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.

This is a repeat of one of my very first blogs, written on 31st March 2005, 9 years ago.

The Song of Old Lovers
La Chanson des Vieux Amants

The first Jacques Brel song I ever heard was “La Chanson des vieux Amants” This was in ’68 or thereabouts and it was on Judy Collins “Wildflowers “ album (or indeed L.P. as we called them then, and as I still do, occasionally, to my children’s hilarity.)
I instantly loved it.

I still have the album and am still moved by the song. I learned the words, more or less, phonetically, from Judy’s version and at moments of reverie have been known to start singing the same for no apparent reason.

A couple of years ago, in a Nouvelles Galleries, I was waiting outside a dressing room for Sile to try on some clothes. (I do this quite often so can no longer remember what town in France we were in)
The background music slowly crept into my subconscious and I began to realise that I knew the tune. I was charmed to recognise it as the same “Chanson” and was transported as my version of the the words came flooding back to me. When Sile came , at last, out of the dressing room she shot me an embarassed look. “ What did you think you were doing!” she said.

It appears that all unbeknownst to my self I had been singing away the words of the song like some weird in-store kareoke artist,and embarrasing both of us in the process. My principal cause of embarrasment was the knowledge that I had been singing, and out loud, my own phonetic version of the song. Other than realising that it was a love song of sorts I had never bothered to ponder the meaning of the words let alone translate them into English.

As soon as I got back to Ireland I decided that, if I was going to spend my declining years singing Jacques Brel songs in department stores I could at least do him the justice of singing the correct words. The blessing of the Internet gave me access to the these and furthermore I even found an English translation but one I didn’t like at all.

Nothing daunted I got out Dictionaries and Thesauri and eventually came up with my own translation, not brilliant I know, and I only managed the first verse and the chorus ( and even that took me ages) but it does sing reasonably well and at last I got to understand exactly what the words were about. (and to know the words of this song is to love it more.)

The original and my attempt of translation of same follow, who knows if you hang about ladies changing rooms in provincial France you may even get to hear me sing it too.

La Chanson des vieux amants

Bien sûr, nous eûmes des orages
Vingt ans d’amour, c’est l’amour fol

Mille fois tu pris ton bagage
Mille fois je pris mon envol

Et chaque meuble se souvient
Dans cette chambre sans berceau
Des éclats des vieilles tempêtes

Plus rien ne ressemblait à rien
Tu avais perdu le goût de l’eau
Et moi celui de la conquête

Refrain :
Mais mon amour
Mon doux mon tendre mon merveilleux amour
De l’aube claire jusqu’à la fin du jour
Je t’aime encore tu sais je t’aime

The Song Of Old Lovers
(translation dedicated to Sile )

Of course we’ve lived through stormy weather
With foolish love for twenty years

We’ve packed to go yet stayed together
And battled on through all the tears

Yet all the trappings of our past
That lie within our childless room
Bear scars of wars long finished

The winner now is often last
And simple things don’t lift our gloom
But if we loose we’re not diminished

Chorus:
And Oh My Love
My soft and tender sweet amazing love
From break of day until stars shine above
I love you still, you know I love you

My Mothers engagement photo taken in 1937 when she was 28.

I have a formidable sneeze, I know exactly where I got it- we could echo-locate my father, even in a packed church at sunday mass, just by his sneeze. On the whole it is a fairly useless talent and sometimes a downright nuisance. If I sneeze on our terrace, which you must temember is perched on top of the village, on a warm, peaceful sunday morning while reading the paper, the whole of the village is woken up by every dog who, assuming that they are being invaded by a monster, will set off on a round of frantic barking. My very worst sneezing bouts are triggered by drinking a modest glass of Vin Rouge the previous night, and so it happened this morning.
Síle got down first and so was ensconced by the PC while me, the tardier, had to make do with the very arthritic laptop. After about 10 minutes of tapping when it had succeeded in downloading about one eighth of our mail and only the title of facebook I felt a sneeze arising and I confess that my level of frustration was such that I let it RIP.
Every string in the nearby piano strummed itself to life and my ancient laptop immediately, in fright, downloaded all our post and opened the facebook page fully while making little bleating noises.
At last, I have discovered a use for the Dwyer Sneeze, I may just take up sniffing snuff- cheaper than a new laptop.

I am the worlds worst Bricoleur- meaning that DIY and I are not really capable of travelling together. I have friends and relations (you know who you are) whom I bribe with food and accomodation in exchange for small acts of Bricolage and that works well. Occasionally there are jobs that are so petty that it just doesn’t justify getting and feeding someone from Ireland or Spain to fix it. I offer you three with which I have been living for some time.
Number One ;
Our Shower. The shower in our bathroom at the top of the house has a flow problem which puts a whole new definition to the word trickle.
Number Two :
On three of the six burners on the stove top the gas rings automatic igniter has ceased for some time to work- not a huge problem one would think but one that involves one, again, in gas lighters, matches and even spills of news paper.
A world one thought one had left behind.
Number Three :
My Belitta stove top Espresso Coffee Pot has ceased to work- this does not sound like the most serious problem but when all it produces for me, first thing in the morning, when every nerve in my body is screaming with caffine withdrawal, is a spoonful of brown mud I assure you it is serious indeed.
The good news is, that with a little help from Madame, I have now I am proud to relate, virtually alone and unaided, fixed all three.
Number One.
I had assumed that the trickle was caused by the fact that our bathroom was virtually the Highest Shower in The Village and it was lack of pressure which caused the problem. But a little light went on in the head last week and I lifted up the shower which is in the bath to the same level and there was No Loss of Pressure ! When I related this to Madame she very simply said “lets swap heads and see if that is the problem” (I had no idea one could do something so radical so simply). She did, and it did and now we have a shower which would give Niagara a run for its money.
Number Two.
While cleaning my cooker top last week, with all the burners steeping I inadvertently pressed down on one of the gas dials, to my estonishment and delight I discovered that which ever dial one pressed down ALL the burners threw out an ignition spark . Now instead of resorting to all sorts of the above primitive ignition methods I merely press down on the dial I want and then simultaniously press another- but dont turn it – my gas lights up beautifully.
Number Three, the most serious of all the problems needed a little more work. I made the usual assumptions that (a) the rubber ring was worn so I replaced it- no joy (b) the filter was somehow malfunctioning, I replaced it- no joy. So then I had to think. What possible other factor had changed in the last few weeks ? The light bulb when on again. Just about three weeks ago the Super U had ceased stocking the excellent coffee from Cuba which I had enjoyed each morning since I moved here. I had been experimenting with various brands since. What if ? Down in Super U’s coffee isle I found an Italian brand made especially for Expresso Coffee Pots. I tried this this morning for the first time, and Yay Hay ! It worked.
All three problems solved. I tell you I am begining to realise, in my sixty sixth year, that I still possess hidden talents.

This is a first for us, we went wandering about the Pech across from our house and discovered that because of two factors new in our life we could get an excellent picture of Le Presbytere from a previously unseen angle.
Main difference is of course the lack of our tree but equally important is the fact that the new camera has a cool telephoto widget.
Amazing !

My daughter Caitriona took this picture of her husband and two sons celebrating his birthday.

It is a beauty.

I was 65 on Thursday, It used to be that I would now be a pensioner but the Irish government is running backwards away from my age so fast that it seems unlikely I’ll ever catch them. No matter, I have absolutely no notion of stopping working (why would I ? It is such fun). I had a brilliant birthday.

My dear wife indulged me totally and I spent time in a brocante, had a picnic lunch in blazing sunshine on the beach at Valras Plage. Bought two whopping Black Sole in Agde which I cooked on the bone A La Meuniere last night and ate with a bottle of excellent Pouilly Fuissé. I got the most amazing greetings by card, mobile,iphone and email. Talked to my daughters and facetimed my grandsons. Even google decorated my search page with birthday cakes ! (I know really that they do that for everyone) FaceBook was a joy all day and thanks to everyone who sent greetings and for all the kind messages you included.There are more celebrations to come though, I do love birthdays, no wonder the Irish government thinks I am still a child!

And then the birthday celebrations continued.

Very few people who know me will be unaware of my passion for collecting French Glass, so Madame Dwyer, as part of the birthday celebrations, decided to whisk me across to the Rhone to the village of Villeneuve les Avignon where, we had discovered, there was an excellent Brocante market on Saturday morning.

So we headed East towards Provence and took in the magnificent Pont de Gard on the way,

found our pleasant hotel in Villeneuve and had our dinner out in Le Bristro de Moulin.

The market in the morning was a beauty.

Part of Madame’s indulgent present was that I was granted, from the communal fund, a Euro for each of my years to spend as I would, no discussion needed.Before long I had of course spotted glasses to the value of €80, now you all know I am not quite that old yet but it is amazing what budgetary limitatations will do to one’s bargaining skills so I managed to get all the glasses I desired and I still have €5 left.

We headed back at our leisure, took in the market in Uzes, which was very cosmopolitan and expensive, but I managed to find some Chervil plants for €4. So back at home on Saturday night and the Irish Rugby team kindly joined the celebrations by providing a powerful victory.

So the birthday continues- and the shrewd mathematicians among you will realise that I still have one Euro left to spend !

Four Sparrows photographed on our Jasmin this morning. Note two on the feeder and two observing closely from the branch- observing their pecking order impeccably. I took this through a window pane where the glass is so old that some of the ripples are, attractively, evident.

Times have changed indeed.

This trendy French Chef’s catalogue arrived Chez Moi this morning.
Displayed is quite the latest thing.
It is a jacket made from some amazing materiel which is flame proof, water impermiable and stain resistant but still breathes.

The zips, in case of burns (or a sudden urge to do a Full Monty) burst apart if you flex your muscles.
This wonder of wonders is yours for a mere €299.90.