L'etoile Absinthe

Sepulchritude Forum: The Absinthe Forum Archive Thru March 2002: Archive thru March 2002:L'etoile Absinthe
By Petermarc on Wednesday, March 06, 2002 - 10:11 am: Edit

fortunately, i don't have a french accent...

By Dehe on Wednesday, March 06, 2002 - 09:39 am: Edit

ahh so the accent makes all the difference...Thank you guys for all your help with this. I appreaciate it.

-Steve

By Wolfgang on Wednesday, March 06, 2002 - 09:29 am: Edit

"peter actually means fart in french"

Well, there's a difference...

Peter is the name
péter is the fart...

By Wolfgang on Wednesday, March 06, 2002 - 09:26 am: Edit

That's it, the sidewalks ooze of all they have in their arteries,
All the mud they gathered during the winter
That's it the sidewalks sweat all that men confer to them,
what their polluted mouth spit to the earth
That's it they clear all the deposits of what grumbles
they fill with fragrance, they exult and fill the air
that's it, the time have come
The sky darkens and never liee,
the sky reddens as never previously,
it inflates himself and promise big changes.
It's gonna blow, my son !

That's it, hundreds of hands stretch themselves and proliferate
these thousand cries are the forgetfulnesses of those who manage
That's it the hands close themselves, these are fists that we observes
these thousands of souls are the forgetfulnesses that shout
That's it they harangue, they remember their language
and all unite, this nation denounces his hell
that's it, the time have come
The sky darkens and never liee,
the sky reddens as never previously,
it inflates himself and promise big changes.
It's gonna blow, my son !

That's it the night resound and on our heads, the sky thunder
the shutters slam and air sweep the streets
That's it the panes break and the storm thunder on the places
the streets flood and the storm sheds it's light
That's it this is the awakening, this is the call of those who watch
but in the rain bathed streets ,nobody wander
that's it, the time have come
The sky darkens and never liee,
the sky reddens as never previously,
it inflates himself and promise big changes.
It's gonna blow, my son !

Then it was a dream, a chimera wake up,
a beautiful storm like summer knows to do so well
them then this is all gone, some passerby mind their own business
little concerned by these stretched hands clouded in air
then some sidewalks laugh, receiving this history ***
the sky offering the rain as the end of this ordeal
Nevertheless, it would be the time...
The sky darkens and never liee,
the sky reddens as never previously,
it inflates himself and promise big changes.
It's gonna blow, my son !


*** note : impossible to translate properly...
"alors quelques trottoirs rigolent, recevant cette histoire "
"rigole" have two meanings in french: laugh and stream (as in water streming down in a gully)
Jarry is obviously playing words here.

By Dehe on Wednesday, March 06, 2002 - 09:19 am: Edit

Thanks wolfgang...so wait petermarc...peter actually means fart in french?? shit thats funny:)
Yeah lint I've tried that translator before and it never seems to make much sense, thanks though.If any of you want the song ive got it just email me at dehe83@email.com. Its by Noir Desire+Tetes Raides.
Thanks again all,
Steve

By Wolfgang on Wednesday, March 06, 2002 - 08:56 am: Edit

You'r funny Peter ;-)

It means something like "it's gonna blow, my son!" or something along those lines.


We better not try to go too deep in Jarry's mind while reading his texts, he was quite a weird fellow...

In short, in this poem he talk about the Spring rain washing away the dirty street. He also makes a parallel with a revolution to come or that should come...

I'm working on it, it won't be an artistic translation but at least you should have an idea about what he's talking about...

By Lint on Wednesday, March 06, 2002 - 08:24 am: Edit

Heres what one translator says:

that is there the sidewalks ooze all that they have in their arteries, the whole fange that they have won during the winter that is there the sidewalks sweat all that the man confer for them, this that his too polluted mouth spit for him to earth that is there they clear all the deposits of what grumbles they fill with fragrance, they exult and fill the air that is there, itDarkens and never does not lie, the sky reddens as never previously, it inflates himself and promise big changes.

That will burst, the children. that is there the hands stretch themselves a hundreds and proliferate these thousand cries are the forgetfulnesses of those that manage that is there the hands close themselves, this are fists that one observes these thousands of souls are the forgetfulnesses that shout that is there they harangue, they remember of their language and all unite, this people denounces his hell that is there, it is at lastDarkens and never does not lie, the sky reddens as never previously, it inflates himself and promise big changes. That will burst, the children.

that is there the night resound and on our heads, the sky thunder the shutters slam and the streets sweep themselves air that is there the panes break and the storm thunder on the places the streets flood themselves and the storm sheds his light that is there this is the awakening, this is the call of those that watch but in the bathed streets of rain, person not eraSky darkens and never does not lie, the sky reddens as never previously, it inflates himself and promise big changes. That will burst, the children. Then it was a dream, a chimère relief, a beautiful storm as the summer knows so to well do them then this is the intermission, some passes stop to try for them being concerned little of stretched hands that obliterate the air then some sidewalks laugh, receiving this history the sky offering the rain as end ordeal Nevertheless, it would be big time...

The sky darkens and never does not lie, the sky reddens as never previously, it inflates himself and promise big changes. That must burst, the children.

By Petermarc on Wednesday, March 06, 2002 - 07:53 am: Edit

>ça va péter, les enfants.
>ça doit péter, les enfants.

'it goes fart, the children'

'it must fart, the children'...
the most complete ending to any poem, ever...

By Dehe on Wednesday, March 06, 2002 - 07:36 am: Edit

Ça y est les trottoirs suintent tout ce qu'ils ont en leurs artères,
toute la fange qu'ils ont gagné pendant l'hiver
Ça y est les trottoirs suent tout ce que l'homme leur confère,
ce que sa bouche trop polluée lui crache à terre
Ça y est ils dégorgent tout les dépôts de ce qui grogne
ils embaument, ils exultent et emplissent l'air
Ça y est, il est enfin temps,
le ciel noircit et jamais ne ment,
le ciel rougit comme jamais auparavant,
il se gonfle et promets de grands changements.
ça va péter, les enfants.

Ça y est les mains se tendent par centaines et prolifèrent
ces mille cris sont les oublis de ceux qui gèrent
Ça y est les mains se ferment, ce sont des poings que l'on observe
ces milliers d'âmes sont les oublis qui vocifèrent
Ça y est ils haranguent, ils se souviennent de leur langue
et tous unis, ce peuple dénonce son enfer
Ça y est, il est enfin temps,
le ciel noircit et jamais ne ment,
le ciel rougit comme jamais auparavant,
il se gonfle et promets de grands changements.
ça va péter, les enfants.

Ça y est la nuit résonne et sur nos têtes, le ciel tonne
les volets claquent et les rues se balayent d'air
ça y est les vitres cassent et l'orage tonne sur les places
les rues s'inondent et l'orage répand sa lumière
ça y est c'est le réveil, c'est l'appel de ceux qui veillent
mais dans les rues baignées de pluie, personne n'ère
Ça y est, il est enfin temps,
le ciel noircit et jamais ne ment,
le ciel rougit comme jamais auparavant,
il se gonfle et promets de grands changements.
ça va péter, les enfants.

Alors c'était un rêve, une chimère de relève,
un bel orage comme l'été sait si bien les faire
alors c'est la relâche, quelques passants vaquent à leur tâche
se souciant peu des mains tendues qu'efface l'air
alors quelques trottoirs rigolent, recevant cette histoire
le ciel offrant la pluie comme fin de calvaire
Pourtant, il serait grand temps...
le ciel noircit et jamais ne ment,
le ciel rougit comme jamais auparavant,
il se gonfle et promets de grands changements.
ça doit péter, les enfants.
There you go
-Steve

By Wolfgang on Wednesday, March 06, 2002 - 06:03 am: Edit

Post it, someone will translate it for sure.

By Dehe on Tuesday, March 05, 2002 - 07:08 pm: Edit

L'etoile Absinthe is a poem by Alfred Jarry. I just got a file of it put to music (fucking awesome).I was wondering if any of you french speakers would be able to translate the words to it for me. I'd be most appreaciative.

-Steve

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