I have found a lovely poem and chanson book by Jacques Prévert in an antiquarian book shop. Unfortunately I tend to read Pervert instead of Prévert, pardon Jacques.
Somehow I was touched by his poem "Le Jardin". I have it here only in German and French.
Le Jardin
Des milliers et des milliers d'années
Ne sauraient suffire
Pour dire
La petite seconde d'éternité
Oú tu m'as embrassé
Oú je t'ai embrassée
Un matin dans la lumière de l'hiver
Au parc Montsouris á Paris.
A Paris
Sur la terre
La terre qui est un astre.
Der Garten
Abertausend Jahre Zeit
Fassen nicht
Die kleine Sekunde Ewigkeit
Da Du mich küsstest
Da ich dich küsste
Eines Morgens unterm Wintersonnenlicht
In einem Park zu Paris
Zu Paris
Auf dieser Erde
Die ein Stern ist.
Ich habe dir noch gar nicht Danke für dieses wunderschöne Gedicht gesagt. Merci!!!!!!
ReplyDeletePrevert "Barbara"
Remember Barbara
It rained relentlesly on Brest that day
And you walked smiling
Beaming ravishing drenched
Under the rain
Remember Barbara
It rained relentlesly on Brest that day
And I ran into you in Siam Street
You were smiling
And I smiled too
Remember Barbara
You whom I didn't know
You who didn't know me
Remember
Remember that day still
Don't forget
A man was taking cover on a porch
And he cried your name
Barbara
And you ran to him under the rain
Beaming ravishing drenched
And you threw yourself in his arms
Remember that Barbara
And don't be mad if I speak familiarly
I speak familiarly to everyone I love
Even if I've seen them only once
I speak familiarly to all who are in love
Even if I don't know them
Remember Barbara
Don't forget
That good and happy rain
On your happy face
On that happy town
That rain upon the sea
Upon the arsenal
Upon the Ushant boat
Oh Barbara
What stupidity is war
What has become of you
Under this iron rain
Of fire and steel and blood
And he who held you in his arms
Amorously
Is he dead and gone or still so much alive
Oh Barbara
It's rained all day on Brest today
As it was raining before
But it isn't the same anymore
And everything is wrecked
It's a rain of mourning terrible and desolate
Nor is it still a storm
Of iron and steel and blood
But simply clouds
That die like dogs
Dogs that disappear
In the downpour drowning Brest
And float away to rot
A long way off
A long long way from Brest
Of which there's nothing left.