New Translation by Jillian Greenwood
This is much better than the Bowie lyrics I provided in an earlier post. I guess I’ll have to do it then… It’s still pure art and emotion. Watch out for the woman with the hat in the audience.
Info from a Youtube posting:
Brel worked on the song at his house overlooking the Mediterranean at Roquebrune-Cap-Martin, the house he shared with Sylvie Rivet,a publicist for Philips, in the place she had made known to him in 1960. It was the ideal place for him to create, and to indulge his passion for boats and planes. One morning at six o’clock he read the words of Amsterdam to Fernand, a restauranteur who was about to set off fishing for scorpion fish and conger eels for the bouillabaisse. Overcome, Fernand broke out in sobs and cut open some sea urchins to help control his emotion.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=vUFe0WP5bT4
http://youtube.com/watch?v=ejQS9kQDXmk
Jaques Brel – Amsterdam |
David Bowie – Amsterdam |
Paroles françaises |
English Lyrics |
| Dans le port d’Amsterdam Y a des marins qui chantent Les rêves qui les hantent Au large d’Amsterdam Dans le port d’Amsterdam Y a des marins qui dorment Comme des oriflammes Le long des berges mornes Dans le port d’Amsterdam Y a des marins qui meurent Pleins de bière et de drames Aux premières lueurs Mais dans le port d’Amsterdam Y a des marins qui naissent Dans la chaleur épaisse Des langueurs océanes Dans le port d’Amsterdam Y a des marins qui mangent Sur des nappes trop blanches Des poissons ruisselants Ils vous montrent des dents A croquer la fortune A décroisser la lune A bouffer des haubans Et ça sent la morue Jusque dans le coeur des frites Que leurs grosses mains invitent A revenir en plus Puis se lèvent en riant Dans un bruit de tempête Referment leur braguette Et sortent en rotant Dans le port d’Amsterdam Y a des marins qui dansent En se frottant la panse Sur la panse des femmes Et ils tournent et ils dansent Comme des soleils crachés Dans le son déchiré D’un accordéon rance Ils se tordent le cou Pour mieux s’entendre rire Jusqu’à ce que tout à coup L’accordéon expire Alors le geste grave Alors le regard fier Ils ramènent leur batave Jusqu’en pleine lumière Dans le port d’Amsterdam Y a des marins qui boivent Et qui boivent et reboivent Et qui reboivent encore Ils boivent à la santé Des putains d’Amsterdam De Hambourg ou d’ailleurs Enfin ils boivent aux dames Qui leur donnent leur joli corps Qui leur donnent leur vertu Pour une pièce en or Et quand ils ont bien bu Se plantent le nez au ciel Se mouchent dans les étoiles Et ils pissent comme je pleure Sur les femmes infidèles Dans le port d’Amsterdam Dans le port d’Amsterdam. |
In the port of Amsterdam, the sailors sing Of the dreams that haunt them in the great barging coasts. In the port of Amsterdam, The sailors sleep like ancient willows that weep Along mournful riverbanks. In the port of Amsterdam, sailors are dying, bulging with beer and catastrophe at the first light of dawn. But in the port of Amsterdam, There are sailors being born in the suffocating heat of groaning doldrums. In the port of Amsterdam, The sailors eat Streaming fish On too-white napkins; they flash their teeth that can crush fortunes, That can swallow the moon and devour its shroud. And the place stinks of cod, seeping into the heart of chips that their huge hands welcome only to come back for more. Then they stand up and laugh like the roar of storms, zip up their flies And leave with a swagger. In the port of Amsterdam, the sailors dance, rubbing their paunches against women’s bellies. And they turn and they dance Like suns spat From the ragged sound Of a rancid accordion. They twist their necks The better to hear each other laugh Till with a sudden jolt, the accordion expires. So with this doleful sign, so with proud looks, they go home with their sluts till the full light of dawn. In the port of Amsterdam, The sailors drink And drink and drink again, And drink one for the road. They drink to the health of the whores of Amsterdam or of Hamburg or elsewhere. In fact they drink to the ladies Who give them their beautiful bodies Who give them their innocence For a coin of gold. And when they have drunk enough, They turn their faces to the sky, They blow their noses in the stars, And they piss like I cry On our unfaithful wives. In the port of Amsterdam In the port of Amsterdam |
[...] New Translation Here by Jillian Greenwood! [...]
Edit
I love this song. I think this man is a real poet, and at that far more 'real' than so much great poetry.
Thank you for the excellent translation
You are not wrong there @Alice!
I love the power and the intensity – it's a pure art that we see very rarely in these xFactored days. The angst-ridden gestures of most 'pop' stars have nothing, absolutely nothing on this immaculate, emotional piece.
Please contact Jillian Greenwood (Greenwood) about this, as she did the newer translation, which, although not having the same cadence as the original, is probably a more accurate translation due to her skills in that area, which are immense.
Have you heard the cover by Camille O' Sullivan?
http://www.abc.net.au/dig/stories/m1146822.asx
She does quite a few Brel covers and a great version of 'Hurt' by Nine Inch Nails.
Needs to be seen live to be fully appreciated though. :)
@John
Live is always best for true power. I too do the NIN track, currently in the style of The Stranglers….
As for the Brel song, I hadn't heard that cover before. However, I've heard it done that way before. You have to appreciate that in France, it's almost de rigeur to do this song and people treat it in an almost reverential way. I've heard it on campsites and in bars.
One absolutely surprising rendition was by a French guy called Thierry Amiel on the French version of "Pop Idol" a few years back. Now Cowell et al, is just an insipid saccharin show, all marshalled and corralled to "fit" a tight pattern with very little artistic merit – after all, all they do is covers!
However, I came across this track on YouTube some years back and listened to it with very low expectations…. It's starts much as you'd expect. The rent-a-crowd are doing their thing; swaying in their girly ways, whooping, cheering, waving banners, etc…. But then, you start to hear the guy's perfect voice and you think, "will he make it?", "what will he do now?"… (Remember, everyone in France knows this song. They know what to expect. It's part of their psyche)
Then, the crowd stop swaying so much, when normally they'd all have been whipped into a choreographed frenzy.
Some in the crowd have "that look" on their face, the look when they are swallowed up by a performance and realise that they are witness to something really special, really great, that may not be so easily repeated. The camera rapidly swings off these people because it doesn't fit with the programmed hysteria that they like to project.
As you can gather, I'm not a fan of these shows, but this is special. See what you think.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=53a6bIjI8zk
@John
These are some live performances of Camille that you mentioned off YouTube. I know you are an old contributor in a new guise, so feel free to whack anything else up you appreciate. I use Vladimir Prelovac's YouTube plugin which makes it a cinch to do this – just put a 'v' after the http in the URL!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=IIjYVDvUBYk
http://youtube.com/watch?v=Nd2Zb8Ci8-8
I think the song is great and the lyrics is fantastic. I like the song. Thank you.