<1>
When I was eight, I wrote my first poem.
八岁的时候，我写了生平第一首诗。
My mother read the little poem and poured out her praise.
母亲对这首小诗，赞不绝口，
Why, this poem was nothing short of genius!
天啊，这首诗简直是天才之作。
This evening when my father came in, my mother began to tell him, Ben, Buddy has written his first poem!
晚上，父亲回家后，母亲告诉他，巴迪写了他的第一首诗，
And it’s beautiful, absolutely amazing--
诗写的很好，精彩极了。
If you don’t mind, I’d like to decide for myself, Father said.
父亲说，如果你不介意的话，我想看看后再做评价，
I kept my face lowered to my plate as he read that poem.
父亲读诗的时候，我把头埋得都快贴到桌上的盘子了，
It was only ten lines. But it seemed to take hours.
诗只有十行，可我觉得他读了几个小时。
I think it’s lousy, he said.
最后父亲说，我认为写的很糟糕，
I couldn’t look up. My eyes were getting wet.
我不敢抬头，我的眼睛湿润了。
<2>
Ben, sometimes I don’t understand you, my mother was saying.
本，母亲对父亲说，有时候我很难理解你，
This is just a little boy.
巴迪还是个孩子，
These are the first lines of poetry he’s ever written.
这几行是他写的第一首诗，
He needs encouragement.
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?
父亲说，我就不明白了，这世上的烂诗还不够多吗？
No law says Buddy has to become a poet.
法律没规定巴迪必须成为诗人啊。
A few years later I took a second look at that first poem;
几年后，当我再看当时写的第一首诗，
it was a pretty lousy poem.
它确实糟糕透了。
After a while, I worked up the courage to show him something new, a short story.
过了段时间，我鼓起勇气给父亲看我写的一篇短篇小说。
My father thought it was overwritten but not hopeless.
父亲认为小说写得有些长，但也不是一无是处，
I was learning to rewrite.
所以，我学着进行了修改。
And my mother was learning that she could criticize me without crushing me.
我的母亲也在学着在不伤害我的情况下给我一些指正，
You might say we were all learning.
也可以说，我和母亲都在学习。
<3>
But it wasn’t until years later that the true meaning of that painful first poem experience dawned on me.
但是直到多年以后，我才渐渐地明白那次痛苦的“第一首诗”的经历的真正意义。
As I became a professional writer, it became clearer and clearer to me how fortunate I had been.
随着我成为了一个职业作家，才越来越清晰的认识到我之前是多么的幸运，
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.
母亲总是说，巴迪，这是你写的吗？精彩极了。父亲又让我悲伤流泪，他总是皱着眉头说：我想这个糟糕透了。
A writer—in fact every one of us in life—needs that loving force from which all creation flows.
一个作家，应该说生活中的每一个人，都需爱的力量，它是灵感和创作的源泉。
Yet alone that force is incomplete, even misleading;
然而，这种力量是不全面的，它可能会把我们引入歧途，
balance of the force cautions,
所以还需要警告的力量来平衡，
Watch. Listen. Review. Improve.
需要有人时常提醒你：观察，倾听，总结，提高。
Sometimes you find these opposing forces in associate friends, loved ones.
有时候，你会遭遇来自朋友和你所爱的人的反对力量，
But finally you must balance these opposites within yourself.
但是，最终你必须自己去平衡他们的反对意见。
Those conflicting but complementary voices of my childhood echo down through the years—
小时候那两种矛盾而又互补的声音，这些年来不断回响在我的耳边，
wonderful…lousy…wonderful…lousy—
好极了，糟透了，好极了，糟透了……
like two opposing winds battering me.
它们好像两股对立的风吹打在我的身上。
I try to navigate my craft so as not to capsize before either.
我努力驾驶着我的航船，不让它被任何一股风吹倒。
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