As the month of March draws to a close, I am reminded of the beautiful Brazilian\u00a0song “\u00c1guas de Mar\u00e7o” (in English: “The Waters of March”), written and recorded\u00a0by\u00a0Ant\u00f4nio Carlos Jobim in 1973. The song is about Brazil’s rainiest month and each, disparate image in the song revolves around the central metaphor of the end of summer in the Southern hemisphere and the march toward winter.<\/p>\n
You might be asking: But isn’t this a French blog, not a Brazilian Portuguese blog?<\/p>\n
Well, yes. Today we will be going over Stacey Kent’s cover of this iconic song, “Les Eaux de Mars,” from her wonderful album Raconte-moi…<\/em><\/p>\n Stacey Kent is an American jazz singer, whose Russian father lived in Paris and who taught her a love of the French language as a young girl. In an interview with NPR, Kent stated, “My grandfather was a Russian immigrant who lived in Europe, in France, for many years before he eventually came to the United States. And he never really felt quite settled in the USA and he didn’t feel Russian. He really felt himself a Frenchman. And what started as a selfish motivation, which really was to share his love of French poetry and French culture with me, really turned out to be a huge gift.” Kent remembers her grandfather reading Charles Baudelaire’s “Beau de l’aire” to her when she was a young girl.<\/p>\n Raconte-moi…<\/em> is a beautiful Francophone album, composed of Kent’s own songs, as well as French covers of iconic songs. Kent’s own family history, and the many cultures that have influenced her life, make this album a perfect showcase of her love of the French language and the diversity of French culture. I highly recommend listening to the whole album (plus, Kent’s pronunciation is spot-on and very helpful for students who are learning French phonetics!).<\/p>\n Here are the lyrics to “Les Eaux de Mars”:<\/p>\n Un pas, une pierre, un chemin qui chemine<\/em> “The Waters of March”:<\/p>\n A stick, a stone, it’s the end of the road The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush It’s the wind blowing free, it’s the end of the slope The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone The bed of the well, the end of the line A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light The plan of the house, the body in bed And the river bank talks of the waters of March A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule And the river bank talks of the waters of March A stick, a stone, the end of the road And the river bank talks of the waters of March **Notice that the translation is not always literal, but that it manages to keep most of the rhyme scheme intact.**<\/p>\n And I can’t resist sharing another version of this wonderful song: Here is a covers sung by the\u00a0iconic French singer Georges Moustaki, who passed away in 2013:<\/p>\n
\nUn reste de racine, c’est un peu solitaire<\/em>
\nC’est un \u00e9clat de verre, c’est la vie, le soleil<\/em>
\nC’est la mort, le sommeil, c’est un pi\u00e8ge entrouvert<\/em>
\nUn arbre millnaire, un nud dans le bois<\/em>
\nC’est un chien qui aboie, c’est un oiseau dans l’air<\/em>
\nC’est un tronc qui pourrit, c’est la neige qui fond<\/em>
\nLe myst\u00e8re profond, la promesse de vie<\/em>
\nC’est le souffle du vent au sommet des collines<\/em>
\nC’est une vieille ruine, le vide, le nant<\/em>
\nC’est la pie qui jacasse, c’est l’averse qui verse<\/em>
\nDes torrents d’allgresse, ce sont les eaux de Mars<\/em>
\nC’est le pied qui avance pas sur, pas lent<\/em>
\nC’est la main qui se tend, c’est la pierre qu’on lance<\/em>
\nC’est un trou dans la terre, un chemin qui chemine<\/em>
\nUn reste de racine, c’est un peu solitaire<\/em>
\nC’est un oiseau dans l’air, un oiseau qui se pose<\/em>
\nLe jardin qu’on arrose, une source d’eau claire<\/em>
\nUne charde, un clou, c’est la fi\u00e8vre qui monte<\/em>
\nC’est un compte bon compte, c’est un peu rien du tout<\/em>
\nUn poisson, un geste, c’est comme du vif argent<\/em>
\nC’est tout ce qu’on attend, c’est tout ce qui nous reste<\/em>
\nC’est du bois, c’est un jour le bout du quai<\/em>
\nUn alcool trafique, le chemin le plus court<\/em>
\nC’est le cri d’un hibou, un corps ensommeill<\/em>
\nLa voiture rouille, c’est la boue, c’est la boue<\/em>
\nUn pas, un pont, un crapaud qui croasse<\/em>
\nC’est un chaland qui passe, c’est un bel horizon<\/em>
\nC’est la saison des pluies, c’est la fonte des glaces<\/em>
\nCe sont les eaux de Mars, la promesse de vie<\/em>
\nUne pierre, un baton, c’est Joseph et c’est Jacques<\/em>
\nUn serpent qui attaque, une entaille au talon<\/em>
\nUn pas, une pierre, un chemin qui chemine<\/em>
\nUn reste de racine, c’est un peu solitaire<\/em>
\nUn pas, une bousse, une tache, un coup, un geste, une aiguille, une<\/em>
\nC’est l’hiver qui s’efface, la fin d’une saison<\/em>
\nC’est la neige qui fond, ce sont les eaux de Mars<\/em>
\nLa promesse de vie, le myst\u00e8re profond<\/em>
\nCe sont les eaux de Mars dans ton cur tout au fond<\/em>
\nUn pas, une pierre, un chemin qui chemine<\/em>
\nUn reste de racine, c’est un peu solitaire<\/em>
\nC’est l’hiver qui s’efface, la fin d’une saison<\/em>
\nC’est la neige qui fond, ce sont les eaux de Mars<\/em>
\nLa promesse de vie, le myst\u00e8re profond<\/em><\/p>\n
\nIt’s the rest of a stump, it’s a little alone
\nIt’s a sliver of glass, it is life, it’s the sun
\nIt is night, it is death, it’s a trap, it’s a gun<\/p>\n
\nThe knot in the wood, the song of a thrush
\nThe will of the wind, a cliff, a fall
\nA scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all<\/p>\n
\nIt’s a beam, it’s a void, it’s a hunch, it’s a hope
\nAnd the river bank talks of the waters of March
\nIt’s the end of the strain, it’s the joy in your heart<\/p>\n
\nThe beat of the road, a slingshot’s stone
\nA fish, a flash, a silvery glow
\nA fight, a bet, the range of a bow<\/p>\n
\nThe dismay in the face, it’s a loss, it’s a find
\nA spear, a spike, a point, a nail
\nA drip, a drop, the end of the tale<\/p>\n
\nThe sound of a shot in the dead of the night
\nA mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
\nIt’s a girl, it’s a rhyme, it’s a cold, it’s the mumps<\/p>\n
\nAnd the car that got stuck, it’s the mud, it’s the mud
\nA float, a drift, a flight, a wing
\nA hawk, a quail, the promise of spring<\/p>\n
\nIt’s the promise of life, it’s the joy in your heart<\/p>\n
\nIt’s a thorn on your hand and a cut in your toe
\nA point, a grain, a bee, a bite
\nA blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night<\/p>\n
\nIn the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue<\/p>\n
\nIt’s the promise of life in your heart, in your heart<\/p>\n
\nThe rest of a stump, a lonesome road
\nA sliver of glass, a life, the sun
\nA knife, a death, the end of the run<\/p>\n
\nIt’s the end of all strain, it’s the joy in your heart<\/p>\n