A keresés eredménye

I made my way into this grove

I made my way into this grove on my own and
without fear, I spied Tircis there, but I am not moved.
Ah, shouldn’t I be taking care?
How an aloof young heart deserves sympathy!
I am not seeking out trouble,
but at least I would like to be afraid of it!
 

Peter Pan

No, I can't remember
my very first steps
Neither the wild elephants
I saw in the clouds
No, I can't remember
my loopings between the stars
Neither how I saw the world
when I was a kid
 
When the Earth turns, turns too fast around me,
I'm looking for that kid we all have deep inside of us
Like you sometimes, I have my childhood tumbling down from my memories
And to prevent it of flying away, what do you do ?
 
(I) I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
Palala-pa-pa
I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
Palala-pa-pa
I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
Palala-pa-pa
I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
I've got the Peter Pan-syndrome
Ah, I've got the Peter Pan-syndrome
Ah, ah, ah, ah
 
Knock, knock, but who is there?
Life and its worries
I hide away, I prefer my cloud
and my pirates aboard
Doctor, is it serious
never being of age
of having both feet on the ground,
is there anything we can do ?
 
Like you sometimes, I have my childhood tumbling down from my memories
And to prevent it of flying away, what do you do ?
 
(I) I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
Palala-pa-pa
I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
Palala-pa-pa
I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
Palala-pa-pa
I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
I've got the Peter Pan-syndrome
 
Is it serious, mummy
if I don't wanna grow up ?
I want to stay in my dreams
I don't want your (business) suits ,
neither getting into the battle
of a life at full speed
 
(I) I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
Palala-pa-pa
I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
Palala-pa-pa
I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
Palala-pa-pa
I fly, fly, fly, fly, fly
I've got the Peter Pan-syndrome
Palala-pa-pa, I fly
I've got the Peter Pan-syndrome
 

Passersby

1
I want to dedicate this poem
To all the women we love
For some secret instants
To the ones we barely know
That a different fate leads
And we never see them again
 
2
To the one we see appearing
For a second in our window
And who, quickly, disappear
But that slender silhouette
Is so gracious and slender
That we remain in awe
 
3
To the travel partner
Whose eyes, charming landscape
Make the road feel short
That we're just, perhaps, to understand
And yet let it descend
Without having touched her hand
 
4 (not present in the song)
In the fine and soft waltz
That seems sad and nervous
For a carnival night
Who wanted to remain unknown
And who never came back
Swirl in another prom
5
To the ones who are already caught
And who, living grey hours
Near a too different being
You have, useless folly,
Let see the melancholy
Of a hopeless future
 
6(not present in the song)
To these timid lovers
Who remain silent
And still bear your mourning
To those who've already gone
Far from you, sad and lonely
Victims of a stupid pride
 
7
Dear sighted images
Hope's of a deceived day
You'll be in the forgetfulness tomorrow
As long as happiness comes
It's rare that we remember
Of the episodes of the journey
 
8
But if we miss her life
We remember with a bit of jealousy
All of these glimpses of happiness
To the kisses we didn't dare give
To the hearts that have to wait for you
Yo te eyes we never seen again
 
9
So, in the evenings of weariness
While populating her loneliness
Ghosts of memory
We cry with absent lips
For all of these beautiful passersby
That we didn't know how to hold back
 

The last true bandit

Tonight in the shrubland
the paths are deserted.
No sound can be heard.
Winter colours everything.
 
Even the strong smell
is no longer as pungent,
for someone is missing.
The old bandit is dead.
 
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland
He dedicated to honour
his life and heart1
 
For the name of his father
he died alone and proud.
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland.
 
All alone he lived
for twenty years and more
walking forsaken paths
preceded by his dog.
 
He would come back home
to get his supplies
in the middle of the night,
while other people slept.
 
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland
He dedicated to honour
his life and heart
 
For the name of his father
he died alone and proud.
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland.
 
Surely honour must have
borne another strength
in the blood, in the heart
of Corsicans of old.
 
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland
He dedicated to honour
his life and heart
 
For the name of his father
he died alone and proud.
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland.
 

• 1. this hijacking of an idiom is nigh untranslatable. Hopefully the idea is similar

The Prisoner

I envy you, little sparrow
You who come a few times to visit me
Perched on one of the bars
From that tiny skylight looking so sad
 
When you don't come
I see a corner of sky, granted to me in favor
But I wait for you every time
Thinking that now you know when it's time
 
I’m a prisoner
and Mom is dying.
Forgive me, Mom
to hurt you so much.
 
I can't make a move
To kiss her one last time
I don't care about the rest
'Cause if she dies, it's because of me
 
She who never fell asleep
Without imploring Madonna, and the Saints
She who had given so much
So we can say later, he's a very good man
 
I’m a prisoner
and Mom is dying.
Forgive me, Mom
to hurt you so much.
 
I’m a prisoner
and Mom is dying.
Forgive me, Mom
Forgive me
 

Secret love

Dance with me
Dance with me
Night covers us like a sheet
Nobody will see you here,
entrapped in my arms.
 
Play with me
Play with me
I'm the mouse, you're the cat.
Do whatever you please with me.
As the song goes, it'll be alright1
 
And what if secret love
was indeed true love?
No living witnesses,
only trees and wind.
 
When hidden love(rs)
can't get close, doesn't that
make vows written in chalk
even truer?2
 
And what if secret love
was indeed true love?
No living witnesses,
only trees and wind.
 
Dance with me
Dance with me
What we're doing together is neither the business
of narrow-minded persons3 or the law
This fight is ours alone4
 
Carry me away
Carry me away
Just like in the delta of a river,
what is me
and what is you
mix up but don't unite5
 
And what if secret love
was indeed true love?
No living witnesses,
only trees and wind.
 
When hidden love(rs)
can't get close, doesn't that
make vows written in chalk
even truer?
 
And what if secret love...
 
When hidden love(rs)
can't get close, doesn't that
make vows written in chalk
even truer?
 
And what if secret love
was indeed true love?
No living witnesses,
only trees and wind.
 

• 1. that's a rather anachronic pun. 'ça ira' means 'it'll be alright' in modern French, but the he refers to rather says 'That will happen for sure, all the aristocrats will be hung'
• 2. that's arguably nice-looking gibberish in French too
• 3. 'bien-pensant' is also a trendy modern term, it really sounds out of place in a 18th century story
• 4. what fight? Are they making love or war?
• 5. another bit of abstruse French

You think of her

You think of her
better1 than of the comeback of the swallows
You think of her
like a priest to his parish
You think of her
like a dog in front of its bowl.
You think of her
 
Speak no more.
I recall her yesterday morning
Speak no more,
or beauty is worthless2
Speak no more.
I can hear horses in the dist3
Speak no more.
 
She will make you
swear Judas' oath.
She will carry you
all around the world in her arms.
She will leave you
on the corner of a bed, your heart spread-eagled4.
She will forget about you.
 
Speak no more.
Love is killing me in this garden.
Speak no more.
Living without her is a grief.
Speak no more.
Dying every day
is my fate.
Speak no more.
 
You think of her
 
I recall her yesterday morning
Speak no more (you think of her)
or beauty is worthless (you think of her)
I can hear horses in the distance
Speak no more (you think of her)
 
Speak no more.
Love is killing me in this garden (she will forget about you).
Speak no more.
Living without her is a grief (she will forget about you).
Speak no more.
Dying every day (she will forget about you)
is my fate.
 
She will forget about you.
 
Speak no more.
 
You think of her.
 

• 1. sounds odd in French too
• 2. ??? as if speaking would make beauty worthless ???
• 3. ...ance. 'loin' is an adjective meaning 'far'. Correct French would use the noun 'lointain' (far distance)
• 4. 'en croix' is usually said of the arms forming a cross with the body, equivalent to the spread-eagle posture. It could also evoke a crucified heart, with an effort of imagination

Terror, citizen

Terror1, citizen
I can see it dance in your hands
I can feel it clearly, going along
with all these heads in your basket.
 
Terror, citizen,
I can see it coming tomorrow,
along with the taste of others' blood.
Who's next? Who's to blame?
 
Terror, citizen,
from the Vendée2 to Saint Germain3
I can see it being thrown like a stone
by Robespierre's hand.
 
Terror
Terror
Terror, citizen
 
Terror, citizen
I stand alongside it every morning,
in the eyes of the temple child4
they locked up to make an example.
 
Terror, citizen,
that's where it comes from. It came a long way.
It can put me on its list,
even though I'm no royalist.
 
Terror, citizen,
from the Montagnards to the Girondins5,
torn apart by a convention
that is no longer the revolution.
 
Terror
Terror
Terror, citizen
 
Oh, oh, Terror
Terror
Terror,
it's such an error, citizen.
 
Oh, oh, Terror
Terror
Terror,
it's such an error, citizen.
 
Terror is such an error, citizen.
 

• 1. 'la Terreur' is the name of a period after French revolution when many members of the nobility and alleged royalists were summarily executed, using the infamous guillotine
• 2. a region of France where a bloody civil war erupted after the revolution
• 3. I don't recall the city played any significant role during the revolution. Maybe an allusion to the ?
• 4. It's about Louis XVII, infant heir to the throne, detained in the Temple prison where he would die in 1795
• 5. the two main political factions in the newly formed parliament which was called the 'convention'. Many of its members would meet their end to the guillotine during the ferocious political struggles that followed the revolution

France

With its villages and castles,
its grey houses by the waterside,
I know very well what people do there1.
 
With its fears and angers,
its revolutionary ideas,
I know it better than you'd think.
 
With its belfries and churches
and customs. Whatever they say,
it still harbours a desire for insolence2
 
Though I might have offended it at some point,
it is like an heartache
that makes me quietly cry.
 
France, France
is like the shadow of a cross under Provence's sky.
France
is keeping faith while all bets are off3.
 
With its romantic gardens4,
its fishing harbours on the Atlantic,
I know its diversity5.
 
With all its craftsman trades,
stonecutters or peasants,
it's been moving forth for 2000 years.
 
With its immortal provinces,
the cherished child of the Sun King6
I know his descendants well.
 
With its words of liberty,
equality, fraternity
which never occurred to me.
 
France, France
is to believe until the end, until the last chance.
France
is to keep our childhood memories inside of us7
 
France, France,
it remains my country, from yesterday to today.
France,
with all its colours, remains in my heart.
 

• 1. lit. 'the way they dance there', but the idea is rather 'what's going on there'
• 2. that sounds pretty bad in French too, like corporate or media waffle
• 3. more precisely: when the result is inevitable
• 4. actually the 'romantic' movement didn't exist at the time, it was an invention of the triumphant bourgeois social class that would bloom in the mid-19th century
• 5. 'différence' is a trendy politically correct word for 'diversity'
• 6. a common nickname for Louis XIV, a most prestigious king of France who ruled with great pomp for 70 years until early 18th century
• 7. what a lot of hot air...

Disenchantment

We dreamed so much of being free,
of being free
before we became rebels.
 
We dreamed so much of being immobile1,
of being immobile
before we became emigrants.
 
We all loved the same France,
the same childhood,
before we made mistakes.
 
It wavers at the end of courage
on the flag of the revolutions.
It has made nobody dream,
the disenchantment.
It dwells in the hearts of men,
as the bereavement of their imagination.
It spared no one,
the disenchantment.
 
We always dreamed of always following
of always following
a wind of liberty.
 
We dreamed so much of writing the book
of writing the book
of a forgotten story.
 
We fought
for offences,
for differences2
that brought us closer.
 
It wavers at the end of courage
on the flag of the revolutions.
It has made nobody dream,
the disenchantment.
It dwells in the hearts of men,
as the bereavement of their imagination.
It spared no one,
the disenchantment.
 
This dagger in the heart
that dares not speak its name3
and kills happiness
by saying 'no' to you.
 
It wavers at the end of courage
on the flag of the revolutions.
It has made nobody dream,
the disenchantment.
It dwells in the hearts of men,
as the bereavement of their imagination.
It spared no one,
the disenchantment. (x3)
 

• 1. being immobile is not really something people dream of, for all I know. No idea what he means by that
• 2. again this PC synonym of 'diversity'. It doesn't really mean anything here
• 3. another cliché for 'hidden' or 'covert' or 'deceptive' that has no real meaning here

Marie-Antoinette

She holds the last king of France
stubbornly1 to her heart2.
She says again how much she loves him,
and that he has to survive her absence
and harbour no thought of revenge.
And her guards already drag her away.
 
She would want to leave it up to God,
but where is God right now?
She says: 'you can cut my hair,
but please take care of my child'
 
She walks obediently,
remembering the dance steps
in her queenly finery.
She retained that elegance
that would grant the court of France
its European insolence.
 
She hears the shouts of the crowd
and the insults of the innocents3
She hears the drums rolling
and the belfry of St Vincent.
 
Soldiers, hats off.
The queen walks to the scaffold.
Soldiers, this is one death too many.
Which republic is without its faults?
 
She thinks of the former king of France,
of her nice childhood years
in an Austrian province.
And, as the cart comes forth,
she takes her allotted place
next to a Gypsy girl4
 
She would want to leave it up to God,
but God is never where He should be.
She refuses to lower her eyes
in front of the executioner's hood5.
 
Soldiers, hats off.
The queen walks to the scaffold.
Soldiers, this is one death too many.
Which republic is without its faults?
 
She no longer knows what she's thinking about.
Everything changes dramatically6 as something obvious7
She seems to hear the noise of chains,
and in a silent whisper,
deep inside everyone's consciousnesses
everybody wonders: 'why the queen?'8
 

• 1. lit. 'insistently', but that doesn't really make sense in French either
• 2. it's about Louis XVII, a 8 years old child who would eventually die in prison two years later.
• 3. ??? sounds like 'innocent' is meant as 'feeble-minded' here. Or maybe the people that are not to blame for her execution?
• 4. I suppose that's a wink to Esmeralda, though I wonder what Notre-Dame de Paris has to do with the French revolution. In reality she was accompanied by a priest.
• 5. this is purely apocryphal. As the story goes, she inadvertently stepped on the executioner's toes and her last words were 'I beg your pardon, Mister. I did not do it on purpose'
• 6. the verb also means 'topple over'. It's obviously a kind of play on both meanings. Not a very good one, in my opinion.
• 7. I don't know what they mean by that
• 8. Though the crowd indeed remained silent after her death, Marie-Antoinette was a symbol of all that was wrong with the nobility. Living in an indecent luxury, oblivious to the needs of her people, playing the shepherdess with her courtesans while children starved in the streets around her palace. I very doubt many commoners questioned the reasons for her execution.

If (Masquerade)

Marie Antoinette:
If I wasn’t who I am1, then I’d run away with you
 
Axel von Fersen:
If I wasn’t who I am, I’d stay forever here2
 
Axel & Marie:
Why has the accident of birth imprisoned me in this life?
Something in me longs to one day be completely free3
 
Margrid Arnaud:
If I wasn’t who I am, people would fawn over4 me
 
Duke of Orléans:
If I wasn’t who I am, I would rule this land
 
Duke & Margrid:
Why has the accident of birth imprisoned me in this life?
Something in me longs to one day be completely free
 
Ensemble:
Our fate is fixed
The wish to escape remains a fantasy
And so we put on our masks
In the hall and the gallery5
But we’re never content6
 
Margrid & Axel:
Is the path we travel also determined
Desire has another end in sight7
 
Marie & Duke:
We would like to see into hearts
But what we see is always just
A masquerade, masquerade8
 
Ensemble:
Our fate is fixed
The wish to escape remains a fantasy
And so we put on our masks
In the hall and the gallery
But we’re never content
 
Marie & Margrid:
Something in me longs to one day be completely free…
 
All:
Don’t expect too much from here,
In the end9 its just a masquerade...
 

• 1. literally “that which I am”
• 2. ”with you” is implied here
• 3. literally “something in me longs after one day being free” as in “what I long for is to one day be free”
• 4. or “flatter”
• 5. perhaps this refers to paintings in galleries - they’re all fake and staged
• 6. or “satisfied/happy”
• 7. literally “has another goal/destination”
• 8. literally “mask game” - in German “die Maskerade” is “masquerade”, but the point here is the same.
• 9. literally “end-ly” or “finally”

A hímvesszőm tetszik betennem a joghurtokba

Drágám, te is jól tudod ...
Be kell vallanom valamit ...
Valamit ami mélyen áll bennem ...
Drágám ...
A hímvesszőm tetszik betennem a joghurtokba ( joghurtokba )
(yeah)
Banánosba, őszibarackosba vagy simába, még is cukorral borított joghurtba !
És nem számít ha ítélnek
A joghurt az egyetlen menedékem
A hímvesszőm tetszik betenni a joghurtokba
Oh ja ...