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.