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KAMPUNG INGGRIS CEC – Mengenal puisi bahasa Inggris beserta penyair terfavorit. Dalam pembelajaran sastra Bahasa Inggris, kita mengenal yang namanya Poems atau Poetry yang dalam bahasa Indonesia berarti puisi.
Puisi bahasa Inggris secara pengertian dan fungsi sebenarnya sama saja dengan puisi dalam bahasa Indonesia. Yakni berupa untaian kalimat dengan diksi puitis yang indah hingga membentuk bait-bait yang sarat akan makna mendalam.
Terkadang untuk beberapa puisi dengan level diksi yang tinggi bisa sangat sulit untuk diketahui maksudnya. Namun tidak jarang juga puisi yang bisa dengan mudah dipahami cuma dengan membacanya saja, baik dengan deklamasi maupun dibaca biasa.
Hal ini berlaku juga adalam puisi bahasa Inggris, ada yang mudah dipahami, ada juga yang perlu usaha untuk sekadar mencari tahu makna dari puisi tersebut.
Penyair Puisi Bahasa Inggris
Diperingati setiapDiperingati setiap tahun pada tanggal 21 Maret, Hari Puisi Sedunia merayakan aliran emosional kata, sajak, dan ritme penyair di seluruh dunia. Dari Shakespeare, Rudyard Kipling hingga Robert Frost dan Sylvia Plath. Inilah penyair puisi bahasa Inggris terfavorit dan contoh puisi bahasa Inggris.
WB Yeats
William Butler Yeats dilahirkan di Sandymout Irlandia pada tahun 1865. Masa kanak-kanaknya dihabiskan di sebuah desa kecil di Sligo yang masih alami, lalu belajar seni di Dublin. Ia memutuskan untuk memusatkan perhatian pada puisi ketika mengalami masa-masa sulit dalam kehidupannya semenjak pindah ke London pada tahun 1888.
Kumpulan puisi pertamanya adalah The Wandering of Oisin (1889), disusul kumpulan-kumpulan puisi lain, diantaranya The End among The Reds (1899), The Wild Swans at Coole (1917), dan The Tower (1928).
Semasa hidup Yeats banyak melakukan perjalanan ke luar negeri, seperti Perancis dan Italia, namun ia senantiasa kembali ke tanah airnya untuk mendapatkan ilham bagi karya-karyanya. Yeats menerima hadiah nobel Kesusasteraan tahun 1923 dan meninggal di Nice, Perancis tahun 1939.
The Second Coming – BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Sylvia Plath
Sylvia Plath , nama samaran Victoria Lucas , (lahir 27 Oktober 1932, Boston , Massachusetts , AS dan meninggal 11 Februari 1963, London , Inggris), penyair Amerika yang karyanya paling terkenal, seperti puisi “Daddy” dan “Lady Lazarus ”dan novel The Bell Jar , secara gamblang mengungkapkan rasa keterasingan dan penghancuran diri yang terkait erat dengan pengalaman pribadinya dan, lebih jauh lagi, situasi wanita di Amerika pertengahan abad ke-20.
Daddy – BY SYLVIA PLATH
You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My Polack friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I’m finally through. The black telephone’s off at the root, The voices just can’t worm through. If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There’s a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.
