Jacque Brel - Chez ces gens la | جاك بريل - هؤلاء الناس

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  • เผยแพร่เมื่อ 28 ส.ค. 2024
  • Live - Olympia (1966)
    Song Written By - Jacques Brel
    With François Rauber and his Orchestra
    Piano - Gérard Jouannest
    "Ces gens-là" is a French song by the late Belgian singer Jacques Brel, published in 1966 by the Éditions Pouchenel of Brussels, about the despair of a hopeless love. The title, meaning "those people", or, "those folks", has also been translated as "that lot there".
    In it the narrator is talking to a third party (a certain "Monsieur" (Sir, or Mister)), where he describes the different members of a given family in a very harsh manner, as in gossip; a family whose existence is particularly mediocre and desperate. He criticizes in particular their immobility.
    The list ends with the daughter, the beautiful Frida whom he loves passionately, and whose love is reciprocal, but whose family does not allow the marriage, believing that the suitor is not worthy, which perhaps explains why he hates them so much. In addition: "But let me tell you, Mister, that in that family, you don't leave, Mister, you don't leave."
    - Lyrics in English - Those People
    First, first, there's the eldest
    He, who's as big as a melon
    He, who has a big nose
    He, who doesn't know his name anymore
    Mister, since he drinks so much
    He drank so much
    That he can't two anything with his ten fingers
    But he, who can't take it anymore
    He, who's completely drunk
    And who thinks he's the king
    Who gets drunk every night
    On bad wine
    But who we find, in the morning,
    Sleeping in the church
    As stiff as a gargoyle
    As white as an Easter candle
    And who's babbling
    And whose eyes are rambling
    I must say, Mister
    That those people
    Don't think, Mister
    They don't think, they pray
    And then, there's the other one
    With carrots in his hair
    Who doesn't know what a comb is
    Who's as mean as a tinea
    So mean, he'd even give the shirt off his back
    To poor happy people
    Who married this Denise
    A girl from the town
    I mean, from another town
    And, that's not all
    Who goes about his things
    With his little hat
    With his little coat
    With his little car
    Who'd like to like one,
    But who doesn't look like one at all
    You can't pretend to be rich
    When you're penniless
    I must say, Mister
    That those people
    Don't live, Mister
    They don't live, they cheat
    And then, there are the other ones
    The mother who doesn't say anything
    Or says complete nonsense
    From dusk until dawn
    From under her nice apostle face
    And in her wooden frame
    There's the moustache of the father
    Who died by slipping on the floor
    And who's watching his herd
    Eating cold soup
    And they make big 'flchss'
    And they make big 'flchss'
    And then there's the very old one
    Who won't stop vibrating
    And everyone's waiting for her to die
    'Cause she's the one who's got the money
    And no one ever listens
    What her poor hands are saying
    I must say, Mister
    That those people
    Don't talk, Mister
    They don't talk, they count
    And then, and then
    And then there's this Frida
    Who's as beautiful as a sun
    And who loves me as much
    As I love Frida
    We even tell each other quite often
    That we'll own a house
    With plenty of windows
    With almost no walls
    And that we'll live inside
    And that it'll feel good to be there
    And that even though it's not sure,
    It's still a 'maybe'
    Because the others don't want to
    Because the others don't want to
    The others say, just like that
    That she's too beautiful for me
    That I'm barely good enough
    To slit a cat's throat
    I never killed any cat
    Or at least, not recently
    Or it's possible I've forgotten
    Or maybe they didn't smell good
    Well, they don't want to
    Sometimes, when we see each other
    Pretending that it's just a coincidence
    With her wet eyes
    She says that she'll leave
    She says that she'll follow me
    And so for a moment
    Only for a moment
    Well, I believe her, Mister
    For a moment
    Only for a moment
    Because those people
    Mister, they don't leave
    They don't leave, Mister
    They don't leave
    But it's getting late, Mister
    I must get back home

ความคิดเห็น • 16

  • @guruism
    @guruism ปีที่แล้ว +2

    فاق الفن و الإبداع بجميع المعاني .. جاك فيلسوف المغنين RIP

  • @user-go6iv5rv1g
    @user-go6iv5rv1g 11 หลายเดือนก่อน

    قمة الابداع

  • @ahmadjayay7957
    @ahmadjayay7957 ปีที่แล้ว

    Merci beaucoup

  • @user-os5zu4ks6c
    @user-os5zu4ks6c 5 หลายเดือนก่อน

    Jais connu ces gens la je vous le jure

  • @Jjk_u
    @Jjk_u ปีที่แล้ว

    اوه يالفن يالابداع!!

  • @zaidshah5659
    @zaidshah5659 5 ปีที่แล้ว +2

    copains c`est fantastiqe............impressionnant ...............je vous remercie

  • @temoignagelanalyse7398
    @temoignagelanalyse7398 4 ปีที่แล้ว +3

    ظاهرة لن تتكرر في الغناء

  • @supermad31
    @supermad31 2 ปีที่แล้ว +1

    هذا اسمه فن

  • @mostafarainarai1941
    @mostafarainarai1941 4 ปีที่แล้ว +1

    Les grands sentiments de jacques brel ça.nous a fait pas peur

  • @ArtsKris
    @ArtsKris 5 ปีที่แล้ว +2

    Great....Creation...Thank you dear Ahmad.

  • @onassissonassiss1761
    @onassissonassiss1761 2 ปีที่แล้ว +1

    Bravo pour la traduction certainement un marocain

  • @MYNAMEISIQ
    @MYNAMEISIQ 2 ปีที่แล้ว

    شكرا ع الترجمة

  • @agadiragfir779
    @agadiragfir779 5 ปีที่แล้ว

    Tarjama lkhate daaife jiddane

    • @afelyan
      @afelyan  4 ปีที่แล้ว

      الترجمه سليمه جدا ولكن الفرق بين حرفى ال ( ي وال ى ) لم يكن دقيقا بسبب برنامج الترجمه وهو امر شائع ببرامج الترجمه ونرجو المعذره وتفهم ذلك

  • @mola5asatmobarayat
    @mola5asatmobarayat ปีที่แล้ว

    J'ai jamais tué de chats?