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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
RACHEL MARTIN, HOST:
Here with our poet in residence, Kwame Alexander. Hello, Kwame.
KWAME ALEXANDER: Hey there, Rachel. How you doing?
MARTIN: I'm pretty good. How are you doing?
ALEXANDER: I'm super.
MARTIN: You're super. You're always super.
ALEXANDER: What can I say? I'm batting a thousand.
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ALEXANDER: I'm undefeated.
MARTIN: Nice. I like how you worked that in.
MARTIN: (Laughter) Ace, when we were last together, we shared some sports poetry, and we asked our listeners to send in their masterpieces, and they did, right?
ALEXANDER: How many did we get?
MARTIN: Over 500.
ALEXANDER: Wow.
MARTIN: I know. It was pretty good.
ALEXANDER: I know I say this a lot, but this poetry thing really works.
MARTIN: It does.
ALEXANDER: I think people love it because it lets them feel more connected to others.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ALEXANDER: I found an interesting quote about poetry from a Polish poet, whose name I can never pronounce correctly, Czeslaw Milosz. (Reading) The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open. There are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will.
MARTIN: So true, right? OK. With that, shall we present our MORNING EDITION community poem about sports?
ALEXANDER: Game on, Rachel Martin. You start and I'll sub.
MARTIN: (Laughter) OK. Here we go. (Reading) The trail has been treacherous2, rocky and twisting. I'm tempted3 to quit, my poor legs resisting, but up this steep hill I continue to rally, envisioning flowers that bloom in the valley.
ALEXANDER: (Reading) I'm a hurricane force with a Blue Jacket sting. I flash to the finish like my feet have wings. You'd think you'd got skill with your high jump technique. I spring through the air while you're tripping on your feet. I hurdle4 through the world while you stub your toes.
MARTIN: (Reading) I'm the queen of the fast lane. Everybody knows. So bring your best, your talent, your speed. The ladies from Daniels don't follow; we lead.
ALEXANDER: (Reading) The girl's got hoops5, and she's 5'9", a skinny brown beanpole. I'm so proud she's mine. I had pushed for ballet slippers6. She quietly agreed. Graceful7 but loveless, she did it for me. Now on that court with the ball in her hand, more graceful than ever. The dance finally began. Crisp movements, catching8 the eyes of everyone in the room, gliding9 across the floor as if on water, jumping with the beat of the melody.
MARTIN: (Reading) There's something about the arc the ball makes as it traces the path between us; catch and throw, catch and throw. The warmth of the early spring sun, the slap of the ball into leather, the movement of muscles, automatic, familiar. We ease into it, loosening our arms with throws casual and slow.
ALEXANDER: (Reading) We have played this game with Nerf balls, babies sleeping in the other room, with tennis balls in swimming pools, showing off our acrobatic diving catches, a 10 from the American judge, on grassy10 fields with bases, giggling11 kids racing12 between, caught in a pickle13.
MARTIN: (Reading) Through 40 years of friendship and 30 of marriage, this has been a constant - shall I compare thee to a stand-up double? Thou art more welcome and more absolute.
ALEXANDER: (Reading) Hey, honey, got your glove?
MARTIN: (Reading) Now we take it more seriously than when we were any good, before the joint14 surgeries, when we could still hit without pain, when we had legs. Now we play not to lose. But today, everyone that shows up wins, this sun, this sky, these companionable partners, these comprehensible lines.
ALEXANDER: (Reading) When you have ice blocks for feet, icicle fingers and a lump in your throat to tremble your body with cold tomorrow, you doubt the sanity15 of waking at 5, the 8-year-old on ice by 6, blades carving16 shapes you can't name. And when your boy looks through his coach's face on the bench, red cheeks, a fire in each wooded eye, complains about tripping, that number 16 with the black mask, says I'll chop him down next time, you doubt this game. At the hour you venture into the warm room to thaw17 out your spine18 and hear a father break down his son's backhand highlight spinner in a voice loud enough for all to hear, you know the annual backyard ice sheet was a bad idea.
MARTIN: (Reading) This is not what forgiveness is supposed to look like, fast-food tacos and football. The game should be a reason to talk. But as players flatten19 each other, we watch with flat faces. Football steals Sundays. Hon, weekends are for family. Help with these damn kids.
ALEXANDER: (Reading) Stop. Imagine the universe, green-sunned planet or whatever, where this is poetry. Where Monday morning papers put a poet - mouth open, arm rising - on the front page and, in its own section, there are statistical20 landscapes ranking metaphors21 and similes22, top 10 rundown of the season's best opening and closing lines, investigative articles on the billions of hours of lost office productivity due to online fantasy poet leagues.
MARTIN: (Reading) There's a big, burly man in a headset somewhere weeping and waving his hands about Kwame Alexander before four sportscasters in matching tweed blazers slap each other on the back and stage an analytical23 replay of an Emily Dickinson stanza24 with unseen markers drawing arrows and lines across the screen.
ALEXANDER: (Reading) The sky was clear. The snow was deep. I prayed the Lord my soul to keep, then launched myself down mountain steep in search of Alpine25 glory.
MARTIN: (Reading) I skied the bumps with grace and flair26. I hit the jumps and caught some air. I didn't know that rock was there. And that concludes my story.
ALEXANDER: (Laughter) Man, our listeners are ballers. That was an awesome27 cornucopia28, a poet-pourri (ph) if you will.
MARTIN: A poet-pourri.
ALEXANDER: A poet-pourri of the wild world of sports.
MARTIN: We had tennis and baseball, track, cross-country, of course, football.
ALEXANDER: We had some ballet in there and basketball and hockey.
MARTIN: Yep. Thanks to all of you, all of our listeners, who submitted poems. We so appreciate it.
ALEXANDER: We can't share all of them, but there are so many wonderful contributions. It's such an honor to read and to help create this community, crowdsourced poem.
MARTIN: We love it every time we do this. Kwame Alexander is a regular contributor to MORNING EDITION, a huge Mystics fan, we should say, and the inaugural29 innovator30 in residence at the American School in London. Kwame, Happy Thanksgiving.
ALEXANDER: You as well, Rachel. Cheers.
(SOUNDBITE OF SABZI'S "SMOKER'S COUGH")
1 ace | |
n.A牌;发球得分;佼佼者;adj.杰出的 | |
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2 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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3 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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4 hurdle | |
n.跳栏,栏架;障碍,困难;vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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5 hoops | |
n.箍( hoop的名词复数 );(篮球)篮圈;(旧时儿童玩的)大环子;(两端埋在地里的)小铁弓 | |
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6 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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7 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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8 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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9 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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10 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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11 giggling | |
v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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12 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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13 pickle | |
n.腌汁,泡菜;v.腌,泡 | |
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14 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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15 sanity | |
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
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16 carving | |
n.雕刻品,雕花 | |
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17 thaw | |
v.(使)融化,(使)变得友善;n.融化,缓和 | |
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18 spine | |
n.脊柱,脊椎;(动植物的)刺;书脊 | |
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19 flatten | |
v.把...弄平,使倒伏;使(漆等)失去光泽 | |
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20 statistical | |
adj.统计的,统计学的 | |
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21 metaphors | |
隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
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22 similes | |
(使用like或as等词语的)明喻( simile的名词复数 ) | |
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23 analytical | |
adj.分析的;用分析法的 | |
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24 stanza | |
n.(诗)节,段 | |
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25 alpine | |
adj.高山的;n.高山植物 | |
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26 flair | |
n.天赋,本领,才华;洞察力 | |
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27 awesome | |
adj.令人惊叹的,难得吓人的,很好的 | |
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28 cornucopia | |
n.象征丰收的羊角 | |
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29 inaugural | |
adj.就职的;n.就职典礼 | |
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30 innovator | |
n.改革者;创新者 | |
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