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17th Translation Contest: "The Sounds of Silence" » English to Serbian » Entry #23206


Source text in English

Translation #23206

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 današnjeg doba, bar u razvijenom svetu, je ljudska žudnja za tišinom i istovremena ne mogućnost da je dosegnu. Buka saobraćaja, neprekidno zujanje telefona, digitalizovana obaveštenje u autobusima i vozovima, treštanje televizora cak i u praznim kancelarijama, sve to neprestano napada i rastrojava pažnju. Ljudska rasa iscrpljuje samu sebe neprekidnom bukom dok istovremeno žudi za suprotnim – nezavisno da li za divljinom, širinom okeana ili životom u povučenosti posvećenoj miru i koncentraciji. Alan Korbin, profesor istorije, piše iz svog utočista u Sorboni, i Erling Kage, norveški istraživač, iz svojih memorija o Antarktičkoj pustinji, gde su obojica pobegla.

Pa opet, kako gospodin Korbin ističe u «Istoriji tišine», verovatno danas nema više buke nego što je bilo nekada. Pre pneumatskih guma, kamene gradske ulice su bile pune zaglušujuće buke od točkova sa metalnim platinama i od potkovica. Pre nego što su mobilni telefoni doveli do dobrovoljne izolacije, autobusi i vozovi su bučali od glasnih razgovora. Ni prodavači novina nisu bili nemi, vec su svoje proizvode oglašavali što su glasnije mogli, isto kao i prodavači trešanja, ljubičica, i svežih skuša. Pozorišta i opere su bila haotična mesta u kojima se sobstveno mišljenje glasnog izražavalo. Čak i na selu su seljaci tokom svog rada pevali. Danas više ne pevaju.

Ono što se promenilo nije toliko nivo buke, na koju su se i ljudi u prošlom veku takođe žalili, već stepen distrakcije koja zauzima prostor u kome bi tišina mogla da prodre. Ali tu se pojavljuje još jedan paradoks, tišina koja prodre – u dubini borove šume, u goloj pustinji, u izenenadno ispražnjenoj sobi, često se dočekuje sa iritacijom umesto dobrodošlicom. Strah se uvuče; sluh se instiktivno pricvršćuje za sve sto bi moglo biti spas od nepoznate praznine, ne zavisno da li se radi o požaru, ptičjem cvrkutanju ili šuštanju lišća. Ljudi žele tišinu, ali ne baš toliko.


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