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Sticks英文诗词精选

诗词 时间:2021-08-31 手机版

  Sticks

Sticks英文诗词精选

  by Thomas Sayers Ellis

  My father was an enormous man

  Who believed kindness and lack of size

  Were nothing more than sissified

  Signs of weakness. Narrow-minded,

  His eyes were the worst kind

  Of jury — deliberate, distant, hard.

  No one could out-shout him

  Or make bigger fists. The few

  Who tried got taken for bad,

  Beat down, their bodies slammed.

  I wanted to be just like him:

  Big man, man of the house, king.

  A plagiarist, hitting the things he hit,

  I learned to use my hands watching him

  Use his, pretending to slap mother

  When he slapped mother.

  He was sick. A diabetic slept

  Like a silent vowel inside his well-built,

  Muscular, dark body. Hard as all that

  With similar weaknesses

  — I discovered writing,

  How words are parts of speech

  With beats and breaths of their own.

  Interjections like flams. Wham! Bam!

  An heir to the rhythm

  And tension beneath the beatings,

  My first attempts were filled with noise,

  Wild solos, violent uncontrollable blows.

  The page tightened like a drum

  Resisting the clockwise twisting

  Of a handheld chrome key,

  The noisy banging and tuning of growth

的'

  Sticks

Sticks英文诗词精选

  by Thomas Sayers Ellis

  My father was an enormous man

  Who believed kindness and lack of size

  Were nothing more than sissified

  Signs of weakness. Narrow-minded,

  His eyes were the worst kind

  Of jury — deliberate, distant, hard.

  No one could out-shout him

  Or make bigger fists. The few

  Who tried got taken for bad,

  Beat down, their bodies slammed.

  I wanted to be just like him:

  Big man, man of the house, king.

  A plagiarist, hitting the things he hit,

  I learned to use my hands watching him

  Use his, pretending to slap mother

  When he slapped mother.

  He was sick. A diabetic slept

  Like a silent vowel inside his well-built,

  Muscular, dark body. Hard as all that

  With similar weaknesses

  — I discovered writing,

  How words are parts of speech

  With beats and breaths of their own.

  Interjections like flams. Wham! Bam!

  An heir to the rhythm

  And tension beneath the beatings,

  My first attempts were filled with noise,

  Wild solos, violent uncontrollable blows.

  The page tightened like a drum

  Resisting the clockwise twisting

  Of a handheld chrome key,

  The noisy banging and tuning of growth

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