2024年3月10日发(作者：)

My Wonderful Lousy Poem

When I was eight or nine years old, I wrote my

first poem.

我那首美妙而糟糕的小诗

八九岁时候，我写出了生平第

一首诗。

那时，父亲是派拉蒙影片公司

At that time my father was head of Paramount

projects.

Studios. My mother was involved in various intellectual 的负责人，母亲从事文化工作。

母亲读了这首小诗后激动得哭

My mother read the little poem and began to cry.

poem!” I stammered that I had. She poured out her

praise.

了，“布迪，难道真是你写出这么

的作品。母亲的赞誉接踵而来，

“噢，这首诗真是天才的杰

“Buddy, you didn’t really write this beautiful, beautiful

漂亮的诗？”我结结巴巴承认是我

“Why, this poem was nothing short of genius!”

I glowed. “What time will Father be home?” I

asked. I could hardly wait to show him.

作。”

我喜形于色。“爸爸什么时候

回家呢？”我已是迫不及待地要给

他看。

I spent the best part of that afternoon preparing

for his arrival. First, I wrote the poem out in my finest

that would so justice to its brilliant content. As seven

o’clock drew near, I confidently placed it on my

father’s plate on the dining-room table.

那天下午大半的时间我都在等

最好的花体字把诗重抄了一遍，然

后用蜡笔给它加了些精美的花边，

让它配得上精彩的诗句内容。快到

七点时，我自信地把它放在餐桌上

父亲的餐碟里。

flourish. Then I crayoned an elaborate border around it 父亲回家。我先用自己所能书写的

I admired my father. He had begun his motion-

picture career as a writer. He would be able to

appreciate this wonderful poem of mine even more than 我崇拜父亲，他进入电影行业

my mother. 时是剧本作者，他也许会比母亲更

能欣赏我的诗。

This evening when my father burst in, his mood

seemed even more thunderous than usual. An hour late 那天晚上当父亲冲进门时，脾

for dinner, he could not sit down but circled the long

dining-room table with a drink in his hand, calling

down terrible oaths on his employees.

气比平时要糟。虽然已经过了晚餐

时间一小时，可他仍没有坐下来，

而是拿着酒杯绕着长餐桌转，嘴里

叨念着他的雇员。

He wheeled in his pacing, paused and glared at his

plate. There was a suspenseful silence. “What is this? ”

突然，他转过脚步，停下来盯

He was reaching for my poem. 着餐碟。我的心悬了起来。“这是

什么？”父亲拿起我的诗。

I kept my face lowered to my plate as he read that

poem. It was only ten lines. But it seemed to take hours. 他读诗时，我低头对着餐碟，

I remember wondering why it was taking so long. I 那仅只有十行的诗，可好像花费了

could hear my father breathing. Then I could hear him 几个小时，我奇怪他为什么花了这

dropping the poem back on the table. Now came the

moment of decision.

么长时间。我几乎能听到父亲的呼

吸声，然后我听到他把诗放回桌

上。这时父亲开始评价了。

“I think it’s lousy, ” he said.

“我想这首诗很糟，” 他说。

I couldn’t look up. My eyes were getting wet.

我不敢抬头。我的眼睛湿润

“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.”

了。

“本，我有时真不理解你。”母

亲说， “他只是个孩子，这是他写

的第一首诗。他需要鼓励。”

“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.”

“我不知道为什么，”父亲坚持

他的立场，“这个世界上难道糟糕

的诗还不够多吗？没谁说布迪非得

They quarreled over it. I couldn’t stand it another

做个诗人。”

second. I ran from the dining room bawling. Up in my

room I threw myself on the bed and sobbed. 他们为此而争吵起来。我一秒

钟也待不下去了。哭着冲出厨房，

跑进房间，一头埋到床上，蒙头抽

That may have been the end of the anecdote, but

not of its significance for me. A few years later I took a

泣。

second look at that first poem; It was a pretty lousy

poem. After a while, I walked up the courage to show

was overwritten but 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. I was going on 12.

作为我人生中的一件轶事，它

意义却未结束。几年后，我又重拾

起当年的第一首诗，它的确很糟。

过了些时候，我鼓起勇气，决定给

父亲看自己的新作品，一篇短篇小

说。父亲认为词语过于堆砌，但并

非一无是处。于是我不断修改。我

母亲也知道她的批评不会压垮我

了。你不妨认为我们全家都在学

习，这种情形持续到我12岁。

直到多年后，我才明白那首尴

尬处女作的真正意义所在。当我成

为一名职业作家时，我越来越庆幸

那时我多么幸运。我有一位母亲，

him something new, a short story. My father thought it 就这样结束了，但它对于我的重要

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

became clearer and clearer to me how fortunate I had

been. 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 hear with “I think

it’s lousy.”

A writer--in fact every one of us in life--needs that

她说:“布迪，这真是你写的吗？我

loving force from which all creation flows. Yet alone

that force is incomplete, even misleading, balance of

the force that cautions, “Watch. Listen. Review.

Improve.”

认为它棒极了!”还有一位父亲，他

摇头说不，“我看它糟透了。”

一位作家——实际上我们生活中的

每个人——都需要爱的力量，它也

是创造的动力所在。但仅有这一力