faber