De sidste 14-15 år har jeg haft en gammel LP med Georges Brassens.
Jeg kan godt lide hans musik men har ingen anelse om hvad han synger om!
Hmmm… har fundet enkelte oversættelser på engelsk (alt er på fransk, typisk).
Den jeg bedst kan lide er ”Le fantôme” men kan ikke finde en oversættelse (dobbelt typisk).
Er der en der vil være så rar at oversætte den for mig? Ikke nødvendigvis detaljeret. Det eneste jeg forstår, er få ord hist og pist men kan slet ikke få en sammenhængende forståelse.
Til jer der ikke kender sangen lyder den sådan her http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wLUUIFBIW68
Teksten til oversættelsen http://en.lyrics-copy.com/georges-brassens/le-fantome.htm
It was trembling, it was disturbing, It was dressed in a very white sheet, This introduced all symptoms, All outsides of vision, wrong air of appearance, In a word, it was a ghost!
In one's own way to advance, To his manner to dangle a little convex hips, I understood that I was dealing A somebody of the genr ' which I prefère: In a ghost of the fair sex. " I am a lost p' tit poucet, Miss dit - ell ', of one ' hung around voice, A poor ghost in full flight. More of trace of fires
In one's own way to advance, To his manner to dangle a little convex hips, I understood that I was dealing A somebody of the genr ' which I prefère: In a ghost of the fair sex.
I am a lost p' tit poucet, Miss dit - ell ', of one ' hung around voice, A poor ghost in full flight. The more of trace of cranky fires, The more trace of the small bones Of which I had punctuated my road
Ungifted poèt' s Will have taken - what an aberration! - my cranky fires for stars. Commissioner's poor dogs Will have been crunchy - what a misery! - my oss' lets trimmed well with marrow
At a time when the cockerel will sing, I shall have Bonn ' mine with my sheet Sorry of wrong creases and of dressmaking! And in this secular century when people believe any more in us hardly, They are going to shout in fraud
Me, that a lost made cat cry, Think if I had c and * 339; ur gripped In front of the embarrassment of ghost. " Come, I say by taking the hand, That I show you the way, That I see you out at home
History would finish here, But breaks it, and I it there r' mercie, Trussed the sheet of my horsewoman... Lady, some oss' lets was missing, But the rest, far from being ugly, Was of one ' peculiar favour
My Cupid, with the easy Arrow in those days, Hit the bull's eye and, fire on temples, I invited, slyly, The nice to come one instant to See my icons, my engravings
Dear, dit - ell ', you are madman! I am two thousand years more than you... " The time, the madam ', that import us! - putting the fantôm ' under my arm, enveloped well in its sheet, Towards my pénates I take it
Oh well, misters, that one say it ': These nice ladies of in the past Are of bedeviled naughty children, more expert in deduct it That certain s today's ladies, And I want to name nobody
In the p' tit day they awakened me, They shook my pillow With full ' Fougu ' ' of promises. But, hay of the dédic' s of Capoue! It was my blatant father: " Standing! Vain Gods, you are going to miss mass