ProZ.com translation contests »
17th Translation Contest: "The Sounds of Silence" » English to Slovenian » Entry by Maja Pecaric


Source text in English

Translation by Maja Pecaric (#23795)

A theme of the age, at least in the developed world, is that people crave silence and can find none. The roar of traffic, the ceaseless beep of phones, digital announcements in buses and trains, TV sets blaring even in empty offices, are an endless battery and distraction. The human race is exhausting itself with noise and longs for its opposite—whether in the wilds, on the wide ocean or in some retreat dedicated to stillness and concentration. Alain Corbin, a history professor, writes from his refuge in the Sorbonne, and Erling Kagge, a Norwegian explorer, from his memories of the wastes of Antarctica, where both have tried to escape.

And yet, as Mr Corbin points out in "A History of Silence", there is probably no more noise than there used to be. Before pneumatic tyres, city streets were full of the deafening clang of metal-rimmed wheels and horseshoes on stone. Before voluntary isolation on mobile phones, buses and trains rang with conversation. Newspaper-sellers did not leave their wares in a mute pile, but advertised them at top volume, as did vendors of cherries, violets and fresh mackerel. The theatre and the opera were a chaos of huzzahs and barracking. Even in the countryside, peasants sang as they drudged. They don’t sing now.

What has changed is not so much the level of noise, which previous centuries also complained about, but the level of distraction, which occupies the space that silence might invade. There looms another paradox, because when it does invade—in the depths of a pine forest, in the naked desert, in a suddenly vacated room—it often proves unnerving rather than welcome. Dread creeps in; the ear instinctively fastens on anything, whether fire-hiss or bird call or susurrus of leaves, that will save it from this unknown emptiness. People want silence, but not that much.
Tema naše dobe, vsaj v razvitem svetu, je, da ljudje hrepenijo po tišini, pa je ne morejo najti. Trušč prometa, neprenehno piskanje telefonov, digitalna obvestila na avtobusih in vlakih, televizijski aparati, ki donijo celo v praznih pisarnah, so neskončni napadi in motnje. Človeški rod je izčrpan od hrupa in teži po nasprotnem – tako v divjini, sredi odprtega morja ali v kakšnem samotnem pribežališču, posvečenemu miru in koncentraciji. Alain Corbin, profesor zgodovine, piše iz svojega zatočišča na Sorboni in Erling Kagge, norveški raziskovalec, iz svojih spominov na prostranost Antarktike, kamor sta oba poskušala uiti.
In vendar, kot prikazuje gospod Corbin v »Zgodovini tišine«, verjetno danes nimamo več hrupa kot včasih. Pred iznajdbo gumijastih pnevmatik so bile mestne ulice polne oglušujočega žvenketanja koles s kovinskimi obroči in hrupa konjskih kopit na kamenem tlaku. Preden smo se prostovoljno izolirali s prenosnimi telefoni, so v avtobusih in vlakih odmevali pogovori. Prodajalci časopisov niso puščali svojega blaga v nemih kupih, temveč so jih kriče oglašali, prav tako kot prodajalci češenj, vijolic ali svežih rib. V gledališču in operi je bila zmešnjava pohval ali protestov. Celo na deželi so kmetje peli, medtem, ko so opravljali težaška dela. Danes ne pojejo več.
Kar se je spremenilo, ni toliko stopnja hrupa, zaradi katerega so se ljudje pritoževali tudi v prejšnjih stoletjih, temveč stopnja motenja, ki zavzema prostor, v katerega bi lahko vdrla tišina. Tukaj se pojavi nov paradoks, kajti kadar tišina zares vdre - v globini borovih gozdov, sredi gole puščave, v nenadoma prazni sobi – postane neprijetna, namesto, da bi bila dobrodošla. Strah se priplazi v ljudi; uho se nagonsko oprime česar koli, prasketanja ognja, ptičjega klica ali šepetanja listja, kar ga reši te nepoznane praznine. Ljudje si želijo tišine, vendar ne preveč.


Discuss this entry