Les Marquises
paroles et musique de Jacques Brel, arrgt Jean-Claude Oudot
Les îles Marquises (Archipel des Marquises ou Marquises; en marquisien: Te Henua ʻEnana (North Marquesan) et Te Fenua ʻEnata (South Marquesan), signifiant toutes deux « la terre des hommes ») sont un groupe d'îles volcaniques en français La Polynésie, une collectivité d'outre-mer de la France dans le sud de l'océan Pacifique.
Ils parlent de la mort comme tu parles d'un fruit
Ils regardent la mer comme tu regardes un puits
Les femmes sont lascives au soleil redouté
Et s'il n'y pas d'hiver, cela n'est pas l'été
La pluie est traversière, elle bat de grain en grain
Quelques vieux chevaux blancs qui fredonnent Gauguin
Et par manque de brise, le temps s'immobilise
Aux Marquises
Du soir, montent des feux et des points de silence
Qui vont s'élargissant, et la lune s'avance
Et la mer se déchire, infiniment brisée
Par des rochers qui prirent des prénoms affolés
Et puis, plus loin, des chiens, des chants de repentance
Et quelques pas de deux et quelques pas de danse
Et la nuit est soumise et l'alizé se brise
Aux Marquises
Le rire est dans le cœur, le mot dans le regard
Le cœur est voyageur, l'avenir est au hasard
Et passent des cocotiers qui écrivent des chants d'amour
Que les sœurs d'alentour ignorent d'ignorer
Les pirogues s'en vont, les pirogues s'en viennent
Et mes souvenirs deviennent ce que les vieux en font
Veux-tu que je te dise : gémir n'est pas de mise
Aux Marquises
Les Marquises (2014)
Polyphoniques Nomades
The Marquesas Islands (French: Îles Marquises or Archipel des Marquises or Marquises; Marquesan: Te Henua ʻEnana (North Marquesan) and Te Fenua ʻEnata (South Marquesan), both meaning "the land of men") are a group of volcanic islands in French Polynesia, an overseas collectivity of France in the southern Pacific Ocean.
At the Marquesas
They talk about death as you talk about a fruit
They look at the sea as you look at a well
Women are lascivious under a dreaded sun
And if there's no winter, then it's not summer either
The rain falls horizontally, threshes one grain, then another
A few old 'white horses' humming Gauguin
And with a lack of breeze, time pauses
At the Marquesas
Evening lights are going up and pools of silence
Grow ever larger, and the moon is drawing on.
And the sea is tearing itself apart, immeasurably broken
By rocks with demented names.
And then, further on, dogs, repentance songs
And a few double steps, and a few dance steps
And the night is submissive and the trade wind is breaking
At the Marquesas
Laughter is in the heart, unspoken word in the eyes
The heart is a voyager, the future given to chance
And passing coconut palms, writing love songs
That nearby nuns ignore to ignore
Some pirogues (boats) are going, others are coming
And my memories become what the old people make
with them. I tell you : moaning has no place
At the Marquesas.
They talk about death as you talk about a fruit
They look at the sea as you look at a well
Women are lascivious under a dreaded sun
And if there's no winter, then it's not summer either
The rain falls horizontally, threshes one grain, then another
A few old 'white horses' humming Gauguin
And with a lack of breeze, time pauses
At the Marquesas
Evening lights are going up and pools of silence
Grow ever larger, and the moon is drawing on.
And the sea is tearing itself apart, immeasurably broken
By rocks with demented names.
And then, further on, dogs, repentance songs
And a few double steps, and a few dance steps
And the night is submissive and the trade wind is breaking
At the Marquesas
Laughter is in the heart, unspoken word in the eyes
The heart is a voyager, the future given to chance
And passing coconut palms, writing love songs
That nearby nuns ignore to ignore
Some pirogues (boats) are going, others are coming
And my memories become what the old people make
with them. I tell you : moaning has no place
At the Marquesas.
t the Marquesas
Versions: #1#2
They talk about death as you talk about a fruit
They look at the sea as you look at a well
Women are lascivious under the dreaded sun
And if there's no winter, then it's not summer
The rain runs across, threshes one grain, then another
A few old white horses humming Gauguin
And because a lack of breeze, the weather gets quiet
At the Marquesas
Evening lights are going up and silence points
Going larger and larger, and the moon is drawing on.
And the sea is tearing itself apart, immeasurably broken
By rocks whith demented names.
And then, further, dogs, repentance songs
And a few double steps, and a few dance steps
And the night is submissive and the trade wind is breaking
At the Marquesas
Laughter is in the heart, the word is in the eyes
The heart is wanderer, the future goes at random
And coconut palms are passing by, writing love songs
That nearby sisters ignore to ignore
Some pirogues are going, others are coming
And my memories become what the old people make
with them. I tell you that whining isn't appropriate
At the Marquesas.
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