Humans do not see trees. They walk by us every day. They sit and sleep, smoke and picnic and secretly kiss in our shade.
Ljudi ne vide drveće. Prolaze pored nas svakodnevno. Sede i spavaju, puše, prave piknike i u tajnosti se ljube u našem hladu.
They pluck our leaves and gorge on our fruits. They break our branches or carve their lover's name on our trunks with their blades and vow eternal love. They weave necklaces out of our needles and paint our flowers into art. They split us into logs to heat their homes, and sometimes they chop us down just because they think we obstruct their view.
Otkidaju naše lišće i goste se našim voćem. Lome naše grane ili rezbare svojim sečivima imena ljubavnika u našim stablima i zaklinju se na večnu ljubav. Pletu ogrlice od naših iglica i slikanjem naše cveće u umetnost pretvaraju. Cepaju nas u panjeve da zagreju svoje domove, a ponekad nas saseku samo zato što veruju da im zaklanjamo vidik.
They make cradles, wine corks, chewing gum, rustic furniture and produce the most beautiful music out of us. And they turn us into books in which they bury themselves on cold winter nights. They use our wood to manufacture coffins in which they end their lives. And they even compose the most romantic poems for us, claiming we're the link between earth and sky. And yet, they do not see us.
Prave kolevke, čepove od plute, žvakaće gume, staromodni nameštaj i proizvode najlepšu muziku od nas. I pretvaraju nas u knjige u koje se zakopavaju tokom hladnih zimskih noći. Koriste naše drvo da naprave sanduke u kojima okončavaju svoje živote. Pa čak i sastavljaju najromantičnije pesme za nas, tvrdeći da smo veza između zemlje i nebesa. Pa, ipak, ne vide nas.
So one of the many beauties of the art of storytelling is to imagine yourself inside someone else's voice. But as writers, as much as we love stories and words, I believe we must also be interested in silences: the things we cannot talk about easily in our societies, the marginalized, the disempowered.
Dakle, jedna od mnogih lepota umetnosti pripovedanja je zamišljanje sebe kroz glas nekog drugog. Međutim, kao pisci, koliko god da volimo priče i reči, verujem da moraju da nas interesuju i tišine: stvari o kojima ne možemo s lakoćom da govorimo u našim društvima, o marginalizovanim, potlačenim.
In that sense, literature can, and hopefully does, bring the periphery to the center, make the invisible a bit more visible, make the unheard a bit more heard, and empathy and understanding speak louder than demagoguery and apathy. Stories bring us together. Untold stories and entrenched silences keep us apart.
U tom smislu, književnost može, a nadam se i da uspeva, da donese periferiju u centar, da nevidljive pretvori u malo vidljivije, nesaslušane u malo saslušanije, i da empatija i razumevanje budu glasniji od demagogije i apatije. Priče nas zbližavaju. Neispričane priče i ukorenjene tišine nas razdvajaju.
But how to tell the stories of humanity and nature at a time when our planet is burning and there is no precedent for what we're about to experience collectively whether it's political, social or ecological? But tell we must because if there's one thing that is destroying our world more than anything, it is numbness. When people become disconnected, desensitized, indifferent, when they stop listening, when they stop learning and when they stop caring about what's happening here, there and everywhere.
Međutim, kako da pripovedamo priče o čovečanstvu i prirodi u vremenu u kom naša planeta gori i bez presedana je ono što ćemo kolektivno da doživimo, bilo da se radi o politici, društvu ili ekologiji? Međutim, pričati moramo jer, ako postoji nešto što uništava svet više od svega drugog, to je paralisanost. Kada ljudi postanu nepovezani, neosetljivi, ravnodušni, kada prestanu da slušaju, kada prestanu da uče i kada prestanu da brinu o onome što se dešava ovde, tamo i svuda.
We measure time differently, trees and humans. Human time is linear -- a neat continuum stretching from a past that is deemed to be over and done with towards the future that is supposed to be pristine, untouched. Tree time is circular. Both the past and the future breathe within the present moment. And the present does not move in one direction. Instead it draws circles within circles, like the rings you would find when you cut us down.
Drugačije merimo vreme, drveće i ljudi. Ljudsko vreme je linearno - uredan kontinuum koji se proteže od prošlosti, koja se smatra gotovom i okončanom, ka budućnosti za koju pretpostavljamo da je iskonska, netaknuta. Vreme za drveće je kružno. I prošlost i budućnost dišu u sadašnjem trenutku. A sadašnjost se ne kreće u jednom smeru. Naprotiv, pravi krugove unutar krugova, poput prstenova koje otkrijete kada nas posečete.
Next time you walk by a tree, try to slow down and listen because each of us whispers in the wind. Look at us. We're older than you and your kind. Listen to what we have to tell, because hidden inside our story is the past and the future of humanity.
Sledeći put kada prođete pored drveta, pokušajte da usporite i oslušnete jer svi mi šapućemo u vetar. Pogledajte nas. Stariji smo od vas i vaše vrste. Oslušnite šta imamo da kažemo, jer skrivena u našoj priči je prošlost i budućnost čovečanstva.