Monday, December 1, 2014

Léo Ferré - Arthur Rimbaud - The Crows


Original Title: "Les Corbeaux"
Text: Arthur Rimbaud
Lord, when cold is the meadow,
When in the knocked down hamlets,
The long angels went quiet...
on the nature whose flowers were shed
Make swoop down from the big skies
The dear delicious crows
The dear delicious crows

Strange army with severe shouts
The cold winds attack your nests!
You, along the yellowed rivers,
On the roads with old ordeals
On the ditches and, on the holes.
Disperse, rally!
Disperse, rally!

By the thousands, on the fields of France,
Where sleep deads of the day before yesterday
Circle, won't you, during the winter,
So that every passer-by think again!
Be then the crier of duty,
Oh our funereal black bird!
Oh our funereal black bird!

But, saints of the sky, on top of the oak tree,
Lost mast in the charmed evening,
Leave the warblers of May
To those who are chained deep in the woods
In the grass where none can flee,
The defeat without future
The defeat without future

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