Chasing Dragons
I actually like this tune.
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
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Quote by AnnaMayZing
I actually like this tune.
That is a beautiful piece of torch singing Anna! Birken is hot stuff to my ears (and eyes).
The next post will have another beautiful French piece I love by Charles Trenet.
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Should I give the lyrics of the original?
Active Ink Slinger
The Lyrics in French thne in English:
Que reste-t-il de nos amours ?
Ce soir, le vent qui frappe à ma porte
me parle des amours mortes
devant le feu qui s'éteint.
Ce soir, c'est une chanson d'automne
dans la maison qui frissonne
et je pense aux jours lointains.
Que reste-t-il de nos amours ?
Que reste-t-il de ces beaux jours ?
Une photo, vieille photo
de ma jeunesse.
Que reste-t-il des billets doux ?
Des mois d'avril, des rendez-vous ?
Un souvenir qui me poursuit,
sans cesse.
Bonheur fané, cheveux au vent,
baisers volés, rêves mouvants.
Que reste-t-il de tout cela ?
Dites-le-moi.
Un petit village, un vieux clocher,
un paysage si bien caché,
et dans un nuage le cher visage
de mon passé.
Les mots, les mots tendres qu'on murmure,
les caresses les plus pures,
les serments au fond des bois,
les fleurs qu'on retrouve dans un livre,
dont le parfum vous enivre,
se sont envolés. Pourquoi ?
English:
What remains of our loves?
Versions: #1#2
Tonight, the wind knocking at my door
speaks to me of past loves
before the dying fire
tonight, an autumn song
quavers through the house
and I think of those bygone days
refrain:
What remains of our loves?
What of those fine days of yore?
A photo, an old photo, of my youth.
What remains of the love letters
the months of April, the rendez-vous?
A memory that pursues me without fail
a shadow of happiness, windblown hair
stolen kisses, moving dreams
what remains of all these things
do tell me?
a little village, an old bell tower
fields and meadows, well tucked away
and in a cloud, the cherished face
of my past days.
The words, the tender words that are murmured
the caresses purest of the pure
the vows exchanged deep in the woods
the flowers one finds among the pages of a book
whose perfume quakes and stirs
have all blown away, oh why?
Only an elderly French male could write such a song in their old age. It contrasts so well with Maurice Chevaliers, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls"
Que reste-t-il de nos amours ?
Ce soir, le vent qui frappe à ma porte
me parle des amours mortes
devant le feu qui s'éteint.
Ce soir, c'est une chanson d'automne
dans la maison qui frissonne
et je pense aux jours lointains.
Que reste-t-il de nos amours ?
Que reste-t-il de ces beaux jours ?
Une photo, vieille photo
de ma jeunesse.
Que reste-t-il des billets doux ?
Des mois d'avril, des rendez-vous ?
Un souvenir qui me poursuit,
sans cesse.
Bonheur fané, cheveux au vent,
baisers volés, rêves mouvants.
Que reste-t-il de tout cela ?
Dites-le-moi.
Un petit village, un vieux clocher,
un paysage si bien caché,
et dans un nuage le cher visage
de mon passé.
Les mots, les mots tendres qu'on murmure,
les caresses les plus pures,
les serments au fond des bois,
les fleurs qu'on retrouve dans un livre,
dont le parfum vous enivre,
se sont envolés. Pourquoi ?
English:
What remains of our loves?
Versions: #1#2
Tonight, the wind knocking at my door
speaks to me of past loves
before the dying fire
tonight, an autumn song
quavers through the house
and I think of those bygone days
refrain:
What remains of our loves?
What of those fine days of yore?
A photo, an old photo, of my youth.
What remains of the love letters
the months of April, the rendez-vous?
A memory that pursues me without fail
a shadow of happiness, windblown hair
stolen kisses, moving dreams
what remains of all these things
do tell me?
a little village, an old bell tower
fields and meadows, well tucked away
and in a cloud, the cherished face
of my past days.
The words, the tender words that are murmured
the caresses purest of the pure
the vows exchanged deep in the woods
the flowers one finds among the pages of a book
whose perfume quakes and stirs
have all blown away, oh why?
Only an elderly French male could write such a song in their old age. It contrasts so well with Maurice Chevaliers, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls"
Chasing Dragons
Speaking of torches. I can't begin to describe the images and feelings this piece conjures in me. Well, I can but not here...
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
Chasing Dragons
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
Chasing Dragons
RIP Wayne Fontana. 28th October 1945 - 06 August 2020,
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
Chasing Dragons
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
Chasing Dragons
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
Chasing Dragons
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
Active Ink Slinger
This long-forgotten gem (for me, anyway) appeared in my Youtube feed last night. I was stunned by how emotional I became while watching it.
Music from twenty years ago, when my two kids were in their mid-late teens and their friends would be over, the house full of youth and laughter.
And though those kids are grown now, have little ones of their own and share their lives with us, this song and video (perhaps because of how beautifully they complement each other) elicit an almost Proustian sense of irretrievably lost time.
But of course, this is just maudlin self-indulgence. In Einstien's "Block Universe" there is no such thing as lost time.
Music from twenty years ago, when my two kids were in their mid-late teens and their friends would be over, the house full of youth and laughter.
And though those kids are grown now, have little ones of their own and share their lives with us, this song and video (perhaps because of how beautifully they complement each other) elicit an almost Proustian sense of irretrievably lost time.
But of course, this is just maudlin self-indulgence. In Einstien's "Block Universe" there is no such thing as lost time.
Active Ink Slinger
Double post
Chasing Dragons
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
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Chasing Dragons
Calling Occupants Of Interplanetary Craft (The Recognized Anthem Of World Contact Day)
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
Chasing Dragons
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
Chasing Dragons
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana
Chasing Dragons
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana