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Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and, worst of all, without pity or compassion. His grief grieves on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands.
他若是做不到这样，他的气力终归白费。他不是在写爱而是在写情欲，他写的失败是没有人失去可贵东西的失败，他写的胜利是没有希望的胜利，更糟的是，甚至是没有怜悯或同情的胜利。他不是为遍地白骨而悲伤，所以留不下痕迹。他不是在写心灵而是在写器官。
Until he relearns these things, he will wirte as though he stood among and watched the end of man. I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal simply because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound; that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking. I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the wirter's duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man; it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.
在他重新懂得这些之前，他写作时，就犹如站在处于世界末日的人类中去观察末日的来临。我不接受人类末日的说法。因人能传宗接代而说人是不朽的，这很容易。说即使最后一次钟声已经消失，消失在再也没有潮水冲刷的映在落日余晖里的海上的最后一块无用礁石旁时，还会有一个声音，人类微弱的，持续不断的话语声，这也很容易。但是我不能接受这种说法。我相信人类不仅能传宗接代，而且能战胜一切而永存。人之不朽不是因为在动物中唯独他永远能发言，而是因为他有灵魂，有同情、牺牲和忍耐的能力。诗人和作家的责任就是把这些写出来。诗文和作家的特权就是去鼓舞人的斗志，使人记住过去曾经有过的荣光——人类曾有过的勇气、荣誉、希望、自尊、同情、怜悯与牺牲精神。诗人的声音不应只是人类的记录，而应是使人类永存并得到胜利的支柱和顶梁。
