Charles Dumont - She

original title: "Elle"
Year: 1976

She
She is the hope behind the door
My heart beating in the stairway
She is my weakness and my strength
My lie and my thruth

She
When she is there time stops
She is of snow, she is of summer
She is my calm and my tempest
My wild flower, my orchid

She
Her red lips imprison me
In the kisses I give her
And her white arms are streams
When she falls asleep against my skin

She
She is my voluntray exile
Secret garden of my desires
She is everything I want to be
She is everything I want to sayv
She
She is the hope behind the door
My heart beating in the stairway
She is the dream taking me away
Where I can forget everything

She
Immortal like the stone
Warm like the grapes of August
She is my being and my light
The beginning and the end of everything

She
She is making me cross the sea
Figure head of my life
And it does not matter to me where she is taking me
Eyes wide open I follow her

She
She is well the first woman
Born from a rose a summer evening
Essential like the flame
Night sun of my thoughts

She
She is woman of all types
She is my life my destiny
She is my order and my disorder
I don't want anything else but to love her

Henri Gougaud - The assassinated poets

Original Title: "Les poètes assassinés"
Year: 1976, 1989 (Bertin's version)

"Between the teeth of the days a rose sparkles
In Praha with fingers of rains"
Nezval was saying that

It was in Nineteen thirty-six, in those times
Nazim Hikmet, the man from Orient, daffodil yellow hair
In Istambul was entering prison for thirty years
Lorda was losing his blood horns of moon at the forehead
And Desnos, mourning for mourning, like a very sweet bull
was on watch at the Pont au Change and have a foreboding of the wolves

"Between the teeth of the days a rose sparkles
In Praha with fingers of rains"
Nezval was saying that

And Miguel Hernandez in the penal colony of Alicante
was kissing the empty shoes and the dead people on the eyes
"We do not belong to a people of oxen"
Was he saying. He was singing some innocent splendor
He was singing for his son who had died of hunger at ten months
And on the rusty blood, wind of the people, his voice
was the rose with the hundred leaves to the peak of the mounts
Which was calling you with pride "Revolution"

"Between the teeth of the days a rose sparkles
In Praha with fingers of rains"
Nezval was saying that

One day, when the enormous belly of the facisms
Will be dry and infertile, another time will come
And the deads who do not rot will return
They will come down of the train, they will shake the ash
Of their seasoned old-fashioned clothes one morning
They will cry of joy in some spray of hands
Among the workers at the barely hatched dawn
With, in their blue fist, the vertical sun
Between the teeth of the days a rose sparkles
In Praha with fingers of rain where Nezval will sing

Jacques Bertin's version

Gabriel Yacoub - The rewarded wooer - How could you want for a person to sing?

Traditional song (1555)
Original Title: "Le soupirant récompensé/Comment vouloir qu'une personne chante?"
Text: Roland de Lassus
Year: 1976

How could you want for a person to sing
When he does not have his heart free?
Let sing those whom are content with love
And leave me, and leave me in my misfortune cry!
And leave me, and leave me in my misfortune cry!

Cry my eyes, cry my fatal fate
I lost everything when losing my Iris
Cruel destiny take what I have left
And give me back, and give me back what you took from me
And give me back, and give me back what you took from me

Take my heart and give me yours:
It's yours, I do not claim anything no more;
But if I learn that you love another
Straight away, straight away, I will take mine back
Straight away, straight away, I will take mine back

What will be required, beautiful Iris, to please you?
Is my blood required? It's ready to flow.
But if my blood can not satisfy you,
Is my death required? Is my death required? You only have to speak
Is my death required? Is my death required? You only have to speak

After death, you will cry, I swear;
You will love me, it won't be time no more.
You will walk over my grave
While regretting, while regretting the most faithful lover.
While regretting, while regretting the most faithful lover.

Jacques Bertin - Jean-Max Brua - Dawn on the botanic garden

Jacques Bertin's version:

Original Title: "L'aube sur le jardin des plantes"
Text: Jean-Max Brua
Year: 1976

This day is warm like the wind
On her left cheek the shadow slips
And you are looking for words for her
That are like smooth grass snakes
Coming thick and fast in memory
The dawn on the botanical garden
And the shock of the trash cans
At the end of the street the men are cold
The naked monkeys shouts things of jungle
To the old blue ass monkey
Sitting in the cement tree

She leans like the day when
She came back to you from London
My sweetheart at the hollow of the eyes
My slow seaweed, my return
She leans over love
Breasts in the shadow of the hair
The first train is starting
at the end of the street the day is grey
And you gamble your fragile love
And you are scared, you might lose her
and you listen to the day creaking

And you want her to call you
And that she leans like that forever
My warm belly, my beauty
My shelter, my love
It's an autumn day
And you'd like to live without hate
Burst the stupid radios
and their vomited old tunes
She gets up, she is cold, it smells the street
The day is grey, you do not forget...
You do not forget

Original version by Jean-Max Brua: