Le Pornographe- he tells where his reputation as a writer of dirty songs leads him.

Brassens muses over his reputation as a writer of dirty songs. It is a paradox that, although he would not use coarse words in his personal life, he uses them quite freely in his professional life. He explains how this came about and describes the exaggeration caused by the stereotyping effect of public expectation. He has no fear of condemnation by the gods based on the meaningless human criteria of pornography.



Le pornographe

Autrefois, quand j'étais marmot, J'avais la phobie des gros mots, Et si je pensais "merde" tout bas, Je ne le disais pas... Mais(1) Aujourd'hui que mon gagne-pain C'est de parler comme un turlupin, (2) Je ne pense plus "merde", pardi! Mais je le dis. Je suis le pornographe Du phonographe, Le polisson(3) De la chanson. Afin d'amuser la galerie Je crache des gauloiseries, Des pleines bouches de mots crus Tout à fait incongrus... Mais En me retrouvant seul sous mon toit, Dans ma psyché je me montre au doigt. Et me crie: "Va te faire, homme incorrecte, Voir par les Grecs." Je suis le pornographe Du phonographe, Le polisson De la chanson. Tous les samedis je vais à confesse M'accuser d'avoir parlé de fesses Et je promets ferme au marabout De les mettre tabou... Mais Craignant, si je n'en parle plus, De finir à l'Armée du Salut,(4) Je remets bientôt sur le tapis Les fesses impies. Je suis le pornographe Du phonographe, Le polisson De la chanson. Ma femme est, soit dit en passant, D'un naturel concupiscent Qui l'incite à se coucher nue Sous le premier venu... Mais M'est-il permis, soyons sincère, D'en parler au café-concert Sans dire qu'elle a, suraigu, Le feu au cul? Je suis le pornographe Du phonographe, Le polisson De la chanson. J'aurais sans doute du bonheur, Et peut-être la Croix d'honneur, A chanter avec décorum L'amour qui mène à Rome...(5) Mais Mon ange m'a dit: "Turlututu! Chanter l'amour t'est défendu S'il n'éclôt pas sur le destin D'une putain." Je suis le pornographe Du phonographe, Le polisson De la chanson. Et quand j'entonne, guilleret, A un patron de cabaret Une adorable bucolique, Il est mélancolique... Et Me dit, la voix noyée de pleurs: "S'il vous plaît de chanter les fleurs, Qu'elles poussent au moins rue Blondel(6) Dans un bordel." Je suis le pornographe Du phonographe, Le polisson De la chanson Chaque soir avant le dîner, A mon balcon mettant le nez, Je contemple les bonnes gens Dans le soleil couchant... Mais N’ me d’mandez pas d’chanter ça, si Vous redoutez d'entendre ici Que j'aime à voir, de mon balcon, Passer les cons.(7) Je suis le pornographe Du phonographe, Le polisson De la chanson Les bonnes âmes d'ici bas Comptent ferme qu'à mon trépas Satan va venir embrocher Ce mort mal embouché...(8) Mais, Mais veuille le grand manitou, Pour qui le mot n'est rien du tout, Admettre en sa Jérusalem, A l'heure blême,(9) Le pornographe Du phonographe, Le polisson De la chanson. Georges Brassens 1958 - Le pornographe

In the past, when I was a kid I just could not stand bad language And if I thought “shit” on the quiet I did’nt say it out loud But Today when earning my living Means to speak like a social rebel I no longer think “shit” - no way! But I say it. I’m the pornographer Of phonography, The rude chappie Of pop’lar song Just to amuse the gallery I come out with dirty remarks With mouthfuls of crude expressions Completely uncalled for But When I get back home, all on my own In my mind’s eye, I point straight at myself And yell : “Incorrect man, get y’self Seen by the Greeks. » I’m the pornographer Of phonography, The rude chappie Of pop’lar song On Sat’days, I go to confess To tell I’ve been speaking of bums And firmly pledge the holy man To rule them out tabou But Fearing, if there’s no more mention To end up dependent on charity, I’m soon bringing up once again The so impious bums. I’m the pornographer Of phonography, The rude chappie Of pop’lar song My wife is, mentioned in passing, By nature quite concupiscent Which makes her go to bed naked Under the first man to call…. But Am I allowed, let’s be honest To bring it up in the music-hall Without saying she has, to the point, A hot fanny ? I’m the pornographer Of phonography, The rude chappie Of pop’lar song No doubt I would have better luck And perhaps the Croix d'honneur, Through singing with due decorum The love that leads to Rome …. But My angel told me “Fiddledee ! Singing of love is forbidden Unless it hinges on the fate Of a comm’n whore. I’m the pornographer Of phonography, The rude chappie Of pop’lar song When I strike up a cheerful song For the boss of a cabaret A likable man , bucolic He is melancholic And Tells me, his voice choking with tears If you enjoy singing of flow’rs At least let them grow in Soho In a brothel. I’m the pornographer Of phonography, The rude chappie Of pop’lar song Every evening before dinner Nipping out on my balcony I gaze at all the good people In the sunset’s soft light..... But Don’t ask me to sing of that if You’re afraid to hear me say here I like to see from my balc’ny The twats go by. I’m the pornographer Of phonography, The rude chappie Of pop’lar song The right-minded down here below Firmly expect that at my death Satan’s going to roast on a spit This man who said bad things But May he be willing the high chief, For whom words alone matter not To admit in his Jerusalem At the pale hour The pornographer Of phonography The rude chappie Of pop’lar song

TRANSLATION NOTES

1)     Mais je le dis- Brassens splits each verse into two by the word “but”, so that the second part becomes a surprise or amusing qualification of the first. This applies in all the verses except one where “but” becomes “and”.

2)     un turlupin- . Brassens tells us, at the end of the song, that, according to the teachings of the Church, Satan will finally pitchfork him into the eternal fires of Hell, in punishment for using rude words and for talking too frankly about sexual matters. The strictures of the Church were more important at the time when Brassens was writing.  Brassens’ reference to the Turlupins reminds us that the issue of freedom of thought and expression is centuries old:
The Turlupins were part of a movement of religious dissent that emerged in France in the second half of the 14th century. We can only deduce the ideas of the different factions from what their adversaries in the Church said about them. Some apparently called themselves the “Brethren of the Free Spirit” and “The Society of the Poor". One prominent leader was  Jeanne Daubenton from Picardy.. She taught the virtues of the simple life and preached that individuals could achieve salvation through Christ by direct prayer without the intervention of the Church. Also she denied there was any sin in satisfying one’s sensual desires.   Pope Gregory XI, with the cooperation of the King of France, Charles V took action to suppress the religious dissidents. Gregory, who was pope from 1370-1378 was the last pope of the period when the Roman Catholic church was governed from France instead of Rome.  He reestablished the Holy Inquisition in France and people with views independent of the Church were excommunicated; some were thrown into prison and some executed.  Jeanne Daubenton, was arrested in 1372 and subjected to long hours of torture in the Chatelet Prison.  Finally with her body totally broken by the brutality, she was humped on a cart and taken not to the official execution ground, the Place de Grève, but as a final humiliation to the Place des Porceaux , where she was tied upright to a stake to suffer the required death for heretics - the agonising death of the burning of a living human body. (Historical facts from Vincent Thouvenot on French Wikipedia.)

3)     Le polisson - The rude chappie – I used the word chappie because polisson has the idea of “naughty”, “rascally” and I wanted to include a sense of harmlessness. The association in my mind is with the title of “the Cheeky Chappie” given to Max Miller (1894-1963), one of Britain's top comedians in the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s. The material of his jokes and songs was risqué, full of sexual double entendres which outraged the strait-laced.

4)     L'Armée du Salut – Brassens mentions the Salvation Army because it is known across the world as the final refuge of the destitute.

5)     L'amour qui mène à Rome...- This is perhaps a reference to the respectful acclaim granted to Brassens’ contemporary, the singing priest, le Père Duval, about whom Brassens relates a personal anecdote in his song;"Les Trompettes de la Renommée.”

6)     rue Blondel – was a street in Paris with a red light reputation

7)     Les cons - My suggestion for this translation refers to “les bonnes gens”, whom Brassens observes from his balcony. In the second part of the verse, under pressure from his public reputation, he calls them “cons”, which in its milder sense means silly, misguided people.

8)     “Emboucher” a musical instrument is to put it to your mouth to play. The idiom “Mal embouché” means “expressed in a coarse manner”.  We have a phrase in English to bad mouth.

9) L'heure blême - Brassens uses elsewhere this image of fading light to depict the moment of death.





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Heureux qui, comme Ulysse - The song Brassens sang for the last film of Fernandel

This is the song that was written for the last film of the great French comic Fernadel. The title of the song was also the title of the film. In writing the melody, Brassens collaborated with the famous composer, Georges Delerue(4). The film script and the words of this song were written by Brassens’ old friend, the film producer, Henri Colpi(3) , whom Brassens knew from his time in Sète. Both men loved this area of southern France and although their eventful lives had led them away, when they returned, they relished the places where they had spent their happy earlier years. The very famous poem by Joachim du Bellay (1525 -1560), from which this song takes its title, was learnt at secondary school by all pupils of the generation of Colpi and Brassens. Colpi uses du Bellay’s sonnet not only for the sources of his titles and for the first two lines of this song but for the theme of the quest for a lost idyll after years of trials and tribulations.



Heureux qui comme Ulysse

Heureux qui comme Ulysse
Lucky he who like Ulysses
A fait un beau voyage,(1)
Journeyed far and wide
Heureux qui comme Ulysse
Lucky he who like Ulysses
A vu cent paysages
Has seen hundreds of lands
Et puis a retrouvé, après
And has regained again, after
Maintes traversées,
Many years of wand’ring
Le pays des vertes années.
The country of his youthful years

Par un petit matin d'été,
On an early Summer morning
Quand le soleil vous chante au cœur,
When the sun sings within your heart
Qu'elle est belle la liberté,
Then how fine it is to be free
La liberté!(5)
Fine to be free !

Quand on est mieux ici qu'ailleurs,
When you’re better here than elsewhere
Quand un ami(5) fait le bonheur,
When one friend can make you happy
Qu'elle est belle la liberté,
Then how fine it is to be free
La liberté!(5)
Fine to be free !

Avec le soleil et le vent,
With the days of sun and of wind
Avec la pluie et le beau temps,
With the weather rainy and fine
On vivait bien contents,
We lived very content
Mon cheval,(5) ma Provence et moi,
My horse my Provence and myself
Mon cheval, ma Provence et moi.
My horse my Provence and myself

Heureux qui comme Ulysse
Lucky he who like Ulysses
A fait un beau voyage
Jorneyed far and wide
A vu cent paysages
Has seen hundreds of lands
Et puis a retrouvé, après
And has regained again, after
Maintes traversées,
Many years of wand’ring
Le pays des vertes années.
The country of his youthful years

Par un joli matin d'été,
On an lovely Summer morning
Quand le soleil vous chante au cœur,
When the sun sings within your heart
Qu'elle est belle la liberté,
Then how fine it is to be free
La liberté!
Fine to be free !

Quand c'en est fini des malheurs,
When your woes are over and gone
Quand un ami sèche vos pleurs,
When there’s a friend to dry your tears
Qu'elle est belle la liberté,
Then how fine it is to be free
La liberté!
Fine to be free !

Battus de soleil et de vent,
Beaten by hot sun and by wind
Perdus au milieu des étangs,
Lost in its complex of salt lakes(2)
On vivra bien contents,
We will live quite content
Mon cheval, ma Camargue et moi,
My horse, my Camargue and myself.
Mon cheval, ma Camargue et moi,
My horse, my Camargue and myself

Henri Colpi(3) / Georges Delerue(4)
(Hors album) 1970

TRANSLATION NOTES

1) The first two lines are taken word for word from Du Bellay’s sonnet - see my notes below on this important poet
2) Perdus au milieu des étangs – The Camargue on the Mediterranean coast of France is the area of river delta at the mouth of the Rhône. Much of the region of the Camargue is under water and the salt water lakes which are formed are called étangs
3) Henri Colpi (1921 -2006) was a French film director, who made his name with the film Une aussi longue absence (1961), which included music by Georges Delerue(4). He was also a successful film editor and worked on about twenty films including Hiroshima mon amour (1961) and L'Année dernière à Marienbad (1963).

4) Georges Delerue (1925- 1992) was a very talented and a very prolific composer for cinema and television. During his 42 years career he wrote music for 325 long and short movies, 70 TV films and 35 TV serials. Directors he worked for were François Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, Alain Resnais, Louis Malle, and Colpi – as mentioned above. In Hollywood, he wrote scores for two Oliver Stone films.
5) La liberté! - Un ami - Mon cheval There are references in this poem that do not seem to fit well with Brassens. The declaration of liberty seems unnecessary -and perhaps over-dramatic- for some-one who had lived independent of the strictures of state, church and conventional social code all his life. The possession of one friend does not fit in with Brassens to whom a wide circle of friends was important. We do not think of Brassens as a keen horseman. The animals that were important in his life were his cats.
The explanation is that this was the theme song of a film and these references relate directly to the plot. The old man, who is the central character of the film, discovers that his beloved old horse has been sold to the picadors of the bullring, where it will face a cruel death. His answer is steal the horse and lead it to the Camargue, where he releases to roam safe and free among the wild white horses.

NOTES ON DU BELLAY’S POEM
The link between Du Bellay’s poem and his biography interests me.

The actor Gérard Philipe reads du Bellay’s poem



Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage
Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage,
Lucky he who like Ulysses journeyed far and wide
Ou comme cestuy-là qui conquit la toison,
Or like the sturdy man who won the golden fleece
Et puis est retourné, plein d'usage et raison,
And then came back, full of civil charm and reason
Vivre entre ses parents le reste de son âge !
To live with his family the rest of his years

Quand reverrai-je, hélas, de mon petit village
When shall I, alas, see again in my small town,
Fumer la cheminée, et en quelle saison
The chimney smoking, and at what time of the year,
Reverrai-je le clos de ma pauvre maison,
Will I see again the patch around my poor house
Qui m'est une province, et beaucoup davantage ?
Which to me is a province and is much more else

Plus me plaît le séjour qu'ont bâti mes aïeux,
The home built by my forefathers pleases me more
Que des palais Romains le front audacieux,
Than the splendid frontals of Roman palaces
Plus que le marbre dur me plaît l'ardoise fine :
Much more than their harsh marble, our fine slate pleases:

Plus mon Loir gaulois, que le Tibre latin,
Rather my Gallic Loire than the Latin Tiber
Plus mon petit Liré, que le mont Palatin,
Rather my little Liré than Mount Palatine,
Et plus que l'air marin la doulceur angevine
And rather than sea air,the balm of Angiers


Joachim du Bellay, Les Regrets, sonnet XXXI, 1558


—THE LIFE OF DU BELLAY
Joachim du Bellay was born in 1525 in the little market town of Liré near to Angers. From an early age he had a great interest in literature. At the age of twenty-three years he struck up a friendship with the poet, Ronsard and became determined to make this his own vocation.
In the following year (1548), he followed Ronsard to Paris and went on to publish a collection of sonnets in the manner of Petrarch: “The Olive”. However soon afterwards, he had to leave Paris to go to Rome, where he was to work as secretary to his cousin, who was a cardinal.

At first, du Bellay was filled with enthusiasm for the antiquities of the eternal city and wrote in praise of them (les Antiquités de Rome). However later he became very disillusioned by the less commendable features of life in Rome and in the Vatican. He began to long for “la doulceur angevine”.

In 1558, after four years away, Du Bellay returned to France and published two books based on his experiences. “Les Regrets” is a collection of sonnets detailing his feelings of bitterness and melancholy. He describes political events in Rome and particularly at the Vatican. He expresses his disgust at the sexual immorality and the financial corruption that he observed, but the book also conveys his admiration for this city which was, at that time the centre of European culture and of modern ideas. In spite of this, Du Bellay was constantly homesick for his own little corner of France around the town of his birth and this is a major theme

Sadly, his life after his return to France was not the idyll to which he had looked forward during his exile in Rome. As a result of his criticism of the Church, he found himself deprived of the protectors who had financed him and he lived in relative poverty. He was in failing health and died in 1560, when he had only just turned thirty-five.

As the years went by, his poetry had become more subjective and spontaneous. This poem “Heureux qui comme Ulysse”, shows his fluency and ease of expression and, from our acquaintance with his life story, we know that it is written from the heart.
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Gastibelza, l'homme à la carabine - Victor Hugo's famous poem

This Brassens song is based on a poem by Victor Hugo, included in his collection of poems, “Les rayons et les ombres” of 1837. The piece was inspired by a Spanish folksong, the central story of which is that of a young woman, Sabine, a girl from a Moorish family, who was so incredibly beautiful that she could have chosen any man, including the highest in the land. In the event, she chose the one who offered her the greatest wealth. This is to the dismay of the narrator, a lowly local shepherd, Gastibelza, who was madly in love with her.

Brassens - Gastibelza
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Gastibelza l'homme à la carabine

Gastibelza(1), l'homme à la carabine,(2) Chantait ainsi : « Quelqu'un a-t-il connu Doña Sabine ? Quelqu'un d'ici ? Chantez, dansez, villageois ! La nuit gagne Le mont Falu.(3).. Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne Me rendra fou. « Quelqu'un de vous a-t-il connu Sabine, Ma señora ? Sa mère était la vieille maugrabine(4) D'Antequera, Qui chaque nuit criait dans la Tour Magne Comme un hibou.. Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne Me rendra fou.  « Vraiment, la reine eût près d'elle été laide Quand, vers le soir, Elle passait sur le pont de Tolède En corset noir. Un chapelet du temps de Charlemagne Ornait son cou... Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne Me rendra fou. « Le roi disait, en la voyant si belle, À son neveu : "Pour un baiser, pour un sourire d'elle, Pour un cheveu, Infant Don Ruy, je donnerai l'Espagne Et le Pérou !" Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne Me rendra fou. « Je ne sais pas si j'aimais cette dame, Mais je sais bien Que, pour avoir un regard de son âme, Moi, pauvre chien, J'aurais gaiement passé dix ans au bagne Sous les verrous... Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne Me rendra fou. « Quand je voyais cette enfant, moi le pâtre De ce canton, Je croyais voir la belle Cléopâtre, Qui, nous dit-on Menait César, Empereur d'Allemagne, Par le licou... Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne Me rendra fou. « Dansez, chantez, villageois, la nuit tombe. Sabine, un jour, A tout vendu, sa beauté de colombe, Tout son amour, Pour l'anneau d'or du comte de Saldagne, Pour un bijou... Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne M’a rendu fou.

Gastibelza, the man with hunting rifle, Would sing this song : Did anyone know young Dona Sabina ? Someone from here ? Dance, sing up, you villagers ! The darkness falls On Mount Falou….. The roar of the wind that blows ‘cross the mountain(4) Will drive me mad. Did anyone of you ever know Sabina My senora ? Her mother was the old Moorish woman from Antequera Who each night screamed inside the Grand Tower Like a screech owl The roar of the wind that blows ‘cross the mountain Will drive me mad. « In truth, the queen would have, beside her, seemed plain When t’wards even’ She went by on the bridge of Toledo In black bodice. A string of beads from the time of Charlemagne Adorned her neck. The roar of the wind that blows ‘cross the mountain Will drive me mad. The king said, seeing her so beautiful To his nephew « For one mere kiss, for a single smile from her For just one hair, Infant Don Ruy, I shall give the whole of Spain And of Peru » The roar of the wind that blows ‘cross the mountain Will drive me mad. « I don’t know if I truly loved that lady But know full well That, to get from her one heartfelt glance I, her poor dog, I would gladly have done ten years in the jail Bolted inside The roar of the wind that blows ‘cross the mountain Will drive me mad. “Whenever I saw this young girl, I the shepherd Of this canton I thought to see beautiful Cleopatra Who, people say Led Caesar, Emperor of Germany,(5) By the dog collar…. The roar of the wind that blows ‘cross the mountain Will drive me mad. Dance, sing up, you villagers! Night is falling. One day, Sabin’ Sold it all away, her beauty dovelike pure All of her love, For the gold ring of the Count of Saldagna For one jewel The roar of the wind that blows ‘cross the mountain Has driven me mad.

TRANSLATION NOTES

1) Gastibelza – Hugo enjoyed the effect that can be achieved by the use of proper names. This name from the original folk song is formed by the Basque word gazte (young man) and belza (black)

.

2) la carabine – the carbine rifle was a shorter rifle designed for use by cavalrymen. When Franz Liszt put music to this song of Hugo, the German version of this line reads: Gastibelza the grey, old huntsman and I thought this idea replaced something once the lilt of “la carabine” was lost in the English.

3) Le mont Falu – There is peak in Corsica called Falu ( pronounced “Falou”. Hugo was capable of taking liberties when he liked the sound of a word – and sometimes it gave him a rhyme as here.

4) The wind that blows ‘cross the mountain - The Tramontane is one of the famous prevailing winds of southern Europe like the Mistral. Wikipedia tells me: “The continuous howling noise of the tramontane is said to have a disturbing effect upon the psyche.”

5) Maugrabine –Of Moorish ancestry, originating from Magreb. Notice Hugo’s use of proper names

6) Caesar, Emperor of Germany – Once again Hugo is introducing proper names - not too precisely. Although Caesar had subdued many Germanic tribes, the country of Germany did not exist at that time.

Listen to the  verve of this poem as sung by the admirable Sandrine Devienne:

Gastibeza .Hugo-Brassens par Sandrine Devienne
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A COMMENT ON MY TRANSLATION

I found myself asking why Hugo was attracted to re-write this Spanish folk song in his own verse. By chance, I found the answer in Hugo’s personal notes. I have copied the relevant extract and I translate it in the side column.

Les filles de village et les jolies grisettes de Bayonne se baignent avec des chemises de serge souvent fort trouées sans trop se soucier de ce que les trous montrent et de ce que les chemises cachent.  Le second jour que j'allai à Biarritz, comme je me promenais à la marée basse au milieu des grottes, cherchant des coquillages et effarouchant les crabes qui fuyaient obliquement et s'enfonçaient dans le sable, j'entendis une voix qui sortait de derrière un rocher et qui chantait le couplet que voici en patoisant quelque peu, mais pas assez pour m'empêcher de distinguer les paroles : Gastibelza, l'homme à la carabine, chantait ainsi : - quelqu'un a-t-il connu dona Sabine, quelqu'un d'ici ? Dansez, chantez, villageois, la nuit gagne le mont Falu. - Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne me rendra fou. C'était une voix de femme. Je tournai le rocher. La chanteuse était une baigneuse. Une belle fille qui nageait vêtue d'une chemise blanche et d'un jupon court dans une petite crique fermée par deux écueils à l'entrée d'une grotte. Ses habits de paysanne gisaient sur le sable au fond de la grotte. En m'apercevant, elle sortit à moitié de l'eau et se mit à chanter sa seconde stance, et voyant que je l'écoutais immobile et debout sur le rocher, elle me dit en souriant dans un jargon mêlé de français et d'espagnol : - Senor estrangero, conoce usted cette chanson ? - Je crois que oui, lui dis-je. Un peu. - Puis je m'éloignai, mais elle ne me renvoyait pas. Est-ce que vous ne trouvez pas dans ceci je ne sais quel air d'Ulysse écoutant la sirène ? La nature nous rejette et nous redonne sans cesse en les rajeunissant, les thèmes et les motifs innombrables sur lesquels l'imagination des hommes a construit toutes les vieilles mythologies et toutes les vieilles poésies. Somme toute, avec sa population cordiale, ses jolies maisons blanches, ses larges dunes, son sable fin, ses grottes énormes, sa mer superbe, Biarritz est un lieu admirable.

The village girls and the pretty grisettes* of Bayonne go swimming in serge shifts often very full of holes without worrying too much about what the holes show and about what the shifts are hiding. On the second day when I went to Biarritz, as I was walking at low tide in the midst of the caves looking for shells and scaring the crabs that scuttered off obliquely and buried themselves in the sand I heard a voice that came out from behind a rock and which sang this verse here, with a bit of local patois thrown in, but not enough to prevent me from making out the words. Gastibelza, the man with hunting rifle, Would sing this song : Did anyone know young Dona Sabina ? Someone from here ? Sing and dance, you villagers ! The darkness falls On Mount Falou…. It was a woman’s voice. I went round the rock. The singer was a female bather. A beautiful girl, who was swimming dressed in a white shift and a short petticoat in a little creek enclosed by two reefs at the entrance of a cave. Her peasant clothes were lying on the sand at the back of the cave. On becoming aware of me, she came half out of the water, and seeing that I was listening to her motionless and standing on the rock, she said to me, smiling, in garbled words mixing up French and Spanish - Does monsieur the stranger know this song ? - I think I do a little. Then I moved off, but she did not tell me to leave. Do you not find in this some kind of flavour of Ulysses listening to the siren? Nature constantly throws back to us and gives us again, while rejuvenating them, the countless themes and motifs, upon which the imagination of humankind has built all the old mythologies and all the old poetry. All in all, with its friendly people, its pretty houses of white, is extensive dunes, its fine sand, its enormous caves, its superb sea, Biarritz is an admirable place.

*The word grisette has been used with reference to a French working-class woman since the late 17th century. The 1694 edition of the Dictionnaire de l'Académie française simply described a grisette as "a woman of lowly condition". By the 1835 edition of the dictionary, there were other connotations. She was described as: a young working woman who is coquettish and flirtatious. (Thanks to Wikipedia for this information)

** The town of Bayonne is a little less than 5 kilometres from Biarritz. The word Bayonne also describes this district to the north of of the Pyrenees, which is the French Basque region - the name coming from the Basque name “ Baïona”

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Bonhomme - a peasant woman redresses the scales of her marriage at the last

This is the sad story of a poor peasant couple in their old age, living alone.  The husband is mortally ill and the lines of the poem will take us to his end.  Brassens tells us that the old man is dying of natural causes: "De mort naturelle"

But how natural is this death?  If we foresee the events of this poem based on the circumstances given above our expectations would be that the woman will stay by the side of the good fellow who has shared her life.  She will give him words of love and provide attentions to comfort him, all this until his final moment.  The fire will be burning bright to warm and light the deathbed, sustained by wood she has gathered in advance.

Look however how this good  woman behaves and ask yourself why.  It certainly is a "death from natural causes" but it is not a normal deathbed scene






BONHOMME - HER GOOD MAN LIES DYING

Malgré la bise ( 1) qui mord, La pauvre vieille de somme(2) Va ramasser du bois mort Pour chauffer Bonhomme, Bonhomme qui va mourir De mort naturelle Mélancolique, elle va À travers la forêt blême(3) Où jadis elle rêva De celui qu'elle aime, Qu'elle aime et qui va mourir De mort naturelle. Rien n'arrêtera le cours De la vieille qui moissonne(4) Le bois mort de ses doigts gourds, Ni rien ni personne, Car Bonhomme va mourir De mort naturelle. Non, rien ne l'arrêtera Ni cette voix de malheur Qui dit : "Quand tu rentreras Chez toi, tout à l'heure Bonhomm' sera déjà mort De mort naturelle." Ni cette autre et sombre voix, Montant du plus profond d'elle Lui rappeler qu'autrefois Il fut infidèle, Car Bonhomme, il va mourir De mort naturelle.(5) Georges Brassens 1958 - Le pornographe

In spite of the biting wind The old female beast of burden Goes to gather some firewood  To warm her fella Her fella who’s goin’ t’ die From natural causes. Melancholic, she goes Through the gloom of the forest Where in times gone she dreamt Of the one whom she loves Whom she loves, and who’s goin’ t’ die From natural causes. Nothing will now stop in her path The old woman who is harvesting The dead wood with numb fingers Neither thing nor person For her fella’s goin’ t’ die From natural causes. No there’s nothing that will stop her Neither that doom laden voice, Which says “When you get back to Your home, in a bit He will already have died From natural causes." Nor this other, sombre voice Rising from deep down within her To remind her in distant past He was unfaithful For her Good Man, he'll be dead From natural causes.

TRANSLATION NOTES - 

1)La bise – the cold winter wind

2) Une bête de somme – a beast of burden

3 blême = pale , pallid but there seems an eerie quality about the word

4) moissonner= to harvest.

5) De mort naturelle - Finally we see the irony in this phrase.  The man is suffering from a terminal illness and is lying in bed in the final throes.  The couple love each other and always have, but he previously could not resist the charms of other women and made her suffer by his infidelity.

In these last moments she feels the compulsive necessity to go out of the cottage and leave him to suffer cold and alone.  She goes away to collect the firewood which will warm the room for her husband's corpse.  She thus adds to their loving relationship her own act of infidelity, which counterbalances his amorous infidelities in the distant past.

We may have begun this poem thinking it was the voice of the Brassens who deplored social inequality;  instead it is principally a tale of the potential tragic cruelty  of human love.  An experience which is universal in all social classes.

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Le petit cheval - Georges Brassens

Brassens makes a song of Paul Fort’s poem about a little white horse. With its catchy refrain lines: “Tous derrière, tous derrière” ........... “Tous derrière et lui devant »this has become a popular children’s song often taught in French primary schools. Yet a French girl commenting after the YouTube recording tells how it always made her cry as a child and now that she sees it again at eighteen, it has the same effect.

Here Brassens is accompanied by Nana Mouskouri

Le petit cheval Le p'tit ch'val dans le mauvais temps Qu'il avait donc du courage ! C'était un petit cheval blanc Tous derrière, tous derrière C'était un petit cheval blanc Tous derrière et lui devant ! Il n'y avait jamais de beau temps Dans ce pauvre paysage ! Il n'y avait jamais de printemps Ni derrière, ni derrière, Il n'y avait jamais de printemps Ni derrière ni devant ! Mais toujours il était content Menant les gars du village A travers la pluie noire des champs Tous derrière, tous derrière A travers la pluie noire des champs Tous derrière et lui devant ! Sa voiture allait poursuivant Sa bell' petit' queue sauvage C'est alors qu'il était content Tous derrière, tous derrière C'est alors qu'il était content Tous derrière et lui devant ! Mais un jour dans le mauvais temps, Un jour qu'il était si sage Il est mort par un éclair blanc Tous derrière, tous derrière Il est mort par un éclair blanc(1) Tous derrière et lui devant ! Il est mort sans voir le beau temps Qu'il avait donc du courage ! Il est mort sans voir le printemps Ni derrière, ni derrière Il est mort sans voir le printemps Ni derrière, ni devant ! Paul Fort Brassens (1953) La mauvaise réputation

The little horse in bad weather What a lot of courage he had! He was just a little white horse All at the back, all at the back He was just a little white horse All at the back and he in front! There wasn’t ever fine weather On this ill-favoured countryside There was never a sign of Spring Not at the back, Not at the back, There was never a sign of Spring Not at the back nor in front! And yet he was always content Taking the lads of the village Through heavy black rain of the fields All at the back, all at the back Through heavy black rain of the fields All at the back and he in front! His cart rolled along, pursuing His fine lit’le tail wildly lashing It was then that he was content All at the back, all at the back It was then that he was content All at the back and he in front! But one day in the bad weather, One day when he’d been oh so good He died struck by a lightning flash All at the back, all at the back He died struck by a lightning flash All at the back and he in front! He died without see’ng fine weather What a lot of courage he had! He died without seeing the spring Not at the back, Not at the back, He died without seeing the spring Not at the back, nor in front!

TRANSLATION NOTE

1) un éclair blanc – There are two contrasting colours in this poem, the black pessimism of the grim scene and its weather with its black rain. In contrast there is the white optimism of the horse and surprisingly the force that kills him is white. Perhaps there is a symbol that the horse, who did no wrong, was too good for this world and was taken to join the light.


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