Monday, November 18, 2013

Jacques Bertin - The Degenerates


Original Title: "Les Tarés"

I would tell you, I would tell you
With my usual care about forms
"Let's love Madam!"
Or with the frozen gaze
"Undress"
Or again because I would certaintly be merciless
I would whisper with an imperceptible voice
"Insult me"
You would comply like a solo in a baroq score
We would despise one another of course without believing it
To reach that
It'd be good

We would give us the impression of coming out right ouf the memoirs
of a couple of notorious freaks in Locarno
In nighteen hundred twenty three.

I would be inflexible and pale like a Carpathian prince
having fled in the wagons of the white russians, the hell of the Bolsheviks
After having played piano, badly for that matter, in the burning winter palace
With the last band of night owls and hysterics

You would be the former mistress of a latino-bulgarian party head
The day when he would have had been killed, you would have had been on vacation in Ibiza
Then you would have become receptionist in the great Post of Tarbes
and girlfriend of the minister of Arabic cults.

Of a scaringly dishonesty, suffice to say, you'd would be
But so fragile.
Noone has ever loved me would be your motto, people would believe it.
You would have on your face of early hours effects of frights
Like towns
And in your head vast deserts where melancholy would make islands

Me with my silences long like stations' quays.
covered by scathing and sweet words like great fast trains
I would be suspected of having I do not know what great rare talent
The oracle would be expected to talk
And he would wait for the rumor to stop

Never withdrawing in front of those big wallets
with their calm mornings look
You would throw yourself in the last stage of your tour of the future
A real mariage with a gifted énarque very dull very stupid
and very brave on whom you will cheat with young bragging gays
and old men from the Académie

You will reappear every now and then, demanding that I make myself clear
You will provide arguments like: "Prove me that you do not love me"
We would then subject ourselves to the penultimate insults, pathetics
Saving ourselves always a last one for next time.

I'd act ruthlessly because I'll have to act ruthlessly
I'd sublet you in public auctions and you will like that
Forward for the scenaros, the low-angle shots, the mystical obscenities
And we would lock ourselves like every time in our right fix

Twisted, twisted as you are
One day that we were giving each others forfeits
And I commanded you to show yourself naked at the opera
You more subtly demanded from me, that I commit to
write a song for people to see
how I am and do not believe it.

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