我寫的第一首詩

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 its beautiful， absolutely amazing…”

“If you dont mind， Id 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 its lousy，” he said.

I couldnt look up. My eyes were getting wet.

“Ben， sometimes I dont understand you，” my mother was saying.“This is just a little boy. These are the first lines of poetry hes ever written. He needs encouragement.”

“I dont know why.” My father held his ground.“Isnt 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 that 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 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.

But it wasnt until years later that the true meaning of that painful“first poem” experience down 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 its wonderful！”and a father who shook his head no and drove me to tears with“I think its lousy.” A writer—in fact every one of us in life—needs that loving force from which all creation flows. Yet alone that force is incomplete， even misleading； balance of the force cautions， “Watch. Listen. Review. Improve.”

Sometimes you find these opposing forces in associate friends， love ones. But finally you must balance these opposites within yourself.

Those conflicting but complementary voices 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 to capsize before either.

八歲的時(shí)候，我寫了生平第一首詩。

母親讀完這首小詩后大大地表揚(yáng)了我一番。天啊，這首詩整個(gè)是一個(gè)天才的杰作。

這天晚上，父親進(jìn)家后，母親開始說話了：“本·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?！备赣H說。

他讀詩時(shí)，我一直低垂著頭，盯著盤子。短短十行詩，而父親卻似乎用了好幾個(gè)小時(shí)。

“我認(rèn)為寫得很糟?！彼f。

我抬不起頭，兩眼開始濕潤(rùn)了。

“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)?！?/p>

“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。”

幾年后，當(dāng)我重讀我寫的第一首詩時(shí)，發(fā)現(xiàn)它的確寫得很糟糕。過了一陣子，我鼓起勇氣給父親看一個(gè)新作品，一篇短篇小說。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)。

但是直到多年以后我才漸漸地明白那次痛苦的“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)該是告戒對(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。

那些兒時(shí)聽到的對(duì)立的而又相互補(bǔ)充的聲音多年來一直在我耳畔回響——妙極了……糟透了……妙極了——糟透了，它們好像兩股對(duì)立的風(fēng)吹打在我的身上。我努力駕駛著我的航船，不讓它被任何一股風(fēng)顛覆。