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A Heartbreaking French Song
Famous French
songwriter/poet/singer Georges Brassens was the composer and original singer of
this song. He adapted Louis Aragon’s poem, which had been written during World
War II, to his composition, cutting out the last stanza about the French
Resistance and applying the tune of “La
Priere” to it. Since then, the song has been interpreted at least sixty
times by different artists.
“Il N’y A Pas d’Amour
Heureux” (“There’s No Happy Love”):-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6_bpX1cmC4&list=FLlMBDFYTe8MGL_Z6TJc6LOg
Rien n'est
jamais acquis à l'homme, ni sa force
Ni sa faiblesse ni son coeur, et quand il croit
Ouvrir ses bras son ombre est celle d'une croix
Et quand il veut serrer son bonheur il le broie
Sa vie est un étrange et douloureux divorce
Il n'y a pas d'amour heureux
Sa vie elle ressemble à ces soldats sans armes
Qu'on avait habillés pour un autre destin
A quoi peut leur servir de se lever matin
Eux qu'on retrouve au soir désarmes incertains,
Dites ces mots ‘Ma vie’ et retenez vos larmes
Il n'y a pas d'amour heureux
Mon bel amour mon cher amour ma déchirure
Je te porte dans moi comme un oiseau blessé
Et ceux-là sans savoir nous regardent passer
Répétant après moi ces mots que j'ai tressés
Et qui pour tes grands yeux tout aussitôt moururent
Il n'y a pas d'amour heureux
Le temps d'apprendre à vivre il est déjà trop tard
Que pleurent dans la nuit nos coeurs à l'unisson
Ce qu'il faut de regrets pour payer un frisson
Ce qu'il faut de malheur pour la moindre chanson
Ce qu'il faut de sanglots pour un air de guitare
Il n'y a pas d'amour heureux
My
English Rendition of the Lyrics:-
Nothing ever belongs to a man, not his
strength,
Not his weakness, not his heart; and
when he thinks
He’s opening his arms, his shadow forms
a cross;
And when he wants to seize happiness,
he crushes it.
His life is one strange and painful
divorce;
There's no happy love.
His life is like that of soldiers
without arms;
Who are groomed as if for a different
life.
What’s the point of getting up at
sunrise,
Only to find themselves at dusk daunted
and in fear.
Say these words ‘My life’ and hold
your tears;
There's no happy love.
My fair love, my dear love, so torn
apart,
I carry you in me like a wounded bird.
And those who unknowingly watch us
pass,
Repeating after me the words I’ve devised,
And who for your fair eyes have
already died;
There's no happy love.
The chance to learn to live is long gone;
Let our hearts weep at night in a
bond.
What it takes in regrets to pay for a
thrill;
What it takes in sadness to pay for
the least song;
What it takes in sobs to pay for a guitar’s
tune;
There’s no happy love.