Saturday, 4 April 2009

Conservationism

Lately I have found myself thinking and reading about life on our planet, about its first babbles, its current state and its future.

My awareness for conservationism has been shaped by readings and curiosity about the environment since my teenager years. But I think the true roots of this awareness, my realising the role we humans play about Nature, lay way back in the past, in my childhood, with two songs written by Joan Manuel Serrat, a Spanish Catalan singer that is part of the subconscious psyche of almost all members of my generation, thanks to our parents and the miracle of gramophone and compact cassette.




Pare
digueu-me què
li han fet al riu
que ja no canta.
Rellisca com un barb
mort sota un pam
d'escuma blanca.

Pare
que el riu ja no és el riu.
Pare
abans que torni l'estiu
amagui tot el què és viu.

Pare
digueu-me què
li han fet al bosc
que no hi ha arbres.
A l'hivern
no tindrem foc,
ni a l'estiu lloc
on aturar-nos.

Pare
que el bosc ja no és el bosc.
Pare
abans de que es faci fosc
tanquem la vida al rebost.

Sense llenya i sense peixos,
pare,
ens caldrà cremar la barca,
llaurar el blat entre les runes,
pare,
i tancar amb tres panys la casa,
Ai, dèieu vostè...

Pare
si no hi ha pins
no es fan pinyons
ni cucs ni ocells.
Pare
si no hi ha flors
no es fan abelles,
cera ni mel.

Pare
que el camp ja no és el camp.
Pare
del cel avui ens plou sang.
El vent ho canta plorant.

Pare
ja són aquí!
Monstres de carn
amb cucs de ferro.
Pare
no, no tingueu por,
digueu que no,
que jo us espero.

Pare
que estan matant la terra.
Pare
deixeu de plorar
que ens han declarat
la guerra.

Father,
please tell me what
have they done to the river
that it doesn't sing anymore?
It runs like a barbel
dead under a handspan
of white lather.

Father,
the river is not the river anymore.
Father,
before Summer comes again
hide all that's alive.

Father,
please tell me what
have they done to the woods
that there are no trees?
In winter
we won't have fire,
and in summer no place
for us to rest.

Father,
the woods are not the woods anymore.
Father,
before it gets dark
let us store life in the larder.

Without firewood and without fish,
father,
we'll have to burn the boat,
grow wheat among the rubble,
father,
and use three locks for the house,
Oh, would you have said...

Father,
if there's no pine trees
there'll be no nuts
no worms, no birds.
Father,
if there's no flower
there'll be no bees,
no wax and no honey.

Father,
the fields are not the fields anymore.
Father,
it rains blood from the sky today.
The wind sings about it crying.

Father,
they are here!
Flesh monsters
with their iron worms.
Father,
no, don't be afraid,
and say no,
I'm waiting for you.

Father,
they're killing the earth.
Father,
please stop crying
because they've declared
war on us.



This sond, as I was saying, resides so deeply in my subconscious, so stuck in my soul, that big tears run down my cheeks every time I listen to it. The same happens with the next song, Plany al mar (Lament to the sea).




Bressol de vida,
camins de somnis,
pont de cultures,
ai!, qui ho diria,
que ha estat el mar?

Mireu-lo fet una claveguera,
mireu-lo anar i venir
sense parar.

Sembla mentida
que en el seu ventre
es fés la vida.
Ai!, qui ho diria
sense rubor?

Mireu-lo fet una claveguera
ferit de mort.

De la manera
que el desvalissen
i l'enverinen,
ai!, qui ho diria
que ens dóna el pa?

Mireu-lo fet una claveguera,
mireu-lo anar i venir
sense parar.

On són els savis
i els poderosos
que s'anomenen
ai!, qui ho diria,
conservadors?

Mireu-lo fet una claveguera
ferit de mort.

Quanta abundància,
quanta bellesa,
quanta energia,
ai!, qui ho diria?,
feta malbé.
Per ignorància,
per imprudència,
per incosciència
i per mala llet.

Jo que volia
que m'enterressin
entre la platja,
ai!, qui ho diria?,
i el firmament.

I serem nosaltres,
ai!, qui ho diria?
els qui t'enterrem.


Cradle of life,
paths of dreams,
bridge of cultures.
Who would have thought it?
That has been the sea.

Look at it looking like a sewer.
Look at it coming and going
without stop.

It's hard to believe
that in its womb
life was created.
Who could now say that
without a blush?

Look at it looking like a sewer,
fatally wounded.

Looking at the way
that it is stripped bare
and poisoned,
who could believe
it gives us our bread?

Look at it looking like a sewer.
Look at it coming and going
without stop.

Where are the wise
and the mighty ones
that they call themselves,
who would have thought,
conservatives?

Look at it looking like a sewer,
fatally wounded.

So much abundance,
so much beauty
so much energy,
who would have thought?,
totally ruined.
Out of ignorance,
out of imprudence,
out of irresponsibility
and out of meanness.

I wanted
to be buried
between the beach,
who would have though?,
and the firmament.

And it will be us,
who would have thought?,
the ones who'll have to bury you.

2 comments:

Gitta said...

Danke fuer das schoene Lied,und die mir sehr vertrauten Gedanken......
Ich hab es eher wie ein Gebet gelesen.---Und oft frage ich mich wie lange es dauern wird bis die Menschen wirklich verstehen,--ich fuerchte erst dann wenn die letzte Biene tot ist!Ob sie in den letzten vier Tagen denen ihnen dann noch bleiben, begreifen was sie zerstoert haben?
Vielleicht hat sich der liebe Gott trotzdem geirrt mit unserer Spezies?!

tonicito said...

Gitta said...Thank you for the beautiful song and for these thought so close to me... I read it as a prayer. -- I ask myself often how long will it take for mankind to understand, --I'm afraid it will not happen before the last bee dies! Would they understand then, in their last four days on the planet, what did they destroy?
Maybe the dear God made a mistake with our species?!
Gitta, I don't think God (or evolution, or biochemistry) made a mistake. I am an incurable optimist, and I believe as long as we are able to see the big picture (and I think we are!), we will find our way, for us and for the planet. We just have to keep seeing the big picture.
LG
T.