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诺贝尔文学奖颁奖仪式上的致辞

日期:2020-04-22  类别:最新范文  编辑:一流范文网  【下载本文Word版

诺贝尔文学奖颁奖仪式上的致辞 本文关键词:诺贝尔,致辞,文学奖,颁奖,仪式

诺贝尔文学奖颁奖仪式上的致辞 本文简介:诺贝尔文学奖颁奖仪式上的致辞威廉·福克纳(WilliamFaulkner1897-1962)我感到这份奖赏不是授予我个人而是授予我的工作的,——授予我一生从事关于人类精神的呕心沥血的工作。我从事这项工作,不是为名,更不是为利,而是为了从人的精神原料中创造出一些从前不曾有过的东西。因此,这份奖金只不过

诺贝尔文学奖颁奖仪式上的致辞 本文内容:

诺贝尔文学奖颁奖仪式上的致辞

威廉·福克纳(William

Faulkner

1897-1962)

我感到这份奖赏不是授予我个人而是授予我的工作的,

——授予我一生从事关于人类精神的呕心沥血的工作。我从事这项工作,不是为名,更不是为利,而是为了从人的精神原料中创造出一些从前不曾有过的东西。因此,这份奖金只不过是托我保管而已。作出符合这份奖赏的原意与目的,与其奖金部分有相等价值的献词并不难,但我还愿意利用这个时刻,利用这个举世瞩目的讲坛,向那些可能听到我说话并已献身于同一艰苦劳动的男、女青年致敬。

他们中肯定有人有一天也会站到我现在站着的地方来的。

我们今天的悲剧是人们普遍存在一种生理上的恐惧,

这种恐惧存在已久,以致我们已经习惯了。现在不存在精神上的问题,唯一的问题是:我什么时候会被炸得粉身碎骨?正因为此,今天从事写作的男、女青年已经忘记了人类内心的冲突。然而,只有接触到这种内心冲突才能产生出好作品,因为这是唯一值得写、值得呕心沥血地去写的题材。

他一定要重新认识这些问题。他必须使自己明白世间最可鄙的事情莫过于恐惧。他必须使自己永远忘却恐惧,在他的工作室里除了心底古老的真理之外,不允许任何别的东西有容身之地。没有这古老的普遍真理,任何小说都只能昙花一现,不会成功;这些真理就是爱情、荣誉、怜悯、自尊、同情与牺牲等感情。若是他做不到这样,他的气力终归白费。他不是写爱情而是写情欲,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、更糟地是,甚至没有怜悯或同情的胜利。他不是为遍地白骨而悲伤,所以留不下深刻的痕迹。他不是在写心灵而是在写器官。

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。因人能传种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、不断的说话声,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种接代,而且能战胜一切而永存。人之不朽不是因为在动物中惟独他永远能发言,而是因为他有灵魂,有同情心,有牺牲和忍耐精神。

诗人和作家的责任就是把这些写出来。诗人和作家的特殊光荣就是去鼓舞人的斗志,使人记住过去曾经有过的光荣——人类曾有过的勇气、荣誉、希望、自尊、同情、怜悯与牺牲精神——已达到不朽。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栋梁。

英文原文

Nobel

Prize

Acceptance

Speech

/

William

Faulkner

I

feel

that

this

award

was

not

made

to

me

as

a

man,but

to

my

work

--

a

life

s

work

in

the

agony

and

sweat

of

the

human

spirit,not

for

glory

and

least

of

all

for

profit,but

to

create

out

of

the

materials

of

the

human

spirit

something

which

did

not

exist

before.

So

this

award

is

only

mine

in

trust.

It

will

not

be

difficult

to

find

a

dedication

for

the

money

part

of

it

commensurate

with

the

purpose

and

significance

of

its

origin.

But

I

would

like

to

do

the

same

with

the

acclaim

too,by

using

this

moment

as

a

pinnacle

from

which

I

might

be

listened

to

by

the

young

men

and

women

already

dedicated

to

the

same

anguish

and

travail,among

whom

is

already

that

one

who

will

some

day

stand

here

where

I

am

standing.

Our

tragedy

today

is

a

general

and

universal

physical

fear

so

long

sustained

by

now

that

we

can

even

bear

it.

There

are

no

longer

problems

of

the

spirit.

There

is

only

the

question:

When

will

I

be

blown

up?

Because

of

this,the

young

man

or

woman

writing

today

has

forgotten

the

problems

of

the

human

heart

in

conflict

with

itself

which

alone

can

make

good

writing

because

only

that

is

worth

writing

about,worth

the

agony

and

the

sweat.

He

must

learn

them

again.

He

must

teach

himself

that

the

basest

of

all

things

is

to

be

afraid;

and,teaching

himself

that,forget

it

forever,leaving

no

room

in

his

workshop

for

anything

but

the

old

verities

and

truths

of

the

heart,the

old

universal

truths

lacking

which

any

story

is

ephemeral

and

doomed

--

love

and

honor

and

pity

and

pride

and

compassion

and

sacrifice.

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

griefs

grieve

on

no

universal

bones,leaving

no

scars.

He

writes

not

of

the

heart

but

of

the

glands.

Until

he

relearns

these

things,he

will

write

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

writer

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

hope

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.

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