George Brassens ( 喬治·巴頌): Mourir pour des idées (Dying for Ideas)(為信念而死)

Georges Brassens (1921 –1981) was a very colorful French character from a small town Sète in southern France, near to Montpellier. He was a very poor student. He didn’t do at all well in his studies until he met his 9^th grade teacher, Alphonse Bonnafé, who noted his gift for creative writing and encouraged him to develop his talents and read more poetry

His family is the scene of constant conflict, with a very liberal and indulgent father and a very fervent and strict Catholic mother who loved to sing with his half sister. So from an early age, he learned a great deal about the joys of music and the little ironies of life. He later learned to play the guitar and the piano by himself and made a living by singing in cafés in one of which he met by accident a famous singer at the time, Patachou, who saw the quality of his songs, in which he set to music the poetry some famous and not so famous poets and transformed his life. He wrote, set to guitar music and sang more than 200 sons, based on his own poems as well as those from some from other poets like Louis Aragon’s Il n'y a pas d'amour heureux, Victor Hugo’s La Légende de la Nonne, Gastibelza), François Villon’s La Ballade des Dames du Temps Jadis and Antoine Pol’s Les Passantes. . The most popular of his songs are Les copains d'abord, Chanson pour l'Auvergnat, La mauvaise réputation, and Mourir pour des idées. His songs are a complex mix of music and poetry. His poetic songs are set out in 14 song albums he produced between 1952-1976. When he started writing songs, he took as his model the songs of Charles Trenet, Tino Rossi and Ray Ventura. His songs usually have very strong and bouncy rhythms and evident sense of the joys of a simple life, tinged with occasional black humor.

Before earning his living as a poetic song writer-singer, he had worked as a mason apprentice in his father’s workshop, following his expulsion from school for a theft offence and then as a car factory worker at Renault, Paris but shortly thereafter , WWII broke out and in 1943 and he was forced to work at a BMW aeroplane plant in Basdorf (near Berlin). He escaped and went back to Sète. He refused to work because he did not wish to benefit the Germans and spent his time at the local library and started carefully studying the works of such French poets as Victor Hugo, Villon, Baudelaire, Verlaine and then imitated

them until he found his own style and eventually became so good at it that he was awarded the Grand Prix de Poésie of the Académie française in 1967. 

 
But Brassens did not stay at Sète long because he felt that his future lay in Paris. So returned there. He lived in a working class district in a cul de sac of the 14^th arrondissement Paris which he called "Impasse Florimont," at a slum apartment with his aunt’s friend, a married woman called Jeanne Planches, someone who had crush on him and was the inspiration for his song Jeanne. He stayed in the same district for 22 years!

From an early age, he had music in his soul.  He was reported to have told his friend André Sève, "It’s a kind of internal vibration, something intense, a pleasure that has something of the sensual to it." He had wanted to learn music at a conservatory but his mother refused until his grades improved. So he never took any formal lessons in music.  For a short while after the war, he wanted to start an anarchist paper to be called Le Cri des Gueux (The villains' cry) but did not have money to do so but joined the Anarchist Federation and wrote some vitriolic prose for its paper, Le Libertaire. He wanted the French to return to a simpler and more modest life but his radical writing was not well received and he left. In an interview, he said, "I'm an anarchist, so much so that I always cross at the zebra crossing to avoid arguing with the police…I'm not very fond of the law. As Léataud would say, I could do without laws [...] I think most people couldn’t."

Mourir pour des idées Mourir pour des idées, l'idée est excellente Moi j'ai failli mourir de ne l'avoir pas eue Car tous ceux qui l'avaient, multitude accablante En hurlant à la mort me sont tombés dessus Ils ont su me convaincre et ma muse insolente Abjurant ses erreurs, se rallie à leur foi Avec un soupçon de réserve toutefois Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente, D'accord, mais de mort lente Jugeant qu'il n'y a pas péril en la demeure Allons vers l'autre monde en flânant en chemin Car, à forcer l'allure, il arrive qu'on meure Pour des idées n'ayant plus cours le lendemain Or, s'il est une chose amère, désolante En rendant l'âme à Dieu c'est bien de constater Qu'on a fait fausse route, qu'on s'est trompé d'idée Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente D'accord, mais de mort lente Les saint jean bouche d'or qui prêchent le martyre Le plus souvent, d'ailleurs, s'attardent ici-bas Mourir pour des idées, c'est le cas de le dire C'est leur raison de vivre, ils ne s'en privent pas Dans presque tous les camps on en voit qui supplantent Bientôt Mathusalem dans la longévité J'en conclus qu'ils doivent se dire, en aparté "Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente D'accord, mais de mort lente" Des idées réclamant le fameux sacrifice Les sectes de tout poil en offrent des séquelles Et la question se pose aux victimes novices Mourir pour des idées, c'est bien beau mais lesquelles ? Et comme toutes sont entre elles ressemblantes Quand il les voit venir, avec leur gros drapeaux Le sage, en hésitant, tourne autour du tombeau Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente D'accord, mais de mort lente Encore il suffisait de quelques hécatombes Pour qu'enfin tout changeât, qu'enfin tout s'arrangeât Depuis tant de "grands soirs" que tant de têtes tombent Au paradis sur terre on y serait déjà Mais l'âge d'or sans cesse est remis aux calendes Les dieux ont toujours soif, n'en ont jamais assez Et c'est la mort, la mort toujours recommencée Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente D'accord, mais de mort lente O vous, les boutefeux, ô vous les bons apôtres Mourez donc les premiers, nous vous cédons le pas Mais de grâce, morbleu! laissez vivre les autres! La vie est à peu près leur seul luxe ici bas Car, enfin, la Camarade est assez vigilante Elle n'a pas besoin qu'on lui tienne la faux Plus de danse macabre autour des échafauds! Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente D'accord, mais de mort lente

Dying for Ideas To die for ideas, excellent idea Me, I fail to die for not having had it Cause all those who had, the damning crowd Yelling at death are fallen under for me They knew how to convince me and my insolent muse Abjuring their errors, rally to their faith With however a suspicious reserve We for ideas, agreed, but death wait awhile Agreed, but of death wait awhile Judging that there’s no risk in staying there We go towards the other world lingering on the way As by forcing the allure, one may die for ideas haven’t got a lesson the day after But, if there’s a thing bitter, desolate, In returning the soul to God, it’s good to state That we had made a wrong turn, that our idea is wrong We die for ideas, agreed, but death wait awhile Agreed, but death wait awhile The St Johns who preach martyrdom with a mouth of gold Most often, besides, are delayed here below To die for ideas, is the case of saying it It’s their reason for living, they don’t deprive themselves of it In almost all areas that we see that supplant Rather early , Methusalah in his longevity I conclude from that that it must be said, in a different way “We die for ideas, agreed, but death wait awhile Agreed, but death wait awhile Ideas claim the famous sacrifice Sects of all kinds offer sequels The question is posed to the victimized novices Die for idea, it’s very beautiful but which? As all of them look like each other When they see it coming, with their huge flag The sage, hesitating, turn around from the tomb We die for ideas, agreed, but death wait awhile Agreed, but death wait awhile Again, it only needs a few massacres for everything to finally change , for everything to be straightened After so many “great nights” for so many heads to fall In this earthly paradise in which we would already be But the golden age is ceaselessly postponed in the calenders The gods are always thirsty, and can never have enough And it’s death, the death that’s always re-started We die for ideas, agreed, but death wait awhile Agreed, but death wait awhile O, you the firebrands, O you, the good apostles You die first, we give you right of way But freely, hell’s teeth! Let the others live! Their life is their almost their only luxury here below Because, the Comrade is quite vigilant She doesn’t need to be given what’s false More of the deathly danc around the scaffold We die for ideas, agreed, but death wait awhile Agreed, but death wait awhile

為信念而死 為信念而死，是一超好信念 我死不了因我不曾死 因所有死掉的，一群該死的 對我是在向死亡尖叫著地墮下的。 他們曉得怎樣說服與我的謬思 摒棄我們的謬誤，為他們的信念振臂 但我仍存一點可疑的保留 我們為信念而死，同意，但死慢一點 認定那地方沒危險 我們在途中仍拖拖拉拉地朝那世界走 因若我們強被其吸引，我們真的會死 因在後天信念不再有學習意義。 但若有一須說明的荒涼苦澀事情 那就是當我們把靈魂歸還天主時 我們走錯了路，我們的弄錯了信念 我們為信念而死，同意，但死慢一點 同意，但死慢一點。 那些以金口宣揚烈土的聖約翰們 不是最常見仍在這兒拖延 為那些信念而死，事實是說 這是他們生存的理由，他們不會自我剝奪它們。 在所有我們到看見它們取代的地方 所以我必得說出我的另類總結 我們為信念而死，同意，但死慢一點 同意，但死慢一點。 那些信念要求著名的犧牲 受害的新修土修女面對一問題 信念而死，是非常好，但是那種信念 當各種巨形旗幟出現時 智者察覺到它們都大同小異 遲疑地圍繞墳墓轉身 我們為信念而死，同意，但死慢一點 同意，但死慢一點。 再者，只須數個大屠殺 一切都會改變，一切秩序都會恢復 在這我們巳經歷了眾多這麼多人頭落地的 在這我們已到的地球樂園。 而死亡，不斷更新的死亡。 我們為信念而死，同意，但死慢一點 同意，但死慢一點。 噢你們，煽火者，噢你們，好的信徒 但望你們開恩，他媽的 生命差不多是他們在這下面唯一的奢侈 因同伴頗為警覺 她不需他人帶虛假給她 在斷頭台週圍不需更多死亡之舞 我們為信念而死，同意，但死慢一點 同意，但死慢一點。