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Pauvre Martin |
Poor Martin |
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| Avec une bêche à l’épaule, Avec, à la lèvre, un doux chant, Avec, à la lèvre un doux chant, Avec, à l’âme, un grand courage, Il s’en allait trimer aux champs! Pauvre Martin, pauvre misère, Creuse la terr’, creuse le temps! Pour gagner le pain de sa vie, De l’aurore jusqu’au couchant, De l’aurore jusqu’au couchant, Il s’en allait bêcher la terre En tous les lieux, par tous les temps! Pauvre Martin, pauvre misère, Creuse la terr’, creuse le temps! Sans laisser voir, sur son visage, Ni l’air jaloux ni l’air méchant, Ni l’air jaloux ni l’air méchant, Il retournait le champ des autres, Toujours bêchant, toujours bêchant! Pauvre Martin, pauvre misère, Creuse la terr’, creuse le temps! Et quand la mort lui a fait signe De labourer son dernier champ, De labourer son dernier champ, Il creusa lui-même sa tombe En faisant vite, en se cachant... Pauvre Martin, pauvre misère, Creuse la terr’, creuse le temps! Il creusa lui-même sa tombe En faisant vite, en se cachant, En faisant vite, en se cachant, Et s’y étendit sans rien dire Pour ne pas déranger les gens... Pauvre Martin, pauvre misère, Dors sous la terr’, dors sous le temps! |
With a spade on his shoulder, With a soft song on his lips, With a soft song on his lips, With great courage in his soul, He goes to dig the fields. Poor Martin, poor wretch, Digging the earth, digging the time. To earn his daily bread, From dawn till dusk, From dawn till dusk, He went to dig the earth Wherever he was needed, in every weather. Poor Martin, poor wretch, Digging the earth, digging the time. Never showing on his face, A jealous or wicked look, A jealous or wicked look, He turned over other people’s fields, Always digging, always digging. Poor Martin, poor wretch, Digging the earch, digging the time. And when death gave him the signal To work his last field, To work his last field, He dug his own grave, Doing it quickly, hiding himself... Poor Martin, poor wretch, Digging the earth, digging the time. He dug his own grave, Doing it quickly, hiding himself, Doing it quickly, hiding himself, And lay down in it without saying anything So as not to disturb anyone... Poor Martin, poor wretch, Sleeps in the earth, sleeps in time. |
Projet Brassens Quartet at the 11ème Semaine Georges Brassens, Vaison-la-Romaine, South of France. 2007.
Pauvre Martin
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| Georges Brassens | Translation by Dr. Ted Neather | |