{"id":1505,"date":"2010-09-03T19:35:32","date_gmt":"2010-09-03T19:35:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/french\/?p=1505"},"modified":"2011-05-29T16:50:44","modified_gmt":"2011-05-29T20:50:44","slug":"la-boheme-charles-aznavour","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/french\/la-boheme-charles-aznavour\/","title":{"rendered":"La Boh\u00e8me (Charles Aznavour)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Pour donner enfin satisfaction \u00e0 mes amis arm\u00e9niens <\/em>(To give at last satisfaction to my Armenian friends), today’s DMCV<\/em> post is dedicated to the most French of all contemporary Armenians, l’artiste qui de nos jours se passe de toute pr\u00e9sentation <\/em>(the artist who nowadays doesn’t preclude any introduction.) It’s Charles Aznavour<\/strong>, the voice behind the illustrious\u00a0 “La Boh\u00e8me<\/strong>.<\/em>”<\/p>\n

Sans plus de d\u00e9lai <\/em>(wihtout further delay), voici la Boh\u00e8me !<\/em><\/p>\n

http:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=5H-y-hmAiA8<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Je vous parle d’un temps
\nQue les moins de vingt ans ne peuvent pas connaitre
\nMontmartre en ce temps-l\u00e0 accrochait ses lilas
\nJusque sous nos fen\u00eatres, et si l’humble garni
\nQui nous servait de nid ne payait pas de mine
\nC’est l\u00e0 qu’on s’est connus
\nMoi qui criait famine, et toi qui posais nue<\/strong><\/em>La boh\u00e8me, la boh\u00e8me. <\/strong>\u00c7<\/strong><\/em>a voulait dire on est heureux
\nLa boh\u00e8me, la boh\u00e8me. Nous ne mangions qu’un jour sur deux<\/strong><\/em> <\/p>\n

Dans les caf\u00e9s voisins
\nNous \u00e9tions quelques-uns
\nQui attendions la gloire et bien que mis\u00e9reux
\nAvec le ventre creux
\nNous ne cessions d’y croire et quand quelque bistro
\nContre un bon repas chaud
\nNous prenait une toile, nous recitions des vers
\nGroup\u00e9s autour du po\u00eale en oubliant l’hiver<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

La boh\u00e8me, la boh\u00e8me. <\/strong><\/em>\u00c7<\/strong><\/em>a voulait dire tu es jolie
\nLa boh\u00e8me, la boh\u00eame, et nous avions tous du g\u00e9nie<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Souvent il m’arrivait
\nDevant mon chevalet
\nDe passer des nuits blanches
\nRetouchant le dessin
\nDe la ligne d’un sein
\nDu galbe d’une hanche, et ce n’est qu’au matin
\nQu’on s’asseyait enfin
\nDevant un caf\u00e9-cr\u00e8me
\nEpuis\u00e9s mais ravis
\nFallait-il que l’on s’aime et qu’on aime la vie
\n<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

La boh\u00e8me, la boh\u00e8me. <\/strong><\/em>\u00c7<\/strong><\/em>a voulait dire on a vingt ans
\nLa boh\u00e8me, la boh\u00e8me, et nous vivions de l’air du temps<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Quand au hasard des jours
\nJe m’en vais faire un tour
\nA mon ancienne adresse
\nJe ne reconnais plus
\nNi les murs, ni les rues
\nQui ont vu ma jeunesse
\nEn haut d’un escalier
\nJe cherche l’atelier
\nDont plus rien ne subsiste
\nDans son nouveau decor
\nMontmartre semble triste, et les lilas sont morts<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

La boh\u00e8me, la boh\u00e8me, on \u00e9tait jeunes, on \u00e9tait fous
\nLa boh\u00e8me, la boh\u00e8me. <\/strong><\/em>\u00c7<\/strong><\/em>a ne veut plus rien dire du tout<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

I tell you about a time
\nThat the less than 20 years old can’t know [The “Baby Boomers”, back then]
\nMontmartre hung its lilacs at that timeAll the way unto our windows, and even if our humbly furnished place
\nthat we used as a nest [as in “lovenest”] wasn’t much to look at
\nIt was there where we met
\nI, who screamed hunger, and you who posed nude
\nLa boheme, la boheme. It meant that we’re happy
\nLa boheme, la boheme. We ate only once every two days <\/p>\n

In the neighbouring caf\u00e9s
\nWe were a few
\nWho awaited for glory, notwithstanding misery
\nWith empty stomacs
\nWe kept our hopes up, and when some pub
\nIn exchange for a warm meal
\nTook a painting from us, we recited verses
\nGathered around the stove, forgetting about the winter<\/p>\n

La boheme, la boheme. It meant you are pretty
\nLa boheme, la boheme, and we’ve all got genius in us<\/p>\n

It often happened to me
\nFacing my easel
\nTo pull one-nighters
\nRetouching the drawing
\nOf the line of a breast
\nOf the curve of a hip, and it’s only in the morning
\nThat we at last sat down
\nWith a cafe-creme
\nExhausted but delighted<\/p>\n

Were we to love each other, and to love life<\/p>\n

La boheme, la boheme. It meant we are twenty years old
\nLa boheme, la boheme, and we lived of the spirit of the time<\/p>\n

When at some random day
\nI go for a walk
\nTo my old address
\nI no longer recognize
\nneither the walls, nor the streets
\nWhich saw my youth
\nUp some stairs
\nI look for the art studio
\nOf which nothing remains
\nIn its new decor
\nMontmartre looks sad, and the lilacs are dead<\/p>\n

La boheme, la boheme, we were young, we were crazy
\nLa boheme, la boheme. It doesn’t mean anything no more<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Pour donner enfin satisfaction \u00e0 mes amis arm\u00e9niens (To give at last satisfaction to my Armenian friends), today’s DMCV post is dedicated to the most French of all contemporary Armenians, l’artiste qui de nos jours se passe de toute pr\u00e9sentation (the artist who nowadays doesn’t preclude any introduction.) It’s Charles Aznavour, the voice behind the…<\/p>\n

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