阿婆的庭院 潘文良詩－－ 　上樓觀彩霞， 　憑欄賞芳花； 　從來諸美事， 　常在閑人家。

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作家最常被問到的一個問題是：你為什麼要寫作？
2006年的諾貝爾文學奬得主，土耳其的ORHAN PAMUKK在演說中如是說：

我寫因為我天生的需要。我寫因為我不能像一般人那樣做些一般的工作。我寫因為我要讀像我寫的那樣的書。我寫因為我對所有的人生氣。我寫因為我喜歡坐在房間裡寫上一整天。我寫因為我只能在改變了真實生活之後才能參與。我寫，因為我要其他的人，全世界的人都知道我們土耳其人在伊斯坦堡所過的日子，和繼續過的日子。我寫因為我喜歡紙張，筆，和墨水的味道。我寫因為我相信文學，相信小説的藝術，勝過任何其他的東西。我寫因為習慣，熱忱。我寫因為我怕被遺忘。我寫因為我喜歡寫作帶來的榮耀和利益。我寫所以我可以獨自一人。我寫，也許是希望能明白為什麼我是如此如此的生每一個人的氣。我寫因為我喜歡讀書。我寫因為我開始了一篇小說，一篇論文，攤開了一張紙，而我想完成它。我寫因為大家期待我寫。我寫因為對圖書室，我像個孩子那樣相信它是至高無上的，以及我的書被擺放在書架上的意義。我寫因為把生命所有的美麗和豐腴變成文字是件令人興奮的事。我寫並不是在講一個故事，而是在創造一個故事。我寫因為我希望能從一種預感裡逃開，預感有那麼一個地方，我必須要去，卻只能在夢裡。我寫因為我從來都無法讓自己快樂。我寫因為快樂。



摘譯自：

MY FATHER’SUITECASE
By　ORHAN PAMUK
The Nobel Lecture, 2006

THE NEW YORKER
Issue of 2006-12-25 and 2007-01-01


原英譯文：

The question we writers are asked most often, the favorite question, is: Why do you write? I write because I have an innate need to write. I write vecause I can’t do normal work as other people do. I write because I want to read books like the ones I write. I write because I am angry at everyone. I write because I love sitting in a room all day writing, I write because I can partake of real life only by changing it . I write because I want others, the whole world, to know what sort of life we lived, and continue to live, in Istanbul, in Turkey. I write because L love the smell of paper, pen, and ink. I write because I believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more than I believe in anything else. I write because it is a habit, a passion. I write because I am afraid of being forgotten. I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings, I write to be alone. Perhaps I write because I hope to understand why I am so very ,very angry at everyone. I write because I like to be read. I write because once I have begun a novel, an essay, a page I want to finish it. I write because everyone expects me to write. I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of libraries, and in the way my books sit on the shelf. I write because it is exciting to turn all life’s beauties and riches into words. I write not to tell a story but to compose a story. I write because I wish to escape from the foreboding that there is a place I must go but—as in a dream—can’t quite get to. I write because I have never managed to be happy. I write to be happy.