均是精品，欢迎下载学习！！！欢迎下载百度文库资源资料均是本人搜集均是精品，欢迎下载学习！！！READING ASSIGNMENT FOR TUES 24 NOVEMBERPoems from The Rattle BagRobert Frost, “Birches” (p. 78)Philip Larkin, “The Explosion” (p. 144)Elizabeth Bishop, “The Fish” (p. 153)Sylvia Plath, “Mushrooms” (p. 299)Ezra Pound, “The River-Merchant’s Wife: A Letter” (p. 357)Wallace Stevens, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” (p. 421) Poems posted belowRobert Lowell, “For the Union Dead”Frank O’Hara, “The Day Lady Died”Wislawa Szymborska, “Cat in an Empty Apartment”Robert Pinsky, “The Shirt”James Wright, “Lying in a Hammock…”A. R. Ammons, “Winter Scene”In his brief preface (“Theory”) to The Sounds of Poetry, Robert Pinsky makesthe unequivocal declaration that “No instruction manual can teach as much as careful attention to the sounds in even one great poem.” But don’t take his word for it –let’s put that assertion to the test. For this reading assignment I’d like you to read all twelve of these eclectic and distinctive modern poems with an eye to what might be learned from them about the art and craft of expressing ourselves in the medium of lines. To that end, please select any two of them that made the strongest impression on you, and take a few moments to respond to the questions below. The idea here is not to analyze them the way we might in a literature class so much as to sound out how they’re constructed verbally and prosodically for particular expressive and aesthetic effects. I won’t be asking you to turn in your responses, but we’ll compare notes in class and see what we can do to spark an edifying exchange of views. This is also an opportunity for you to come to class with questions of your own that may be arising as you’re working on your poems, be they technical or philosophical. W e may not arrive at any definitive answers (those can be hard to come by about poetry), but ideally the exercise will clarify the way you approach some of the working principles and tools of the trade that will prove vital in writing memorable poems of your own.1) Succinctly describe the way the lines are working in the poem. What kind of rhythm do they create? Is there a formal pattern or structural principle that seems to determine why the lines break where they do? How does theversification or lineati on contribute to the poem’s overall expressive effector the “figure” it makes?2) Succinctly describe the language in the poem. Does the diction and thesyntax combine to create an effect closer to speech or song? Do you come away with a clear sense of a speaker or persona? What other elements of language (abstract and conceptual vocabulary, uncommon or esoteric words, idiomatic expressions or slang, allusions and quotations, tenses and pronouns,subjunctive or imperative mood, etc) are vital in shaping t he poem’s prevailing sound and sense?3) Succinctly describe the tone of the poem. What kind of mood or feeling or attitude do you get from it? Do you feel that the tone changes or evolves over the course of the poem? Are there conflicting ideas or emotions that it seems intent on expressing?4) Pinpoint a particular detail or a specific moment in the poem that holdsyour attention. Is it an image, a metaphor, a turn or phrase? Is it something concrete or figurative? Is it something that rings true because of its accuracy of perception – or because it persuasively induces your willing suspension of disbelief?5) Respond briefly to how the poem ends. Do you find it surprising or perplexing? Does it feel fully resolved or does it seem to ask you to piece it together or decode its conclusion in some way? Does it seem to complete a train of thought or sequence of events that was set in motion from the outset?FOR THE UNION DEADby Robert Lowell"Relinquunt Omnia Servare Rem Publicam."The old South Boston Aquarium standsin a Sahara of snow now. Its broken windows are boarded. The bronze weathervane cod has lost half its scales.The airy tanks are dry.Once my nose crawled like a snail on the glass;my hand tingledto burst the bubblesdrifting from the noses of the cowed, compliant fish.My hand draws back. I often sigh stillfor the dark downward and vegetating kingdomof the fish and reptile. One morning last March,I pressed against the new barbed and galvanizedfence on the Boston Common. Behind their cage,yellow dinosaur steamshovels were gruntingas they cropped up tons of mush and grassto gouge their underworld garage.Parking spaces luxuriate like civicsandpiles in the heart of Boston.A girdle of orange, Puritan-pumpkin colored girdersbraces the tingling Statehouse,shaking over the excavations, as it faces Colonel Shawand his bell-cheeked Negro infantryon St. Gaudens' shaking Civil War relief,propped by a plank splint against the garage's earthquake. Two months after marching through Boston,half the regiment was dead;at the dedication,William James could almost hear the bronze Negroes breathe. Their monument sticks like a fishbonein the city's throat.Its Colonel is as leanas a compass-needle.He has an angry wrenlike vigilance,a greyhound's gentle tautness;he seems to wince at pleasure,and suffocate for privacy.He is out of bounds now. He rejoices in man's lovely, peculiar power to choose life and die--when he leads his black soldiers to death,he cannot bend his back.On a thousand small town New England greens,the old white churches hold their airof sparse, sincere rebellion; frayed flagsquilt the graveyards of the Grand Army of the Republic. The stone statues of the abstract Union Soldiergrow slimmer and younger each year--wasp-waisted, they doze over musketsand muse through their sideburns . . .Shaw's father wanted no monumentexcept the ditch,where his son's body was thrownand lost with his "niggers."The ditch is nearer.There are no statues for the last war here;on Boylston Street, a commercial photographshows Hiroshima boilingover a Mosler Safe, the "Rock of Ages"that survived the blast. Space is nearer.When I crouch to my television set,the drained faces of Negro school-children rise like balloons. Colonel Shawis riding on his bubble,he waitsfor the blessèd break.The Aquarium is gone. Everywhere,giant finned cars nose forward like fish;a savage servilityslides by on grease.From Life Studies & For the Union Dead (1964)THE DAY LADY DIEDby Frank O'HaraIt is 12:20 in New York a Fridaythree days after Bastille day, yesit is 1959 and I go get a shoeshinebecause I will get off the 4:19 in Easthamptonat 7:15 and then go straight to dinnerand I don’t know the people who wil l feed meI walk up the muggy street beginning to sunand have a hamburger and a malted and buyan ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets in Ghana are doing these daysI go on to the bankand Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard) doesn’t even look up my balance for once in her lifeand in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlainefor Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I dothink of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore orBrendan Behan’s new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègresof Genet, but I don’t, I stick with Verlaineafter practically going to sleep with quandarinessand for Mike I just stroll into the PARK LANELiquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega andthen I go back where I came from to 6th Avenueand the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre andcasually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a cartonof Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking ofleaning on the john door in the 5 SPOTwhile she whispered a song along the keyboardto Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing From Lunch Poems (1964)CAT IN AN EMPTY APARTMENTDie -- you can't do that to a cat.Since what can a cat doin an empty apartment?Climb the walls?Rub against the furniture?Nothing seems different here,but nothing is the same.Nothing has been moved,but there's more space.And at nighttime no lamps are lit.Footsteps on the staircase,but they're new ones.The hand that puts the fish on the saucerhas changed, too.Something doesn't startat its usual time.Something doesn't happenas it should.Someone was always, always here,then suddenly disappearedand stubbornly stays disappeared.Every closet has been examined.Every shelf has been explored.Excavations under the carpet turned up nothing.A commandment was even broken,papers scattered everywhere.What remains to be done.Just sleep and wait.Just wait till he turns up,just let him show his face.Will he ever get a lessonon what not to do to a cat.Sidle toward himas if unwillingand ever so slowon visibly offended paws,and no leaps or squeals at least to start.-- Wislawa Szymborskatranslated from the Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare CavanaghTHE SHIRTBy Robert PinskyThe back, the yoke, the yardage. Lapped seams,The nearly invisible stitches along the collarTurned in a sweatshop by Koreans or Malaysians Gossiping over tea and noodles on their breakOr talking money or politics while one fittedThis armpiece with its overseam to the bandOf cuff I button at my wrist. The presser, the cutter, The wringer, the mangle. The needle, the union,The treadle, the bobbin. The code. The infamous blaze At the Triangle Factory in nineteen-eleven.One hundred and forty-six died in the flamesOn the ninth floor, no hydrants, no fire escapes--The witness in a building across the streetWho watched how a young man helped a girl to stepUp to the windowsill, then held her outAway from the masonry wall and let her drop.And then another. As if he were helping them upTo enter a streetcar, and not eternity.A third before he dropped her put her armsAround his neck and kissed him. Then he heldHer into space, and dropped her. Almost at onceHe stepped to the sill himself, his jacket flaredAnd fluttered up from his shirt as he came down,Air filling up the legs of his gray trousers--Like Hart Crane's Bedlamite, "shrill shirt ballooning." Wonderful how the pattern matches perfectlyAcross the placket and over the twin bar-tacked Corners of both pockets, like a strict rhymeOr a major chord. Prints, plaids, checks, Houndstooth, Tattersall, Madras. The clan tartans Invented by mill-owners inspired by the hoax of Ossian, To control their savage Scottish workers, tamedBy a fabricated heraldry: MacGregor,Bailey, MacMartin. The kilt, devised for workersTo wear among the dusty clattering looms. Weavers, carders, spinners. The loader,The docker, the navvy. The planter, the picker, the sorter Sweating at her machine in a litter of cottonAs slaves in calico headrags sweated in fields:George Herbert, your descendant is a BlackLady in South Carolina, her name is IrmaAnd she inspected my shirt. Its color and fitAnd feel and its clean smell have satisfiedBoth her and me. We have culled its cost and quality Down to the buttons of simulated bone,The buttonholes, the sizing, the facing, the characters Printed in black on neckband and tail. The shape, The label, the labor, the color, the shade. The shirt. From The Want Bone (1990)LYING IN A HAMMOCK AT WILLIAM DUFFY’S FARM IN PINE ISLAND, MINNESOTABy James WrightOver my head, I see the bronze butterfly,Asleep on the black trunk,Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.Down the ravine behind the empty house,The cowbells follow one anotherInto the distances of the afternoon.To my right,In a field of sunlight between two pines,The droppings of last year’s horsesBlaze up into golden stones.I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.I have wasted my life.From The Branch Will Not Break (1963)WINTER SCENEBy A. R. AmmonsThere is now not a single leaf on the cherry tree:except when the jay plummets in, lights, and,in pure clarity, squalls: then every branchquivers andbreaks out in blue leaves. From Selected Poems (1977)。
インフィールドフライinfield fly⾼飞必死球オール3（トリプル3）⼀个球季中有30只全垒打、30次盗垒，外加打击率3成以上。
2002年，西武的松井稼头央曾经创下这样的纪录。
犠打（ぎだ）sacrifice牺牲打規定打席（きていだせき）official plate appearance规定打席クリーンアップcleanup中⼼打者。
在美国是指第4棒。
在⽇本是指3、4、5棒打者。
敬遠（けいえん）intentional walk故意(四坏球)保送サイクルヒットhit for the cycle完全打击三冠王（さんかんおう）Triple Crown三冠王(全垒打、打点、打击率三项第⼀)スイッチヒッターswitch-hitter左右开⼸的打者スクイズsqueeze bunt强迫取分スコアラーscorer收集对⽅投⼿以及⾃⼰投⼿的数据，加以分析之后提供给球队的⼈。
スタンドアップ·ダブルstand-up double打者可以轻轻松松跑到⼆垒的⼆垒安打セーブsave救援セットアッパーset upper中继救援投⼿。
在⽇本职业棒球中，指的是「专门在救援投⼿前⾯上场的投⼿」。
以今年的阪神为例，经常排出这样的「胜利⽅程式」：先发投⼿(前⾯5到6局)→藤川(6、7局)→威廉斯(8局)→久保⽥(9局)。
威廉斯就可以说是阪神队的set upper。
ダブルスチールdouble steal双盗垒ダブルヘッダーdoubleheader⼀天当中，同样的两⽀球队连续打两场。
可以说是⼀种消化⽐赛。
チェンジアップchang up变速球。
⽤和快速球完全⼀模⼀样的动作，投出的慢速球。
并不是球速会变化。
对于速球派投⼿来说，是⼀项扰乱打者挥棒节奏的好武器。
ドラッグバンドdragbunt安全触击。
打者为了上⼀垒，出奇不意的短打。
尤其是左打者。
バッテリーbattery投捕(搭档)。
因为配球由这两个⼈来进⾏，所以经常⼀起称呼。
ピッチドアウトpitchout为了抓盗垒的跑者，投⼿故意投出⼤坏球，让捕⼿可以站起来接球之后直接传球。
林肯著名演讲Gettysburg Address 葛底斯堡演说Gettysburg, PennsylvaniaNovember 19, 1863-Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.-Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives. That nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.-But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.-It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to - that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve - that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.(By Abraham Lincoln)葛底斯堡演说亚伯拉罕·林肯，1863年11月19日宾夕法尼亚葛底斯堡（盖兹堡）公墓山87年前，我们的先辈们在这个大陆上创立了一个新国家，它孕育于自由之中，奉行一切人生来平等的原则。
