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但是直到多年以后我才漸漸地明白那些痛苦的“第一首詩(shī)”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(lái)越明白自己曾多么幸運(yùn)。我有一位說(shuō)“巴蒂，這當(dāng)真是你寫的嗎？我覺(jué)得寫得真棒”的母親，還有一位搖頭否定說(shuō)“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(ài)的力量作為一切創(chuàng)作的動(dòng)力，但是僅僅有愛(ài)的力量是不完整的，甚至是誤導(dǎo)的，平衡的愛(ài)應(yīng)該是告誡對(duì)方“觀察、傾聽(tīng)、總結(jié)、提高?！?/FONT>
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.
