“秦岭文学奖”获奖感言

第一篇：“秦岭文学奖”获奖感言

尊敬的文朋诗友们大家好！

获得第三届秦岭文学奖对我来说是荣幸的、更是诚惶诚恐的，为什么会这样呢？

严力、伊沙、、孙晓杰、马非是我内心敬慕并热爱的诗人，他们都是有着自己极具个性的创作倾向和独特审美追求，他们的诗歌或大气、厚重，或深刻、优美，直抵我们的内心深处，像一座座秦岭山脉矗立在当代诗歌创作的新高地，为我们秦岭文学奖的诗歌评价水准立下新的标杆。面对这样的评价标准我显然有些忐忑、局促和不安，我清醒的意识到作为宝鸡诗歌群体中的中坚力量，我个人还有很大的急需提升的艺术空间。无可置疑地讲，严力、伊沙、、孙晓杰、马非这些优秀的诗人，以他们独立而高尚的人格以及诗歌创作的艺术实践为支撑、传播、弘扬秦岭文学奖起到了积极而深远的影响。

如果爱上诗歌是多年前的一个偶然，那么20年来与诗歌的如影相随、不离不弃则是生活和心理的一个必然。

一直以来，我从不敢以诗人自居，对诗歌我依然保持着最初的神圣和高贵的看法，我看诗的眼光从来都是仰视的、敬慕的。

最好的诗人是那些羞于做诗人的人，有人曾经这样说过，对此我是认同的。

诗人是善于发现人类生存智慧及心灵深处秘密的人，诗从心灵产生，又经心灵消费，我们内心是诗的起点，也是终点。诗在表达的过程中必须是艺术的、美的呈现出卓越思想玫瑰般的色泽和芬芳。我不反对诗歌创作的口语化，但如果一味的远离人们的内心和情感共识、不能揭示生活与自然内在真理的口语是无意义的。诗歌应是美、智慧、真理的别名。从语言到诗的内部都应统一于此规律。

那些精神高远，灵魂纯粹、内心高尚、胸怀悲悯的人，才可能匹配诗歌创作者的神圣职责。

那些眼睛只盯着名利，在浮躁的生活中，叫嚣着，贩卖语言的人，注定被名利堵住眼睛而看不到诗歌华美而深刻的内在本质。

写作是一个不断否定和超越自我的精神劳动过程，作品的突破是作家自身整体突破的结果，所以作家的修养是至关重要的，需要一生的修为和努力。

漠视生活和生存现状的作家是危险的，置身绝地可能会使作家背水一战，激发并创作出好作品，但连自己生活都不能料理好的作家，怎么能长久的保持良好的创作状态和精神状态呢？打理好生活也是一个作家成熟的能力和标志，作家是一个社会的人，必须还原在生活和社会中相对应的角色，把创作上的优势转化为生活和工作中的优势需要能力，也需要智慧。

我们选择永久的仰望还是独自攀登诗歌的山峰，这是每一个有志于诗歌的创作者必须面对的问题。二十年来的持续阅读和不曾间断的创作，让我的内心变得丰富而强大，让我用独立的眼光看待人生、社会、自然，让我平静而淡泊地面对纷扰的世间人和事，心甘情愿地走进为自己预设的孤独中，沉湎于内心，倾听心灵的声音，去和上帝对话，写下属于自己的一行行文字。

我要感激文学创作，感激诗歌，她使我改变了自己的一切。

时逢千年盛世，而我们宝鸡又有着最好的文学创作大环境和最好的诗歌写作生态，我准备着，期待着，我想见证我们宝鸡诗歌群体新的觉醒和再度繁荣。

那么多的优秀诗人和作品，象一个个台阶，让我们一步一步走到高处，思想的高处、精神的高处、灵魂的高处。

谢谢大家！

第二篇：施耐庵文学奖王安忆的获奖感言

兴化这地方我从来没去过，但是很奇异的，我却在小说中写到过它，这也许就是施耐庵叙事文学奖的隐喻吧，它鼓励人们去想像经验以外的存在。我对它最直接的描写是小说《富萍》，富萍的外婆家是兴化，她的舅舅孙达亮就是从兴化出来，到上海做粪船的苦活，慢慢站住脚。我从一个三代环卫工人的家庭中得知，这行业中兴化人居多，荒年里亲戚带亲戚，来到上海。这一本得到兴化奖赏的《天香》里，有一个扬州客阮郎，很大程度地参与了天香园里的生活。

从地图上看，扬州与兴化同处高邮湖和大运河的水系，扬州在南，更是水陆要道，有商贾往来，富裕繁荣，生有明月二十四桥;兴化向北，想来就薄瘠了，出的是“忠义水浒传”，两种风情，抑或内有灵犀相通。《富萍》中还写到“六合”，也是在长江北岸，运河流经的地方，我的乳母是六合人，据大人说，她哄我的话总是——“长大了带你去六合”。仿佛长久以来我就一直在等待这个奖，谢谢兴化!

第三篇：村上春树耶路撒冷文学奖获奖感言

村上春树耶路撒冷文学奖获奖感言

Good evening.I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner of lies.Of course, novelists are not the only ones who tell lies.Politicians do it, too, as we all know.Diplomats and generals tell their own kinds of lies on occasion, as do used car salesmen, butchers and builders.The lies of novelists differ from others, however, in that no one criticizes the novelist as immoral for telling lies.Indeed, the bigger and better his lies and the more ingeniously he creates them, the more he is likely to be praised by the public and the critics.Why should that be? My answer would be this: namely, that by telling skilful lies--which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true--the novelist can bring a truth out to a new place and shine a new light on it.In most cases, it is virtually impossible to grasp a truth in its original form and depict it accurately.This is why we try to grab its tail by luring the truth from its hiding place, transferring it to a fictional location, and replacing it with a fictional form.In order to accomplish this, however, we first have to clarify where the truth-lies within us, within ourselves.This is an important qualification for making up good lies.Today, however, I have no intention of lying.I will try to be as honest as I can.There are only a few days in the year when I do not engage in telling lies, and today happens to be one of them.So let me tell you the truth.In Japan a fair number of people advised me not to come here to accept the Jerusalem Prize.Some even warned me they would instigate a boycott of my books if I came.The reason for this, of course, was the fierce fighting that was raging in Gaza.The U.N.reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded city of Gaza, many of them unarmed citizens--children and old people.Any number of times after receiving notice of the award, I asked myself whether traveling to Israel at a time like this and accepting a literary prize was the proper thing to do, whether this would create the impression that I supported one side in the conflict, that I endorsed the policies of a nation that chose to unleash its overwhelming military power.Neither, of course, do I wish to see my books subjected to a boycott.Finally, however, after careful consideration, I made up my mind to come here.One reason for my decision was that all too many people advised me not to do it.Perhaps, like many other novelists, I tend to do the exact opposite of what I am told.If people are telling me--and especially if they are warning me--“Don’t go there,” “Don’t do that,” I tend to want to “go there” and “do that”。It’s in my nature, you might say, as a novelist.Novelists are a special breed.They cannot genuinely trust anything they have not seen with their own eyes or touched with their own hands.And that is why I am here.I chose to come here rather than stay away.I chose to see for myself rather than not to see.I chose to speak to you rather than to say nothing.Please do allow me to deliver a message, one very personal message.It is something that I always keep in mind while I am writing fiction.I have never gone so far as to write it on a piece of paper and paste it to the wall: rather, it is carved into the wall of my mind, and it goes something like this: “Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the

村上春树1 side of the egg.”

Yes, no matter how right the wall may be and how wrong the egg, I will stand with the egg.Someone else will have to decide what is right and what is wrong;perhaps time or history will do it.But if there were a novelist who, for whatever reason, wrote works standing with the wall, of what value would such works be? What is the meaning of this metaphor? In some cases, it is all too simple and clear.Bombers and tanks and rockets and white phosphorus shells are that high wall.The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them.This is one meaning of the metaphor.But this is not all.It carries a deeper meaning.Think of it this way.Each of us is, more or less, an egg.Each of us is a unique, irreplaceable soul enclosed in a fragile shell.This is true of me, and it is true of each of you.And each of us, to a greater or lesser degree, is confronting a high, solid wall.The wall has a name: it is “The System.” The System is supposed to protect us, but sometimes it takes on a life of its own, and then it begins to kill us and cause us to kill others--coldly, efficiently, systematically.I have only one reason to write novels, and that is to bring the dignity of the individual soul to the surface and shine a light upon it.The purpose of a story is to sound an alarm, to keep a light trained on the System in order to prevent it from tangling our souls in its web and demeaning them.I truly believe it is the novelist’s job to keep trying to clarify the uniqueness of each individual soul by writing stories--stories of life and death, stories of love, stories that make people cry and quake with fear and shake with laughter.This is why we go on, day after day, concocting fictions with utter seriousness.My father passed away last year at the age of ninety.He was a retired teacher and a part-time Buddhist priest.When he was in graduate school in Kyoto, he was drafted into the army and sent to fight in China.As a child born after the war, I used to see him every morning before breakfast offering up long, deeply-felt prayers at the small Buddhist altar in our house.One time I asked him why he did this, and he told me he was praying for the people who had died in the battlefield.He was praying for all the people who died, he said, both ally and enemy alike.Staring at his back as he knelt at the altar, I seemed to feel the shadow of death hovering around him.My father died, and with him he took his memories, memories that I can never know.But the presence of death that lurked about him remains in my own memory.It is one of the few things I carry on from him, and one of the most important.I have only one thing I hope to convey to you today.We are all human beings, individuals transcending nationality and race and religion, and we are all fragile eggs faced with a solid wall called The System.To all appearances, we have no hope of winning.The wall is too high, too strong--and too cold.If we have any hope of victory at all, it will have to come from our believing in the utter uniqueness and irreplaceability of our own and others’ souls and from our believing in the warmth we gain by joining souls together.Take a moment to think about this.Each of us possesses a tangible, living soul.The System has no such thing.We must not allow the System to exploit us.We must not allow the System to take on a life of its own.The System did not make us: we made the System.That is all I have to say to you.村上春树2 I am grateful to have been awarded the Jerusalem Prize.I am grateful that my books are being read by people in many parts of the world.And I would like to express my gratitude to the readers in Israel.You are the biggest reason why I am here.And I hope we are sharing something, something very meaningful.And I am glad to have had the opportunity to speak to you here today.Thank you very much.今天我作为一个小说家来到耶路撒冷，也就是说，作为一个职业撒谎者。

当然，并不只有小说家才撒谎。政治家也做这个，我们都知道。外交官和军人有时也说他们自己的那种谎，二手车销售员、肉贩和建筑商也是。但小说家的谎言与其他人的不同，因为没有人会批评小说家说谎不道德。甚至，他说的谎言越好、越大、制造谎言的方式越有独创性，他就越有可能受到公众和评论家的表扬。为什么会这样呢？

我的回答会是这样：即，通过讲述精巧的谎言——也就是说，通过编造看起来是真实的虚构故事——小说家能够把一种真实带到新的地方，赋予它新的见解。在多数情况下，要以原初的形态领会一个事实并准确描绘它，几乎是不可能的。因此我们把事实从它的藏身之处诱出，将之转移到虚构之地，用虚构的形式取而代之，以试图抓住它的尾巴。然而，为了完成这点，我们必须首先厘清在我们之中真实在哪儿。要编造优秀的谎言，这是一种重要的资质。

不过，今天我不打算撒谎。我会努力尽可能地诚实。一年里有几天我不说谎，今天碰巧就是其中之一。

所以让我告诉你们一个事实。很多人建议我不要来这儿领取耶路撒冷奖。有些人甚至警告我，如果我来，他们就会策划抵制我的书。

此中的原因，当然是肆虐于加沙地区的激烈战争。联合国报道，有超过一千多人在被封锁的加沙城内失去了生命，其中不少是手无寸铁的公民——孩子和老人。

收到获奖通知后，我多次问自己，是否要在像这样的时候到以色列来，接受一个文学奖是不是合适，这是否会造成一种印象，让人以为我支持冲突的某一方，以为我赞同某国决意释放其压倒性军事力量的政策。当然，我不愿予人这种印象。我不赞同任何战争，我不支持任何国家。当然，我也不想看见我的书遭到抵制。

然而最终，经过仔细考虑，我下定决心来到这里。我如此决定的原因之一是，有太多人建议我不要来。或许，就像许多其他小说家，对于人们要我做的事，我倾向于反其道而行之。如果人们告诉我——尤其当他们警告我——“别去那儿，”“别做那个，”我就倾向于想去那儿，想做那个。你们或许可以说，这是我作为小说家的天性。小说家是异类。他们不能真正相信任何他们没有亲眼看过、亲手接触过的东西。

而那就是我为什么在这儿。我宁愿来这儿，而非呆在远处。我宁愿亲眼来看，而非不去观看。我宁愿向你们演讲，而非什么都不说。

这并不是说我来这儿，是来传达政治讯息的。当然，做出是非判断是小说家最重要的职责之一。

然而，把这些判断传达给他人的方式，要留给每个作家来决定。我自己宁愿把它们转化为故事——趋向于超现实的故事。因此今天我不打算站在你们面前，传达直接的政治讯息。

但请你们允许我发表一条非常私人的讯息。这是我写小说时一直记在心里的东西。我从未郑重其事到把它写在纸上，贴到墙上：而宁愿，把它刻在我内心的墙上，它大约如此： “在一堵坚硬的高墙和一只撞向它的蛋之间，我会永远站在蛋这一边。”

对，不管墙有多么正确，蛋有多么错，我都会站在蛋这一边。其他人会不得不决定，什么是对，什么是错；也许时间或历史会决定。如果有一个小说家，不管出于何种理由，所写的作品站在墙那边，那么这样的作品会有什么价值呢？

这个隐喻的涵义是什么？有些情况下，它实在太简单明白了。轰炸机、坦克、火箭和白磷炮弹是那坚硬的高墙。蛋是那些被碾碎、被烧焦、被射杀的手无寸铁的平民。这是该隐喻的涵义之一。

可这不是全部。它有更深刻的涵义。这样来想。我们每个人，或多或少，都是

村上春树3 一个蛋。我们每个人都是一个独特的、无法取代的灵魂，被包裹在一个脆弱的壳里。我是如此，你们每一个人也是。而我们每个人，多多少少都面对着一堵坚硬的高墙。这堵墙有个名字：它叫体制（The System）。体制应该保护我们，但有时，它不再受任何人所控，然后它开始杀害我们，及令我们杀害他人——无情地，高效地，系统地。

我写小说只有一个理由，那就是使个人灵魂的尊严显现，并用光芒照耀它。故事的用意是敲响警钟，使一道光线对准体制，以防止它使我们的灵魂陷于它的网络而贬低灵魂。我完全相信，小说家的任务是通过写作故事来不断试图厘清每个个体灵魂的独特性——生与死的故事，爱的故事，使人哭泣、使人害怕得发抖和捧腹大笑的故事。这就是为什么我们日复一日，以极其严肃的态度编造着虚构故事的原因。

我的父亲去年去世，享年九十。他是位退休教师，兼佛教僧人。读研究院时，他应征入伍，被派去中国打仗。我是战后出生的孩子，经常看见他每日早餐前，在家里的佛坛前长时间虔诚地祈祷。有一次，我问他为什么这样做，他告诉我他是在为那些在战争中死去的人们祈祷。他说，他为所有死去的人祈祷，无论敌友。我凝视着他跪在祭坛前的背影，似乎感到死亡的阴影笼罩着他。

我的父亲死了，他带走了他的记忆，我永远不可能了解的记忆。但潜藏在他周围的死亡气息却留在了我自身的记忆里。这是少数几样我从他那儿承继下去的东西之一，其中最重要的之一。

今天我只希望向你们传达一件事。我们都是人类，都是超越国籍、种族、宗教的个体，都是脆弱的蛋，面对着一堵叫作“体制”的坚硬的墙。显然，我们没有获胜的希望。这堵墙太高，太强——也太冷。假如我们有任何赢的希望，那一定来自我们对于自身及他人灵魂绝对的独特性和不可替代性的信任，来自于我们灵魂聚集一处获得的温暖。

花点时间想一想这个吧。我们每个人都拥有一个真实的、活着的灵魂。体制没有这种东西。我们一定不能让体制来利用我们。我们一定不能让体制完全失去控制。体制没有造就我们，我们造就了体制。

那就是所有我要对你们说的话。

我很荣幸获得耶路撒冷奖。我很荣幸我的书正被世界上许多地方的人们阅读着。同时我也想表达我对以色列读者的感谢。你们是让我来领奖的最大原因。我希望我们彼此分享了一些有意义的东西。很高兴我有机会能在这里做这个演讲。非常感谢！

村上春树4

第四篇：施耐庵文学奖李佩甫的获奖感言

常年在平原上行走，每到一地，我渐渐养成了阅读县志的习惯。

记得，在一本旧县志上，我曾读到一则记载。说此地有三景：一塔、一庙、一桥，算是古迹。兴趣所至，就去访了。那塔是清代的，有乾隆的御碑为证;庙是文庙，供奉的是孔子、老子和释迦牟尼，这又叫“三教合一”;惟那一桥，是没有的。那桥只记述在县志上。上言此地有一景叫“高桥揽月”。那桥究竟有多高呢?没有人知道。据民间传说，古时，有一孩子，爬到桥洞里掏鸟蛋，一不小心，鸟蛋从桥洞里掉下来，鸟蛋落呀、落呀、落呀……那鸟蛋在下落过程中竟奇迹般地完成了孵化过程。就此，小鸟儿在落地之前脱壳而飞。于是，在梦中，我看见了那桥，可以上天揽月的“桥”，我也就成了一个企图爬到桥洞里掏鸟蛋的调皮孩子。

感谢我的平原。感谢平原上的风。感谢平原上的树。

感念兴化。感念施耐庵。感念评委们。

第五篇：莫言领诺贝尔文学奖的获奖感言

尊敬的国王、王后和王室成员，女士们先生们：

我获奖以来发生了很多有趣的事情，由此也可以见证到，诺贝尔奖确实是一个影响巨大的奖项，它在全世界的地位无法动摇。我是一个来自中国山东高密东北乡的农民的儿子，能在庄严的殿堂里领取这样一个巨大的奖项，很像一个童话，但它毫无疑问是一个事实。

我想借这个机会，向诺奖基金会，向支持了诺贝尔奖的瑞典人民，表示崇高的敬意。要向瑞典皇家学院坚守自己信念的院士表示崇高的敬意和真挚的感谢。我还要感谢那些把我的作品翻译成了世界很多语言的翻译家们。没有他们的创造性的劳动，文学只是各种语言的文学。正是因为有了他们的劳动，文学才可以变为世界的文学。

当然我还要感谢我的亲人，我的朋友们。他们的友谊，他们的智慧，都在我的作品里闪耀光芒。

文学和科学相比较的确是没有什么用处。但是文学的最大的用处，也许就是它没有用处。

谢谢大家!”