2. 考研
  3. I expect this course to open my eyes to story material, to unleash my too dormant imagination, to develop that quality utterly l

I expect this course to open my eyes to story material, to unleash my too dormant imagination, to develop that quality utterly l

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问题    I expect this course to open my eyes to story material, to unleash my too dormant imagination, to develop that quality utterly lacking in my nature—a sense of form. I do not expect to acquire much technique. I expect to be able to seize upon the significant, reject the trivial. I hope to acquire a greater love for humanity in all its forms.
   I have long wondered just what my strength was as a writer. I am often filled with tremendous enthusiasm for a subject, yet my writing about it will seem a sorry attempt. Above all, I possess a driving sincerity—that prime virtue of any creative worker. I write only what I believe to be the absolute truth—even if I must ruin the theme in so doing. In this respect I feel far superior to those glib people in my classes who often garner better grades than I do. They are so often pitiful frauds-artificial-insincere. They have a line that works. They do not write from the depths of their hearts. Nothing of theirs was ever horn of pain. Many an incoherent yet sincere piece of writing has outlived the polished product.
   I write only about people and things that I know thoroughly. Perhaps I have become a mere reporter, not a writer/Yet I feel that this is all my present abilities permit. I will open my eyes in my youth and store this raw, living material. Age may bring the fire that molds experience into artistry.
   I have a genuine love of nature. It is not the least bit affected, but an integral and powerful part of my life. I know that Cooper is a fraud—that he doesn’t give a true sense of the sublimity of American scenery. I know that Muir and Thoreau and Burroughs speak the truth. I can sense the moods of nature almost instinctively. Ever since I could walk, I have spent as much time as I could in the open. A perception of nature—no matter how delicate, how subtle, how evanescent—remains with me forever.
   I am influenced too much, perhaps, by natural objects. I seem bound by the very room I’m in. I’ve associated so long with prosaic people that I’ve dwarfed myself spiritually. When I get alone under an open sky where man isn’t too evident—then I’m tremendously exalted and a thousand vivid ideas and sweet visions flood my consciousness.
   I think that I possess story material in abundance. I have had an unusual upbringing. I was let alone, thank God ! My mother insisted upon two things—that I strive for perfection in whatever I did and that I always try to be a gentleman. I played with Italians, with Russians, Poles, and the "sissies" on Michigan avenue. I was carefully watched, yet allowed to follow my own inclinations. I have seen a good deal of life that would never have been revealed to an older person. Up to the time I came to college then I had seen humanity in diverse forms. Now I’m cramped and unhappy. I don’t feel that these idiotic adolescents are worth writing about. In the summer, I turn animal and work for a few weeks in a factory. Then I’m happy.
   My literary achievements have been insignificant. At fourteen, I made a speech which was translated into twenty-six languages and used as Red Cross propaganda. When I was younger, it seemed that everything I wrote was eminently successful. I always won a prize when I entered an es- say contest. In college, I’ve been able to get only one "A" in four rhetoric courses. I feel this keenly. If I can’t write, what can I do? I wonder.
   When I was a freshman, I told Carlton Wells that I knew I could write whether he thought so or not. On my next theme he wrote "You can Write!" How I have cherished that praise!
   It is bad form to talk about grades. I know. If I don’t get an "A" in this course, it wouldn’t be because I haven’t tried. I’ve made a slow start. I’m going to spend Christmas vacation writing. A "B" symbolizes defeat to me. I’ve been beaten too often.    I do wish that we were allowed to keep our stories until we felt that we had worked them into the best possible form.
   I do not have the divine urge to write. There seems to be something surging within, —a profound undercurrent of emotion. Yet there is none of that fertility of creation which distinguishes the real writer.
   Nevertheless, I have faith in myself. I’m either going to be a good writer or a poor fool.
The author says "Many an incoherent yet sincere piece of writing has outlived the polished products." (Paragraph 2)Explain and comment on the idea.
选项
答案Although the author’s writing is sometimes incoherent, what he writes is all about truth and all comes directly from his heart without any artificial "make-up", so his writing is much valuable than that written by those without any sincerity. The author here is emphasizing sincerity and truth, which is very important when someone is writing, but when it is carried out to an extreme, it is not necessarily a good thing, for writing is a process of creating beauty which of course needs polishing to make it look better.
解析 (由前半部分可知作者只写真实的东西。在他看来“I feel far superior to those glib people in my classes who often garner better grades than I do”，那些人的作品不真实，并不是发自内心的流露。因此综上可知作者认为真实的要比浮华虚伪的作品更能经得起时间考验。)
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