評論
打印
When I was eight or nine years old, I wrote my first poem.
我在八九歲時，第一次寫了一首詩。
At that time my father was head of Paramount Studios.
那時我父親是好萊塢的大亨，派拉蒙制片公司的經理。
My mother was involved in various intellectual projects.
母親在各種學術活動中是個領袖人物，幫助把“文化”介紹給二十年代充滿活力的好萊塢。
My mother read the little poem and began to cry.
母親讀了我的哪首小詩，哭起來了。
“Buddy, you didn't really write this beautiful, beautiful poem!”
“帕迪，這首妙不可言的詩不會真是你寫的吧。"
I stammered that I had. She poured out her praise.
我既難為情，又得意的不得了，期期艾艾的說，是我寫的。
Why, this poem was nothing short of genius!
她對我贊不絕口，說只有天才才能寫出這樣的好詩！
I glowed. “What time will Father be home?”I asked. I could hardly wait to show him.
我心花怒放：“爸爸什么時候回家？”我問了一聲，迫不及待地想把那首詩拿給他看。
I spent the best part of that afternoon preparing for his arrival.
那天下午，我大部分時間都在做父親回來時的準備。
First, I wrote the poem out in my finest flourish.
首先，我用最華麗的字體，把那首詩騰清。
Then I crayoned an elaborate border around it that would so justice to its brilliant content.
然后用蠟筆在四周加了一個精致的花邊，來配上那輝煌的文字。
As seven o'clock drew near, I confidently placed it on my father's plate on the dining-room table.
快到七點鐘的時候，我滿懷信心地把它房子餐桌上父親的盤子里。
I admired my father. He had begun his motion-picture career as a writer.
我極羨慕父親。我喜歡到制片廠去，在他那間寬大的放映室看新電影的初次剪接。
He would be able to appreciate this wonderful poem of mine even more than my mother.
自然會比母親更加能夠心上我這首絕妙好詩。
