Barbara - Wait for my joy to come back

Original Title : "Attendez que ma joie revienne"
Year : 1963

Wait for my joy to come back
And for that memory to die
Of that love of so much sorrow
Which never stop dying
Before telling me 'I love you'
Before I'm able to tell it to you
Wait for my joy to come back
So that I can smile in the morning

Leave me. Sorrow takes me away
And I sail on my delirium
Leave me. Open that door.
Leave me. I'll come back
I'll wait for my joi to come back
And for that memory to be dead
Of that love of so much sorrow
For which I wanted to die
I'll wait for my joy to come back
So that I can smile in the morning
For the wind to have dried up my sorrow
And the night to have calmed my delirium

There is, I heard, a shore
Where one heals from the ill of loving
Dead loves are stranded there
Black shipwrecks from the past
If you want for my joy to come back
For me to be able to smile in the morning
Towards that country where sorrow dies
I beg you, let me go
Of my past loves,
The memory must perish.
So that, freed from my chain
Towards you, I could come back

Then, I make the promise to you
Together we'll go pick up
In the crazy garden of tenderness
The flower of love which will open up
But it's too early to tell you I love you
Too early to hear you say it
The voice I hear is his
They are alive, my memories
Forgive-me: It's him I love
The past can not die

Bourvil - The tenderness

Original Title: "La tendresse"
Text: Noël Roux
Music: Hubert Giraud
Year: 1963

One can live without wealth
Almost without a penny
Lords and princesses
There are not many left
But to live without tenderness
One could not
No, no, no, no
One could not

One can live without glory
Which does not prove anything
Be unknown in history
And find himself fine with it
But to live without tenderness
It's out of the question
No, no, no, no
It's out of the question

What a sweet weakness
What a pretty feeling
That need for tenderness
Which comes when we are born
Really, really, really

Work is necessary
But if one must stay
Weeks without doing anything
Well, one gets used to it
But to live without tenderness
Time feels slow
Slow, slow, slow, slow
Time feels slow

In the fire of youth
Pleasures are born
And love makes prowesses
To dazzle us
Yes but without tenderness
Love would be nothing
No, no, no, no
Love would be nothing

When merciless life
Falls down on you
We are nothing more than a pour devil
Crushed and disappointed
Then without tenderness
Of an heart supporting us
No, no, no, no
We would not go any further

A child kissing us
Because we make him happy
All our sorrows fade away
We become teary eyed
My God, my God, my God

In your immense wisdom
Immense fervour
Make it rain endlessly
At the bottom of our hearts
Torrents of tenderness
So that love rules
Love rules
Up to the end of days

Leny Escudero - We won't have time

Original Title: "Nous n'aurons pas le temps"
Year: 1963

We won't have time
To grow weary
We won't have time
To love each other
I know that well before
The last day
We won't have given
All our love

I can't love you
For the future
For the days without love
Which are going to come
I'll love you a long time
And when death
Will tell me "It's time!"
I will still love you

We won't have time
To wear out a thousand caresses
To wear out our youth
Our love is too big
Even if I live a thousand years
Before the hour strikes
For our love to die
I'll lose you before

The time of our love
For ever
My love, my love
Will have passed
Without having had time
To grow weary
Without having had time
To love one another

The time of our love
For ever
My love, my love
Will have passed

Alain Barrière - She was so pretty

Original Title: "Elle était si jolie"
Year: 1963 (France's Eurovision song)

She was so pretty that I did not dare loving her
She was so pretty I can't forget her
She was too pretty when the wind was taking her away
She was feeling, delighted, and the wind was telling me

She is way too pretty and you I know you
Love her a whole lifetime you will never be able to
Yes but she is gone, it's stupid but it's true
She was pretty, I will never forget

Today, autumn is here and I often cry
Today, autumn is here, how far the spring is
In the park where shiver the leaves under the ill wind
Her dress twirls then she disappears

She was so pretty that I did not dare loving her
She was so pretty I can't forget her
She was too pretty when the wind was taking her away
She was so pretty I will never forget

Claude Vinci - Paul Eluard - In Name of

Original Title: "Au nom"
Text: Paul Eluard (1943)
Year: 1963

In name of the perfect and deep forehead
In name of the eyes I am looking at
And the mouth I am kissing
For today and for ever
In name of the burried hope
In name of the tears in the dark
In name of the laughable complaints
In name of the laughs that scare
In name of the laughs in the street
Of the sweetness which binds our hands
In name of the fruits covering the flowers
On a good and beautiful earth
In name of the men in prison
In name of the deported women
In name of all our comrades
Martyred and massacred
For not having accepted the shadow
We have to drain wrath
And make the iron rise up
To preserve the high image
Of the innocent people hunted everywhere
And who will triumph everywhere

Monique Morelli - Gaston Couté - Washday

Original Title: "Jour de lessive"
Text: Gaston Couté
His poems were first published in 1928 after his death.
Year: 1963

I left this very morning
Still drunk from the night but taken
of what's like an extreme digust
Spitting my farewell to Paris
And here I am, my good woman,
Yes, bust like four coins
My laundry is dirty so is my soul...
Here I am home!

My poor mother is on washday
Mother, Mother
Mother, your bad guy is coming
At the right time!...

Here is that linen on which dripped many
And many times a bitter wine,
Where bitches with painted lips
have wiped their mouth of hell
And here my soul, darker
Of the same blemishes - Alas!
Than the front of my shirt
Grey, pink and lilac...

My poor mother is on washday
Mother, Mother
Mother, your bad guy is coming
At the right time!...

At the bottom of the cuvier where we sow,
among the water, the ash from the oven,
Let all my bohemian linen
rest for a whole day...
And at last let my soul, alike
to that saddening display,
Among your soul - Oh good old woman!
Rest a moment...

My poor mother is on washday
Mother, Mother
Mother, your bad guy is coming
At the right time!...

Just like the linen confides
Its shame to the sweetnes of water
When I'll have recounted my life
Miserable of awful bastard,
Like one rinces in the fountain
The linen coming out of the cuvier
Mother, water my soul in sorrow
With a little mercy!

My poor mother is on washday
Mother, Mother
Mother, your bad guy is coming
At the right time!...

And when you will come to spread out
The linen parfumed of yellow flag
All white among the tender whiteness
Of the hedge where the month of May is blooming
I want to see my soul, still pure
In spite of its long sleep
In pain and filth,
Come back to life under the Sun!...

Gabriel Yacoub's version:

Jacques Brel - The last meal

Original Title: "Le dernier repas"
Year: 1963

At my last meal
I want to see my brothers
And my dogs and my cats
And the sea shore

At my last meal
I want to see my neighbors
And then a few chinese
By way of cousins

And I want us to drink there
In addition to communion wine
Of that so pretty wine
That we drank in Arbois
I want us to devour there
After a few soutanes
A pheasant poultry
Coming from the Perigord

Then I want to be taken away
On top of my hill
To see the trees sleeping
While closing their arms
And then I want to still
Throw stones toward the sky
While shouting "God is dead"
One last time

At my last meal
I want to see my donkey
My chickens and my geese
My cows and my women
At my last meal
I want to see those hussies
Of whom I was master and king
And who were my mistresses

When I will have in my paunch
enough to drown the earth
I will break my glass
To ask for silence
And will sing my head off
To the advancing death
The bayard romances
Which scares the nuns

Then I want to be taken away
On top of my hill
To see the evening making its path
Slowly toward the plain
And there, standing up still
I will insult the bourgeois
Without fear and without remorse
One last time

After my last meal
I want people to go away
For them to finish feasting
Elsewhere than under my roof
After my last meal
I want to be installed
Sitting, alone, like a king
Welcoming his vestals
In my pipe, I will burn
My childhood memories
My unfinished dreams
My remains of hope
And I will only keep
To dress my soul
nothing but the idea of a rosebush
And a firstname of a woman
Then I will look at
the top of my hill
Which danses, which is being made out
And ends up sinking
And in the scent of the flowers
Which will soon go out
I know that I will be afraid
One last time

Another version:

Jacques Brel A Mon Dernier Repas par jacque_brel

Jacques Brel - It snows over Liège

Original Title: "Il neige sur Liège"
Year: 1963

It's snowing
It's snowing over Liège
And the snow over Liège
To snow puts gloves on

It's snowing
It's snowing over Liège
Black crescent of the Meuse
On the forehead of a white clown

It's broken the shout
of the hours and the birds
of the children with hoops
And of the black and of the grey

It's snowing
It's snowing over Liège
Which the river crosses
Without noise

It's snowing
It's snowing over Liège
And so much turns the snow
Between the sky and Liège

That we do not know anymore
If it's snowing
If it's snowing over Liège
Or if it's Liege that snows towards the sky

And the snow marries
The debutant lovers
The walking lovers
On the whitened Square²

It's snowing
It's snowing over Liège
That the river carries without noise

Tonight
Tonight, it's snowing
Over my dreams and over Liège
That the river pierces without noise

²Le Carré (the Square) is the name of a neighborhood of Liège

Charles Aznavour - And yet

Original Title: "Et pourtant"
Year: 1963

One fine morning, I know that I will wake up
Differently than any other day
And my heart finally freed from our love
And yet, And yet

Without a remorse, without a regret
I will leave, straight in front of me
Without any hope of return
Far from the eyes, far from the heart
I will forever forget
And your body, and your arms and your voice,
My love

And yet, yet
You are the only one I love
And yet, yet
You are the only one I love
And yet, yet
You are the only one I love
And yet

I will tear, without a tear, without a shout
The secret links that are tearing my skin up
Freeing me from you to find rest
And yet, And yet

I will walk toward other skies, other countries
While forgetting your cruel coldness
The hands full of love, I will offer to happiness
And the days, and the nights, and the life
Of my heart

And yet, yet
You are the only one I love
And yet, yet
You are the only one I love
And yet, yet
You are the only one I love
And yet

I will eventually have to find my reason back,
my lack of concern and my fits of joy
To leave forever, escaping from you
And yet, And yet

In other arms, when I will forget up to your name
When I will be able to rethink the future
You will become for me just a distant memory
When my sorrow, and my fear and my cries
Will end

And yet, yet
You are the only one I love
And yet, yet
You are the only one I love
And yet, yet
You are the only one I love
And yet

Jacques Brel - The Fanette

Original Title: "La Fanette"
Year: 1963

We were two friends and Fanette loved me
The beach was deserted and was asleep under july
If they remember it the waves will tell you
How many songs I have sung for the Fanette .

Have to say
Have to say that she was beautiful
Like a water pearl
Have to say that she was beautiful
And I am not beautiful
Have to say
Have to say that she had brown hair
As much as the dune was blond
And helding one and the other
I, I held the world
Have to say
Have to say that I was crazy
To believe in all that
I believed him ours
I believed her mine
Have to say
That we aren't taught
to mistrust everything

We were two friends and Fanette loved me
The beach was deserted and was deceptive under july
If they remember it the waves will tell you
How the song stopped for the Fanette

Have to say
Have to say
While coming out
Of a dying wave
I saw them going away
Like two lovers
Have to say
Have to say that they laughed
When they saw me cry
Have to say that they sung
When I cursed them
Have to say
That it's indeed that day
That they swum so far
That they swum so well
That they haven't been seen again
Have to say
That we aren't taught...
But let's talk about something else

We were two friends and Fanette loved him
The beach is empty and cries under july
And the evening sometimes
When the waves stop
I hear like a voice
I hear... it's the Fanette

Jean Ferrat - Aragon - We will sleep together

Original Title: "Nous dormirons ensemble"
Text: Louis Aragon
Year: 1963

Be it sunday or monday
Evening or morning, midnight, midday
In hell or paradise
Loves resemble to loves
It was yesterday that I told you:
"We will sleep together"

It was yesterday and it is now tomorrow
You are the only path left for me
I've placed my heart between your hands
With yours how it beats the amble
The whole human time it has left
We will sleep together

My love, what has been, will be
The sky is over us like a bedsheet
I've enclosed my arms around you
And I love you so much that I tremble
For as long as you will want
We will sleep together

another version:


All poems written by Louis Aragon

Jacques Brel - Next

Original Title: "Au suivant"
Year: 1963

Next...Next
Naked in my towel
Which I used as loincloth
I had the forehead red and the soap in my hand
Next...Next
I was only twenty and we were hundred and twenty
to be the next of the one we followed
Next...Next
I was only twenty and I was losing my innocence
at the strolling brothel that is an army on a campaign
Next...Next
I, I would have liked a little bit more tenderness
Or then a smile or have some time but...
Next...Next
It has not been Waterloo no no but it wasn't Argonne
It was the time one regrets to have missed school
Next...Next

But I swear that hearing that warrant officer of my ass
It's worth having a bash to make armies of impotents
Next...and to the next one
I swear on the head of my first pox
that this voice I hear it all the time since
Next...Next
This voice that smelled of garlic and bad alchohol
It's the voice of nations and it's the voice of blood
Next...Next
And since then every woman when the time comes to succumb
between my too skinny arms seems to whisper to me:
Next...Next
All the followers of the world, should give the hand to each others
This is what I shout at night in my frenzy
Next...Next
And when I am not delirious I come to tell myself
That it's more humiliating to be followed than to follow
Next...Next
One day I will become legless cripple, or nun, or hangman
Well one of those things where I will never be anymore
The next one...The next one

Jacques Brel - Mathilde

Year: 1963

My mother, here comes the time
To pray for my salvation
Mathilde came back
Bougnat*, you can keep your wine
Tonight, I'll drink my sorrow
Mathilde came back
You the servant, you Maria
Maybe you'd do better to change our sheets
Mathilde came back
My friends, do not leave me, no
Tonight I return to combat
Cursed Mathilde since you are here

My heart, my heart do not race
Do as if you didn't know
That the Mathilde came back
My heart, stop repeating that
She is more beautiful than before the summer
The Mathilde who came back
My heart stop shaking about
Remember she teared you up
The Mathilde who came back
My friends, do not leave me, no
Tell me, tell me, that I shouldn't
Cursed Mathilde since you are here

And you my hands, stay calm
It's a dog coming back from the town
Mathilde came back
And you my hands, do not hit
All this does not concern you
Mathilde came back
And you my hands, do not shake anymore
Remember when I was crying on you.
Mathilde came back
You my hands, do not open
You my arms, do not stretch
Blasted Mathilde since you are here

My mother, stop praying
Your Jacques is going back to hell
Mathilde came back to me
Bougnat*, bring us wine
The one for weddings and feasts
Mathilde came back to me
You the servant, you the Maria
Go set my big bed with sheets
Mathilde came back to me
Friends, don't count on me anymore
I spit to the sky once more
My beautiful Mathilde since you are here, you are here!

*Bougnat: citizen from Auvergne who settled in Paris