Sedulia's Translations

Lounès Matoub on the death of Mohamed Boudiaf: Algeria will rise from this evil

Hymn to Boudiaf

For so many years far from your country!
You revolted, you turned against tyranny
We were waiting for the new clearness from you
about what the criminals had devoured
but behind you, death rose up
guided by unforeseeable traitors
Miserable ones, may he remind you of it--  
you are the ones who lit the furnace.

Alas, alas, sad widows!
[woman's voice]
We are torn from men who did not deserve to die.
{repeat}

The plotters called you
in that air of terrible oppression
they invited you to the no-man's-land
You came, careless of the tufts of nettles
They undid the bonds of our land
she sank into a bottomless pool
she sank head first
the nations watched her being swallowed up.

Alas, alas, sad widows!
[woman's voice] We are torn apart from men who did not deserve to die.
{repeat}

 You found the country being ravaged
It is torn, gone to rags
Some exalt themselves: "We are Arabs
and nothing was here before us."
As for the know-nothings and their henchmen 
they have sworn never to relent.
They are sharpening the last judgment
against those who affront their plans.

Alas, alas, sad widows!
[woman's voice:] We are torn apart from men who did not deserve to die.
{repeat}

Your name has gone into history,
future generations will find it
this time of suffering is not for always
although today, the Furies are burning us.
Algeria will rise again from this evil
knowledge will put out buds,
you have opened the way to the dignity of our people
rest in peace, honorable Boudiaf.
you have opened the way to the dignity of our people
At present, be in peace, honorable Boudiaf...

[Over, in French: From Abane to Boudiaf, how many crimes have been orchestrated!
Krim, Khider, and others...
Will we leave this ancestral land in the hands of these sad cases who have plunged it into chaos?
Or in the claws of these "lit-up*" cowards? 

          --Mohamed Boudiaf (1919-1992) was an Algerian patriot who became head of state briefly after a long period of exile, but was assassinated after only four months. The country slid into a long period of violence and civil war, and is only recently emerging. The Berbers (Algerian Berbers are Kabyles) are the original inhabitants of North Africa, and were conquered by the Arabs and converted from Christianity to Islam in the early 700s. Today, the Berber language is a focus of a new sense of Berber pride. Lounès Matoub (1956-1998), a famous Algerian Berber singer, wrote this song about him. Lounès Matoub was himself assassinated in 1998.

You can see Lounès Matoub singing the song here, in the Berber language, with French subtitles. I came across his music for the first time in the French movie Là-bas... mon pays ("Over there...my country"), about a Frenchman who grew up in colonial Algeria and goes back many years later. The music wails across the landscape through most of the film and powerfully evokes a mood of nostalgia, longing, and rebellion.

*The word in the French translation is illuminés, which means "the enlightened ones," but is sarcastic and refers to religious fanatics and crazy people.

Nerval: I would give all Rossini, all Mozart, all Weber

There is an air for which I would give
all Rossini, all Mozart, and all Weber,
an old air, languishing, funereal,
that has secret charms for me alone.

It happens that every time I hear it,
my soul becomes younger by two hundred years:
it's the time of Louis the Thirteenth...and I think I see spread out before me
a green hillside turning yellow in the sunset;

then a chateau of brick with stone corners,
its windows tinted with reddish colors,
with a belt of grand parks around it, with a river
bathing its feet, that flows among the flowers.

Then a lady, at her high window,
blond with black eyes, in her old-fashioned clothes,
who in another life, perhaps,
I have already seen...and whom I remember!

        --Gérard de Nerval (1808-1855)

Il est un air pour qui je donnerais
Tout Rossini, tout Mozart et tout Weber,
Un air très vieux, languissant et funèbre,
Qui pour moi seul a des charmes secrets.

Or, chaque fois que je viens à l'entendre,
De deux cents ans mon âme rajeunit:
C'est sous Louis-Treize... -et je crois voir s'étendre
Un coteau vert que le couchant jaunit;

Puis un château de brique à coins de pierre,
Aux vitraux teints de rougeâtres couleurs,
Ceint de grands parcs, avec une rivière
Baignant ses pieds, qui coule entre des fleurs.

Puis une dame, à sa haute fenêtre,
Blonde aux yeux noirs, en ses habits anciens...
Que, dans une autre existence, peut-être,
J'ai déjà vue -et dont je me souviens!