Songs

v. Sanglots (from 'Banalités', FP 107)

by Francis Poulenc

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Text & Translation

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v. Sanglots (from 'Banalités', FP 107)
French source: Guillaume Apollinaire

Notre amour est réglé par les calmes étoiles
Or nous savons qu’en nous beaucoup d’hommes respirent
Qui vinrent de très loin et sont un sous nos fronts
C’est la chanson des rêveurs
Qui s’étaient arraché le coeur
Et le portaient dans la main droite
Souviens-t’en cher orgueil de tous ces souvenirs

Des marins qui chantaient comme des conquérants
Des gouffres de Thulé des tendres cieux d’Ophir
Des malades maudits de ceux qui fuient leur ombre
Et du retour joyeux des heureux émigrants
De ce coeur il coulait du sang
Et le rêveur allait pensant
A sa blessure délicate
Tu ne briseras pas la chaîne de ces causes
Et douloureuse et nous disait
Qui sont les effets d’autres causes
Mon pauvre coeur mon coeur brisé
Pareil au coeur de tous les hommes
Voici voici nos mains que la vie fit esclaves
Est mort d’amour ou c’est tout comme
Est mort d’amour et le voici Ainsi vont toutes choses,
Arrachez donc le vôtre aussi
Et rien ne sera libre jusqu’à la fin des temps
Laissons tout aux morts
Et cachons nos sanglots

Sobs
English translation © Richard Stokes

Our love is governed by the calm stars
Now we know that in us many men have their being
Who came from afar and are one beneath our brows
It is the song of the dreamers
Who tore out their hearts
And carried them in their right hands
Remember dear pride all these memories

The sailors who sang like conquerors
The chasms of Thule the gentle Ophir skies
The accursed sick those who flee their shadows
And the joyous return of happy emigrants
This heart ran with blood
And the dreamer kept thinking
Of his delicate wound
You shall not break the chain of these causes
Of his painful wound and said to us
Which are the effects of other causes
My poor heart my broken heart
Like the hearts of all men
Here here are our hands that life enslaved
Has died of love or so it seems
Has died of love and here it is Such is the fate of all things
So tear out yours too
And nothing will be free till the end of time
Let us leave all to the dead
And conceal our sobs

Translation © Richard Stokes, from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000)

v. Sanglots (from 'Banalités', FP 107)
French source: Guillaume Apollinaire

Sobs
English source: Richard Stokes

Notre amour est réglé par les calmes étoiles
Our love is governed by the calm stars
Or nous savons qu’en nous beaucoup d’hommes respirent
Now we know that in us many men have their being
Qui vinrent de très loin et sont un sous nos fronts
Who came from afar and are one beneath our brows
C’est la chanson des rêveurs
It is the song of the dreamers
Qui s’étaient arraché le coeur
Who tore out their hearts
Et le portaient dans la main droite
And carried them in their right hands
Souviens-t’en cher orgueil de tous ces souvenirs
Remember dear pride all these memories

Des marins qui chantaient comme des conquérants
The sailors who sang like conquerors
Des gouffres de Thulé des tendres cieux d’Ophir
The chasms of Thule the gentle Ophir skies
Des malades maudits de ceux qui fuient leur ombre
The accursed sick those who flee their shadows
Et du retour joyeux des heureux émigrants
And the joyous return of happy emigrants
De ce coeur il coulait du sang
This heart ran with blood
Et le rêveur allait pensant
And the dreamer kept thinking
A sa blessure délicate
Of his delicate wound
Tu ne briseras pas la chaîne de ces causes
You shall not break the chain of these causes
Et douloureuse et nous disait
Of his painful wound and said to us
Qui sont les effets d’autres causes
Which are the effects of other causes
Mon pauvre coeur mon coeur brisé
My poor heart my broken heart
Pareil au coeur de tous les hommes
Like the hearts of all men
Voici voici nos mains que la vie fit esclaves
Here here are our hands that life enslaved
Est mort d’amour ou c’est tout comme
Has died of love or so it seems
Est mort d’amour et le voici Ainsi vont toutes choses,
Has died of love and here it is Such is the fate of all things
Arrachez donc le vôtre aussi
So tear out yours too
Et rien ne sera libre jusqu’à la fin des temps
And nothing will be free till the end of time
Laissons tout aux morts
Let us leave all to the dead
Et cachons nos sanglots
And conceal our sobs

Composer

Francis Poulenc

Francis Jean Marcel Poulenc (F7 January 1899 – 30 January 1963) was a French composer and pianist. His compositions include mélodies, solo piano works, chamber music, choral pieces, operas, ballets, and orchestral concert music. Read the full…

Poet

Guillaume Apollinaire

Guillaume Apollinaire  (26 August 1880 – 9 November 1918) was a French poet, playwright, short story writer, novelist, and art critic of Polish-Belarusian descent. Apollinaire is considered one of the foremost poets of the early 20th century, as…

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