歌曲信息

歌曲专辑：Sylvia Plath Reading Her Poetry

演唱歌手：Sylvia Plath

The Goring歌词

[by:先想一个名字]
[00:00.000] Arena dust rusted by four bulls' blood to a dull redness,
[00:04.820] The afternoon at a bad end under the crowd's truculence,
[00:09.089] The ritual death each time botched among dropped capes, ill-judged
[00:13.540] stabs,
[00:14.488] The strongest will seemed a will towards ceremony. Obese, dark-
[00:19.555] Faced in his rich yellows, tassels, pompons, braid, the picador
[00:25.232] Rode out against the fifth bull to brace his pike and slowly bear
[00:29.919] Down deep into the bent bull-neck. Cumbrous routine, not artwork.
[00:35.608] Instinct for art began with the bull's horn lofting in the mob's
[00:39.833] Hush a lumped man-shape. The whole act formal, fluent as a dance.
[00:45.892] Blood faultlessly broached redeemed the sullied air, the earth's grossness.
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• Sylvia Plath