When I did my fist at translating Brel’s Chanson de Vieux Amants in 2005 I was too lazy to attempt the last verse and so did a half hearted job on the song. This morning I made reparation and managed (with much use of dictionaries blood and sweat) to finish the job finally. There follows Brel’s immortal words and then my efforts:
Et plus le temps nous fait cortège
Et plus le temps nous fait tourment
Mais n´est-ce pas le pire piège
Que vivre en paix pour des amants
Bien sûr tu pleures un peu moins tôt
Je me déchire un peu plus tard
Nous protégeons moins nos mystères
On laisse moins faire le hasard
On se méfie du fil de l´eau
Mais c´est toujours la tendre guerre
We are now often lost in silence
And yet more often deep in war
But think this trap can give us licence
To live as lovers like before
Of course you’re quicker now to cry
As I more slowly lose control
We don’t have secrets like before now
No longer filling up the bowl
We let the stream run out and dry
But it is always loving war now.
Comments
Paul
on April 1, 2014Google’s Effort!!:-
And the more time us procession
And the more time torment us
But is not it the worst trap
To live in peace lovers
Of course you cry a little less early
I tore a little later
We protect less our mysteries
It leaves less to chance
It is wary of over water
But it is still tender war
Martin Dwyer
on April 1, 2014Thank you Paul, my efforts don’t look too bad with that comparison.
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