The children who love one another
Kiss, standing up, against the doors of the night
And the passers-by are pointing their fingers at them
But the children who love one another
Are not present for anyone
And it's only their shadow
Which trembles in the night
Exciting the rage of the passers-by
Their rage, their contempt, their laugh and their envy
The children who love one another
Are not there for anyone
They are elsewhere way further than the night
Way higher than the day
In the blinding light of their first love
Original Title: "Un jour, tu verras"
Music: George Van Parys
Year: 1954
One day, you'll see, we'll meet
Somewhere, anywhere, guided by chance
We'll look at each other and smile at one another
And, hand in hand, will walk the streets
Time passes so fast, the evening will hide our hearts well
Those two thieves who keep their happiness
Then we'll reach a great square
Where the cobbles would be sweet to our grey souls
There would be a ball there, very poor, very common
Under a sky full of fog and melancholy
A blind man would play some barrel organ
That tune would be the most beautiful, the nicest to us
Then I would invite you, I'd take you by the waist
We'd dance quietly far from the town people
We'd dance love, eyes at the bottom of the eyes
Toward an end of the world, toward a deep night
One day, you'll see, we'll meet
Somewhere, anywhere, guided by chance
We'll look at each other and smile at one another
And, hand in hand, will walk the streets
Original Title: "Mon pot' le gitan"
Text: Jacques Verrières
Music: Marc Heyral
Year: 1955
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.
The forget-me-not and then the rose,
Those are flowers which mean something
But to like poppies
And not like anything else...One must be an idiot!
Maybe you are right! The only thing is,
when I will have told you, you will understand!
The first time I saw her,
She was sleeping, half naked
In the light of the summer
In the middle of a wheat field
And under the white blouse
Where her heart was beating
The sun, gently,
was making a flower live
Like a small poppy, my soul!
Like a small poppy.
It's strange how your eyes are shining
While you remember the pretty girl!
They shine so strongly that it's a bit too much
To explain...the poppies!
Maybe you are right! The only thing is
When I took her in my arms
She gave me her beautiful smile
And then afterward, without telling each other anything
In the light of summer
We loved each other! We loved each other!
And I have pressed so much
My lips over her heart
That right where I kissed her
There was like a flower
Like a little poppy, my soul!
Like a little poppy.
It's nothing else but an affair
Your little story, and I swear to you
That it does not deserve a single sob
Nor that passion...for the poppies!
Wait for the end! And you will understand:
Another one was in love with her who she did not love!
And the next day, when I saw her again
She was sleeping, half naked,
In the light of the summer
In the middle of the wheat field
But, on the white blouse,
Right where her heart is
There were three drops of blood
Which were making like a flower
Like a little poppy, my soul!
A very small poppy
This is a very famous song that has already been translated several times (for example here). Even Yves Montand recited the first part in English here but you will find here a literal one (without the extra paragraph of the original poem):
It was originally written for the movie 'Les Portes de la Nuit' with Yves Montand as main actor.
Oh I would like so much for you to remember
the happy days of when we were friends
Back then, life was more beautiful
And the sun burning more than today
Dead leaves are shovelled up
You see, I did not forget
Dead leaves are shovelled up
Memories and regrets as well
And the north wind carries them away
In the dark night of oblivion
You see, I did not forget
The song you sang to me
It's a song that resembles us
You, you loved me and I loved you
And we were living both together
You who loved me, I who loved you
But life parts those who love each other
Slowly without making any noise
And the sea erases on the sand
The steps of the disunited lovers
But life parts those who love each other
Slowly without making any noise
And the sea erases on the sand
The steps of the disunited lovers
Another version:
Mouloudji's version:
Mouloudji's version is longer:
Dead leaves are shovelled up
Memories and regrets as well
But my love quiet and faithful
Still smiles and is thankful for life
I loved you so much, you were so pretty
How do you want me to forget you?
Back then, life was more beautiful
And sun more burning than today
You were my sweetest friend
But I don't care for regrets
And the song you were singing
Always, I'll always hear it
Text: Jacques Prévert
Slightly modified translation from: http://parolesinenglish.wordpress.com/
Year: 1949 (First reading by Montand), 1953 (first sung by Y. Montand), 1966 (Reggiani's version)
Remember Barbara
It was raining ceaselessly on Brest that day
And you were walking smiling
Beaming, delighted, dripping
Under the rain
Remember Barbara
It was raining ceaselessly on Brest
And I passed you in the rue de Siam
You were smiling
And me I was smiling the same smile
Remember Barbara
You who I didn’t know
You who didn’t know me
Remember
Remember that day anyway
Don’t forget
A man under an overhang was taking shelter
And he yelled your name
Barbara
And you ran to him under the rain
Dripping delighted beaming
And you threw yourself in his arms
Remember that Barbara
And don’t be mad if I speak to you familiarly
I speak familiarly to everyone I love
Even if I’ve only seen them once
I speak familiarly to everyone in love
Even if I don’t know them
Remember Barbara
Don’t forget
This good and happy rain
On your happy face
On this happy city
This rain on the sea
On the naval arsenal
On the boat from Ouessant
Oh Barbara
What a bullshit, war
What’s become of you now
Under this rain of iron
Of fire of steel of blood
And the one who took you in his arms
Lovingly
Is he dead, disappeared or yet still living
Oh Barbara
It’s raining ceaselessly on Brest
Like it rained before
But it’s no longer the same and everything’s damaged
It’s a rain of mourning terrible and desolate
It's not even a storm
Of iron of steel of blood anymore
Simply some clouds
That die like dogs
Dogs who disappear
Along the water over Brest
And go to rot far away
Far away very far away from Brest
Of which nothing remains.
Original Title: "La Chanson de Tessa"
Text: Jean Gireaudoux
Music: Maurice Jaubert
Year: 1934, 1954 (Mouloudji's version),1959 (Douai's version),1982 (Bertin's version)
Stay here below, my faithful heart
If you go away life is my eternal sorrow
If you die, the birds will stay quiet forever
If you are cold, no sun will burn
In the morning the joy of dawn won't wash my eyes anymore
All around your grave, the blossomed rosebushes
Would let their flowers hang and wither
Beauty will die with you, my only love
If I die, the birds will only keep quiet one evening
If I die, for another, one day, you will forget me
Again the joy of living then will wash your gaze
In the morning you will see the mountain lit up
On my grave offering you thousand flowers
Beauty will be revived without me, my only love
Original Title: "Complainte de la Butte"
Text: Jean Renoir
Music: Georges Van Parys
Song from the movie "French Cancan"
Year: 1954
Up St Vincent street, a poet and a stranger girl
Loved each others for a moment
But he never saw her again
This song he composed hoping that his stranger girl,
One morning of spring, will hear it
Somewhere at the corner of a street.
The moon, too livid, places a diadem on your red hair
The moon, too red, spills glory on your petticoat full of holes
The moon, too pale, carresses the opal of your unimpressed eyes
Princess of the street
Be welcome in my wounded heart
The stairs up to the hillock are hard on the poors
The wings of the mills protect the lovers
Little beggar, I feel your little hand
Which is looking for my hand
I feel your chest and your slender waist,
I forget my sorrow
I smell on your lips a scent of fever of malnourished child
And under your caress, I feel an ecstasy that annihilates me.
The stairs up to the hillock are hard on the poors
The wings of the mills protect the lovers
And here comes the rain, the moon dashes off
The princess as well
Under the moonless sky, I cry in the dark
My vanished dream
André Dassary's version:
And a more modern take by Noir Désir:
Original Title: "Le temps des cerises"
Year: 1868
When we'll sing the time of the cherries
And joyful nightingale and mocking blackbird
Will all be in a festive mood.
Beauties will have folly in the head
and the lovers some sun in the heart.
When we'll sing the time of the cherries
The mocking blackbird will whistle way better
But it's quite short : the time of the cherries
Where we both go pick while dreaming
drop earrings...
Love cherries with vermilion's robes
Falling under the leaf in drops of blood
But it is quite short : the time of the cherries,
Coral earrings we pick up while dreaming!
When you'll be at the time of the cherries
If you're afraid of love sorrows :
Avoid the beauties!
I who do not fear the cruel sorrows
I'll not live without suffering one day...
When you'll be at the time of the cherries
You too will have love sorrows!
I'll always love the time of the cherries
It's from that time that I keep in my heart
An open wound!
And Lady Fortune, being offered to me
will never be able to ease my pain....
I'll always love the time of the cherries
And the memory I keep in my heart!
Many many versions exists, here are the main ones:
Réda Caire's version:
