双语演讲稿：福克纳诺贝尔奖致辞

我们的悲剧在于长期与来我们一直承受着肉体上的恐惧，不再有任何精神方面的问题。有的只是一个问题，我什么时候会被炸的粉身碎骨？因此，如今年轻人的作品已经忘记了处于矛盾冲突中的人类心灵问题，而这本身就能够创造出好作品，因为这值得去写，值得为此辛劳。

人们一定要了解这些，一定要叫自己认识到最可鄙莫过于害怕 ，一定告戒自己永远不要忘记，工作中除了心灵的正直诚实不要给任何东西留有空间，过去的那些正直诚实的普遍品质包括爱情、荣誉、怜悯、尊严、同情和牺牲，缺乏了它们任何作品都是短暂的和注定要失败的。把情欲而不是把爱情当作写作题材，把失败当作写作题材，描写的是没有任何人损失任何价值东西的微不足到的失败，把胜利当作题材时，描写的是没有任何希望的胜利，而最糟糕的是没有怜悯和同情。悲伤不是刻骨铭心的，而是清淡描写。写的不是心灵而是分泌腺体的器官。

在人们从新了解这些之前，他们的写作态度就像无可奈何看着世界的末日到来。我拒绝接受世界末日的观点。不是简单地说人类能够持续就说人类是永恒的；当命运的最后钟声敲响，当傍晚的最后一抹红色从平静无浪的礁石退去，甚至不在有其他声音，人类的无尽的不倦声音还在争鸣，我不认输。我认为人类不仅会延续还会胜利。他是永生的，不是因为只有他在万物生灵中拥有不倦的声音，而在于他有灵魂，能够同情、牺牲和忍受的灵魂。

诗人和作家的职责就是歌颂这些。通过提升人类的心灵，提醒他们牢记勇敢、荣誉、希望、尊严和同情这些昔日的光荣，来帮助人类生存下去，这是作家的荣幸。诗人的声音不仅是人类的简单记录，而且还是能够帮助人类持续和获胜的支柱之一。

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 dedication¹ 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 acclaim² too, by using this moment as a pinnacle³ from which I might be listened to by the young men and women already dedicated⁴ to the same anguish⁵ and travail⁶, among whom is already that one who will some day stand here where I am standing⁷.

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 verities⁸ and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed¹⁰ -- love and honor and pity and pride and compassion¹¹ and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors¹² under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust¹³, 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 glands¹⁴.

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 immortal¹⁵ simply because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom⁹ 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 puny¹⁶ 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 props¹⁷, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.

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