Subject: Lyr Add: Le Vingt-deux Septembre (Georges Brassen From: Joe Offer Date: 06 Aug 20 - 12:41 AM Another interesting song I heard at a singaround, Sung by Marc Vayssieres. Le Vingt-deux Septembre (Georges Brassens, 1964) Un vingt-e-deux septembre au diable vous partîtes, Et, depuis, chaque année, à la date susdite, Je mouillais mon mouchoir, en souvenir de vous... Or, nous y revoilà, mais je reste de pierre, Plus une seule larme à me mettre aux paupières : Le vingt-e-deux septembre, aujourd'hui, je m'en fous. On ne reverra plus, au temps des feuilles mortes, Cette âme en peine qui me ressemble et qui porte Le deuil de chaque feuille en souvenir de vous... Que le brave Prévert et ses escargots veuillent Bien se passer de moi, pour enterrer les feuilles : Le vingt-e-deux septembre, aujourd'hui, je m'en fous. Jadis, ouvrant mes bras comme une paire d'ailes, Je montais jusqu'au ciel pour suivre l'hirondelle Et me rompais les os en souvenir de vous... Le complexe d'Icare à présent m'abandonne, L'hirondelle en partant ne fera plus l'automne : Le vingt-e-deux septembre, aujourd'hui, je m'en fous. Pieusement noué d'un bout de vos dentelles, J'avais, sur ma fenêtre, un bouquet d'immortelles Que j'arrosais de pleurs en souvenir de vous... Je m'en vais les offrir au premier mort qui passe, Les regrets éternels à présent me dépassent : Le vingt-e-deux septembre, aujourd'hui, je m'en fous. Désormais, le petit bout de cœur qui me reste, Ne traversera plus l'équinoxe funeste En battant la breloque en souvenir de vous... Il a craché sa flamme et ses cendres s'éteignent, A peine y pourrait-on rôtir quatre châtaignes : Le vingt-e-deux septembre, aujourd'hui, je m'en fous. Et c'est triste de n'être plus triste sans vous... ----- Translation ----- On the twenty-second of September you left, And, since, each year, on the aforementioned date, I wet my handkerchief, in memory of you ... But here we are again, and it leaves me cold, Not a single tear came to my eyelids: September twenty-second, today, I don't care. We’ll never see again, when come the dead leaves, This soul in pain who looks like me and who carries The mourning of each leaf in memory of you ... May the good Prévert and his snails Do without me, to bury the autumn leaves: September twenty-second, today, I don't care. Once, opening my arms like a pair of wings, I climbed to the sky to follow the swallow And broke my bones in remembrance of you ... The Icarus complex is abandoning me now, The swallow when leaving will no longer make fall: September twenty-second, today, I don't care. Piously tied with one end of your lace, I had, on my window, a bouquet of immortelles That I watered with tears in memory of you ... I will offer them to the first dead person to pass, Eternal regrets are now beyond me: September twenty-second, today, I don't care. From now on, the little piece of heart I have left, Will no longer cross the fatal equinox By beating erratically in remembrance of you ... He spat out his flame and his ashes are extinguished, You could hardly roast four chestnuts there: September twenty-second, today, I don't care. And it's sad not to be sad anymore without you... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIUGCBFyW14 |
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Le Vingt-deux Septembre (Georges Brassen) From: Monique Date: 06 Aug 20 - 02:22 AM In the 2nd verse, the reference to Prévert and his snails is about a poem that Jacques Prévert wrote, "Chanson des deux escargots qui vont à l'enterrement" (Song of Two Snails Who Go to a Burial) -I never understood the way you capitalize initials in titles and I think I never will so it may not look correct!. Here is the original text with an English translation but there are others if you put the title of the poem + English translation in a search engine. You can also find some renditions, here is one sung by Les frères Jacques and here is one by Cora Vaucaire. You can also hear it recited as a poem. About the "vingt-e-deux": it reflects the way numbers may be pronounced in Southern France, Brassens were from Sète (btw, the French entry has more pix and mentions some local food including the "zézettes de Sète" ® -recipe) -last but not least "zézette" means "willy" (check the shape!). |
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Le Vingt-deux Septembre (Georges Brassen) From: Monique Date: 06 Aug 20 - 02:49 AM Errr... the correct title is "Chanson des escargots qui vont à l'enterrement" (no "deux")... Brassens was from Sète... ... and "not least" is that all Prévert's poetry and Brassens' songs have a copyright, Prévert died in 1977 and Brassens in 1982, so +70 = end of 2047 and 2052 respectively. |
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Le Vingt-deux Septembre (Georges Brassen) From: Mrrzy Date: 07 Aug 20 - 07:20 AM Je m'en fous translates better as I don't give a fuck than as I don't care... |
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Le Vingt-deux Septembre (G. Brassens) From: GUEST,Grishka Date: 07 Aug 20 - 02:38 PM In case someone has not noticed: "feuilles mortes" (dead leaves) refers to another famous chanson with lyrics by Jacques Prévert (tune: Joseph Kosma). The translator took that into account by writing "to bury the autumn leaves" four lines later, where Brassens found "the leaves" sufficient. Jazz musicians know "Autumn Leaves" - but only the chorus! - from countless jam sessions. "He spat out his flame": meaning the narrator's heart; I think "It ..." would be more suitable a translation (although English poets sometimes have the idea to reflect the genders of French or Latin in pronouns, but such an attitude would not do Brassens justice). |
Subject: ADD: Auprès de mon arbre (Georges Brassens) From: Joe Offer Date: 10 Sep 20 - 12:38 AM Another interesting song I heard at a singaround, Sung by Marc Vayssieres. AUPRÈS DE MON ARBRE (Georges Brassens) J'ai plaqué mon chêne comme un saligaud, Mon copain le chêne, mon alter ego, On était du même bois, un peu rustique, un peu brute, Dont on fait n'importe quoi, sauf, naturell'ment, les flûtes. J'ai maint'nant des frênes, des arbres de Judée, Tous de bonne graine, de haute futaie, Mais toi, tu manques à l'appel, ma vieille branche de campagne, Mon seul arbre de Noël, mon mât de cocagne. Refrain Auprès de mon arbre, je vivais heureux, J'aurais jamais dû m'éloigner d' mon arbre. Auprès de mon arbre, je vivais heureux, J'aurais jamais dû le quitter des yeux. Je suis un pauvr' type, j'aurai plus de joie, J'ai jeté ma pipe, ma vieille pipe en bois Qu'avait fumé sans s' fâcher, sans jamais m' brûler la lippe L' tabac d' la vache enragée dans sa bonne vieille tête de pipe. J'ai des pipes d'écume ornées de fleurons, De ces pipes qu'on fume en levant le front, Mais j' retrouv'rai plus, ma foi, dans mon cœur ni sur ma lippe, Le goût d' ma vieille pipe en bois, sacré nom d'une pipe! Le surnom d'infâme me va comme un gant, D'avecques ma femme j'ai foutu le camp Parc' que depuis tant d'années, c'était pas une sinécure De lui voir tout l' temps le nez au milieu de la figure. Je bats la campagne pour dénicher la Nouvelle compagne valant celle-là Qui, bien sûr, laissait beaucoup trop de pierres dans les lentilles Mais se pendait à mon cou quand j' perdais mes billes. J'avais une mansarde pour tout logement Avec des lézardes sur le firmament, Je l' savais par cœur depuis, et pour un baiser la course, J'emmenais mes belles de nuits faire un tour sur la grande ourse. J'habite plus d' mansarde, il peut désormais Tomber des hallebardes, je m'en bats l'œil mais, Mais si quelqu'un monte aux cieux moins que moi, j'y paie des prunes, Y a cent sept ans, qui dit mieux, qu' j'ai pas vu la lune! ----- Close to my tree -- Translation ----- I ditched my oak, like a bastard My buddy the oak, my alter ego We were made of the same wood, a bit rustic a bit rough From which you make anything, except of course flutes Now I have ashes, trees of Judea All from good seed, all good timber But you, you are missing, my old country bumpkin My only Christmas tree, my maypole Chorus: Close to my tree, I used to live happy I shouldn’t have got away from my tree Close to my tree, I used to live happy I should really have kept an eye on him I am a sad fellow; I’ll never have joy I threw away my pipe, my old wooden pipe That had smoked without anger, without burning my lip Hard times’ tobacco, in its good old pipe’s head I have meerschaum pipes, ornate with flowerets Those pipes one smokes in a haughty manner But I will never find again, in my heart nor on my lip The taste of my old wooden pipe, darn it Call me ignominious, that fits me like a glove Because I have ditched my wife Because, after so many years, it wasn’t always fun To have to see her nose in the middle of her face. I wander the country, trying to find The new mate that could match that one Who left too many pebbles in the lentils But threw her arms around my neck, when I was losing it I had an attic room, for all housing With cracks open on the firmament I knew it by heart and for a kiss I took night beauties for a ride on the big dipper I don’t live in an attic room anymore, now if it’s Raining cats and dogs, I don’t give a damn But if someone ascends to heaven less than I do I’ll buy him prunes It’s been 107 years since I’ve seen the moon. |
Subject: RE: Songs by Georges Brassens From: Monique Date: 10 Sep 20 - 04:22 AM Note: 1st verse "except of course flutes". In French, "être du bois dont on fait les flûtes" (lit. to be made of the wood flutes are made of) means to be extremely accommodating or even to comply with requirements for fear of contradiction. It seems to have originated with hurdy-girdies not flutes to refer to a very flexible wood hence the very flexible nature of a person. |
Subject: RE: Songs by Georges Brassens From: John MacKenzie Date: 10 Sep 20 - 05:09 AM My favourite Brassens song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9NQlhId3ow Jake Thackray's version of it, in English. Brother Gorilla Words: Jake Thackray, adapted from Le Gorille by Georges Brassens Music: Georges Brassens Through the bars of a large enclosure The village ladies intently stared, Where a gorilla with massive composure Was impassively combing his hair. They were shamelessly interested, Eyeing devoutly a certain spot, But my mother's especially requested I refrain from telling you what. Brother Gorilla! The door of the circus lock-up, Where the noble brute had been put, By an administrational cock-up Was unwisely left unshut "I'm going to lose it at last," he cried, Swinging lissomely out of his cage, Referring, of course, to his chastity: He was just at the difficult age Brother Gorilla! Those self-same ladies who previously Had been licking their lips from afar Did a bunk, which shows how devious And whimsical women are. In the path of the lovesick monkey There were two who wouldn't budge: A little old lady, all shrunken, And a petty sessions judge. Brother Gorilla! The old girl said "It would be surprising And unlikely in the extreme If anyone found me appetising, And beyond my wildest dreams!" The judge intoned with tranquillity: "To take me for a female ape Would be the height of improbability". Even judges make mistakes. Brother Gorilla! It would be curious and uncanny, Say, if the choice were up to you To ravish a judge or a granny And you didn't know which to do. If I were in such a position And the choice had got to be mine, I'd beg the old lady's permission But go for grandma every time. Brother Gorilla! Though the gorilla is very proficient In the role of a paramour His mental equipment's deficient And his eyesight's awfully poor. With a Palaeolithic leer He gave the old lady the miss And, grabbing the judge by the ear, Gave him an introductory kiss. Brother Gorilla! In time the gorilla's desires Were more or less gratified. The judge, being rather biased, Couldn't see the funny side. He was kicking and screaming and wailing When his moment of truth had come, Like those wretches he orders daily To be taken away and hung. Brother Gorilla! |
Subject: ADD: Le Gorille (Georges Brassens) From: Joe Offer Date: 11 Sep 20 - 03:28 AM What a great song, John!
LE GORILLE |
Subject: RE: Songs by Georges Brassens From: Monique Date: 11 Sep 20 - 04:20 AM Another one. It could fit in the "Songs about will" thread too. I put the original text into "translate.google" then fixed what needed be though the translation can be improved (feel free to!). LE TESTAMENT Je serai triste comme un saule Quand le Dieu qui partout me suit Me dira, la main sur l'épaule: "Va-t'en voir là-haut si j'y suis." Alors, du ciel et de la terre Il me faudra faire mon deuil Est-il encore debout le chêne Ou le sapin de mon cercueil? S'il faut aller au cimetière, Je prendrai le chemin le plus long, Je ferai la tombe buissonnière, Je quitterai la vie à reculons... Tant pis si les croque-morts me grondent, Tant pis s'ils me croient fou à lier, Je veux partir pour l'autre monde Par le chemin des écoliers. Avant d'aller conter fleurette Aux belles âmes des damnées, Je rêve d'encore une amourette, Je rêve d'encore m'enjuponner... Encore une fois dire: "Je t'aime"... Encore une fois perdre le nord En effeuillant le chrysanthème Qui est la marguerite des morts. Dieu veuille que ma veuve s'alarme En enterrant son compagnon, Et que pour lui faire verser des larmes Il n'y ait pas besoin d'oignon... Qu'elle prenne en secondes noces Un époux de mon acabit: Il pourra profiter de mes bottes, Et de mes pantoufles et de mes habits. Qu'il boive mon vin, qu'il aime ma femme, Qu'il fume ma pipe et mon tabac, Mais que jamais - mort de mon âme! - Jamais il ne fouette mes chats... Quoique je n'aie pas un atome, Une ombre de méchanceté, S'il fouette mes chats, y'a un fantôme Qui viendra le persécuter. Ici-gît une feuille morte, Ici finit mon testament... On a marqué dessus ma porte : "Fermé pour cause d'enterrement." J'ai quitté la vie sans rancune, J'aurai plus jamais mal aux dents: Me voilà dans la fosse commune, La fosse commune du temps. THE WILL I'll be sad like a willow tree When the God who follows me everywhere Says to me with a hand on my shoulder: "Go up there to see if I'm there." So over heaven and earth I will have to mourn, Is the oak or the fir tree Of my coffin still standing? If I must go to the graveyard, I'll take the longest path, I will play hooky, I'll leave life walking backwards... Too bad if the undertakers scold me, Too bad if they think I'm stark-raving mad, I want to go to the other world By the scenic route. Before going to woo The beautiful souls of the damned, I dream of still another romance, I dream of still being madly in love ... Of once again saying, "I love you" ... Of once again losing my marbles While plucking the chrysanthemum That is the daisy of the dead. God grant my widow to be alarmed When she buries her companion, And to make her shed tears There'll be no need for an onion ... Let her take for her second wedding A husband of my ilk: He will be able to make the most of my boots, And my slippers and my clothes. Let him drink my wine, let him love my wife, Let him smoke my pipe and my tobacco, But let him never - death of my soul! - Ever whip my cats. ... Although I don't have an atom, A shadow of wickedness, If he whips my cats, there's a ghost Who will come to persecute him. Here lies a dead leaf, Here ends my will ... They marked on my door: "Closed for burial." I left life without hard feelings I'll never have a toothache again: Here I am in the mass grave, The mass grave of time. Live recording including verses 1, 2, 3 and 6. Studio recording including all verses. NOTES: Verse 1: "Va-t'en voir là-haut [up there] si j'y suis" is quolloquial for "Take a hike!" -usually "Va-t'en voir là-bas [over there] si j'y suis". Verse 2: - "Faire la tombe buissonnière" that I translated as "I'll play hooky" is based on the phrase "Faire l'école buissonnière" that literally translates as "to have school in the bushes" and means "to skip school". "Faire la tombe buissonnière" would translate more or less literally as "To go to the grave in the bushes" = "to skip grave". - "Le chemin des écoliers" = the scenic route, the long way round" is literally "the schoolchildren's way". Verse 3: - "conter fleurette" literally means "to tell little flowers" was also "fleureter" that passed into English and became "to flirt" and went back to French as "flirter" -pronounced "flirTEH". - "s'enjuponner": would literally translate as "to be dressed in petticoats" but means "to be madly in love with a woman to the point you lose your liberty" - You lose your marbles, we lose the North! - "effeuiller le chrysanthème" = to pluck the chrysanthemum is based on "effeuiller la marguerite", lit. "to pluck the daisy" = to play "s/he loves me, s/he loves me not". Verse 6: "Ne plus avoir mal aux dents", lit. "Not to have a toothache anymore" is a phrase for "to be dead". |
Subject: RE: Songs by Georges Brassens From: Monique Date: 11 Sep 20 - 05:04 AM I forgot the chrysanthemum reference. Chrysanthemums are "the flower of the dead" over here and in some other European countries, people put them on the grave of their loved ones. Here is the story (MLW advertizing!), at least about France. The only ones you can bring to someone as a gift are either the ones that really look like daisies (they're all "anthemums" after all) or the "Tokyo" variety. NEVER EVER any incurve varieties, they're for graves only! |
Subject: RE: Songs by Georges Brassens From: Mrrzy Date: 11 Sep 20 - 09:25 AM Moustaki has a great song, Les amis de Georges, that sounds autobiographical till the punchline that the Georges about whom he's singing is Brassens... |
Subject: RE: Songs by Georges Brassens From: Vic Smith Date: 11 Sep 20 - 01:12 PM My favourite of his - Georges Brassens "Dans l'eau de la claire fontaine" |
Subject: RE: Songs by Georges Brassens From: Monique Date: 11 Sep 20 - 01:29 PM "The songs of Georges Brassens", a site with many Brassens songs lyrics with an English translation. |
Share Thread: |
Subject: | Help |
From: | |
Preview Automatic Linebreaks Make a link ("blue clicky") |