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17th Translation Contest: "The Sounds of Silence" » English to Galician » Entry #22771


Source text in English

Translation #22771

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.
Un problema destes tempos, polo menos no mundo desenvolvido, é que a xente anhela silencio e non o pode atopar. O estrondo do tráfico, o incesante son dos teléfonos, os avisos electrónicos en buses e trens, os televisores atronando ata en oficinas baleiras, conforman un constante bombardeo e distracción. A especie humana estase a agotar co ruído e ansía o contrario, ben sexa no bosque, no vasto océano ou nalgún retiro dedicado á calma e á concentración. Alain Corbin, profesor de historia, escribe dende o seu refuxio na Sorbona e Erling Kagge, explorador noruegués, faino dende as súas memorias da inmensidade da Antártica, lugares onde ambos os dous tentaron escapar.


E aínda así, como sinala Corbin en «A History of Silence», probablemente non haxa máis ruído do que solía haber. Antes dos neumáticos, o ensordecedor repiqueteo dos bordos metálicos das rodas e as ferras batendo contra o chan de pedra enchía as rúas das vilas. Antes do illamento voluntario nos teléfonos móbiles, as conversas resoaban en buses e trens. Os vendedores de xornais non os deixaban nunha pila silenciosa, senón que os anunciaban a viva voz, como tamén facían os vendedores de cereixas, violetas ou xarda fresca. O teatro e a ópera eran un caos de barullo e berros. Incluso no campo, os labregos cantaban mentres traballaban. Agora non cantan.


Non cambiou tanto o nivel do ruído, do que tamén se queixaban en séculos anteriores, senón o nivel de distracción, que ocupa o espacio que podería invadir o silencio. Esto leva a outro paradoxo, porque cando o silencio se estende (no profundo dun pinar, no deserto, nunha habitación repentinamente baleira) a menudo resulta desconcertante no canto de benvido. Xurde o medo; e o ouvido, de xeito instintivo, céntrase en calquera cousa, o crepitar do lume, o canto dos paxaros ou o susurro das follas, que o poida salvar dese vacío descoñecido. A xente quere silencio, mais non tanto.


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