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La marine | The Navy |
Poème de Paul Fort | Poem by Paul Fort
notes |
On les r'trouve en raccourci, Dans nos p'tits amours d'un jour, Toutes les joies, tous les soucis Des amours qui dur'nt toujours! C'est là l'sort de la marine Et de tout's nos petit's chéries. On accoste. Vite! un bec Pour nos baisers, l'corps avec. |
We find in miniature In our little one-day love affairs All the joy and all the pain Of loves which last for ever. That's the fate of us sailors And of all our little loves You chat someone up, plant a quick kiss on her mouth And her body follows. |
Et les joies et les bouderies, Les fâcheries, les bons retours, Il y a tout, en raccourci, Des grands amours dans nos p'tits. On a ri, on s'est baisés Sur les neunoeils, les nénés, Dans les ch'veux à pleins bécots, Pondus comm' des oeufs, tout chauds. |
And the pleasures, the sulks, The quarrels and then making it up, All this you'll find in miniature Great love affairs in our little loves. We've had a laugh, we've kissed each other On the eyelids, on the breasts, And in her hair, plenty of kisses Laid there like warm, new-laid eggs. |
Tout c'qu'on fait dans un seul jour! Et comme on allonge le temps! Plus d'trois fois, dans un seul jour, Content, pas content, content. Y' a dans la chambre une odeur D'amour tendre et de goudron. Ça vous met la joie au coeur, La peine aussi, et c'est bon. |
We do everything that can be done in a single day, And, as we stretch time out as far as possible, More than three times in a single day, Happy, unhappy, happy again! In the bedroom, there is a scent Of love and of tar. It floods your heart with joy And with pain as well, and that's a good thing. |
On n'est pas la pour causer Mais on pens', même dans l'amour. On pens' que d'main il f'ra jour, Et qu'c'est une calamité. C'est là l'sort de la marine, Et de tout's nos petit's chéries. On s'accoste. Mais on devine Qu'ça n'sera pas le paradis. |
We're not here to spend time chatting, But even while making love we think That tomorrow another day will dawn And that's a catastrophe. That's the fate of us sailors And of all our little loves You chat someone up, but you've guessed already That it can't be paradise. |
On aura beau s'dépécher, Faire, bon Dieu! la pige au temps, Et l'bourrer d'tous nos péchés Ça n'sera pas ça; et pourtant Toutes les joies, tous les soucis Des amours qui dur'nt toujours, On les r'trouve en raccourci Dans nos p'tits amours d'un jour. |
It's no good trying to hurry, Trying to leave time standing still, And packing it full of our little sins. It just won't happen; and yet, All the joy and all the pain Of loves which last for ever, You'll find them in miniature In our little one-day love affairs. |
© 1953 Ed. Intersong-Paris Musique G. Brassens |
© 2000 Dr. Ted Neather This translation aims to convey meaning and not attempt poetry or song. |
La marine.
From Projet Brassens' debut CD, "La marine."