Le Père Noël et la petite fille, incl.Leggenda di Natale; La canzone di Marinella; Bocca di Rosa

Georges Brassens
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Bocca di Rosa - La versione inglese di Dennis Criteser [2014] Dal...

     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!

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.

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