Friday, May 25, 2018

Jean-Roger Caussimon - On a wish of Paul Elouard


Original Title: "Sur un voeu"
Any caress, any trust survive themselves
Those words so simple with light
Were written by Paul Eluard
More fervent words than a prayer
And louder than a shout
They are stronger than invectives
Than violence or contempt
They spurted out like flowing water
The heart speaks in there before the mind

Any caress, any trust survive themselves
Where is the singing future
And that always promised happiness
In the indifferent cities
Everybody thinks he sees his enemies
But if by chance it happens
To glimpse a friendly gaze
Among so many fleeing shadows
Let that gaze be passed on

Any caress, any trust survive themselves
For the motherly lulaby
The voice of the father at home
And for the memory of the one
Who loved you more than reason
Let nothing drift off
And let the happiness of a moment
Write itself on a sky of future
And shines with time
Any caress, any trust survive themselves

Monday, May 14, 2018

Anne Vanderlove - Tell me


Original Title: "Dites-moi"
Tell me, you had it though the heart for laughing
Tell me, you had it though the heart between your teeth
And then from the heart to the eyes so many things to say
When you were the color of the Grand Meaulnes and the wind
But from sand to dunes, and from falls to rains
Grand Meaulnes fled away
And your frail teenage years followed it

Tell me, you had it though the heart for laughing
Tell me, you had it though the heart between your teeth
When you were shown the big words in the books
Those that toppled down the walls and make children grow older
But the children are dead and the rifles rusty
The neglected paths
And already on the stone
Grass closed in

Tell me, you had it though the heart for laughing
Tell me, you had it though the heart between your teeth
And then from the heart to the eyes so many things to say
That you could have well done better really
Tell me, what have you done with so many seasons?
Your gardens, without further ado
are tearing your heart up
With large hits of thistle

Saturday, May 5, 2018

Mouloudji - Verrières - My pal the Gipsy


Original Title: "Mon pot' le gitan"
Text: Jacques Verrières
Music: Marc Heyral

My pal the Gipsy is an odd fellow
A mug all black, eyes all blue
He stays for hours without saying a word
Sitting beside the stove, at the bottom of the bistrot
That guy, a caravan wanders in his head,
And when it travels, never does it stop
A whole bunch of sceneries come out of his eyes
My pal the Gipsy, is one odd fellow

My pal the Gipsy is not a funny guy
And in our bistrot, noboby understands him
Like all those guys, he has his guitar
A dirty guitar which makes you brood
When he starts playing, the old caravan
runs wild in his head, the belote players stops
And nothing no more, we hurt inside.
My pal the Gipsy is not a funny guy

My pal the Gipsy left one day
And God only knows where he trails his life
That guy was a great musician
That I was certain of, I felt it
The boss told me someone came looking for him
A great music hall wanted to buy him
My pal the Gipsy, he refused, a shrug, and he left

I had the feeling to lose a friend,
And yet that guy never told me anything
But he left me a piece of his caravan
And in my small head, there is some dream wandering
His weird music, stayed inside of me
When I think of him, it happens I sing
You, damn Gipsy who smelled of the blues
Afterall your music was full of hope.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Serge Reggiani - The old couple


Original Title: "Le vieux couple"
Text: Jean-Loup Dabadie.
Music: Jacques Datin
What I like about this duo
It's that you make the higher voice
It's you who know, you who say
You who think and I who is
But on the big evenings when you are crying
When you are afraid in your rowing boat
I am the one talking for hours
All in all we are an old couple

I don't remember where I have met you anymore
It was at school or at a puppet show
I remember that ingenuous person
Who had lost his compass
Since I stopped you from drinking
Except the big evenings in your rowing boat
When you sing to me about your setbacks
All in all we are an old couple

With your spaniel face
Which did not learn how to swim
With my face to remain alone
Behind half shandy's
The big evenings in your rowing boat
When we talk about your moods
And that you slander my wife
All in all we are an old couple

The sixteenth August Nineteen sixty
I married that lovely lady
Five days later, I was gone
And you were tucking me in my bed
Then the night started
Then the night started
Of which we believed we were the stars
But we were nothing more than the cicadas

We fought, we lost one another
You often started new relationships
And the best is that you betrayed me
But you held no grudge against me
And during the big evenings in your rowing boats
You know my habits well
I know your solitude well
All in all we are an old couple

My friend, my buddy, my brother
My old chance, my galley
My child, my Judas, my judge
My comfortance, my shelter
My brother, my counterfeiter
My friend, my jack of heart
I wouldn't want you to die
I wouldn't want you to die.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

Léo Ferré - Arthur Rimbaud - We are not serious when we are 17 years old



Original Title: "On est pas sérieux quand on a 17 ans"
Text: Arthud Rimbaud
We are not serious when we are seventeen years old
- A fine evening, to hell with the ales and the limonades
Of the rowdy cafés with bright chandeliers
- We go under the green lime trees of the promenade

The lime trees smell good in the fine evenings of June!
The air is sometimes so sweet that we close our eyelids;
The wind loaded with noises - the city is not far -
Has some scent of vines and smells of beer

Here we catch a very small piece of rag
of dark sky, framed by a very small branch
Stung of a bad star, which merges
with sweet shivers, small and all white...

Night of June! Seventeen years old! We let ourselves get intoxicated
The sap is like champaign and goes to the head
We ramble, we feel a kiss to the lips
Beating there, like a small beast

The crazy heart robinsons through the novels
When in the pale light of a streetlamp
A damzel passes with charming airs
Under the shadow of the detachable collar of her father

And as she thinks you are immensely naive
While she trots about in her small ankle boots
She turns around, agile and with a lively gesture
On your lips then dies the cavatina

You are in love. Praised until the month of August.
You are in love. Your sonnets makes her laugh
All your friends go away, you are of unpleasant taste
Then the adored one, one evening, deigned writing you!

That evening - You enter inside the loud cafés
You ask for ale or limonade
We are not serious when we are seventeen years old
And we have green lime trees on the promenade

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Mouloudji - We have to live


Original Title: "Faut vivre"
Despite the big eyes of the void
"It's to better eat you, child"
And the silences, and the rackets
We have to live...

Despite being blind on background of night
Between the infinite depths
Billions of stars laughing...
We have to live...

Despite not always being beautiful
And that we do not have our sixteen anymore
And on hope a blank check
We have to live...

Despite the heart being at sea
To the wind of love which is still blowing
And which sometimes still intoxicates us
We have to live...

Despite us not being a genius
Is not Rimbaud who can, for god's sake
And that we look for an alibi

Despite all our dead people making merry
Who wander in the streets of our heads
We have to live...

Despite us being brave and bastards
that we have complexes galore
And that we like them, that's the worst
We have to live

Despite the ideal of youth
Which has been worn out to the nerve of the time
And by others taken back while singing
We have to live....

Despite that when we turn toward the past
We are scared to admit to ourselves
That we have changed a little still
We have to live...

Despite us being on the same journey
Be it we live as mad, we live as wise
Everything will end in a wreck
We have to live...

Despite at the sky of our chests
Inside of us, asleep sentry
In a noise of factory, moans

The blind heart which walks a tightrope
On the thread of the running present
We have to live....

Despite that inside of us a dead child
Sometimes, so little, still smiles
Like an old agonising dream
We have to live...

Despite us being in the gears
of the clerks and the inheritances
Where the heart makes itself nauseus and gets bogged down
We have to live...

Despite us making dark humor
about love which will give us an hard time
Up to the moment it tells us goodbye
We have to live...

Despite that, at every horizon
Like an intergation point,
Death looks at us with a drunken eye
We have to live...

Despite all our love oaths
All our lies day after day
And despite we only have one life
A single one for eternity
Despite us knowing it's a failure

We have to live...

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Léo Ferré - Paul Verlaine - Poetic art


Original Title: "Art poétique"
Text: Paul Verlaine
Music before anything else
And for that prefers the irregular verse
More vague and more soluble in air
Without anything in it which weights or poses

You must not either
Choose your words without some misunderstanding
Nothing is dearest than the grey song
Where the indecisive joins the precise

It's beautiful eyes behind veils
It's the bright day shivering at noon
It's, through an autumn sky cooled down,
The blue jumble of the clear stars!

Because we want the shade again
Not the color, just the shade!
Oh the shade only marries
The dream to the dream and the flute to the horn!

Run the farthest away from the murderous point
The cruel spirit, and the impure laugh
Which make the eyes of the Azure cry,
And all that garlic of low kitchen!

Take the eloquence and break its neck!
You will do well, in energetic spirit,
To give back the tempered rhyme
If we do not pay attention, up to where will it go?

Oh who will say the wrongs of the Rhyme?
Which death child or crazy negro
Has forged us that one penny jewel
Which sounds hollow and fake under the file?

Some music still and always!
Let your verse be the flown away thing
That we feel flees from a departed soul
Toward other skies and other loves

Let your verse be the good adventure
Scattered to the tense wind of the morningv Which goes smelling of mind and thyme...
And everything else is literature.

Jean-Roger Caussimon - On a wish of Paul Elouard

Original Title: " Sur un voeu " Any caress, any trust survive themselves Those words so simple with light Were written by Paul...