Le Père Noël et la petite fille, incl.Leggenda di Natale; La canzone di Marinella; Bocca di Rosa
Georges BrassensBocca di Rosa - La versione inglese di Dennis Criteser [2014] Dal... | |
ROSEMOUTH They call'd her Rosemouth, She did put love, she did put love They call'd her Rosemouth, She did put love above all things. No sooner had she arrived To the station of Sant'Ilario When ev'rybody realized at first sight She was no missionary at all. Someone makes love out of boredom, Someone chooses it for one's job; Neither of the two things for Rosemouth: She made love out of passion. But, as you know, passion often leads To gratifying one's own lust Without enquiring if he, who's lusted after Is still free or a married man. So, hearken! With her deed and actions Did Rosemouth arouse day by day Grapes of wrath of the little puppies She kept on stealing their bones from. But the wives of a small village Aren't so cute, as you may suppose: Up to that time their only reaction Was hurling insults at Rosemouth. You know that people give good advice Feeling as Jesus Christ in the Temple, You know that people give good advice If they can't set a bad example. So, and old woman still unmarried, Without children, without any lust, Took the trouble, and, I'm sure, the pleasure To give all 'em a right piece of advice: So, she addressed with witty words All that bunch of deceived wives: "This love stealth shall be punished", She said, "By the Police Force". And they all went to the Police Station And shouted without weighing their words: "That bitch already got more clients Than a farmer's cooperative." So four gendarmes, four gendarmes came With plumed hats, with plumed hats, So four gendarmes, four gendarmes came Well armed, with their plumed hats. You know policemen aren't renowned For having tender heart, for sure; But that time they took her to the train Not so willingly, I assure. All male villagers were there, including The Police Chief and the sexton, All male villagers were there With weeping eyes, bearing placards. To say goodbye and bon voyage To Rosemouth, who for short time Without pretension, without pretension Had brought love into that village. Someone had written in black On a yellow placard: "Goodbye, goodbye, Rosemouth! Spring is leaving us with you." But a piece of news like that Needs no newspaper, as you may suppose: Just like an arrow flung by a good bowman It spread so rapidly in the wind So, at the next station there were Much more people than when she had left: One blows her a kiss, one throws flowers, One books her for a couple of hours. Even the Priest, not disregarding Among burials and extreme unctions The short-lived pleasure of beauty, Wants her to follow the procession. With Our Lady in the front row And Rosemouth just behind The priest is walking through the village With both profane and sacred love! | ROSEMOUTH They called her Rosemouth, she put love, she put love, they called her Rosemouth, she put love above everything else. As soon as she got off at the station in the small town of Sant’Ilario, everyone noticed with one look that she was nothing to do with a missionary. There are those who make love out of boredom, those that choose it as a profession. Rosemouth was neither one nor the other, she did it for passion. But passion often leads to satisfying its own wants without investigating whether a partner in lust has a free heart, or else has a wife. And thus it was that from one day to the next Rosemouth brought down upon herself the black ire of the bitches from whom she had taken a bone. But nosy neighbors of a hamlet aren't shining examples of initiative. The countermeasures up until that point were limited to invective. We all know that people give good advice, feeling like Jesus in the temple. We all know that people give good advice if they can’t set a bad example. Thus an older woman, never a wife, ever childless, with no more longings, took the trouble, and certainly with relish, to give everyone some proper advice. And addressing the cuckolds she held forth to them with sharp words: "The theft of love will be punished," she said, "by the established order." And they went to the commissioner and they said, without paraphrasing: “That despicable woman already has too many customers, more than a food co-op.” And four gendarmes arrived with their plumes, with their plumes, and four gendarmes arrived with their plumes and with their weapons. Often the cops and the carabinieri fail at their own duty, but not when they are in dress uniform. And they accompanied her to the first train. A tender heart is not an endowment the carabinieri are overflowing with. But that time, to catch the train, they grudgingly accompanied her. At the station there was everyone from the commissioner to the sexton. At the station everyone was there with red eyes and hat in hand to greet one who just for a moment, without pretense, without pretense, to greet one who just for a moment brought love to the village. There was a yellow sign with a black inscription, it said: “Farewell Rosemouth, springtime is parting with you.” But news that’s a bit unusual doesn't need any newspapers. Like an arrow shot from a bow, it flies fast by word of mouth. And at the next station, many more people than when she departed - one who throws a kiss, one who tosses a flower, one who makes reservations for two hours. Even the parish priest, who doesn’t condemn - between a "have mercy" and an annointment of the sick - the ephemeral gift of beauty, wants her beside him in the procession. And with the Virgin in the first row and Rosemouth not far behind, he takes them out for a walk through the village, Sacred Love and Love Profane. |