Songs by Georges Brassens

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
(Georges Brassens)

C'est à travers de larges grilles,
Que les femelles du canton,
Contemplaient un puissant gorille,
Sans souci du qu'en-dira-t-on;
Avec impudeur, ces commères
Lorgnaient même un endroit précis
Que, rigoureusement, ma mère
M'a défendu d' nommer ici.
Gare au gorille!...

Tout à coup la prison bien close
Où vivait le bel animal
S'ouvre, on n' sait pourquoi (je suppose
Qu'on avait dû la fermer mal);
Le singe, en sortant de sa cage,
Dit: "C'est aujourd'hui que j'le perds!"
Il parlait de son pucelage,
Vous aviez deviné, j'espère!
Gare au gorille!...

L'patron de la ménagerie
Criait, éperdu: "Nom de nom!
C'est assommant, car le gorille
N'a jamais connu de guenon!"
Dès que la féminine engeance
Sut que le singe était puceau,
Au lieu de profiter de la chance,
Elle fit feu des deux fuseaux!
Gare au gorille!...

Celles là même qui, naguère,
Le couvaient d'un œil décidé,
Fuirent, prouvant qu'ell's n'avaient guère
De la suite dans les idé's;
D'autant plus vaine était leur crainte,
Que le gorille est un luron
Supérieur à l'homm' dans l'étreinte,
Bien des femmes vous le diront!
Gare au gorille!...

Tout le monde se précipite
Hors d'atteinte du singe en rut,
Sauf une vieille décrépite
Et un jeune juge en bois brut.
Voyant que toutes se dérobent,
Le quadrumane accéléra
Son dandinement vers les robes
De la vieille et du magistrat!
Gare au gorille!...

"Bah! soupirait la centenaire,
Qu'on pût encor me désirer,
Ce serait extraordinaire,
Et, pour tout dire, inespéré!";
Le juge pensait, impassible:
"Qu'on me prenn' pour une guenon,
C'est complètement impossible..."
La suite lui prouva que non!
Gare au gorille!...

Supposez que l'un de vous puisse être,
Comme le singe, obligé de
Violer un juge ou une ancêtre,
Lequel choisirait-il des deux?
Qu'une alternative pareille,
Un de ces quatre jours, m'échoie,
C'est, j'en suis convaincu, la vieille
Qui sera l'objet de mon choix!
Gare au gorille!...

Mais, par malheur, si le gorille
Aux jeux de l'amour vaut son prix,
On sait qu'en revanche il ne brille
Ni par le goût ni par l'esprit.
Lors, au lieu d'opter pour la vieille,
Comme l'aurait fait n'importe qui,
Il saisit le juge à l'oreille
Et l'entraîna dans un maquis!
Gare au gorille!...

La suite serait délectable,
Malheureusement, je ne peux
Pas la dire, et c'est regrettable,
Ça nous aurait fait rire un peu;
Car le juge, au moment suprême,
Criait: "Maman!", pleurait beaucoup,
Comme l'homme auquel, le jour même,
Il avait fait trancher le cou.
Gare au gorille!...


Lyrics from https://www.musixmatch.com/


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9NQlhId3ow

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.