Rezultatele căutării

The crowd

Versions:
I can still picture the town, festive and delirious
Suffocating under the sun and from the joy
And along with the music I hear the shouts and laughs
Bursting and bouncing all around me
And lost among the people pushing me around
Dazed and helpless, I stand still
When suddenly I turn around, he steps back
And the crowd throws me right into his arms
 
Taken away by the crowd that drags us and sweeps us along
Squashed against each other
We are but one body
And the flow effortlessly pushes us, chained together
And leaves us both
Radiant, beaming, and happy
 
Swept away by the crowd that moves and dances
A frenzied farandole, our two hands stay binded
And at times lifted up, our entwined bodies fly off
And fall back together
Radiant, beaming, and happy
 
And the joy fired up by his smile
Runs through me and wells up again in my heart
But suddenly I let out a scream among the laughter
As the crowd tears him from my arms
 
Carried away by the crowd that drags us and sweeps us along,
Taking us further apart from each other
I fight, I put up a struggle
But the sound of his voice is drowned by the people's laughter
And I scream in pain, in fury and in rage, and I weep
 
Swept away by the crowd that moves and dances
A frenzied farandole, I'm taken further and further away
And I clench my fists, cursing the crowd that robs me
Of the man it had given me
And that I never found again
 

Urăsc duminicile

Toate zilele săptămânii
Sunt pustii și sună a gol,
Dar chiar mai rău decât săptămâna
E duminica pretențioasă
Ce ar vrea să pară roză,
Și face pe generoasa,
Duminica care se vrea a fi
O zi plină de fericire.
 
Urăsc duminicile!
Urăsc duminicile!
 
Pe stradă este o mulțime se oameni,
Milioane de trecători.
Această mulțime care curge,
Cu un aer de indiferență,
Această mulțime care mărșăluiește
Ca la o înmormântare
Înmormântarea unei duminici
Care a murit de mult timp.
 
Urăsc duminicile!
Urăsc duminicile!
 
Tu lucrezi toată săptămâna, la fel și duminica,
Poate de aceea sunt părtinitoare.
Scumpule, dacă ai fi aproape de mine
Aș fi gata să iubesc orice nu-mi place.
 
Duminicile primăverii,
Toate flancate de soare,
A cărui strălucire șterge
Grijile din ajun.
Duminici pline de cer senin
Și de râsul copiilor,
De plimbările îndrăgostiților
Și de timide jurăminte.
 
Și de florile de pe ramuri
Și de florile de pe ramuri
 
Și prin cohortele
De oameni, care, fără grabă,
Traversează străzile,
Ne-am strecura noi doi,
Mână în mână,
Fără a încerca să aflăm
Ce ne rezervă ziua de mâine,
Neavând nicio așteptare,
 
Decât alte duminici,
Decât alte duminici.
 
Și toți oamenii onești,
Bine întenționați,
Și cei care nu sunt deloc,
Și care vor să-i credem astfel,
Și cei care se duc la biserică,
Că așa e obiceiul,
Care-și schimbă cămășile
Și îmbracă un costum frumos,
Cei care dorm câte douăzeci de ore,
Căci nimic nu-i împiedică,
Cei care se trezesc devreme
Ca să meargă la pescuit,
Cei pentru care este ziua
Pentru a merge la cimitir,
Și cei care fac dragoste,
Pentru că nu au nimic de făcut,
Ne-ar invidia fericirea,
Cum le-o invidiez eu pe-a lor,
Pentru că ei au duminici,
Pentru că ei cred în duminici,
Pentru că ei iubesc duminicile,
Când eu urăsc duminicile!
 

Under the Paris Sky

Versions: #2
Under the Paris sky
Away a song flies Hum, hum
She was born from today
In the heart of a guy
Under the Paris sky
Lovers quietly turn Hum, hum
Their gladness magnify
On this air made for them
 
The Bercy Bridge, just under
A seated philosopher
Two musicians, some onlookers
Then people by clouds
Under the Paris sky
Hymn of a loving people hum, hum
Will be sing until night
For this city so old
 
Near Notre Dame
Sometimes there is a drama
Yes but in Panam
All works out like charm
Just some shy rays
From summer sky
A sailor guy's
Accordion
Hope displays
Under the Paris Sky
 
Under The Paris Sky
Flows a joyful river
To makes sleep at night
All tramps and wanderers
Under the Paris Sky
The little good god's birds
Are landing from worldwide
To chat with all others
 
And the sky of Paris
Has his secret for him
For centuries his love has been
For our Île Saint Louis
When she smiles at him
Puts on him a coat of blue
But when it rains on Paris
Is that he has the blues
When he is too jealous
Of her millions lovers hum, hum
He make scolds on us
His dazzling thunder
But the sky of Paris
Is not long time cruel hum, hum
To be well forgiven
Offers rainbow in rule
 

The Three Bells

There's a village hidden deep in the valley
Among the pine trees and forlorn
And there on a sunny morning
Lil' Jimmy Brown was born
 
So his parents brought him to the chapel
When he was only one day old
And the priest blessed the little fellow
Welcomed Jimmy into the fold
 
All the chapel bells were ringing
In the little valley town
And the song that they were singing
Was for baby Jimmy Brown
 
There's a village hidden deep in the valley
Beneath the mountains high above
And there, twenty years thereafter
Jimmy Brown was to meet his love
 
Many friends were gathered in the chapel
And many tears of joy were shed
In June on a Sunday morning
When Jimmy Brown and his bride were wed
 
All the chapel bells were ringing
'twas a great day in his life
All the songs that they were singing
Were for Jimmy and his wife
 
From the village hidden deep in the valley
One rainy morning dark and grey
A soul wound its way to Heaven
Jimmy Brown had passed away
 
Silent people gathered in the chapel
To say farewell to their old friend
Whose life had been like a flower
Budding, blooming 'till the end
 
Just a lonely bell was ringing
In the little valley town
'twas farewell that it was singing
To our good old Jimmy Brown
 
And the little congregation
Prayed for guidance from above
'Lead us not into temptation'
'Make his soul find a salvation'
'Of thy great eternal love...'
 

You're the Man I Need

You're the man I need
You never do too much
I searched,
I haven't found anything,
Not a single fault.
You're the man, you're the man, you're the man,
You're the man I need
 
You like to have fun
You like to laugh
But you become serious
Ah, that's wonderful!
You never do too much
You're the man, you're the man, you're the man,
You're the man I need
 
When I go out with you,
I hang on to your arm
Women, they see you
You don't see them.
Fortunately for me,
For you, for you, for you,
There is only me.
 
I also love your voice
Talk, talk to me
Talk to me about us
Talk to me about everything.
I feel so good,
So good, so good, so good,
Ah yes, really good.
 
You're the man I need.
You never do too much.
You are sunny days.
You are our love.
You are my light,
My life, my life, my life,
My entire life.
 
You are tenderness.
You are all the caresses.
You are all the 'I love you's.
It's unheard of, anyway.
You never do too much.
You're the man, you're the man, you're the man,
You're the man I need.
 
You are my problem.
I don't understand
Because, despite everything,
Me too,
Me too,
Me too,
I love you...
 

Telegram

This is a telegram for Marie Bélage,
In the courtyard, staircase B, fifth floor
Third door on the left, two steps down
Knock hard so she can hear you.
The little postman climbs four to four.
An old lady comes to open.
In a harsh and shrewish voice,
She says, 'thank you' and then withdraws.
She shakingly opens the telegram.
In general, we don't like that.
She reads aloud, throat dry,
Then she reads ten times in a whisper.
'Serai Orly - eight o'clock - May second -
Am impatient - am crazy with joy -
I love you more than ever -
Love - kisses - signed - François...'
She returns twenty years back
As they loved each other twenty years ago,
But their parents, alas, refused it.
He did not have a penny.
'I'll come back making a fortune,'
He told her. 'I will wait for you.
I want you to also promise me
That you will never forget me.'
He left - months, years pass.
She is all alone in front of life.
Beauty, freshness, youth...everything disappears
And more money, so more friends...
Travelers are arriving from Mexico,
Ah, there he is! How tall he is!
His gray temples give him a poetic air.
He is more handsome than he was twenty years ago
She is pale and her hands are burning.
As her poor heart beats fiercely.
He comes towards her, he shakes her.
'I beg your pardon! Tell me, bearer!
I am looking for a very beautiful and elegant lady.
With big blue eyes, blond hair,
Rather small...Wait! I think that's her...
Ah! No, that's not her...
I beg your pardon!'
You would not have seen a blonde lady -
Elegant - very beautiful -
You would not have seen a blonde lady -
Elegant - very beautiful -
You would not have seen...
 

The King had the drums beat

The King had the drums beat
To see all his ladies
And the first he saw
Delighted his soul
 
Marquis tell me do you know her?
Who is this pretty lady?
And the Marquis answered
Lord King, it is my wife
 
Marquis, you are happier than me
To have a wife so beautiful
If you would grant her to me
I would take care of her
 
My Lord, if you weren't the king
I would exert vengeance
But since you are the king
To your obedience
 
Marquis do not get angry
You will have your reward
I will make you in my armies
Good marshall of France
 
Farewell my love, farewell my heart!
Farewell my hope
Since you have to serve the king
Let's separate from our union
 
The queen had a bouquet made
Of beautiful lily flowers
But the scent of that bouquet
Caused the marquise to die
 

A Lady

A lady
Walks while laughing in the street
Sunny
A lady
That everyone always sees
Crying
A flame
Dances deep in her joyful eyes,
Sky color,
A flame
That no one had ever known
At her place...
 
Because the man that she had loved
Abandoned her years ago
And, alone,
This lady
Spent all her mornings crying
Like a Madeleine.
Poor lady!
Who seemed unable to forget
Her pain.
 
How everything is beautiful!
How the sky is blue!
How everyone is happy!
How everything is beautiful!
How the sky is blue!
How everyone is happy!
 
And the lady
Wears a light dress, a hat
With flowers
This lady
Seems to have something new
In the heart,
In her soul.
She suddenly finds her twenty years
And her springs,
This lady
Who walks in the street her sweet dreams
Of a child.
 
We just told him
That he wanted to kill himself
Because the other woman left him
 
A lady
Who goes liberated forever
From a poor love,
A lady
Laughs to the angels and hums the refrain
Of the day.
 
How everything is beautiful!
How the sky is blue!
How everyone is happy!
How everything is beautiful!
How the sky is blue!
How everyone is happy...
 

The Prisoner of the Tower

The prisoner of the tower
Was killed this morning,
Grandmother.
We will not go to Mass tomorrow.
He threw himself from the tower
While I was holding out my hands,
Grandmother.
It seemed to me that I was in sorrow.
 
If the king knew that, Isabelle,
Isabelle, if the king knew that,
In the lace dress,
You would never be allowed,
Isabelle, if the king knew that.
 
The prisoner of the tower
Was my only friend,
Grandmother.
We will not go to Mass today.
He was my only love,
The reason for my life,
Grandmother
And my youth is extinguished with him.
 
If the king knew that, Isabelle,
Isabelle, if the king knew that,
In the lace dress,
You would never be allowed,
Isabelle, if the king knew that.
 
The prisoner of the tower,
Each evening, waited for me,
Grandmother.
We will not go to Mass anymore, never.
It's a sin that love
And the world is poorly made,
Grandmother.
My lover, whom I loved, was killed.
 
If the king knew that, Isabelle,
Isabelle, if the king knew that,
In the lace dress,
You would never be allowed,
Isabelle, if the king knew that.
 
The prisoner of the tower
Will not have grave clothes
And nothing
Nothing but a black hole where the leaves are engulfed,
But me, I will go each day
Crying under the lime trees
And nothing,
Not even the king, will prevent my mourning.
 
If the king knew that, Isabelle,
He could only cry with you
Because he loved a beauty
Who was not for a king
And the beauty, Isabelle, was me...
 

Outbound

{Him:}
The wind picks up, ho hey, the guys
Cast the tether, here we go
Heave away, heave away, heave away and away
 
{Her:}
My sweet pleasure, my handsome lover,
You carry my glory by going away
Heave away, heave away, I have the big heart
 
{Him:}
We drank everything, spent everything
What we had so much trouble gaining
Heave away, heave away, heave away and away
 
{Her:}
My handsome sailor, you have no mercy
It's not money we will regret
Heave away, heave away, I have the big heart
 
{Him:}
And you, girl, you had love
The sea calls us in turn
Heave away, heave away, heave away and away
 
{Her:}
You'll have, sailor, many torments
The sea, this bitch, has other lovers
Heave away, heave away, I have the big heart
 
{Him:}
Those who are wandering are not jealous
And there are beautiful girls everywhere
Heave away, heave away, heave away and away
 
The wind picks up, ho hey, the guys
Cast the tether, here we go
Heave away, heave away, heave away and away
 

The Grumblers

Listen, people of Paris:
You don't have the fever.
Listen to these footsteps that are walking in the night,
That approach your dream.
You see the shadows that form a huge fresco hung in your sky.
Listen, people of Paris:
Watch, people of Paris, these eternal shadows
That parade by singing under your sky.
 
We are the grumblers, the grenadiers,
Without grenades, without guns nor shoes,
Without enemies and without an army,
We are bored in the night of the past.
We are the grumblers, the grenadiers,
Without grenades, without guns nor shoes,
Tonight we are going to parade
In the middle of your Champs-Élysées.
Wagram, Iéna, Eylau, Arcole, Marengo...it sounds good.
What pretty battles.
All this work,
It was for nothing
Since the names of the streets,
Where you walk,
It is with the blood
Of our twenty years
That they have been engraved.
We are the grumblers, the grenadiers,
Without grenades, without guns nor shoes,
Without enemies and without an army,
We are bored in the night of the past.
We are the grumblers, the grenadiers,
We are dead on the strange fields.
We visited Russia
But we have never seen Paris.
We didn't have time
To have spring
That smiles at us.
Our poor loves,
Lasted a day,
Goodbye and thank you.
Roll, roll the drums.
In the morning
We were leaving.
At the sound of the bugler,
And the cannon,
Our life was dancing.
We are the grumblers, the grenadiers,
We have been forgotten, forgotten...
Since the times of our battles,
There were so many soldiers
But, tonight, you will see us
Without grenades, without guns nor shoes,
Parade at pace
In the middle of your Champs-Élysées
Without grenades...
Without guns...
Nor shoes...
To Paris...
 

Marie the Frenchwoman

Oh, my Paname, how you are far
For the harlots,
And that the Seine was pretty
Under the June sun,
Under the June sun.
 
At the bottom of old Sidney,
Under the railway bridge,
We just did our business
To Marie the Frenchwoman.
Do not be surprised
Because, with the sailors,
As soon as they are a bit screwed up
It's better to hide her weight.
Eighty-five dollars,
It snaps a night of binge
When we have just docked.
After two months without women
They could not know
That she was crazy enough
To put that aside
To see Notre-Dame.
 
Oh, my Paname, how you are far
For the harlots,
And that the Seine was pretty
Under the June sun,
Under the June sun.
 
At the cemetery of Sidney,
A pastor, in passing,
Mutters with disdain
An English prayer.
Do not be surprised:
At the home of well-meaning people,
Everyone does not care
About Marie the Frenchwoman.
Only a little old woman
Will continue to believe
That with a very chic man
His daughter is married
And the sunny days,
In her Rochechouart street,
Will think that in the Americas,
Marie has forgotten him...
 
Oh, my Paname, how you are far
For the harlots
And that the Seine was pretty
Under the June sun,
Under the June sun.
 

So that it will be pretty, my song

{Pills :}
There are songs that are a great success.
It's because their style of music is very popular...
 
{Piaf :}
'When he takes me into his arms...'
Something along those lines...
 
{Pills :}
Yes, that's it. That's not too bad...
There are songs that are a great success
It's because their lyrics are not ordinary...
 
{Piaf :}
'And that mouth you have on you, Madame...'
 
{Pills :}
Oh! I heard that somewhere...
 
There are songs that are a great success.
It's because the interpret is extraordinary.
 
{ Piaf :}
'It's almost always that...'
 
{Pills :}
But mine is not all that.
I will explain to you why:
 
So that it will be pretty, my song,
First of all, there must be two.
There is of course a boy
And a girl to make him happy.
If you will lend me your voice
To sing with me
This love song.
But it is nothing original
It's completely normal
It rhymes with 'toujours'. 1
 
{Piaf :}
It is unfortunate for the song 2
But it is missing a special something.
And you can tell the boy
That this song is not for me!
 
{Pills :}
I can see what you need:
A port and a sailor,
Bar fights,
Nothing but sinister things...
A poor guy whom they hang,
People who speak softly,
A distinguished gentleman,
An accordionist...
I even heard it said
That it's too fanciful!
That you sang about a clown...
Ah fine! Bravo for the clown!
 
{Piaf :}
No! No, now come on!
You're scolding me!
 
{Pills :}
Oh! Excuse me!
I let myself get carried away a little bit...
 
{Piaf :}
So, in your opinion, this song will be for me?
 
{Pills :}
But yes!
 
{Piaf :}
Eh fine! Sing it for me again.
 
{Pills :}
So that it will be pretty, my song,
First of all, there must be two.
There is of course a boy
And a girl to make him happy.
If you will lend me your voice
To sing with me
This love song.
But it is nothing original
All in all, it's not too bad
It rhymes with 'toujours'.
 
{Piaf and Pills :}
And a girl to make him happy.
There! I am lending you my voice
To sing with you
This love song.
But it is nothing original
All in all, it's not too bad
It rhymes with 'toujours'.
 
So it is pretty then, my song
Because I'm singing it in spite of myself.
And you can tell the boy
That this song is good for me!
 

• 1. Toujours (always) rhymes with amour (love).
• 2. Literally: 'I regret for the song'.

Barrel organs

The barrel organs that used
to sing in the streets
sang their love
then vanished.
Lonesome between its two walls
a gloomy side alley
goes sliding in the dark
to meet its boulevard.
 
A tender song
that's been around for a while
resurrects for a moment
all those who loved each other.
One, two, three spins.
The barrel organs
know the magic of the old
streets of Paris very well.
 
The barrel organs
are no church organs,
yet their rusty tunes
can sing so well.
As the handle spins,
bits of songs in the shadow
of the alleys,
the nice scores play.
 
As they shout themselves hoarse
in the middle of boulevards,
some boys and girls
dance on the sidewalk.
One, two, three spins.
The barrel organs
are a symphony
for the streets of Paris.
 
For spinning so long
in the streets of Paris
the barrel organs
lost their music.
Years went by,
tunes got old
but the organs from the past
often haunt the night.
 
Sometimes, two lovers,
when they're strongly in love,
can hear them still,
playing just for them.
One, two, three spins.
Barrel organs,
I can still hear you
in the streets of Paris.
 
One, two, three spins.
One, two, three spins...
 
This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

Black Denim Trousers and Motorcycle Boots / The man on the motorcycle

Versions: #2
He wore black denim trousers and motorcycle boots
And a black leather jacket with an eagle on the back
He had a hopped-up 'cicle that took off like a gun
That fool was the terror of Highway 101
 
Well, he never washed his face and he never combed his hair
He had axle grease imbedded underneath his fingernails
On the muscle of his arm was a red tattoo
A picture of a heart saying 'Mother, I love you'
He had a pretty girlfriend by the name of Mary Lou
But he treated her just like he treated all the rest
And everybody pitied her and everybody knew
He loved that doggone motorcycle best
 
He wore black denim trousers and motorcycle boots
And a black leather jacket with an eagle on the back
He had a hopped-up 'cicle that took off like a gun
That fool was the terror of Highway 101
 
Mary Lou, poor girl, she pleaded and she begged him not to leave
She said 'I've got a feeling if you ride tonight I'll grieve'
But her tears were she'd in vain and her every word was lost
In the rumble of an engine and the smoke from his exhaust
Then he took off like the Devil and there was fire in his eyes! He
Said 'I'll go a thousand miles before the sun can rise.' But he hit a screamin' diesel
That was California-bound' And when they cleared the wreckage, all They found
 
Was his black denim trousers and motorcycle boots
And a black leather jacket with an eagle on the back
But they couldn't find the 'cicle that took off like a gun
And they never found the terror of High way 101
 

The Little Fog

Always this nasty little fog
Always these nasty little blues
That go all the way down to your bone
And stick to your skin
 
It's like I can see him again,
the night his friend from the harbour
brought him the fake passport
and his visa for Buenos Aires
I don't know what he'd done
I had only understood one thing:
That his last chance was
to take the ship at dawn
And when it was time to leave
He gave me one last look
In the pale early morning
Torn apart by the mermaids
 
Always this nasty little fog
Always these nasty little blues
That go all the way down to your bone
And stick to your skin
 
The footbridge was lifted
And that's when I thought he was safe
Until some men came
And brought it back to the ground
I don't know what he'd done
But, to not jeopardise me
He let himself be handcuffed
Acting like he didn't know me
And ever since they took him,
I spend days thinking about him
While watching the long letters
Decrease and disappear
 
Always this nasty little fog
Always these nasty little blues
Always this nasty little fog
Always these nasty little blues
Always this nasty little fog
Always these nasty little blues...
 
You may only reprint my translations with permission. Please contact me if you would like to post it to another site. Thank you!

The gesture

Quite often, misfortune knocks at our door.
That's fate setting upon us.
Each new passing day1 brings us
new torments that drive us even more mad.
It's upon us, it's there, lurking.
It grabs us, it holds us, it captures us.
We definitely must keep a cool head
and quietly say to ourselves:
 
That will pass like everything else
Don't worry about that
You just have to make a small gesture
and you will no longer think of it.
We shouldn't worry
Good days will come back
Let's forget about our troubles
Things always gets better, eventually2
 
He was a wide-eyed man with a sad and gloomy stare.
He worshiped me, I was crazy about him.
Yet he was jealous. Even his own shadow
would drive him mad as night came.
He feared I would grow weary of him someday
and leave him for another lover.
So, to make his great sorrow go away3
I would softly say to him:
 
That will pass like everything else
Don't worry about that
You just have to make a small gesture
and you will no longer think of it.
You shouldn't worry
Take me in your arms
You'll forget about your troubles
Things always gets better, eventually
 
We were in love just like in poems
and we spent our days saying to each other
' I will always love you, my darling '
And our kisses never lasted enough4
He left me, carrying all my dreams away.
I've got nothing left, neither his eyes nor his arms.
I'm left with nothing but the kind of thoughts that will kill you
So I softly say to myself:
 
I won't worry about that
I just have to make a small gesture
and I will no longer think of it.
I don't want to worry
Maybe another [lover] will come
I'll forget about my troubles
Things always gets better, eventually
 
I won't worry about that
I just have to make a small gesture
and I will no longer think of it.
I don't want to worry
Maybe another [lover] will come
I'll forget about my troubles
Things always gets better, eventually
 

• 1. 'chaque / nouveau / qui vient' is very redundant, as if to evoke the burden of misfortune
• 2. 'ici-bas' is formally like 'down below' (as opposed to paradise), but it's more like a way of saying than a true reference to religion
• 3. The French is rather touching, it sounds like she spoke of a child
• 4. lit 'did not want to end'

This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

The lovers from Teruel

These lovers
now lying side by side
have met to walk forth
next to one another.
 
They met in death
since life could not understand them.
They met in love,
since hate could not reach them.
 
And the leaves fall and fall
on their nuptial bed.
May the earth be kind to them,
kind to the lovers from Teruel
united at last in shadows...
 
They're sleeping now
next to one another.
They sleep, free of
the daybreak disquiet.
 
Hand in hand
immobile like in a prayer,
renewing their vows
in the quiet eternity of stones.
 
Night ushers them in,
everything goes back to normal.
Their embrace remains
forever lingering
like an organ note...
 
This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

My Colonial lover

he was strong, and so tender
that from our first night
I felt I could not get a grip on myself
and was forever his.
I saw all the women smiling at him,
and I clasped his arm
and I looked at them as if to say
' He is mine, I won't let go of him! '
 
He was a Colonial Infantry guy.
He had there, from the forehead
down to the chin,
a scar barring his face,
black hair, so pale eyes,
his skin burned by the sun.
I never saw a man like
my Colonial lover ever again.
 
Sometimes, when he had the fever,
he talked too much and I was scared.
I put my hand on his lips so as
not to hear the secrets of his heart,
for I felt his soul was filled
with tears and blues.
For a long time I though it was about a woman.
When I realized what it was, it was too late.
 
When I knew who my rival was,
I held him tightly in my arms
so that this bitch of a Colonial Infantry
would leave him alone and not steal him from me.
Though he had said ' I'm staying ',
one day he went away
to this country I hate and of which
he often dreamed at night.
 
He was a Colonial Infantry guy.
He had there, from the forehead
down to the chin,
a scar barring his face,
I won't see ever again his beautiful
pale eyes that are like no others.
He returned to his sun,
my handsome Colonial lover...
 
This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

To a dead singer. A tribute to Edith Piaf

You had a bird's name1 and you sang like a flock of them,
like a huge cloud of birds that would have torn their throat bloody
screaming all sorts of things, even plain rubbish,
with such a gusto! You were a genius idiot.
You were a genius idiot.
 
You had a bird's name and the voice of Attila.
You where heard here and listened to from distant lands.
You were all together the 'little black beds ball'2,
a street Wagner, a sidewalk Bayreuth,
a sidewalk Bayreuth.
 
And there was a kind of blessing in your hands,
and you used it quite well to bless all these idiots,
these nice, emotional idiots that are called people
and, as they become an audience, they become smart as well.
Become smart as well.
 
It's not always the case, of course, even in Paris.
Shitty authors have to earn a living too.
You did manage to avoid these.
You could have sung tabloid headlines3 like a piece of Apollinaire.
like a piece of Apollinaire.
 
They couldn't replace you, though they tried hard.
Money can't come to terms with your shadow
under the miracle headlights and the arc lamps,
whatever Mr. might think, say or do.
Whatever Mr. Stark might do.
 
STOP!
STOP THE MUSIC!4
 

• 1. 'piaf' is slang for 'sparrow'
• 2. no idea what that refers to. Ferré could use pretty obscure references at times. Maybe some popular ball of the era fallen into oblivion?
• 3. 'France Soir' is an old and rather cheap newspaper
• 4. from of hers

This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

La vie en rose

Versions:
With eyes which make mine lower,
A smile which is lost on his lips,
That's the unembellished portrait
Of the man to whom I belong.
 
When he takes me in his arms
He speaks to me in a low voice,
I see life as if it were rose-tinted.
 
He whispers words to declare to me his love
Words of the everyday
And that does something to me.
 
He has entered into my heart
A piece of happiness
the cause of which I know full well.
 
It's him for me, me for him in life
He said that to me, swore to me 'forever'.
 
And as soon as I see him
So I feel in me
My heart which beats
 
May the nights on which we make love never end,
A great joy which takes its place
The trouble, the grief are removed
Content, content to die of it
 
When he takes me in his arms
He speaks to me in a very low voice,
I see life as if it were rose-tinted.
 
He whispers words to declare to me his love
Words of the everyday
And that does something to me.
 
He has entered into my heart
A piece of happiness
the cause of which I recognise.
 
It's him for me, me for him in life
He said that to me, swore to me forever.
 
And as soon as I see him
So do I feel in me
My heart which beats
 

Je Ne Regrette Rien

Versions: #1
No, nothing of nothing
No! I don't feel sorry about anything
Not the good things people have done to me
Not the bad things, it's all the same to me.
 
No, nothing of nothing
No! I don't feel sorry about anything
It's paid for, removed, forgotten,
I'm happy of the past
 
With my memories
I lit up the fire
My troubles, my pleasures
I don't need them anymore
 
Broomed away my love stories
And all their tremble
Broomed away for always
I start again from zero
 
Non ! Je ne regrette rien
Ni le mal, tout ça m'est bien égal !
 
Non ! Je ne regrette rien
Because my life, my joys
Today, they begin with you.
 

There you go, here is a sailor

There you go! Here's a sailor
He is still far away
But we see from afar
That it is a sailor...
There you go here is a sailor
It is not mine
It is never mine
It's almost the same
The same one that
that said 'I love you,
I love you for life.'
There you go! Here's a sailor
Jesus Christ
A sailor is so cool
when they come back to you
There you go! Here's a sailor
I love sailors
To see this sailor
It reminded me of my sailor
It reminded me that I love a man
A man, my man
Who wears the same uniform
as the man who is coming
 
There you go! Here's a sailor
Suitcase in hand
He has on his kidneys
A bag for sailors
There you go here's a sailor
He whistle a chorus
That in the morning
Accompanies him on his path
It's almost the same
The same one that
that said 'I love you,
I love you for life.'
 
There you go! Here's a sailor
Because nothing resembles
Like a sailor
Than another sailor
There you go! Here's a sailor
When he is less far
I will go on his forehead
What direction is he coming from
If only it was my man
Just like my man
Beautiful like a God in uniform
Muscular and a sailor
Nothing I trembled for nothing
To be a sailor,
It is nice a sailor
But it is not mine
Mine, provided mine
Did not take the path
Of this far away country
Where a sailor
never returns
never returns
never returns....
 

The small man

There was every day
There was the heckling of the crossroads
And then the people who bought their newspapers
And then all those who took the subway,
There was the parade of the boulevards
The tidbits of the old chatty chatty
And looking in the dirty water of the streams
The April sky that made the big back.
 
There was a small man
Who was going away at short notice.
He looked very frugal,
The little man...
With his old grated jacket
But he had a mistress
That cost him a lot of money.
She sold him her beautiful youth
And caresses
Let the little man pay cash...
There was his Saturday night life.
There was the staircase, the corridor.
There was the door all the way
And then two arms around his neck
There were flowers on the piano.
There was the whiteness of the curtain
And then hours on the big blue divan
And then all that made him happy.
 
There was the door closed
With a word passed below,
Pretty paper bordered with roses
To say things
Let's understand at first
A little man who is abandoned
Can do nothing but go away.
In the cold street where everything resonates
And without anyone
All alone, to cry better.
 
There was everyday life
Who continued his fanfare forever.
There were the waltzes of the phonos
Which burst out of the bistros.
There was a boy singing.
There was a girl launging
And then the round of wonderful love
And the little man
Who wept in the middle...
 

It is love

Versions: #2
It is love that makes you love.
It is love that makes you dream.
It is love that wants us to love each other
It is love that makes us cry ...
 
But all those who believe they love each other,
Those who pretend to love,
Yes, all those who believe they love each other
Will never be able to cry ...
 
In love, there must be tears
In love, there must be giving...
 
And those who have no tears
Will never be able to love ...
There need to be so, so many tears
To have the right to love ...
 
My love, oh I love you,
You make me cry often ...
 
I have given, given my tears,
I have cried to love you better,
I have paid with so many tears
To always have the right to love ...
Forever ... the right to love!
 

We dance on my song

i wanted to finish the song
that spring had begun
but you are no longer at home
and the flowers are all blossoming
i should have sang like the poets
with big words our beautiful love
but i did not know, my song is done
Of all small words, these of all the days.
 
I took all that I said
Love, oath, always, never,
Tenderness
On the splendor of our mornings
and on the softness of your hands
Caresses,
I have built beautiful memories
With the taste of my desires.
When, proud of your victorious smile
and your little bit of mocking
When you pose there on my heart
Your lips.
 
yes, I had to, on an old piano
look for the air that I liked hearing
and who cried like a sob
But no one had to understand
Because this song that I thought
To sing the love that was so sweet
I hear it everywhere like an air of party
And the people have the air of laughter of us
 
Because, on the words that you were saying:
Love, oath, always, never
We dance
On the splendor of our mornings
And on the softness of your hands
We dance
On the prettiest memories
And on the taste of my desire,
We dance,
And on your victorious smile,
And on your little bit of mocking,
And on the penalty of my heart,
We dance.
 
Since, on the air that i liked so,
That you sang so sadly,
We dance,
Since nobody understood,
That, on the words that you said to me,
We dance
It is that this love is so deep,
Was not worth a song
I think...
So, i wanted to forget you.
Someone taught me to dance
And now on the go,
I dance,
I dance...
 

The marvelous lovers

Into the alley,
the street is deserted and nude.
Who feels the wet sky,
the village sidewalk.
I saw two lovers
who were long distant from me.
Captivated by love.
They walked slowly
with the eyes adjacent,
holding each other's hands,
without saying a word.
They didn't see me back,
passing by me,
although their night was beautiful
and joyful.
 
The marvelous lovers,
the ecstasy in the eyes.
They walked as if they carried
a fabulous treasure.
Close to a miracle:
This enormous luck between them.
We felt their love
better than any sunray
that seemed to illuminate the sky.
To see such happiness,
I was almost as afraid.
I didn't believe to such a similar case.
 
The marvelous lovers,
the ecstasy in the eyes.
It's very profound that they longed for each other.
They were listening to a melody,
the pathetic melody
of their heart, of their beating hearts.
While they were hugging each other,
hugging on the center of the street,
the night became desolate and empty.
Thus, they disappeared
walking slowly,
in to the night, gone by the wind.
 
Well, utterly annoyed,
I ran, I ran
to your heart and to your holding arms.
And, in contrast to you,
darling, I figured out
that we also used to be...
...marvelous lovers...
 
Οι μεταφράσεις μου μέχρι ένα εφικτό σημείο είναι δικές μου. Δέχομαι βελτιώσεις μόνο αν θεωρώ ότι κάποια μετάφρασή μου έχει παράδοθεί ελλιπής ή εντελώς εσφαλμένη.
My translations are mine up to a considerable extent. I accept improvements only if I consider that any translation of mine has been delivered inaccurate or completely wrong.