Fleur des blés
French source:
André Girod
Fait onduler puis défrise
En un désordre coquet,
J’ai trouvé de bonne prise
De t’y cueillir un bouquet.
Mets-le vite à ton corsage, –
Il est fait à ton image
En même temps que pour toi …
Ton petit doigt, je le gage,
T’a déjà soufflé pourquoi:
Ces épis dorés, c’est l’onde
De ta chevelure blonde
Toute d’or et de soleil;
Ce coquelicot qui fronde,
C’est ta bouche au sang vermeil.
Et ces bluets, beau mystère!
Points d’azur que rien n’altère,
Ces bluets ce sont tes yeux,
Si bleus qu’on dirait, sur terre,
Deux éclats tombés des cieux.
Flowers of wheat
English translation ©
Richard Stokes
And undulates under the breeze
In coquettish disarray
I have found the good idea
To gather a nosegay for you.
Place it on your bosom, quickly;
It was not only gathered for you,
But also created in your image,
And I’ll warrant your little finger
Has already told you why.
These golden ears of corn are like the waves
Of your own fair tresses,
Spun from gold and sunlight;
This insolent poppy
Is the red blood of your lips.
And these cornflowers (you’ll never guess!),
These azure dots that nothing can change,
These cornflowers are your eyes,
So blue that they look like two pieces of heaven
Fallen down upon this earth.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000)
Fleur des blés
French source:
André Girod
Flowers of wheat
English source:
Richard Stokes
Le long des blés que la brise
From the tall corn that ripples
Fait onduler puis défrise
And undulates under the breeze
En un désordre coquet,
In coquettish disarray
J’ai trouvé de bonne prise
I have found the good idea
De t’y cueillir un bouquet.
To gather a nosegay for you.
Mets-le vite à ton corsage, –
Place it on your bosom, quickly;
Il est fait à ton image
It was not only gathered for you,
En même temps que pour toi …
But also created in your image,
Ton petit doigt, je le gage,
And I’ll warrant your little finger
T’a déjà soufflé pourquoi:
Has already told you why.
Ces épis dorés, c’est l’onde
These golden ears of corn are like the waves
De ta chevelure blonde
Of your own fair tresses,
Toute d’or et de soleil;
Spun from gold and sunlight;
Ce coquelicot qui fronde,
This insolent poppy
C’est ta bouche au sang vermeil.
Is the red blood of your lips.
Et ces bluets, beau mystère!
And these cornflowers (you’ll never guess!),
Points d’azur que rien n’altère,
These azure dots that nothing can change,
Ces bluets ce sont tes yeux,
These cornflowers are your eyes,
Si bleus qu’on dirait, sur terre,
So blue that they look like two pieces of heaven
Deux éclats tombés des cieux.
Fallen down upon this earth.
Composer
Claude Debussy
(Achille) Claude Debussy was a French composer. He is sometimes seen as the first Impressionist composer, although he vigorously rejected the term. He was among the most influential composers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Please click…
