There IS a link between Bertolt Brecht and Francois Villon...Brecht "helped himself" to some of Villon's work for lyrics in songs in "The Threepenny Opera" ( Berlin critics were furious when they realized Brecht had slipped this past them.)
Also furious were the Austrian publishers of the German translation done by one man named Klammer ( pen name K.L. Ammer) --they went to court and for years afterward got a royalties share from productions of The Threepenny Opera.
As far as I know, the delightful "The Plum Tree" is completely original to Brecht, and shows how he could work when not obsessed with politics
By the way, Brecht also wrote a jingle for a German car maker in the 1920's and got a free car in return...as I have said Lotte Lenya observed, Brecht knew how to take care of B. Brecht
Der Pflaumenbaum (The Plum Tree, translation)
Im Hofe steht ein Pflaumenbaum,
Der ist so klein, man glaubt es kaum.
Er hat ein Gitter drum,
So tritt ihn keiner um.
Der Kleine kann nicht größer wer'n,
Ja - größer wer'n, das möcht' er gern!
's ist keine Red davon:
Er hat zu wenig Sonn'.
Dem Pflaumenbaum, man glaubt ihm kaum,
Weil er nie eine Pflaume hat.
Doch er ist ein Pflaumenbaum:
Man kennt es an dem Blatt.
----------------------------------- --------------------------------------
The Plum Tree
In the courtyard stands a plum tree,
It's so small, no one believes it.
It has a fence around it,
So no one can stomp on it.
The little tree can't grow,
Yes – it wants to grow!
No one talks about it;
It gets too little sun.
No one believes it's a plum tree
Because it doesn't have a single plum.
But it is a plum tree;
You can tell by its leaf.
------------------------------------ ----------------------------
The Plum Tree
A plum tree in the courtyard stands
so small no one believes it can.
There is a fence surrounds
so no one stomps it down.
The little tree can't grow
although it wants to so!
There is no talk thereon
and much too little sun.
No one believes in the tree
because no plums do they see.
But it's a plum tree;
you can tell by its leaf.
Der ist so klein, man glaubt es kaum.
Er hat ein Gitter drum,
So tritt ihn keiner um.
Der Kleine kann nicht größer wer'n,
Ja - größer wer'n, das möcht' er gern!
's ist keine Red davon:
Er hat zu wenig Sonn'.
Dem Pflaumenbaum, man glaubt ihm kaum,
Weil er nie eine Pflaume hat.
Doch er ist ein Pflaumenbaum:
Man kennt es an dem Blatt.
----------------------------------- --------------------------------------
The Plum Tree
In the courtyard stands a plum tree,
It's so small, no one believes it.
It has a fence around it,
So no one can stomp on it.
The little tree can't grow,
Yes – it wants to grow!
No one talks about it;
It gets too little sun.
No one believes it's a plum tree
Because it doesn't have a single plum.
But it is a plum tree;
You can tell by its leaf.
------------------------------------ ----------------------------
The Plum Tree
A plum tree in the courtyard stands
so small no one believes it can.
There is a fence surrounds
so no one stomps it down.
The little tree can't grow
although it wants to so!
There is no talk thereon
and much too little sun.
No one believes in the tree
because no plums do they see.
But it's a plum tree;
you can tell by its leaf.
Bertolt Brecht
Submitted: Wednesday, April 07, 2010
----------------
Francois Villon- Ou Sont Les Neiges D'Antan?
The very image of a poet: a woodcut of Villon, from the first edition of 'Le Grand Testament', 1489The
great French poet was also a killer, a thief and a roistering drunken
brawler, who spent a good deal of his life either in prison or wandering
around France until forced to move on from places which had had enough
of him. He was apparently born in Paris in 1431 of humble origins, was
brought up by a foster-father from whom he took his surname and gained a
master’s degree at the University of Paris in 1452. Three years later
he and some companions were involved in a drunken quarrel in which he
killed a man with his dagger. He was banished from Paris but given a
royal pardon, only to be banished again for leading a gang that stole
gold coins from one of the university’s colleges. A poem of this time is
a sardonic will bequeathing his hair clippings to his barber and small
amounts of cash to three money-lenders.
Villon was in prison in Blois and released in 1457 and again in the Bourbonnais region in 1461, when he wrote his Le Grand Testament, in which he regretted his dissipated youth in the taverns and brothels of Paris. In 1925 Ezra Pound wrote an opera based on it. Villon was soon in prison again in Paris for robbery and in the following year was condemned to death for his part in a brawl. The sentence was commuted to banishment from Paris for ten years. Now in his early thirties he left the city once more and nothing was ever heard of him again. When, where and how he died is unknown.
Villon had a gift for acrostics and liked to use thieves’ slang. His poems were first published in 1489 by a Parisian bookseller, Pierre Levet. His most quoted and most haunting line, as translated into English by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, comes in his ballad on beautiful women of the past: Mais où sont les neiges d’antan?, ‘Where are the snows of yesteryear?’.
----------------
Francois Villon- Ou Sont Les Neiges D'Antan?
François Villon is banished from Paris
The French poet was ordered to leave his city on January 3rd, 1463.
The very image of a poet: a woodcut of Villon, from the first edition of 'Le Grand Testament', 1489The
great French poet was also a killer, a thief and a roistering drunken
brawler, who spent a good deal of his life either in prison or wandering
around France until forced to move on from places which had had enough
of him. He was apparently born in Paris in 1431 of humble origins, was
brought up by a foster-father from whom he took his surname and gained a
master’s degree at the University of Paris in 1452. Three years later
he and some companions were involved in a drunken quarrel in which he
killed a man with his dagger. He was banished from Paris but given a
royal pardon, only to be banished again for leading a gang that stole
gold coins from one of the university’s colleges. A poem of this time is
a sardonic will bequeathing his hair clippings to his barber and small
amounts of cash to three money-lenders.Villon was in prison in Blois and released in 1457 and again in the Bourbonnais region in 1461, when he wrote his Le Grand Testament, in which he regretted his dissipated youth in the taverns and brothels of Paris. In 1925 Ezra Pound wrote an opera based on it. Villon was soon in prison again in Paris for robbery and in the following year was condemned to death for his part in a brawl. The sentence was commuted to banishment from Paris for ten years. Now in his early thirties he left the city once more and nothing was ever heard of him again. When, where and how he died is unknown.
Villon had a gift for acrostics and liked to use thieves’ slang. His poems were first published in 1489 by a Parisian bookseller, Pierre Levet. His most quoted and most haunting line, as translated into English by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, comes in his ballad on beautiful women of the past: Mais où sont les neiges d’antan?, ‘Where are the snows of yesteryear?’.
Text of the ballad
The text is from Clement Marot's Œuvres complètes de François Villon of 1533, in the Le Grand Testament pages 34 and 35.| Dictes moy où, n'en quel pays, | Tell me where, in which country | ||
| Est Flora, la belle Romaine ; | Is Flora, the beautiful Roman; | ||
| Archipiada, ne Thaïs, | Archipiada (Alcibiades?), and Thaïs | ||
| Qui fut sa cousine germaine; | Who was her first cousin; | ||
| Echo, parlant quand bruyt on maine | Echo, speaking when one makes noise | ||
| Dessus rivière ou sus estan, | Over river or on pond, | ||
| Qui beauté eut trop plus qu'humaine? | Who had a beauty too much more than human? | ||
| Mais où sont les neiges d'antan! | Oh, where are the snows of yesteryear! | ||
| Où est la très sage Heloïs, | Where is the very wise Heloise, | ||
| Pour qui fut chastré et puis moyne | For whom was castrated, and then (made) a monk, | ||
| Pierre Esbaillart à Sainct-Denys? | Pierre Esbaillart (Abelard) in Saint-Denis ? | ||
| Pour son amour eut cest essoyne. | For his love he suffered this sentence. | ||
| Semblablement, où est la royne | Similarly, where is the Queen (Marguerite de Bourgogne) | ||
| Qui commanda que Buridan | Who ordered that Buridan | ||
| Fust jetté en ung sac en Seine? | Be thrown in a sack into the Seine? | ||
| Mais où sont les neiges d'antan! | Oh, where are the snows of yesteryear! | ||
| La royne Blanche comme ung lys, | The queen Blanche (white) as a lily (Blanche de Castille) | ||
| Qui chantoit à voix de sereine; | Who sang with a Siren's voice; | ||
| Berthe au grand pied, Bietris, Allys; | Bertha of the Big Foot, Beatrix, Aelis; | ||
| Harembourges qui tint le Mayne, | Erembourge who ruled over the Maine, | ||
| Et Jehanne, la bonne Lorraine, | And Joan (Joan of Arc), the good (woman from) Lorraine | ||
| Qu'Anglois bruslerent à Rouen; | Whom the English burned in Rouen ; | ||
| Où sont-ilz, Vierge souveraine ? | Where are they, oh sovereign Virgin? | ||
| Mais où sont les neiges d'antan! | Oh, where are the snows of yesteryear! | ||
| Prince, n'enquerez de sepmaine | Prince, do not ask me in the whole week | ||
| Où elles sont, ne de cest an, | Where they are - neither in this whole year, | ||
| Qu'à ce refrain ne vous remaine: TMais où sont les neiges d'antan! |
Lest I bring you back to this refrain: Oh where are the snows of yesteryear? |
||
This all reminds me somehow of another Brecht poem, the Salomon Song from the Threepenny OperaSalomonsong (Solomon Song )
Deutsch
Ihr saht den weisen Salomon, Ihr wisst, was aus ihm wurd. Dem Mann war alles sonnenklar. Er verfluchte die Stunde seiner Geburt, Und sah, dass alles eitel war. Wie gross und weis' war Salomon. Und seht, da war es noch nicht Nacht, Da sah die Welt die Folgen schon Die Weisheit hatte ihn soweit gebracht, Beneidenswert, wer frei davon. Ihr saht die schöne Kleopatra, Ihr wisst, was aus ihr wurd. Zwei Kaiser fielen ihr zum Raub. Da hat sie sich zu Tode gehurt. Und welkte hin und wurde Staub. Wie schön und gross war Babylon. Und seht, da war noch nicht Nacht, Da sah die Welt die Folgen schon, Die Schönheit hatte sie soweit gebracht, Beneidenswert, wer frei davon. Und nun seht ihr Macheath und mich. Gott weiss, was aus uns wird. So gross war unsere Leidenschaft. Wo haben wir uns hin verirrt, Dass man ihn jetzt zum Galgen schafft? Da seht ihr unsrer Sünde Lohn. Und seht, jetzt ist es noch nicht Nacht, Da sieht die Welt die Folgen schon. Die Leidenschaft hat uns soweit gebracht, Beneidenswert, wer frei davon. English You know the tale of Solomon's wisdom, Look what became of him. To him everything was clear and bright, But he cursed the day he was born, When he realizes that everything was in vain. How great and wise was Solomon! And see, the night hadn't even come yet, And the world was already seeing the consequences. See how much good such wisdom does? Envy those who are free from it. You know the beautiful Cleopatra, And look what became of her. Two Emperors fell pray to her lust, And she was put to death, And withered into dust. How beautiful the great Babylon, And see, the night hadn't even come yet. And the world was already seeing the consequences. See how much good such beauty does? Envy those who are free from it. And now you see Macheat and me, God knows what will become of us. Our passion was so great, That we soon became lost. But does that make us worthy of the gallows? Where the world can see our sins. And see, the night hasn't even come yet. And the world is already seeing the consequences. See how much good such passion does? Envy those who are free from it. |
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