故事
My First Poem When I was eight , I wrote my first poem. My mother read the little poem and poured out her praise. Why, this poem was nothing short of genius! This evening when my father came in, my mother began to tell him, "Ben, Buddy has written his first poem! And it's beautiful,absolutely amazing--" "If you don't mind, I'd like to decide for myself," Father said. I kept my face lowered to my plate as he read that poem. It was only ten lines. But it seemed to take hours. "I think it's lousy," he said. I coundn't look up. My eyes were getting wet. "Ben, sometimes I don't understand you," my mother was saying."This is just a little boy. These are the first lines of poetry he's ever written. He needs encouragement." "I don't know why." My father held his ground. "isn't there enough lousy poetry in the world already? No law says Buddy has to become a poet." A few years later I took A second look at the first poem; it was a pretty lousy poem. After a while, I worked up the courage to show him something new, a short story. My father thought it was overwrittenbut not hopeless. I was learning to rewrite. And my mother was learning that she could criticize me without crushing me. You might say we were all learning. But it wasn't until years later that the true meaning of that painful "first poem" experience dawned on me. As I became a professional writer, it becane clearer and clearer to me how fortunate I had a mother who said,"Buddy,did you really write this? I think it's wonderful!" and a father who shook his head no and drove me to tears with "I think it's lousy." A writer--in fact every one of us in life--needs that loving force frome which all creation flows. Yet along that force is incomplete, even misleading; balance of the force cautions,"Watch. Listen. Review. Improve." Sometimes you find these opposing force in associate friends, loved ones. But finally you must balance these opposites within yourself. Those conflicting but complementary voice of my childhood echo down through the years--wonderful...lousy...wonderful...lousy--like two opposing winds battering me. I try to navigate my craft so as not capsize before either.
我寫的第一首詩 在我八九歲時(shí)，我寫下了生平第一首詩， 得到了母親的高度贊揚(yáng)，卻受到了父親的嚴(yán)厲批評(píng)。多年以后，我成了一名作家，我認(rèn)識(shí)到僅僅有贊揚(yáng)是不夠的。 當(dāng)我八九歲的時(shí)候，寫了生平第一首詩。 那時(shí)，父親是派拉蒙電影制片廠的廠長(zhǎng)，母親從事文化事業(yè)。 母親讀完這首小詩后喊道：“巴蒂，你不會(huì)寫出這么美、這么美的詩的！” 我結(jié)結(jié)巴巴地說是我寫的。她大大地表揚(yáng)了我一番。天啊，這首詩整個(gè)是一個(gè)天才的杰作。 我臉上現(xiàn)出愉快的表情?！鞍职质裁磿r(shí)候回來？”我問道，我迫不及待地想給他看看。 整個(gè)下午的大部分時(shí)間我都在為父親的到來做著準(zhǔn)備。我先用花體字抄寫了一遍，然后用彩色筆畫了一圈兒精美的花邊兒，讓它與內(nèi)容相配。當(dāng)七點(diǎn)將近的時(shí)候，我滿懷信心地把它擺在餐桌上父親的餐盤里。 但是七點(diǎn)鐘父親沒有回來，我不能耐受這種心懸的感覺。我崇拜父親，他是以作家的身份開始他的電影生涯的。他會(huì)比母親更能欣賞我優(yōu)美的詩的。 這天晚上，父親突然闖進(jìn)家門，他的情緒比往常要暴躁得多。他雖然比通常吃晚飯的時(shí)間晚回來一小時(shí)，但他坐不下來，而是手拿酒杯圍著長(zhǎng)餐桌轉(zhuǎn)圈圈，咒罵他的員工。 他走著走著轉(zhuǎn)過身停了下來，盯著他的餐盤。屋里靜悄悄的，我的心懸了起來?！斑@是什么？”他伸手去拿我的詩。 “本，發(fā)生了一件了不起的事，”母親開始說話了，“巴蒂寫了他的第一首詩，而且寫得很好，絕對(duì)出乎意料——” “如果你不介意，我想自己來判斷，”父親說。 他讀詩時(shí)，我一直低垂著頭，盯著盤子。短短十行詩似乎用了好幾個(gè)小時(shí)，我記得當(dāng)時(shí)不明白他為什么用了這么長(zhǎng)的時(shí)間。我能聽見我父親的呼吸，接著聽見他把詩放回到桌子上，到了做出結(jié)論的時(shí)候了。 “我認(rèn)為寫得很糟，”他說。 我不能抬起頭來，兩眼開始潮濕起來。 “本，有時(shí)，我真不理解你，”母親說道，“他只是個(gè)小孩子。這是他平生寫的第一首詩，他需要鼓勵(lì)?！? “我不明白為什么?！备赣H仍堅(jiān)持自己的觀點(diǎn)，“難道世界上這樣糟糕的詩還不多嗎？沒有法律說巴蒂必須成為詩人不可。” 他們?yōu)榇藸?zhēng)吵起來，我再也無法忍受了，哭著跑出餐廳，到樓上我的房間，撲倒在床上抽泣起來。 這件軼事好象已經(jīng)過去了，但是它對(duì)我的深遠(yuǎn)意義卻沒有終結(jié)。照往常一樣，家庭的創(chuàng)傷已經(jīng)愈合，母親又開始與父親說話了，我也繼續(xù)寫詩，但是我沒敢拿給父親看。 幾年以后，當(dāng)我再讀我的第一首詩時(shí)，發(fā)現(xiàn)它的確寫得很糟糕。過了一陣子，我鼓起勇氣給他看一個(gè)新作品，一個(gè)短篇小說。父親認(rèn)為寫得太累贅，但并不是一無是處。我學(xué)著重新寫。而母親也開始學(xué)著批評(píng)我但又不使我有挫折感。你會(huì)說我們都在學(xué)習(xí)，我一直堅(jiān)持到我12歲的時(shí)候。 但是直到多年以后我才漸漸地明白那些痛苦的“第一首詩”的經(jīng)歷的真正意義。當(dāng)我成為一名專業(yè)作家以后，我才越來越明白自己曾多么幸運(yùn)。我有一位說“巴蒂，這當(dāng)真是你寫的嗎？我覺得寫得真棒”的母親，還有一位搖頭否定說“我認(rèn)為寫得很糟”使我流淚的父親。一個(gè)作家——實(shí)際上我們生活中的每個(gè)人——都需要愛的力量作為一切創(chuàng)作的動(dòng)力，但是僅僅有愛的力量是不完整的，甚至是誤導(dǎo)的，平衡的愛應(yīng)該是告誡對(duì)方“觀察、傾聽、總結(jié)、提高。” 有時(shí)你會(huì)遭遇來自同事、朋友及所熱愛的人的反對(duì)的壓力，但是最終你必須自己平衡這種反對(duì)意見：首先要滿懷信心向前走，去做該做的事情，去成為想成為的人；其次，調(diào)節(jié)你的自滿情緒，冷靜地、現(xiàn)實(shí)地評(píng)價(jià)自己。 那些兒時(shí)聽到的對(duì)立的而又相互補(bǔ)充的聲音多年以來一直在我耳畔回響——妙極了…糟透了…妙極了…槽透了，它們好象兩股對(duì)立的風(fēng)吹打在我的身上。我努力駕使著我的航船，不讓他被任何一股風(fēng)顛覆。