Prévert: Remember Barbara

Remember Barbara
It was raining nonstop in Brest that day
and you walked smiling
artless delighted dripping wet
in the rain
Remember Barbara
It was raining nonstop in Brest
and I saw you on rue de Siam
You were smiling
and I smiled too
Remember Barbara
You whom I did not know
You who did not know me
Remember
Remember that day all the same
Don't forget
A man was sheltering under a porch
and he called your name
Barbara
and you ran toward him in the rain
Dripping water delighted artless
and you threw yourself in his arms
Remember that Barbara
and don't be angry if I talk to you
I talk to all those I love
even if I've seen them only once
I talk to all those who love
even if I don't know them
Remember Barbara
Don't forget
that wise happy rain
on  your happy face
in that happy town
That rain on the sea
on the arsenal
on the boat from Ouessant
Oh Barbara
What an idiot war
What has happened to you now
In this rain of iron
of fire of steel of blood
and the one who held you tight in his arms
lovingly
is he dead vanished or maybe still alive
Oh Barbara
It is raining nonstop in Brest
as it rained before
But it's not the same and everything is ruined
It's a rain of mourning terrible and desolate
It's not even a storm any more
of iron of steel of blood
Just simply clouds
that die like dogs
Dogs that disappear
along the water in Brest
and are going to rot far away
far far away from Brest
where there is nothing left.

         --Jacques Prévert (1900-1977). The Breton city of Brest, France, where the poet saw Barbara, was the main German submarine base for the Atlantic during World War II. Brest was totally destroyed by bombing raids by the end of the war. Only three buildings were left standing.

Rappelle-toi Barbara
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là
Et tu marchais souriante
Epanouie ravie ruisselante
Sous la pluie
Rappelle-toi Barbara
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest
Et je t'ai croisée rue de Siam
Tu souriais
Et moi je souriais de même
Rappelle-toi Barbara
Toi que je ne connaissais pas
Toi qui ne me connaissais pas
Rappelle-toi
Rappelle-toi quand meme ce jour-là
N'oublie pas
Un homme sous un porche s'abritait
Et il a crié ton nom
Barbara
Et tu as couru vers lui sous la pluie
Ruisselante ravie épanouie
Et tu t'es jetée dans ses bras
Rappelle-toi cela Barbara
Et ne m'en veux pas si je te tutoie
Je dis tu à tous ceux que j'aime
Meme si je ne les ai vus qu'une seule fois
Je dis tu à tous ceux qui s'aiment
Même si je ne les connais pas
Rappelle-toi Barbara
N'oublie pas
Cette pluie sage et heureuse
Sur ton visage heureux
Sur cette ville heureuse
Cette pluie sur la mer
Sur l'arsénal
Sur le bateau d'Ouessant
Oh Barbara
Quelle connerie la guerre
Qu'es-tu devenue maintenant
Sous cette pluie de fer
De feu d'acier de sang
Et celui qui te serrait dans ses bras
Amoureusement
Est-il mort disparu ou bien encore vivant
Oh Barbara
Il pleut sans cesse sur Brest
Comme il pleuvait avant
Mais ce n'est plus pareil et tout est abimé
C'est une pluie de deuil terrible et desolée
Ce n'est même plus l'orage
De fer d'acier de sang
Tout simplement des nuages
Qui crèvent comme des chiens
Des chiens qui disparaissent
Au fil de l'eau sur Brest
Et vont pourrir au loin
Au loin très loin de Brest
Dont il ne reste rien.

Comments

[Christine]

"epanouie ravie ruisselante"
he's describing the rain delightfully trickling off the overhangs (over storefronts on the street) then later "Ruisselante ravie epanouie" as a delayed played on words.
but i could be very wrong.

[Sedulia]

Hi Christine,

Since "epanouie" and "ravie" do not refer to the eaves, I believe "ruisselante" also refers to Barbara herself. When you run in the rain you do tend to get wet.

But my translation is not the law!

Sedulia

[Alan Price]

Thank you for your beautiful translation of Prevert's Barbara. I'm sitting in my room,
reading the words and listening to the lovely
arrangement sung by Yves Montand. So haunting about time and the fleeting moment.
Perhaps I may share with you a recent poem
of mine that touches on this. My gift for your gift of a translation.

PRETENCE OF A WAITRESS

Thick black hair. Sheen pitched
to raven feather. More sensually
caught in early morning.

Sleep hiding in a young woman’s
eye. Rubbing her tiredness
with sunburnt knuckle of hand.

Pensive. Stretching, yawning
at the long, hot work day ahead.
Grey green her cautious eyes.

Jeans for thin, kept busy, legs.
Half unbuttoned white shirt
shielding her small breasts.

Precise, yet luminous body.
Such skin to be overwhelming.
A woman clearing the tables.

Distracted by children, she spilt
my breakfast coffee. Bread
and omelette fell into the sand.

She stooped down. Amended
her story. Pretence of a waitress.
by the harbour at Corfu.

Ferry boat filling up. Sipping
a re-fill of bitter coffee.
I left her small change.

At my death, she might wait
for the end of her work shift.
Be touched on the shoulder.

Restored. One of the many,
hard won, gifts before the island
brings darkness or light.

Alan Price 2010

[Sedulia]

Dear Alan,

(Are you the musician Alan Price?) Thank you very much for the beautiful poem. I can translate correctly only into my native language, English-- few responsible translators will do otherwise. Maybe a French person who reads this will translate Alan's poem?

Sedulia

[alan price]

Dear Sedulia,

Not Alan Price the musician.
But another Alan Price. Thanks for your
response to the poem.
Recently saw the the new film on
Serge Gainsbourg. Very light, enjoyable
but didn't really dig beneath the surface of a fascinating man. Have you any translations
of his remarkable songs to offer?
Alan

[Barry Breen]

I love your translation. I've written a translation of this song myself and about the only differences from yours are: I had "radiant" for epanouie, I said "sorry if I speak informally" ,to get around the tu idea and, at the end, I think "of which now nothing remains" is stronger and more what Prevert said. He was saying 'there is nothing left OF Brest' not 'IN Brest".
You are quite right about translating only into your own language - I have seen on the net some terrible translations of French poetry, where the translator has gone for decidedly NON-English usage. Thanks for our translation - I'll put mine on my blog at www.poemanswers.info. Cheers.

[Sedulia]

Hi Barry! It's great for people reading poetry from a language they don't understand to have as many translations as possible. I wouldn't use the words you do, except "radiant" which is better than "delighted," and I don't like "of which." I try to make the poem sound like speech, as it is a song; I also try to match the length and stress of the original line; and I think "where there is nothing left" certainly means that Brest is completely destroyed; but these differences are exactly why lots of translations are better than one. Thanks for linking to yours!

[Barry Breen]

Dear Sedulia. Sorry, for some reason I have only just read your response to my post on the translation of "Barbara". I like your point about trying to match the length and stress of the original line - there are obviously so many more constraints in translating than the merely literal. Also that different translations can be enriching, as long as they are honest to the original. There are a few points I'd still argue with you but such a debate, desirable as it might be, is a bit beyond the scope of this space. Thanks for your response.

[Sylvie G. Lafeuille]

Hi Sedulia
I really love your translation !
It really respects the feelings expressed by Jacques PRÉVERT.
I really fine very intelligent the way you transformed "... si je te tutoies, je dis tu à ..."
Thank you very much
Amicalement, Sylvie (French)

[Sedulia]

Thank you Sylvie! Merci !

[Edouard]

If I can give a small contribution to your exchange, let me indicate that the french version you have mentionned just below your translation seems to be not the good one as in french it's start by "Souviens toi Barbara..." and not "Rappelle-toi Barbara...".

Friendly.

Edouard (French)

[Sedulia]

Merci Édouard !