Louis and Elsa
“Ce qu’il faut de sanglots pour un air de guitare/ How many tears for an tune on the guitar”
Louis Aragon was born in Paris after his teenage mother had a liaison with a senator and Prefect of Police in Paris, a man 32 years older than her, in 1897.
Elsa Triolet (née Illa Kagan) was born in Moscow in 1896 in a rich Jewish family.
Aragon thought his mother was his older sister until he became an adult. His famous father always refused to recognise his paternity, although he agreed to be his godfather. This might be the reason why his unacknowledged son developed his rebellious disposition, was given to melancholia, joining the Communist party and always ready to defend the underdog. He was one of he founder member of the Surrealist movement. He fought in the first world war and received decorations for bravery, something he was to display in all the facets of his life.
During the second world war he briefly saw action, and again he was decorated, this time with the prestigious Croix de Guerre, for rescuing a number of his wounded comrades. When the French army was overwhelmed, he joined the resistance movement, using his literary skill to write and distribute stirring pamphlets which nurtured enthusiasm and bravery for the cause.
Elsa studied architecture, although she would find out later that her talent for literature was much greater. She had a brief affair with the Vladimir Mayakovsky, the poet of the Soviet revolution, but when she introduced him to his sister Lilya, a coup de foudre between the poet and her was sparked (which would last until his suicide). Illa, now Elsa, emigrated to Paris and was briefly married to a French cavalry officer André Triolet. They travelled considerably together, and later divorced.
Soon after Louis and Elsa met, and another coup fe foudre resounded. They would stay together and get married for forty-two years, living their last years together in an old windmill. She was his muse, and he would write hundreds of poems for her. Theirs was an intense a love, and it would define them. Whilst together, neither would look at another man or woman. Which was quite strange in a way, as Aragon had been in a homosexual relationship in his youth. In Paris Elsa was able to devote herself to her own writing, and was the first woman to win the Prix Goncourt .
Elsa died in 1970, and Aragon lived for another twelve years, during which time he never had a single relationship with another woman.
Much of Aragon’s poetry has been avidly gobbled up by musicians and chansonniers and turned into songs or musical compositions. Jean Ferrat, Georges Brassens and Léo Ferrer are among the famous singers who have adapted and sung his poetry.
I have translated a number of the poets oeuvres, and include them here with the original versions:
To love until you lose your mind
With words to say it impossible to find
With only you as my horizon
Unable to recognise the season
Except by the pain of departure
Lost, mindless like one in rapture
You’re always the one getting hurt
Always your mirror that gets broken
You’re my happiness, my weakness
You’re the one insulted and forsaken
The flesh of your body martyred
To love until you lose your mind
With words to say it impossible to find
With only you as my horizon
Unable to recognise the season
Except by the pain of departure
Lost, mindless like one in rapture
It’s through the filter of our passion
That I feel hunger, cold or exhaustion
All the misery of our planet
If I have faith it’s through my love that I feel it
I bear my cross in her light
And on their nights rest my night
To love until you lose your mind
With words to say it impossible to find
With only you as my horizon
Unable to recognise the season
Except by the pain of departure
Lost, mindless like one in rapture
The original
Aimer à perdre la raison
Aimer à perdre la raison
Aimer à n’en savoir que dire
A n’avoir que toi d’horizon
Et ne connaître de saisons
Que par la douleur du partir
Aimer a perdre la raison
Ah c’est toujours toi que l’on blesse
C’est toujours ton miroir brisé
Mon pauvre bonheur, ma faiblesse
Toi qu’on insulte et qu’on délaisse
Dans toute chair martyrisée
Aimer à perdre la raison
Aimer a n’en savoir que dire
A n’avoir que toi d’horizon
Et ne connaître de saisons
Que par la douleur du partir
Aimer a perdre la raison
La faim, la fatigue et le froid
Toutes les misères du monde
C est par mon amour que j’y crois
En elle je porte ma croix
Et de leurs nuits ma nuit se fonde
Aimer à perdre la raison
Aimer a n’en savoir que dire
A n’avoir que toi d’horizon
Et ne connaître de saisons
Que par la douleur du partir
Aimer a perdre la raison
La faim, la fatigue et le froid
Toutes les misères du monde
C est par mon amour que j’y crois
En elle je porte ma croix
Et de leurs nuits ma nuit se fonde
Aimer à perdre la raison
Aimer a n’en savoir que dire
A n’avoir que toi d’horizon
Et ne connaître de saisons
Que par la douleur du partir
Aimer a perdre la raison .
We will sleep together
Be it Sunday
Or Monday
Noon or sunrise
In hell or paradise
Devotion is its own reflection
Let us forever share a bed
’Twas yesterday and it’s now tomorrow
You’re my only way ahead
My heart I’ve let you borrow
To keep in safety next to yours
For all the remaining hours
We will sleep together
Beloved, what has been will last forever
Heaven’s spread over us like a blanket
I’ll wrap your body in mine
Morning or sunset
Rain or shine
I love you so much I shiver
And for as long as you desire
We will sleep together
The original
Nous dormirons ensemble
Que ce soit dimanche ou lundi
Soir ou matin minuit midi
Dans l’enfer ou le paradis
Les amours aux amours ressemblent
C’était hier que je t’ai dit
Nous dormirons ensemble
C’était hier et c’est demain
Je n’ai plus que toi de chemin
J’ai mis mon coeur entre tes mains
Avec le tien comme il va l’amble
Tout ce qu’il a de temps humain
Nous dormirons ensemble
Mon amour ce qui fut sera
Le ciel est sur nous comme un drap
J’ai refermé sur toi mes bras
Et tant je t’aime que j’en tremble
Aussi longtemps que tu voudras
Nous dormirons ensemble
Love isn’t meant to be joyful
No power, ability, weakness or frailty
No heart or soul are given to man free
A cross, no their shadows pop up, his arms opened
And when he holds tight his bliss, he finds it flattened
His life is a divorce strange and painful
Love isn’t meant to be joyful
His life is like those soldiers with no weaponry
Who were fitted for another destiny
What’s the point of getting up at first light
Only to find them disarmed and listless at night
Say these words dear my life and don’t be tearful
Love isn’t meant to be joyful
My beautiful love, my dearest love.my hurt
I carry you in me like a wounded bird
And even those who know us not watch us leave
Repeating after me the words I weaved
And who died on the spot for your big eyes
Love isn’t meant to be joyful
By the time one has learnt to live, it’s far too late
How much sobbing can our two hearts tolerate
How many misfortunes o feed the smallest trill
How many regrets must be paid for a thrill
How many tears shed for an air on the guitar
Love isn’t meant to be joyful
There is no love if it’s not wrapped in pain
There is no love if there is no bruise or sprain
There is no love if it does not undermine you
Love of one’s country though less than mine for you
There is no love that needs not tears to grow
Love isn’t meant to be joyful
But what’s between us is love, I know
The original
Il n’y a pas d’amour heureux
Rien n’est jamais acquis à l’homme Ni sa force
Ni sa faiblesse ni son coeur Et quand il croit
Ouvrir ses bras son ombre est celle d’une croix
Et quand il croit serrer son bonheur il le broie
Sa vie est un étrange et douloureux divorce
Il n’y a pas d’amour heureux
Sa vie Elle ressemble à ces soldats sans armes
Qu’on avait habillés pour un autre destin
À quoi peut leur servir de se lever matin
Eux qu’on retrouve au soir désoeuvrés incertains
Dites ces mots Ma vie Et retenez vos larmes
Il n’y a pas d’amour heureux
Mon bel amour mon cher amour ma déchirure
Je te porte dans moi comme un oiseau blessé
Et ceux-là sans savoir nous regardent passer
Répétant après moi les mots que j’ai tressés
Et qui pour tes grands yeux tout aussitôt moururent
Il n’y a pas d’amour heureux
Le temps d’apprendre à vivre il est déjà trop tard
Que pleurent dans la nuit nos coeurs à l’unisson
Ce qu’il faut de malheur pour la moindre chanson
Ce qu’il faut de regrets pour payer un frisson
Ce qu’il faut de sanglots pour un air de guitare
Il n’y a pas d’amour heureux.
Il n’y a pas d’amour qui ne soit à douleur
Il n’y a pas d’amour dont on ne soit meurtri
Il n’y a pas d’amour dont on ne soit flétri
Et pas plus que de toi l’amour de la patrie
Il n’y a pas d’amour qui ne vive de pleurs
Il n’y a pas d’amour heureux
Mais c’est notre amour à tous les deux
