Humans do not see trees. They walk by us every day. They sit and sleep, smoke and picnic and secretly kiss in our shade.
人类看不到树木。 他们每天都从我们身旁经过, 他们倚靠着我们睡觉,吸烟和野餐, 在我们的树荫下偷偷接吻。
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.
他们摘着我们的叶子, 肆无忌惮地吃着我们的果实。 他们折断了我们的树枝, 或者用刀将爱人的名字 在我们的树干上刻下。 许下永恒的爱之誓言。 他们用我们的针叶编织成项链, 并把我们的花朵画成了艺术。 他们把我们劈成柴火给家里取暖, 而且有时他们把我们砍倒, 只是因为他们认为 我们挡住了他们的视线。
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.
他们用我们制造摇篮、酒塞、 口香糖、乡村家具,还用我们 去打造最美妙的音乐。 他们把我们变成了书, 在寒冷的冬夜让自己埋头书海。 他们用我们的木材制造棺材, 在那里他们告别了自己的生命。 他们甚至为我们抒写了最浪漫的诗句, 声称我们是天地之间的纽带。 然而,他们却看不见我们。
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.
因此,讲故事的艺术中的 许多美妙之处之一 就是想象自己在别人的声音里。 但身为作家, 尽管我们热爱故事和文字, 我相信我们也必须对沉默感兴趣。 在我们的社会里, 那些受边缘化、被剥夺权力的人, 是我们不能轻易谈论的。
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.
从这个意义上说, 文学可以,而且希望如此, 把边缘地带变成中心地带, 让不可见的事物变得愈发显而易见, 让听不见的声音变得更加响亮, 感同身受和理解 比煽动和冷漠更响亮。 故事让我们走到一起, 不为人知的故事 和根深蒂固的沉默使我们分离。
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.
但是如何讲述人类和自然的故事, 当我们的地球在燃烧, 对于我们将共同经历的 无论是政治、社会,还是生态上, 都是史无前例的。 但我们必须告诉他们, 因为如果有一样东西 能比任何东西 都更能摧毁我们的世界, 那莫过于麻木。 当人们变得孤立、麻木、冷漠, 当他们停止倾听、停止学习时, 当他们不再关心 这里、那里和任何地方 正在发生的事情时。
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.
我们以不同的方式衡量时间—— 树和人。 人类的时间是线性的, 一个干净的连续谱, 从一个被认为要结束 和已经结束的过去, 延伸到一个被认为是 原始的、未触及的未来。 树的时间是循环的, 过去和未来 都呼吸在当下。 而且当下也不是朝着一个方向发展, 相反,它在圆圈中画着圆圈, 就像当你砍下我们时,会发现的年轮。
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.
下次当你经过一棵树的时候, 试着放慢脚步、倾听, 因为我们都在风中低语。 看看我们, 我们比你和你的同类年长。 听听我们要说的话, 因为在我们的故事里蕴藏着