Poet Dean Young has dealt with impermanence (无常) a lot in his career, but it’s a particularly strong theme in Young’s latest collection, Fall Higher. The new collection was published in April, just days after the poet received a life-saving heart transplant (移植) after about a decade of living with a weakening heart condition.
Young, whose work is often frank and rich with twisted humor, tells NPR’s Renee Montagne that as he recovers from operation, he’s also slowly returning to his everyday writing habits.
“I’m getting back to it,” Young says, “not with the sort of concentration and sort of flame that I look forward to in the future, but I am blackening some pages.”
And on those blackened pages you’ll find poems like “How Grasp Green”, which carries themes of springtime and rebirth. It’s one of the first poems Young has written since his transplant.
It’s easy to spot clues (线索) to Young’s awful health situation in the lines of his poetry.
Fall Higher’s “Vintage” opens with “Because I will die soon, I fall asleep, during the lecture on the ongoing emergency.” And the poem “The Rhythms Pronounce Themselves Then Vanish”—published in The New Yorker in February—opens with the CT scan that revealed Young’s heart condition.
Hearts tend to come up a lot in poetry, and that’s especially true if Young’s work, which has clearly been influenced by the troubles of his own heart.
“A lot of times, it’s not just a metaphor (暗喻),” Young says. “For me, it’s an actual concern because I’ve been living with this disease for over 10 years. My father died of heart problems when he was 49, so it’s been a sort of shadowy concern for me my whole life.
But Young’s poems also deal with more abstract matters of the heart. He wrote Fall Higher’s, “Late Valentine” for his wife. “We’ve been married since late November and most of it has been spent in the hospital,” Young says of his marriage to poet Laurie Saurborn Young, who says “‘Late Valentine’ is very sweet.”
His work also touches on themes of randomness and fate—two factors that contributed to him getting a second chance in the form of transplanting a new heart from a 22-year-old student. “I just feel enormous gratitude,” he says of his donor (捐献者). “He gave me a heart so I’m still alive … I’m sure I’m going to think about this person for the rest of my life.”
【小题1】The poetry collection Fall Higher         .

A little boy went to a farmer who had some puppies (小狗）to sell and said, “I want to buy one of your puppies.” Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer. “I’ve got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look.”
“Sure,” said the farmer. Then he called his dog, “Here, Dolly!”
Out from the doghouse and down the ramp(斜坡) ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur. The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight.
As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else moving inside the doghouse. Slowly, another little ball appeared. This one was much smaller than the others. Down the ramp it slid(滑行). Then in a somewhat awkward manner the little pup began hobbling(蹒跚) toward the others, doing its best to catch up…
“I want that one,” the little boy said, pointing to the slow dog.
The farmer knelt down at the boy’s side and said, “Son, you don’t want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs will.”
With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of trousers. There was a steel brace(支架) running down both sides of his leg. It was joined to a specially made shoe. Looking back up at the farmer, he said, “You see, sir, I don’t run very well myself, and he will need someone who understands.”
The world is full of people who need someone who understands.
【小题1】 It can be inferred that “Dolly” in the passage was _______.

My Way to Success

From the day I signed up for the Naumburg Competition, everything changed. I had made a decision to start again, to save my life, and that meant a 360-degree turnaround.
I kept on practicing. An enormous amount of work had to be done in two months. I went from not practicing at all to thirteen hours a day.
I spent two weeks just playing scales. If I thought I sounded bad before, now I sounded worse than awful.
At the time I lived on 72nd Street, close to West End Avenue. I had an apartment with a window the size of a shoebox. I didn't do mylaundry. I left my apartment only to walk to Juilliard─and not onBroadway like everyone else. I walked up Amsterdam Avenue because I didn't want to see anybody, didn't want to run into anybody, didn't want anyone to ask what I was doing.
I stopped going to classes and became a hermit. I even talked Miss DeLay into giving my lesson at night.
My eating habits were awful. I lived on fried sausages, a pint of peanut butter/chocolate ice cream, and a gallon of Coca-Cola every day. That's all I ate for eight weeks.
I was nuts. I was completely obsessed with getting back into shape, with doing well in this competition. If I could, people would know I was still on earth. Not to count me out; to stop asking, “Whatever happened to Nadja?”
The last week before the Naumburg auditions, I couldn't touch the violin. I had worked and worked and worked and worked and then I just couldn't work anymore.
I certainly could have used it. I wasn't as prepared as I should have been. But I simply had to say, “Nadja, you've dedicated yourself to this thing. Ready or not, do your best.”
Fifty violinists from around the world auditioned for the competition on May 25, 26, and 27, 1981. Those that made it past thepreliminaries would go on to the semifinals. Those that passed that stage would go to the finals. In years past, one violinist was chosen as winner and two received second and third place.
On May 26, the day of my audition, I went to the Merkin Concert Hall at 67th Street and Broadway. I waited, played for twenty minutes, and went home. I couldn't tell whether the preliminary judges were impressed or not. I'd find out the next evening.
Maybe subconsciously I was trying to keep busy; that night, when I fried the sausages, I accidentally set my apartment on fire. I grabbed my cat and my violin, and ran out the door. The fire was put out, but everything in my place was wrecked.
Fortunately, the phone was okay and on the evening of May 27, I had the news from Lucy Rowan Mann of Naumburg. Thirteen of us had made it.
Talk about mixed emotions. I was thrilled to be among the thirteen; a group that included established violinists, some of whom had already made records. But it also meant I had to play the next day in the semifinals of the competition.
Everyone entering the competition had been given two lists of concertos. One was a list of standard repertory pieces. The other list was twentieth-century repertory. For our big competition piece, we were to choose from each list and play a movement from one in the semifinals, and a movement from the other in the finals─if we made it that far.
From the standard repertory list, I chose the Tchaikovsky Concerto. I had been playing the Tchaik for three years, so it was a good piece for me.
From the twentieth-century list, I chose the Prokofiev G minor Concerto. I had never played it onstage before.
My goal had been just passing the auditions, but now my thought pattern began to change. If I wanted a sliver of a chance of advancing again, my brain said, “Play your strong piece first.”
Logically, I should play the Tchaikovsky in the semifinals just to make it to the next stage. Who cared if that left me with a piece I probably wouldn't play as well in the finals of the competition? It'd be a miracle to get that far.
There wouldn't be more than seven violinists chosen for the final round, and if I were in the top seven of an international group, that was plenty good enough.
The semifinals were held on May 28 in Merkin Concert Hall. You were to play for thirty minutes: your big piece first, then the judges would ask to hear another.
There was a panel of eight judges. They had a piece of paper with my choices of the Tchaikovsky and the Prokofiev in front of them. “Which would you like to play?” they asked.
I said meekly, “Prokofiev.”
My brain and all the logic in the world had said, “Play your strong piece.” My heart said, “Go for it all. Play your weak piece now, save Tchaikovsky for the finals.”
Maybe I don't listen to logic so easily after all.
My good friend, the pianist Sandra Rivers, had been chosen as accompanist for the competition. She knew I was nervous. There had been a very short time to prepare; I was sure there'd be memory slips, that I'd blank out in the middle and the judges would throw me out. My hands were like ice.
The first eight measures of the Prokofiev don't have accompaniment. The violin starts the piece alone. So I started playing.
I got through the first movement and Sandra said later my face was as white as snow. She said I was so tense, I was beyond shaking. Just a solid brick.
It was the best I'd ever played it. No memory slips at all. Technically, musically, it was there.
I finished it thinking, “Have I sold my soul for this? Is the devil going to visit me at midnight? How come it went so well?”
I didn't know why, but often I do my best under the worst of circumstances. I don't know if it's guts or a determination not to disappoint people. Who knows what it is, but it came through for me, and I thank God for that.
As the first movement ended, the judges said, “Thank you.” Then they asked for the Carmen Fantasy.
I turned and asked Sandy for an A, to retune, and later she said the blood was just rushing back into my face.
I whispered, “Sandy, I made it. I did it.”
“Yeah,” she whispered back, kiddingly, “too bad you didn't screw up. Maybe next time.”
At that point I didn't care if I did make the finals because I had played the Prokofiev so well. I was so proud of myself for coming through.
I needed a shot in the arm; that afternoon I got evicted. While I was at Merkin, my moped had blown up. For my landlord, that was the last straw.
What good news. I was completely broke and didn't have the next month's rent anyway. The landlord wanted me out that day. I said, “Please, can I have two days. I might get into the finals, can I please go through this first?”
I talked him into it, and got back to my place in time for the phone call. “Congratulations, Nadja,”“they said. “You have made the finals.”
I had achieved the ridiculously unlikely, and I had saved my best piece. Yet part of me was sorry. I wanted it to be over already. In the three days from the preliminaries to the semifinals, I lost eight pounds. I was so tired of the pressure.
There was a fellow who advanced to the finals with me, an old, good friend since Pre-College. Competition against friends is inevitable in music, but I never saw competition push a friendship out the window so quickly. By the day of the finals, I hated him and he hated me. Pressure was that intense.
The finals were held on May 29 at Carnegie Hall and open to the public. I was the fourth violinist of the morning, then there was a lunch break, and three more violinists in the afternoon.
I played my Tchaikovsky, Saint-Sa‘ns’s Havanaise, and Ravel's Tzigane for the judges: managers, famous violinists, teachers, and critics. I went on stage at five past eleven and finished at noon. Those fifty-five minutes seemed like three days.
I was so relieved when I finished playing; I was finished! It's impossible to say how happy I was to see the dressing room. I went out for lunch with my friends. It was like coming back from the grave. We laughed and joked and watched TV.
As I returned to Carnegie Hall to hear the other violinists, I realized I'd made a big mistake: they might ask for recalls. A recall is when they can't decide between two people and they want you to play again. It's been done; it's done all the time in competitions. No way was I in shape to go onstage and play again.
In the late afternoon, the competition was over. Everybody had finished playing. Quite luckily─no recalls.
The judges deliberated for an hour. The tension in the air was unbelievable. All the violinists were sitting with their little circle of friends. I had my few friends around me, but no one was saying much now.
Finally, the Naumburg Foundation president Robert Mann came on stage.
“It's always so difficult to choose ...” he began.
“Every year we hold this competition,” Robert Mann said. “And in the past, we've awarded three prizes. This year we've elected to only have one prize, the first prize.”
My heart sank. Nothing for me. Not even Miss Congeniality.
“We have found,” Mann went on, “that second place usually brings great dismay to the artist because they feel like a loser. We don't want anyone here to feel like a loser. Every finalist will receive five hundred dollars except the winner, who will receive three thousand dollars.”
And then he repeated how difficult it was to choose, how well everyone had played ...dah, dah, dah.
I was looking down at the floor.  
“The winner is ...”
And he said my name.
A friend next to me said, “Nadja, I think you won!”
I went numb. My friends pulled me up and pointed me toward the stage. It was a long walk because I had slipped into a seat in the back. Sitting up in front was my old friend. I would have to walk right past him and I was dreading it, but before I could, he got up and stopped me.
He threw his arms around me and I threw my arms around him. I kept telling him how sorry I was. I was holding him and started to cry, saying, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” I didn't want to lose, but I really didn't want him to lose either. And he was holding me and saying, “Don't be sorry. I'm so proud of you.” It was over, and we would be friends again.
I took my bow, then ran to Juilliard. Ten blocks uptown, one block west, to give Miss DeLay the news. She could be proud of me now, too.
Suddenly, everything was clear. Playing the violin is what I'd do with my life. Heaven handed me a prize: “You've been through a lot, kid. Here's an international competition.”
Everything had changed when I prepared for the Naumburg, and now everything changed again. I made my first recording. Between September 1981 and May 1982, I played a hundred concerts in America, made one trip to Europe, then two months of summer festivals. And people asked me back.
There was a great deal of anxiety playing in Europe for the first time. But I was able to rely on my self-confidence to pull me through.
Self-confidence onstage doesn't mean a lack of nerves backstage. The stakes had increased. This wasn't practice anymore, this was my life. I'd stare into a dressing-room mirror and say, “Nadja, people have bought tickets, hired baby-sitters, you've got to calm down; go out there and prove yourself.”
Every night I'd prove myself again. My life work had truly begun.
【小题1】In a gesture to prepare for the competition, Nadja did all the following except _________. 

One day, I received a call from a colleague. He was about to give a student a zero for his answer to a physical problem, while the student claimed a perfect score. I was elected as their arbiter( 仲裁人). I read the examination problem：“Show how it is possible to determine the height of a tall building with the aid of a barometer(气压计).” The student had answered:“Take the barometer to the top of the building，attach a long rope to it，lower it to the street，and then bring it up, measuring the length of the rope. The length of it is the height of the building. ”
The student had really answered the question completely ，but the answer didn’t confirm his competence in physics. I suggested the student try again. I gave him six minutes to answer the question, warning that the answer should show some knowledge of physics. Five minutes later, he said he had many answers and clashed off one, which read：“Take the barometer to the top of the building and lean over the edge of the roof. Drop the barometer, timing its fall with a stopwatch. Then, use the physical formula (公式）to calculate the height of the building. ”
At this point, my colleague had to accept it, and then the student made almost full marks. I couldn’t help asking the student what the other answers were. He listed many others and then added “Probably the best is to take the barometer to the administrator and said to him，' Sir, here is a fine barometer. If you tell me the height of the building, I will give it to you.，”
Then, I asked the student if he really did not know the conventional answer to this question. He admitted that he did,but said that he was fed up with high school and college instructors trying to teach him how to think.
The name of the student was Bohr who later was famous all over the world. He won the Nobel Prize for Physics in 1922.
【小题1】The student got a zero at the beginning because_______.

Last winter, when I was heavily pregnant, I was visiting my sister and brother-in-law's house and had to park in a nearby parking lot because they didn't have accessible parking. The snow was extremely heavy and there was lots of ice on the ground --- not many people had ventured out that evening!
When I returned to my car around 11pm, I noticed that I was the only car left. Nervously, I hopped into the car and let it warm up a bit. When I finally tried to drive away, my wheels began to spin. I was stuck! I spun and spun and wondered what to do.
All of a sudden, in my rear view mirror, I saw four teen-aged boys approaching my car. They were walking side by side in a line and dressed a bit like gang members --- at least I thought that's what they looked like. My car was in a very isolated area and I began to panic. I was certain they were coming to my car to harm me. Terrified, I just froze. One of the young men tapped on my window and said "Excuse me, Ma'am, can we help you? You seem stuck." Still afraid and fearing the worst, I said "I am stuck." And the young man said "It's okay, stay in your car and we'll push you out of the snow." And they did!
When they finally got me out of the snow, they smiled and waved. I rolled down my window and thanked them, embarrassed to have judged them so poorly.
【小题1】Why did the author just freeze when the four young men walking toward her car?

I was very disappointed not to be able to go to the jazz（爵士音乐） concert last Friday. The advertisement（广告） in the paper said that you could buy tickets at the theatre box in Richland Hills any day between 10:00 and 4:00.Since I work from 9:00 to 5:30, the only time I could go to the theatre was during my 45-minute lunch break. Unluckily, the theatre is on the other side of the town, and the bus service between my office and Richland Hills is not very good. But if you are lucky, you can make the round（往返的） trip in 45 minutes. Last Monday, I stood at the bus stop for fifteen minutes waiting for the bus. By the time I saw one come around the corner, there was not enough time left to make the trip. So I gave up and went back to the office. The same thing happened on Tuesday, and again the next day. On Thursday, my luck changed. I got on a bus right away and arrived at the theatre in exactly twenty minutes. When I got there, however, I found a long line of people at the office. I heard one man say he had been waiting in line for over an hour. Realizing I would not have enough time to wait in line, I caught the next bus and headed back（奔回） across the town. By Friday I realized my only hope was to make the trip by taxi. It was expensive, but I felt it would be worth it to hear the concert. The trip by taxi only took 10 minutes, but it felt like an hour to me. When I got to the theatre, I was relieved to see that nobody was waiting in line. The reason, however, I quickly discovered, was that they had already sold all the tickets.
【小题1】The man learned that there would be a concert last Friday ________.

Four years ago my sweet mom went to be with her Lord．She did it her way．
I got the call at work, and I headed home quickly．Mom and Dad lived on a small farm that they had owned since I was seven．I hated going there every weekend．There was nothing for a young girl to do but watch the one station on the old TV set, if the weather allowed reception．
My mom, on the other hand, loved the peace and quiet of the land and loved to work in the garden among her flowers and vegetables．The place was rustic, with no indoor plumbing or heat．We had a big wood stove in the kitchen that did its best to heat the little farmhouse, but it always seemed cold and too quiet to me．
In the evenings, my mom and I would sit for hours singing in the little kitchen．I sang the melody and Mom harmonized．Her favorite song was "Moon River" and we sang it over and over．Mom told me stories about how when I was a little girl, I could sing before I could talk．She loved to tell how my playpen（婴儿圈栏）sat in the kitchen next to the radio and there was one song I particularly loved called "Ivory Tower"．
As time passed, I had my own children and went to visit every week or two．The kids loved the farm and the tractor rides with my dad．Me, well, I still hated the silence of the farm．While my mom loved to sit at her kitchen table and look out at her garden and flowers and retell all the old stories, I missed the hustle and bustle（喧闹）of my life at home．But I sat there listening quietly as she reminisced．
Now, I sat back in the silence and the silence was deafening so I finally leaned over to turn on an old radio．Music always comforted me．
My heart skipped a beat．"Moon River" was playing on the radio．I sat there stunned, with a tear running down my cheek, as I listened to every familiar note．
Then the radio announcer of this oldie station came on．"Here's one we haven't heard in a while," and an unfamiliar song began．I began to cry harder as I heard the words sung over the airwaves．"Come down, come down from your Ivory Tower．．．．"
【小题1】The writer didn’t like staying on the farm for the following reasons Except that ________．

Charlie Boswell has always been a great hero. He has inspired thousands of people to rise above circumstances and live out true meaning of life.
He was blinded during World War II while rescuing his friend from a tank that was under fire. He was a great athlete before the accident. In order to prove his talent and determination, he decided to try a brand new sport, a sport he never imagined playing, even with his eyesight – golf! Through determination and a deep love for the game he became the National Blind Golf Champion! He won that honor 13 times.
One of his heroes was the great golfer Ben Hogan, so it truly was an honor for Charlie to win the Ben Hogan Award in 1958.
Upon meeting Ben Hogan, Charlie was respectful and stated that he had one wish and it was to have one round of golf with the great Ben Hogan. Mr. Hogan agreed that playing a round together would be an honor for him as well, as he had heard about all of Charlie’s accomplishments and truly admired his skills.
“Would you like to play for money, Mr. Hogan?” asked out Charlie.
“I can’t play you for money, it wouldn’t be fair!” said Mr. Hogan.
“Aw, come on Mr. Hogan…$ 1,000 per hole!”
“I can’t, what would people think of me, taking advantage of you and your circumstance?” replied the sighted golfer.
“Chicken, Mr. Hogan?”
“Okay,” replied the embarrassed Hogan, “but I am going to play my best!”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” said the confident Boswell.
“Now that you’re on. Mr. Boswell, you name the time and the place!”
The very self – assured Boswell responded, “10 o’clock … tonight!”
【小题1】Why didn’t Mr. Hogan want to play Charlie for money?

One August afternoon, Richard Allen dropped off his last passenger, Mrs. Carey. Lifting two grocery bags, he followed her across the yard and stood on the step of her house. Glancing up, he saw a large wasp (黄蜂) nest under the roof. Allen had heard that wasps can become more likely to sting (蜇) in summer. He mentioned this to Mrs. Carey, who had opened the door.
　　“Oh, they don’t bother me,” she said lightly. “I go in and out all the time.”
Anxiously, Allen looked at the nest again­—to see the wasps flying straight at him. “Hurry!” he shouted to Mrs. Carey. “Get in!”
　　She stepped quickly inside. Allen ran for his mini-bus. Too late; they were upon him. Just as he jumped aboard, half a dozen red spots showed on his arm, and he felt more on his back and shoulders.
　　As he was driving down the road, Allen felt as if something was burning at the back of his neck, and the “fire” was spreading forward toward his face. An immediate anxiety took hold of him. Allen knew that stings could cause some persons to die. But he had been stung the previous summer and the after-effects soon passed. However, what he didn’t know was that the first sting had turned his body into a time bomb waiting for the next to set off an explosion.
　　Miles from the nearest medical assistance, Allen began to feel his tongue thick and heavy and his heartbeat louder. Most frightening, he felt his breathing more and more difficult. He reached for the radio mike(话筒), trying to call the mini-bus center, but his words were hardly understandable. Signals were also poor that far out. He knew a rescue team was on 24-hour duty at the Amherst Fire Department’s north station. So his best chance was to make a run for it.
　　Rushing down the mountain, Allen tried not to panic, focusing his mind on each sharp turn. He was almost through the last of them when he felt sure he was going into shock(休克). Just then he reached for the radio mike again.
　　“Call fire station,” he shouted, concentrating to form the words. “Emergency. Bee sting. Emergency. There in ten minutes.”
　　“Five-ten.” the center replied. www. .com
　　Hold on, Allen thought. Keep your eyes open. Breathe. Keep awake.
　　At last he reached the station. Two firemen ran out. Allen felt their hands grasp him before he hit the ground. You made it, he thought.
【小题1】 It is mentioned in the passage that wasps are more likely to attack when_____.

Louis Armstrong had two famous nicknames (绰号). Some people called him Bagamo. They said his mouth looked like a large bag. Musicians often called him Pops, as a sign of respect for his influence on the world of music.
Born in 1901 in New Orleans, he grew up poor, but lived among great musicians. Jazz was invented in the city a few years before his birth. Armstrong often said, “Jazz and I grew up together.”
Armstrong showed a great talent for music when he was taught to play the cornet (短号) at a boy’s home. In his late teens, Armstrong began to live the life of a musician. He played in parades, clubs, and on the steamboats that traveled on the Mississippi River. At that time, New Orleans was famous for the new music of jazz and was home to many great musicians. Armstrong learned from the older musicians and soon became respected as their equal.
In 1922 he went to Chicago. There, the tale of Louis Armstrong begins. From then until the end of his life, Armstrong was celebrated and loved wherever he went. Armstrong had no equal when it came to playing the American popular song.
His cornet playing had a deep humanity (仁爱) and warmth that caused many listeners to say, “Listening to Pops just makes you feel good all over.” He was the father of the jazz style and also one of the best-known and most admired people in the world. His death, on July 6, 1971, was headline news around the world.
【小题1】Armstrong was called Pops because he _________.