A keresés eredménye oldal 13

Six Soldiers

Three soldiers hidden
In the light grass
Three soldiers lying down
On a battlefield
Whilst all around
The silence stretches out
Dreaming about luck
Dreaming about love
The grass is soft
The sun is gentle
Our flag lies sleeping
Amongst the cornflowers
The bird is singing
Let's not frighten it
 
On the other side
Three soldiers likewise
Think of summer
Of all that they love
They're dreaming too
When moments of silence come
Dreaming about luck
Dreaming about life
The grass is soft
The sunlight in full bloom
The poppy is our colour
The air is calm
Let's not disturb it
 
The papers will cry out
To the people who wander
'All calm on the front
The assault is being prepared'
But the six soldiers
On their rustic bed
They'll say perhaps
As they cross their arms
'You, Gentlemen of the Headquarters
If your heart is in it
You can attack it hard
Us, we're staying put
We're too comfortable'
 

I feel good

And I no longer love anyone
And nobody loves me anymore.
Nobody awaits me anywhere,
I await nothing but fate.
I feel good.
Outside, the night wraps itself
all around its North Star1.
In the distance, a crowd is cooing,
with more meanness than rudeness.
I feel good...
 
I dream up gardens
laden with grey roses.
I burn down a few churches,
I boil off a few perfumes.
I feel good...
I flip through my former lovers2,
mixing up their first names.
Funny thing, the family name of all these volcanoes
I extinguished is always Smith3.
I feel good...
 
I swim up the river of
that great bed that encloses me4.
A diamond tinkles merrily
deep inside my glass.
A tree is growing inside my heart,
I'm going to hang all the fusspots there,
and I will no longer be surnumerary5,
and I will feel good...
 
I recall insults
and old enemies, and it no longer
bothers me either way.
Would I be growing up?
That would be good.
I hear nothing but my heart of stone.
Tonight I won't party6
nor act the beauty7 nor the beast.
I don't even care bout my wrinkles.
I feel good
and I switch the light off.
I feel good.
I'm not being honest...
 

• 1. probably a pun on 'polaire' also meaning 'fleece jacket', though the night wrapping itself 'around' a jacket does not work terribly well, in my opinion
• 2. It's about male lovers, which tends to indicate the song was meant to be sung by a woman in the first place (LGBT concerns were still in a distant future when this was written).
• 3. 'Dupont' is the emblematic common French family name, though the most widespread is actually 'Martin'
• 4. Brel invents the verb 'vestibuler' from 'vestibule', which usually means 'entrance hall' but also 'vestibule' (a cavity inside the body) in medical terms. The image of the bed as a cavity enclosing the singer seems more likely to me, but that's debatable
• 5. that's a word Brel has used a lot in this particular album. Might be the symbol of a dying man feeling already out of place among the living
• 6. plays on two different meanings of 'faire': 'faire la fête'(party) and 'faire la belle ou la bête'(act the beauty or the beast), while reffering to the tale 'la belle et la bête' ('Beauty and the Beast)
• 7. again 'la belle' is meant for a female singer

Do whatever you want with my translations. I'm not rich enough to sue you anyway.

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I'm coming

From chrysanthemum to chrysanthemum,
our friendships are on their way out.
From chrysanthemum to chrysanthemum,
death puts1 our sweethearts to the gallows.
From chrysanthemum to chrysanthemum,
the other flowers do what they can.
From chrysanthemum to chrysanthemum,
men are crying, women are raining down.
 
I'm coming, I'm coming,
still I would have liked so much
to drag my weary bones once more
into sunlight, into summer,
until spring, until tomorrow.
I'm coming, I'm coming
still I would have liked so much
to see once more if the river
is still a river and the port
is still a port, and see me there once more.
I'm coming, I'm coming,
but why me, why now,
why was that about, and where to go?
 
I'm coming, of course, I'm coming,
did I ever do anything else?
 
From chrysanthemum to chrysanthemum,
each time more lonely.
From chrysanthemum to chrysanthemum,
each time supernumerary2
I'm coming, I'm coming,
still I would have liked so much
to catch a love once more
like you catch a train to stop being lonely,
to be some place else, to feel good.
I'm coming, I'm coming,
still I would have liked so much
fill onece more with stars
a body that trembles, and drop dead,
consumed by love, my heart in ashes.
I'm coming, I'm coming,
you're not even early,
I'm the one being late.
I'm coming, of course, I'm coming,
did I ever do anything else?
 

• 1. though 'potence' means 'gallows', there is no such verb as 'potencer' (that would be 'pendre' (hang) in standard French)
• 2. the word is rather unusual in French too

Do whatever you want with my translations. I'm not rich enough to sue you anyway.

The day

The day leaves the sky
But you said my days
The sea falls asleep on the sand
Your heart falls asleep on my heart
 
Tomorrow the dawn charms
Even rage in your pale eyes
Your hand resting on my neck
Will arise the sun
 
Tonight pays his long melancholy
Where the noise rises, there we make the night fly
Ah! I have only you and you have only me
And you will lose us when you forget it
 
There ! Doing without you or shadows without joy
Neither the hard sun will teach me
I love you that I die of sweetness
When you kissed me
But that I would die for real
If your love ever left me
 
The day leaves the sky
But you said my days
The sea falls asleep on the sand
Your heart falls asleep on my heart
 
•Translation done by Stavroula Chaloulakou

->Every comment concerning the improvement of my translations is always accepted.

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The Ant

An ant of eighteen metres
With a hat on his head
That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist
 
An ant trailing a chariot*
Full of penguins and ducks
That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist
 
An an speaking French
Speaking Latin and Javanese
That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist
 
And why, why not?
 

It felt good (the lonely ball)

Versions: #2
It was just after the war
in a little ball that had seen better days,
on a miserable dance floor.
There were these two who danced
under the sky among rubble,
in this little ball that was called...
that was called... that was called...
 
No, I can't recall the name of the lonely ball,
but I do remember these two lovers
who saw nothing around them.
Their gestures were so
care free and full of emotion
that it does not matter
how the ball was called.
No, I can't recall the name of the lonely ball,
but I remember they were happy,
lost in each other's eyes,
and it felt good. It felt good.
 
They drank from the same glass,
eyes still locked together.
They prayed for the same thing,
being happy for ever and ever.
They smiled among the rubble
in this little ball that was called...
that was called... that was called...
 
No, I can't recall the name of the lonely ball,
but I do remember these two lovers
who saw nothing around them.
Their gestures were so
care free and full of emotion
that it does not matter
how the ball was called.
No, I can't recall the name of the lonely ball,
but I remember they were happy,
lost in each other's eyes,
and it felt good. It felt good.
 
And then when the accordion
stopped playing, they went away.
Night was falling upon the dancefloor,
the rubble and my very life.
It looked all forlorn again,
this little ball that was called...
that was called... that was called...
 
No, I can't recall the name of the lonely ball,
but I remember these two lovers
who saw nothing around them.
The street was so alight
with these two,
so what does it matter
how the ball was called?
No, I can't recall the name of the lonely ball,
but I do remember we were happy,
lost in each other's eyes,
and it felt good. It felt good.
 
Do whatever you want with my translations. I'm not rich enough to sue you anyway.

There is no everafter left

Now that you live
at the other end of Paris,
when you want a change of era
you indulge in a long trip,
you come and meet me
around the Dufour street corner,
you come and visit me
in Saint-Germain-des-Prés1
 
There is no everafter left
in Saint-Germain-des-Prés,
no day after tomorrow, no more afternoon,
there is just today.
When I'll see you again
in Saint-Germain-des-Prés
it will no longer be you,
it will no longer be me:
the old days are gone.
 
You say 'How everything changes!'
 
The streets look strange to you,
even the flat whites
no longer taste the way you like them.
It is because you are a different woman
and I a a different man.
We are strangers
in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
 
There is no everafter left
in Saint-Germain-des-Prés,
no day after tomorrow, no more afternoon,
there is just today.
When I'll see you again
in Saint-Germain-des-Prés
it will no longer be you,
it will no longer be me:
the old days are gone.
 
Living from hand to mouth,
the merest love story
would seem everlasting
in these back alleys.
But as night came
it was soon over.
This is the eternity
of Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
 
There is no everafter left
in Saint-Germain-des-Prés,
no day after tomorrow, no more afternoon,
there is just today.
When I'll see you again
in Saint-Germain-des-Prés
it will no longer be you,
it will no longer be me:
the old days are gone.
 

• 1. the gathering spot of the famous 'quartier latin' intelligentsia of artists and intellectuals in the 50's, that went suddently out of fashion in the 60's

Do whatever you want with my translations. I'm not rich enough to sue you anyway.

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Chandannagar

She had, she had
a first-rate Chandannagar.
She had, she had
a well-built Chandannagar.
Only for me, only for me
did she unveil her cashmere,
her gardens, her wealthy neigbourhood,
and her Chandannagar at last.
In these circumstances,
no way I would have
left the Indian trading posts.
 
She had, she had
two plentiful Yanams.
She had, she had
two fresh and round Yanams,
and only I, and only I
ventured into her bush,
her wold, her vales,
her hills of Yanam.
In these circumstances,
no way I would have
left the Indian trading posts.
 
She had, she had
an awkward Karaikal.
She had, she had
a moody Karaikal.
Still at night I reached
her nirvāṇa regularily,
all this despite
her bloody Karaikal.
In these circumstances,
no way I would have
left the Indian trading posts.
 
She had, she had
a small and frail Mahé.
She had, she had,
a small and hidden Mahé,
but I had to quench
my fires in the monsoon,
and rouse, rouse myself from
the delights of Mahé.
In these circumstances,
no way I would have
lingered in the Indian trading posts.
 
She had, she had
an easy Pondicherry.
She had, she had
a welcoming Pondicherry.
She soon, she soon
showed a new tourist
around her trading post,
her flora and her geography.
In these circumstances,
no way I'll see again
the Indian trading posts.
 
Do whatever you want with my translations. I'm not rich enough to sue you anyway.

In your crystal bed

You are reading 'the Flowers of Evil'
as you await the male
that will carry your sweet sixteen away
in your satin bed.
Only in the early hours
will he let go of your hand.
He, your first lover,
will abandon you
in your dull, cold bed
to seek other preys,
other flowers to rape.
You won't forget him.
There will always remain
a place in your heart
where his eyes are engraved.
You are reading 'the Flowers of Evil'
and you could not care less
about my love for you.
In your satin bed,
you dream of this kid
who said this morning:
'I wrote a poem for you'.
In your velvet bed,
you say loving words to yourself
waiting for the day to come.
Tomorrow you'll meet him.
Him you will listen to,
and him you will believe.
You will take his arm,
maybe even in front of me,
my pretty flower of Evil,
my horizontal dream1.
You're falling asleep now,
and I gently cover you up
and switch the light off.
You're so far away already,
in your child dreams,
in your satin bed.
You're setting off for tomorrow,
without even a wave of the hand.
You just smile,
like a nice warm weather.2
I lock the door.
Sleep tight, and above all,
above all, dream about him.
 

• 1. 'horizontal' as in 'lying in bed'. Not sure the English carries the same lustful allusion
• 2. this can also be read as part of the next sentence: 'the weather is so nice, so I lock the door', or a standalone 'the wheater is so nice!'

Do whatever you want with my translations. I'm not rich enough to sue you anyway.

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The anti-Ecclesiastes (nothing is vanity)

Neither good nor bad weather
nor the scents of the ocean
nor the wind on a wheat field,
nothing is vanity.
Neither the warm skin of a lover
nor the glint of the setting sun
nor the touch of fresh wine,
nothing is vanity (x2)
 
Neither the secrets of the skies
nor the unruly atoms
nor the saffrons in the meadows1,
nothing is vanity.
Neitheir the anxiety of a child
nor the smile of a passer-by
nor the smell of a stranger,
nothing is vanity (x2)
 
Neither the whisper nor the song,
nor the old mistery of time,
nor the rest nor the danger,
nothing is vanity.
Neither the fear of the last moment
nor the appeal of nothingness,
nor the love of eternity,
nothing is vanity.
 
Nothing, but the adverted gaze,
arrogance and cruelty,
and the bitter jadedness,
nothing is vanity.
Nothing, but the death of beauty,
and the theft of truth,
and hate and vanity,
nothing is vanity (x2)
 

• 1. '' is a folksong evokative of late summer nostalgia that was very popular in the 50's

Do whatever you want with my translations. I'm not rich enough to sue you anyway.

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