And what are your favourite songs with beautiful lyrics?

Jacek

Le métèque

Paroles et musique : Georges Moustaki
© 1969 Éditions Musicales Continentales Intersong
1
Avec ma gueule de métèque, de juif errant, de pâtre grec
Et mes cheveux aux quatre vents
Avec mes yeux tout délavés, qui me donnent l'air de rêver
Moi qui ne rêve plus souvent
Avec mes mains de maraudeur, de musicien et de rôdeur
Qui ont pillé tant de jardins
Avec ma bouche qui a bu, qui a embrassé et mordu
Sans jamais assouvir sa faim
2
Avec ma gueule de métèque, de juif errant, de pâtre grec
De voleur et de vagabond
Avec ma peau qui s'est frottée au soleil de tous les étés
Et tout ce qui portait jupon
Avec mon coeur qui a su faire souffrir autant qu'il a souffert
Sans pour cela faire d'histoire
Avec mon âme qui n'a plus la moindre chance de salut
Pour éviter le purgatoire
3
Avec ma gueule de métèque, de juif errant, de pâtre grec
Et mes cheveux aux quatre vents
Je viendrai ma douce captive, mon âme soeur, ma source vive
Je viendrai boire tes vingt ans
Et je serai prince de sang, rêveur, ou bien adolescent
Comme il te plaira de choisir
Et nous ferons de chaque jour, tout une éternité d'amour
Que nous vivrons à en mourir
Et nous ferons de chaque jour, tout une éternité d'amour
Que nous vivrons à en mourir

Dear Jacek,

Wonderful idea.

I love Brel, but you'll see my song is of a different style. It is with me every second of my life:

The Revealing Science of God (lyrics by Jon Anderson)

Dawn of light lying between a silence and sold sources,
Chased amid fusions of wonder, in moments hardly seen forgotten,
Coloured in pastures of chance dancing leaves cast spells of challenge,
Amused but real in thought, we fled from the sea whole.
Dawn of thought transfered through moments of days undersearching earth
Revealing corridors of time provoking memories, disjointed but with purpose,
Craving penetrations offer links with the self instructors sharp
And tender love as we took to the air, a picture of distance.
Dawn of our power we amuse redescending as fast as misused
Expression, as only to teach love as to reveal passion chasing
Late into corners, and we danced from the ocean.
Dawn of love sent within us colours of awakening among the many
Won't to follow, only tunes of a different age.
As the links span our endless caresses for the freedom of life everlasting.

Talk to the sunlight caller
Soft summer mover distance mine.

Called out a tune but I never saw the face
Heard but not replaced
I ventured to talk, but I never lost my place
Cast out a spell rendered for the light of day
Lost in lights array
I ventured to see, as the sound began to play

What happened to this song we once knew so well
Signed promise for moments caught within the spell
I must have waited all my life for this
Moment moment

The future poised with the splendour just begun
The light we were as one
And crowded through the curtains of liquid into sun

And for a moment when our world had filled the skies
Magic turned our eyes
To feast on the treasure set for our strange device

What happened to wonders we once knew so well
Did we forget what happened surely we can tell
We must have waited all our lives for this
Moment moment moment

Starlight, movement, reasons
Release forward
Tallest rainbow
Sun shower seasons
Life flower reasons

They move fast, they tell me,
But I just can't believe that I can feel it
There's someone to tell you,
Amid the challenge we look around in unison with you

Getting over overhanging trees
Let them rape the forest
Thoughts would send our fusion
Clearly to be home

Getting over wars we do not mean
Or so it seems so clearly
Sheltered with our passion
Clearly to be home
They move fast, they tell me,
But I just can't believe they really mean to
There's someone, to tell you,
And I just can't believe our song will leave you
Skyline teacher
Warland seeker
Send out poison
Cast iron leader

And through the rhythm of moving slowly
Sent through the rhythm work out the story
Move over glory to sons of old fighters past.
Young christians see it from the beginning
Old people feel it, that's what they're saying.
Move over glory to sons of old fighters past.

They move fast, they tell me,
But I just can't believe they really mean to.
There's someone, to tell you
A course towards a universal season.

Getting over overhanging trees
Let them rape the forest
They might stand and leave them
Clearly to be home
Getting over wars we do not mean
We charm the movement suffers
Call out all our memories
Clearly to be home

We've moved fast
We need love
A part we offer is our only freedom

What happened to this song we once knew so well
Signed promise for moments caught within the spell
We must have waited all our lives for this
Moment moment

Past present movers moments we'll process the future, but only through him we know, send flowered rainbows
Apiece apart chased flowers of the dark and lights of songs to follow and show all we feel for and know of
Cast round
You seekers of the truth accepting that reason will relive and breath and hope and chase and love
For you and you and you.

Hi all,

Jacek, thank you for this beautiful thread!! Here's one of my favourites:

Pearl Jam

Wishlist (words,music Ed Vedder)

I wish I was a neutron bomb, for once I could go off.
I wish I was a sacrifice but somehow still lived on.
I wish I was a sentimental ornament you hung on
The christmas tree, I wish I was the star that went on top,
I wish I was the evidence
I wish I was the grounds
for fifty million hands up raised and opened toward the sky.

I wish I was a sailor with someone who waited for me.
I wish I was as fortunate, as fortunate as me.
I wish I was a messenger, and all the news was good.
I wish I was the full moon shining off your camaro's hood.

I wish I was an alien, at home behind the sun,
I wish I was the souvenir you kept your house key on.
I wish I was the pedal breaks that you depended on.
I wish I was the verb to trust, and never let you down.

Traduire la poésie, c'est une activité qui offre au linguiste le maximum d'intérêt, le maximum de défis, le maximum de récompenses et le minimum d'espoir. Toute traduction représente un acte impossible, qui n'atteint qu'une valeur approximative à côté du texte en langue originale. Et plus l'écrivain est habile, plus son génie est transcendant, plus profond doit être le désespoir du traducteur.

Quand ce génie se trouve concentré dans le merveilleux mystère du poème, ou son et rime et rythme s'unissent tous pour créer une unité indissoluble, le traducteur sait qu'il n'offre qu'une approximation des plus légères, des plus vagues.

Qu'il est impossible, alors, de traduire Brassens, qui est non seulement un poète d'une richesse incomparable, mais un poète qui ajoute de la musique à ses vers et donne ainsi au traducteur une dimension supplémentaire à la difficulté de la tache.

Malgré toutes ces réservations et l'impossibilité d'une réussite de valeur, il y a des traducteurs qui accomplissent des merveilles dans leur versions de la poésie. Il existe même de magnifiques traductions de Brassens. Je les salue, ces travailleurs dans le champ de la traduction (pour un exemple, voyez Le testament) qui me convainquent que je ne dépasserai jamais une interprétation banale du sens.

Le but des ces pauvres efforts, alors, ce n'est pas de m'imaginer qu'ils arriveront jamais à transmettre un tant soit peu la force et la signification, l'esprit et la sagesse de Brassens. Mais pour un public anglophone, qui aiment les chansons, et qui voudrait les écouter en français, ces versions anglaises permettront de clarifier quelques problèmes du sens.

http://www.projetbrassens.eclipse.co.uk/textesettraductions.html

Ballade des dames du temps jadis	Ballad of the ladies of old
Poème de François Villon	Poem by François Villon
Dictes-moy où, n'en quel pays, Est Flora, la belle Romaine; Archipiada, ne Thais, Qui fut sa cousine germaine; Echo, parlant quand bruyt on maine Dessus riviere ou sus estan, Qui beauté eut trop plus qu'humaine? Mais où sont les neiges d'antan!	Tell me in what land, o where Is Flora, lovely lady of Rome? Archippa, yes, and Thais fair Her cousin. Where, tell me, now Is Echo, murmuring by the stream, Above the river and the lake, Whose beauty was above all women? Ah! where are the snows of years long-gone?
Où est la très sage Héloise, Pour qui chastré fut et puis moyne Pierre Esbaillant à Sainct-Denis? Pour son amour eut cest essoyne. Semblablement, où est la royne Qui commanda que Buridan Fust gecté en ung sac en Seine? Mais où sont les neiges d'antan!	Where is Heloise, so wise For whom unmanned was Abelard And made a monk at Saint-Denis? For love of her he suffered so. And tell me where's the noble queen Who gave command that Buridan Be cast in sack into the Seine? Ah! where are the snows of years long-gone?
La royne Blanche comme ung lys, Qui chantoit à voix de sereine, Berthe au grand pied, Bietris, Allys; Harembourgis, qui tint le Mayne, Et Jehanne, la bonne Lorraine, Qu'Anglois bruslèrent à Rouen; Ou sont-ils, Vierge souveraine?... Mais où sont les neiges d'antan!	Queen Blanche with skin so lily white Who sang as sweet as any bird, Big-footed Bertha, Beatrix, Allys, Arembour, who ruled o'er Maine, And Joan the sweet girl from Lorraine Burned by the English at Rouen? My sovereign lady, where are they all? Ah! where are the snows of years long-gone?
Prince, n'enquerez de sepmaine Ou elles ont, ne de cest an, Que ce refrain ne vous remaine: Mais où sont les neiges d'antan!	But seek not Prince, endlessly to know Where now they are, why time has passed. Let this refrain be your response. Ah! where are the snows of years long-gone?
© 1954 Ed. Intersong-Paris Musique G. Brassens	© 2000 Dr. Ted Neather This translation aims to convey meaning and not attempt poetry or song.

If you've never heard of the ladies mentioned in this poem, read the notes at http://www.projetbrassens.eclipse.co.uk/transballade.html

***

Excerpt:

Mourir pour des idées	Die for ideas
Mourir pour des idé's, l'idée est excellente. Moi, j'ai failli mourir de ne l'avoir pas eu', Car tous ceux qui l'avaient, multitude accablante, En hurlant à la mort me sont tombés dessus. Ils on su me convaincre et ma muse insolente, Abjurant ses erreurs, se rallie à leur foi Avec un soupçon de réserve toutefois: Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente, D'accord, mais de mort lente.	Die for ideas, that's a great idea. Me, I nearly died because I didn't have any. Because those who had the ideals, an overwhelming crowd, Fell on me yelling "Slaughter". They were able to convince me, and my cheeky Muse Admitted she was wrong, and rallied to their cause. Just maintaining a tiny suspicion of doubt. Die for ideas, OK, but just make it a slow death, OK, a slow death.
(…)	(…)
Ô vous, les boutefeux, ô vous, les bons apôtres, Mourez donc les premiers, nous vous cédons le pas. Mais, de grâce, morbleu! laissez vivre les autres! La vie est à peu près leur seul luxe ici-bas; Car, enfin, la Camarde est assez vigilante, Elle n'a pas besoin qui'on lui tienne la faux. Plus de danse macabre autour des échafauds! Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente, D'accord, mais de mort lente.	O all you firebreathers, o all you good apostles, Go and die first, we stand back and let you through. But please, I beg you, let the rest of us get on with living, Life is just about our only luxury down here. For after all, Death is sufficiently vigilant, He doesn't need anyone to hold his scythe for him. Let's have no more macabre dances around the scaffold. Die for ideas, OK, but just make it a slow death, OK, a slow death.
© 1972 ED. MUSICALES 57 Texte et musique G. Brassens	© 2000 Dr. Ted Neather This translation aims to convey meaning and not attempt poetry or song.

Dear Brigith,

No need to tell you I was waiting for Madredeus (or Cesária Évora)!  Thank you also for the mini-lesson in Portuguese translation.

Jacek

More oldies but goodies:

Edith Piaf

Hi Paul,

Thank you for your comment which, I have just realised, for me ties in with the topic about who we are depending on the language we switch to http://www.TranslatorsCafe.com/cafe/MegaBBS/thread-view.asp?threadid=874&posts=2

When I listen to a French poetic song, my primary automatic focus is on the lyrics.  That's because of my academic past.  The same with some Italian and Polish cantautori.  Over the course of my life, I have never developed that sort of verbal attentiveness to songs in English, so when I listen to Nina Simone, I primarily enjoy her voice and the music itself, and only then, thanks to your post, do I compare the two texts, only to share your conclusion, I am afraid. 

How do you feel about those Brassens translations?

Jacek