Serge Reggiani
Serge Reggiani - Sarah Engelse vertaling songtekst
Je score:
Sarah
Prelude (spoken: Charles Baudelaire, excerpt from Sarah la louchette1) I do not have a famous lioness for a mistress : the wench borrows all the glitter from my soul ; Invisible to the stares of the jeering world, her beauty only blossoms in my saddened heart. For a pair of shoes she has sold her soul. But our good Lord would laugh if I were to be an hypocrite2 to her and ape haughtiness, me who sells my thoughts and claims to be an author. Much worse a sin, she wears a wig. All her beautiful black hair fled her white neck ; this does not prevent the loving kisses from raining down her balder than a leper's forehead. Her eyes cross, and the effect of this strange gaze shadowed by lashes longer than an angel's, is such that all the stares that damned many a man are not worth her jewish3 and ringed eye to me. She is only twenty, yet her breast already low hangs from both sides like a calabash, and still, as I crawl every night over her body, as a newborn child, I suck and gnaw at it, and though she often does not have a dime to spare to rub her flesh and anoint her shoulder, I lick her silently with more ardour than Magdalena did with both the Saviour's burning feet. The wretched creature, left breathless by pleasure, has her chest swollen by raucous hiccups, and I guess from the noise of her violent breathing that she took many a bite from the hospice bread. Her wide uneasy eyes, during the cruel night, believe they saw others eyes in the back of the alley, for, having opened her heart too wide, she is frightened without light and believes in ghosts. Thus of tallow she uses more pounds than an old scholar bent day and night on his books, and fears far less hunger and its agony than the ghosts of her defunct lovers. If by chance you meet her in her quaint clothes, (slipping through the corner of a forlorn street,) Head and eyes lowered alike as a wounded pigeon, dragging in the gutter a loose shoeheel, gentlemen, don't you spit curses nor filth at the painted face of this impure creature who was one winter night driven by the hunger goddess to raise high her petticoat in the open. This very misery is my everything, my riches, my pearl, my jewel, my queen, my duchess, (the one who soothed me in her triumphant bossom, and warmed my heart in her cupped hands.) Sarah (Georges Moustaki) The woman who lies in my bed is long past her twenties. Eyes ringed by years by love affairs from hand to mouth worn down by the kisses that were too often, yet too poorly given. Her face bleak despite the make-up, paler than a moon spot. The woman who lies in my bed is long past her twenties. Her breasts so heavy from too much love cannot be deemed appealing. Her tired body too much fondled, too often, yet too poorly loved. Her back bent seems to bear memories she had to escape. The woman who lies in my bed is long past her twenties. Don't you laugh, don't you touch her. Spare your tears and jeerings. As the night reunites us her body, her hands offer themselves to mine. And it is her tears and scars covered heart that soothes me.
Sarah
Si vous la rencontrez bizarrement parée Traînant dans le ruisseau un talon déchaussé Et la tête et l'oeil bas comme un pigeon blessé Monsieur, ne crachez pas de juron ni d'ordure Au visage fardé de cette pauvre impure Que déesse famine a par un soir d'hiver Contraint à relever ses jupons en plein air Cette bohème-là, c'est mon bien, ma richesse Ma perle, mon bijou, ma reine, ma duchesse... (Charles Baudelaire) La femme qui est dans mon lit N'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps Les yeux cernés Par les années Par les amours Au jour le jour La bouche usée Par les baisers Trop souvent, mais... Trop mal donnés Le teint blafard Malgré le fard Plus pâle qu'une Tâche de lune. La femme qui est dans mon lit N'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps Les seins si lourds De trop d'amour Ne portent pas Le nom d'appâts Le corps lassé Trop caressé Trop souvent, mais... Trop mal aimé Le dos voûté Semble porter Des souvenirs Qu'elle a dû fuir.
Vind dit lied op:
Copyrights:
Auteur: Georges Moustaki
Componist: Georges Moustaki
Publisher: Polygram
Details:
Uitgegeven in: 2003
Taal: Frans
Vertalingen: Duits , Engels
Komt voor op: Les 50 plus belles chansons (2007) , Best Of (2019)
Meer info:
- Land: Frankrijk
- serge-reggiani.com/
Deze songtekst wordt hier getoond met toestemming van de Federatie van Muziekauteurs en Uitgevers (Femu).