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My Wonderful Lousy Poem
我那首既妙又糟的小诗
Budd Schulberg
巴德·舒尔伯格
When I was eight or nine years old, I wrote my first poem. My mother read the little poem and began to cry. "Buddy, you didn't really write this beautiful, beautiful poem!" Shyly, proudbursting, I stammered （结结巴巴地说）that I did. My mother poured out her praise. Why, this poem was nothing short of genius!
我八九岁的时候，写了第一首诗。我母亲读了那首诗激动得哭了。“巴迪，这一首优美的好诗，不真是你写的吧?”我既难为情，又自豪之极，结结巴巴地说是我写的。我母亲赞不绝口。哇，这简直是首天才之作。
I glowed. "What time will Father be home?" I asked. I could hardly wait to show him what I had accomplished. My mother said she hoped he would be home around 7.1 spent the best （大半的）part of that afternoon preparing for his arrival. First, I wrote the poem out in my finest flourish （花体字）. Then I used colored crayons （蜡笔） to draw an elaborate border around it. Then I waited. As 7 o'clock drew near, I confidently placed it right on my father's plate on the dining-room table.
我满脸放光。“爸爸什么时候回家?”我问。我迫不及待地要让他读我的杰作。母亲说希望他能在7点左右回来，那天下午，我大部分时间都在为他回来作准备。我先用最漂亮的一手花体字把诗抄写出来，再用彩色蜡笔画上一圈精致的花边。接着我便开始等待。7点钟就要到了，我自信地把诗放在餐桌上父亲座位前的盘子里。
But my father did not return at 7. Seven-fifteen. Seven-thirty. I could hardly stand the suspense （悬念）. I admired my father. He was head of Paramount Studios （派拉蒙电影公司）in Hollywood but he had begun his motion-picture career as a writer. He would be able to appreciate this wonderful poem of mine even more than my mother.
然而到了7点，我父亲并没有回来。七点一刻。七点半。心这么悬着，简直让我受不了。我敬佩父亲。他是好莱坞派拉蒙电影公司的头头，但他是以作家身份开始其影艺生涯的。他会比我母亲更能欣赏我的这首绝妙好诗。
This evening it was almost 8 o'clock when my father burst in. He was an hour late for dinner. His mood seemed thunderous. He could not sit down but circled the long dining-room table with a drink in his hand, calling down terrible oaths （诅咒）on his employees.
这天晚上差不多8点了父亲才匆匆回家来。他晚饭迟到了一个小时，他的心情很糟，似乎随时都会发作。他坐不下来，只是手里拿着杯酒绕着长餐桌走动，一边恶狠狠地咒骂着他的雇员们。
