大學(xué)思辨英語教程寫作3課文翻譯為自己而寫拉塞爾?田克從孩提時(shí)代，我還住在貝爾維爾時(shí)，我的腦子里就斷斷續(xù)續(xù)地轉(zhuǎn)著當(dāng)作家的念頭，但直等到我高中三年級，這—一想法才有了實(shí)現(xiàn)的可能。在這之前，我對所有跟英文課沾邊的事都感到膩味。我覺得英文語法枯燥難懂。我痛恨那些長而乏味的段落寫作，老師讀著受累，我寫著痛苦。弗利格爾先生接我們的高三英文課時(shí)，我就準(zhǔn)備著在這門最最單調(diào)乏味的課上再熬上沉悶的一年。弗利格爾先生在學(xué)生中以其說話干巴和激勵(lì)學(xué)生無術(shù)而出名。據(jù)說他拘謹(jǐn)刻板，完全落后于時(shí)代。我看他有六七十歲了，古板之極。他戴著古板的毫無裝飾的眼鏡，微微卷曲的頭發(fā)剪得筆齊，梳得紋絲不亂。他身穿古板的套裝，白襯衣領(lǐng)扣外的領(lǐng)帶打得——絲不茍。他救著古板的尖下巴，古板的直鼻梁，說起話來一?本正經(jīng)，字斟句酌，彬彬有禮，活脫脫一個(gè)櫥稽的老古董。我作好準(zhǔn)備，打算在弗利格爾先生的班上一無所獲地混上一?年，不少日子過去了，還真率出所料。后半學(xué)期我們學(xué)寫隨筆小品文。弗利格爾先生發(fā)下一張家庭作業(yè)紙，出了不少題供我們選擇。像“暑假二三事”那樣傻乎乎的題目倒是一個(gè)也沒有，但絕大多數(shù)—樣乏味。我把作文題帶回家，——直沒寫，直到要交作業(yè)的前一天晚上。我躺在沙發(fā)上，最終不得不面對這一討厭的功課，便從筆記本里抽出作文題目單粗粗—看。我的目光落在“吃意大利細(xì)面條的藝術(shù)”這個(gè)題目上。?這個(gè)題目在我腦海里喚起了一連串不同尋常的圖像。貝爾維爾之夜的清晰的回憶如潮水一般涌來，當(dāng)時(shí)，我們大家——起圍坐在晚餐桌旁——艾倫舅舅、我母親、查理舅舅、多麗絲、哈爾舅舅——帕特舅媽晚飯做的是意大利細(xì)面條。那時(shí)意大利細(xì)面條還是很少聽說的異國食品。多麗絲和我都還從來沒吃過，在座的大人也是經(jīng)驗(yàn)不足，沒有—個(gè)吃起來得心應(yīng)手的。艾倫舅舅家詼諧有趣的場景全都重現(xiàn)在我的腦海中，我回想起來，當(dāng)晚我們笑作—團(tuán)，爭論著該如何地把面條從盤子上送到嘴里才算合乎禮儀。突然我就想描述那?切，描述當(dāng)時(shí)那種溫馨美好的氣氛，但我把它寫下來僅僅是想白得其樂，而不是為弗利格爾先生而寫。那是我想重新捕捉并珍藏在心中的一個(gè)時(shí)刻。我想重溫那個(gè)夜晚的愉快。然而，照我希望的那樣去寫，就會(huì)違反我在學(xué)校里學(xué)的正式作文的種種法則弗利格爾先生也肯定會(huì)打它—個(gè)不及格。沒關(guān)系。等我為自己寫好了之后，我可以再為弗利格爾先生寫點(diǎn)什么別的東西。等我寫完時(shí)已是半夜時(shí)分，再?zèng)]時(shí)間為弗利格爾先生寫——篇循規(guī)蹈矩、像模像樣的文章了。第二天上午，我別無選擇，只好把我為自己而寫的貝爾維爾晚餐的故事交了上去。兩天后弗利格爾先生發(fā)還批改過的作文，他把別人的都發(fā)了，?就是沒有我的。我正準(zhǔn)備著遵命一放學(xué)就去弗利格爾先生那兒挨訓(xùn)，卻看見他從桌上拿起我的作文，敲了敲桌子讓大家注意聽。“好了，孩子們，”他說。“我要給你們念一篇小品文。文章的題目是：吃意大利細(xì)面條的藝術(shù)。”于是他開始念了。是我寫的!他給全班大聲念我寫的文章。更不可思議的是，全班同學(xué)都在聽著他念，而且聽得很專心。有人笑出聲來，接著全班都笑了，不是輕蔑嘲弄，而是樂乎乎地開懷大笑。就連弗利格爾先生也停頓了兩三次，好抑制他那絲拘謹(jǐn)?shù)奈⑿?。我盡力不流露出得意的心情，但是看到我寫的文章竟然能使別人大笑，我真是心花怒放。就在十——年級，可謂是最后的時(shí)刻，我找到了一個(gè)今生想做的事。這是我整個(gè)求學(xué)生涯中最幸福的——刻。弗利格爾先生念完后說道：“瞧，孩子們，這就是小品文，懂了沒有。這才是一知道嗎——這才是小品文的精髓，知道了沒有。祝賀你，貝克先生?！彼@番話使我沉浸在十全十美的幸福之中。WriteforyourselfRussellTinkerTheideaofbecomingawriterhadbeeninandoutofmyheadsinceIwasachildlivinginBelleville,butitwasn'tuntilmythirdyearofhighschoolthatthepossibilitytookhold.Upuntilnow,IhadbeenboredwitheverythingtodowithEnglishclasses.IfindEnglishgrammardullanddifficulttounderstand.Ihatedwritinglong,boringparagraphsthatboretheteacherandmadememiserable.WhenMr.Fleagletookourthird-yearEnglishclass,Ipreparedmyselfforanotherdrearyyearinthatmosttediousofsubjects.Mr.Fleaglewasknownamongstudentsforhisdrytongueandinabilitytomotivatethem.HeissaidtobestiffandcompletelybehindTheTimes.I'dsayhe'ssixtyorseventy,verystuffy.Heworefrumpyglasses,andhisslightlycurlyhairwasneatlycutandcombed.Hewasdressedinastuffysuit,hiswhiteshirtbuttonedwithatie.Hesavedhisstiffjaw,hisstiffstraightnose,andhespokewithsolemnness,withmeasuredpoliteness,andwiththeairofanantique.IpreparedmyselftospendafruitlessyearinMr.Fleagle'sclass,andmanydayspassed,exactlyasIexpected.Inthesecondhalfofthetermwelearntowriteessays.Mr.Fleaglehandedoutahomeworksheetandgaveusanumberofquestionstochoosefrom.Nonewereassillyas"TwoorthreeThingsaboutMySummerVacation,"butmostwerejustasboring.Itooktheessayhomeanddidn'twriteituntilthenightbeforeitwasdue.AsIlaydownonthesofa,finallyforcedtoconfrontthistiresometask,Itookthelistofessayquestionsfrommynotebookandscannedit.Myeyesfellonthetopic"TheArtofEatingSpaghetti."Thesubjectconjuresupanextraordinarysequenceofimagesinmymind.VividmemoriescamefloodingbackofthatnightinBellevillewhenwewereallsittingaroundthedinnertable--UncleAlan,mymother,UncleCharlie,Doris,UncleHal--andAuntPatcookedspaghettifordinner.Spaghettiwasanexoticfoodthatwasrarelyheardof.NeitherDorisnorIhadevertriedit,andnoneoftheadultshereweresoinexperiencedthattheywerecomfortablewithit.AllthefunnyscenesofUncleAllen'shousecamebacktome,andIthoughtofthenightwelaughedandarguedabouttheproperwaytogetnoodlesfromtheplatetomymouthAllofasuddenIwantedtodescribethat,eh,thatwarm,beautifulatmosphere,butIwroteitdownjusttogetakickoutofit,notforMr.Fleagle.ItwasamomentIwantedtorecaptureandcherishinmyheart.Iwanttorelivethejoyofthatnight.TowriteasIwished,however,wouldviolatealltherulesofformalcompositionIhadlearnedinschool,andMr.Fleaglewouldcertainlyflunkit.itdoesn'tmatterWhenI'vedoneitformyself,IcanwritesomethingelseforMr.Fleagle.BythetimeIhadfinished,itwasmidnight,andtherewasnotimelefttowriteaproperanddecentarticleforMr.Fleagle.ThenextmorningIhadnochoicebuttoturninthestoryoftheBellevilledinnerTHATIhadwrittenformyself.TwodayslaterMr.Fleaglereturnedthecorrectedessays.Hesenteveryoneelse'sexceptmine.IwasgettingreadytoobeyorderstogotoMr.Fleagleforalecturerightafterschool,whenIsawhimpickupmypaperfromthetableandtapitforeveryone'sattention."Allright,boys,"hesaid."I'mgoingtoreadyoualittleessay.Thetitleofthearticleis:TheArtofEatingspaghettiSohebegantoread.Iwroteit!Hereadmyessayaloudtotheclass.Whatwasevenmoreincrediblewasthatthewholeclasslistenedtohimandlistenedattentively.Someonelaughed,andthenthewholeclasslaughed,notscornfully,butheartily.EvenMr.Fleaglepausedtwoorthreetimestosuppresshistimidsmile.Itriednottoshowmyglee,butIwasdelightedtoseethatmywritinghadmadepeoplelaugh.In11thgrade,atthelastminute,Ifoundsometh