Sunday 26 February 2012

My translation of Serge Gainsbourg's amazing song "le poinçonneur des Lilas" and why it is superior to that of Mick Harvey and Alan Chamberlain



            First of all I will present, with the guitar chords, the original french lyrics by Serge Gainsbourg. Then I will show Mick Harvey and Alan Chamberlain's version. After that I will present my arguments as to why their version does not do Serge Gainsbourg justice. At the end I will offer what I consider the definitive English version of the song, the one that I wrote.


le poinçonneur des Lilas

Em
J'suis l'poinçonneur des Lilas
                                           Am
Le gars qu'on croise et qu'on n' regarde pas
C                        G
Y a pas d'soleil sous la terre
               Am
Drôle de croisière
              B
Pour tuer l'ennui j'ai dans ma veste
 
Les extraits du Reader Digest
Em
Et dans c'bouquin y a écrit
                                      Am
Que des gars s'la coulent douce à Miami
C                            G
Pendant c'temps que je fais l'zouave
              Am
Au fond d'la cave
            B
Paraît qu'y a pas d'sous-métier
 
Moi j'fais des trous dans des billets
Em                                 Bm               Em
J'fais des trous, des p'tits trous, encor des p'tits trous
Em                                 Bm                 Em
Des p'tits trous, des p'tits trous, toujours des p'tits trous
Em                 Am
Des trous d'seconde classe
D                   G  B
Des trous d'première classe
Em                                 Bm              Em
J'fais des trous, des p'tits trous, encor des p'tits trous
Em                                 Bm                 Em
Des p'tits trous, des p'tits trous, toujours des p'tits trous
Bm         Em    Bm        Em
Des petits trous, des petits trous,
Bm        Em    Bm        Em
Des petits trous, des petits trous
 
Em
J'suis l'poinçonneur des Lilas
                           Am
Pour Invalides changer à Opéra
C                      G
Je vis au cœur d'la planète
             Am
J'ai dans la tête
         B  
Un carnaval de confettis
 
J'en amène jusque dans mon lit
Em
Et sous mon ciel de faïence
                                   Am
Je n'vois briller que les correspondances
C                   G
Parfois je rêve je divague
            Am
Je vois des vagues
           B
Et dans la brume au bout du quai
 
J'vois un bateau qui vient m'chercher
Em                      Bm            Em
Pour m'sortir de ce trou où je fais des trous
Em                                 Bm                 Em
Des p'tits trous, des p'tits trous, toujours des p'tits trous
Em              Am
Mais l'bateau se taille
D                G            B
Et j'vois qu'je déraille
Em                       Bm                Em
Et je reste dans mon trou à faire des p'tits trous
Em                                 Bm         Em
Des p'tits trous, des p'tits trous, toujours des p'tits trous
Bm         Em     Bm        Em
Des petits trous, des petits trous,
Bm        Em    Bm        Em
Des petits trous, des petits trous
 
Em
J'suis l'poinçonneur des Lilas
                               Am
Arts-et-Métiers direct par Levallois
C                      G
J'en ai marre j'en ai ma claque
         Am
De ce cloaque
               B
Je voudrais jouer la fill' de l'air
 
Laisser ma casquette au vestiaire
Em
Un jour viendra j'en suis sûr
                                Am
Où j'pourrais m'évader dans la nature
C                      G
J'partirai sur la grand'route
             Am
Et coûte que coûte
           B
Et si pour moi il n'est plus temps
 
Je partirai les pieds devant
Em                                 Bm       Em
J'fais des trous, des p'tits trous, encor des p'tits trous
Em                                 Bm         Em
Des p'tits trous, des p'tits trous, toujours des p'tits trous
Em                Am
Y a d'quoi d'venir dingue
D                 G           B
De quoi prendre un flingue
Em                             Bm              Em
S'faire un trou, un p'tit trou, un dernier p'tit trou
Em                           Bm              Em
Un p'tit trou, un p'tit trou, un dernier p'tit trou
Bm         Em      Bm      Em
Et on m'mettra dans un grand trou
Bm          Em        Bm     Em         Bm       Em
Où j'n'entendrai plus parler d'trou plus jamais d'trou
Bm        Em      Bm     Em      Bm    Em
De petits trous de petits trous de petits trous

The Ticket Puncher by Mick Harvey and Alan Chamberlain

I’m the ticket puncher at Lilas.
To me the passengers pay no regard.
There is no sunshine in this Metro station.
Strange vacation.
To kill the boredom, in my vest,
I have extracts from Readers Digest,
And this book says to me,
That life is just a ball in Miami,
All the while I’m working like a slave,
Down in this cave,
They say work’s better than the dole
But all day long I just make holes
I punch holes, little holes and more little holes
Little holes, little holes, always little holes
I make second class holes
And punch first class holes
I punch holes, little holes and more little holes
Little holes, little holes, always little holes
Little holes, little holes
Little holes, little holes.

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas
Invalids you change at Opera
I live down in the bowels of this here planet
I have in my head
A carnival of confetti that even gets between my sheets.
Under this white tile sky
The only things that shine are insect’s eyes.
Sometimes I dream, I go into a daze
And in that phase
The railway platform is a quay
A boat is coming to get me
From this hole, little hole where I make little holes
From this hole, this little hole where I make little holes
But the boat is sailing
My daydream’s always failing
In this hole, in this hole, punching little holes
Little holes, little holes, always little holes
Little holes, little holes
Little holes, little holes.

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas
Arts and Metiers direct by Lavallois
I’ve had enough,
I’ve had it with this bullshit
Down in this cess-pit
I’d like to get out in the trees
They can keep their cloakroom keys
One day will come I am sure
When I will get away to something more
Take a car, a plane, a train (something that rhymes with “what”)
No matter what
But if the time I have is cursed
I’ll have to leave this place feet first
I punch holes, little holes and more little holes
Little holes, little holes, always little holes
I think I will trifle
with a great big rifle
and make a hole, little hole, one last little hole
make a hole, little hole, one last little hole
and then they’ll put me in a hole
where I will hear no more of holes
Never again make little holes
Those little holes, those little holes.

   There are plenty of holes in the above version, and they're not the number of times the word "holes" is used. 
   First of all is the use of the word "Invalids" as if the narrator is trying to say that invalids must take a certain route on the Metro in Paris. "Invalides" is the real name of a subway station in Paris and yes Gainsbourg chose the name obviously because of its double meaning. But to simply say "Invalids" takes the subtlety away that is so important in many of Serge Gainsbourg's meanings.
   The second gaping hole in Harvey and Chamberlain's version is the omission of a translation of Gainsbourg's phrase: la grand'route. They ignored it and instead listed various means of transportation. I am almost certain that Gainsbourg's use of  la grand'route is a reference to August Stindberg's play La Grand'Route, which in the original Swedish is Stora landsvägen, and which in English is the Great Highway. In Strindberg's play, the Great Highway is the road that leads to the graveyard. The last verse of Gainsbourg's song is all about death, first referencing it symbolically and finally literally.
   The third problem is the use of the rhyme "I think I will trifle with a great big rifle". Ugh! I feel like throwing up every time I read or hear this rhyme. It's as if Dr. Seuss were translating Serge Gainsbourg. 
   Then there is the use of the word "rifle". I don't think that when Gainsbourg conceived of his poinçonneur putting a hole in his head that he envisioned him doing it with a rifle. First of all Gainsbourg himself liked handguns. Second of all the ticket puncher, since it's his job that is driving him to suicide, would want to kill himself at work. A rifle is an extremely impractical implement of suicide, especially if you are trying to carry it to work on the underground transit system.
   It amazes me that it took two people to write this flawed English version of a Serge Gainsbourg masterpiece. But then again, maybe it's not so amazing. My observation over the years is that in general, the more writers there are behind a song, the worse the song is. Case in point: most of Britney Spears' songs have four writers for each one.
  Finally, I heard that Mick Harvey left Nick Cave's Bad Seeds because of creative differences with Nick Cave. Judging from this effort I would say that the difference was that Nick Cave was creative and Mick Harvey wasn't.
   
   Here is my  version of le poinçonneur des Lilas. Let me know what you think.


The Ticket Puncher at Lilas Station

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas
The guy you pass but don’t quite ever see there
There is no sun underneath the ground, strange way to get around
To kill the boredom, in my vest
I keep the new Reader's Digest
And inside a writer’s telling me
That guys can lead a sweet life in Miami
While I work here just like an idiot
in this covered pit
They say there are no worthless roles,
but my job’s making
little
holes
I make holes, little holes, still more little holes
I make holes, little holes, always little holes
Holes for second class cars, holes for those first class cars.
I make holes, little holes, still more little holes
I make holes, little holes, always little holes
Little holes, little holes, little holes, little holes

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas,
For Invalides transfer at Opera
I live in the planet’s nucleus 
and there's a circus of confetti in my head
that follows me right home to bed.
And staring up at my ceramic sky
I see no stars, just cold fluorescent lights
Sometimes I dream and my mind wanders, to the the water
And through the mist just off the quay
I see a ship come to get me
To take me from this hole where I make little holes
little holes, little holes, always little holes
But the boat drifts on back to sea
And my mind flips on track to be
making holes, little holes still more little holes
Little holes, little holes, little holes, little holes
 
I am the ticket puncher at Lilas,
Arts et Metiers direct by Levallois
I am backed up, while lodged here toiling down this toilet.
I want to break this cage and fly,
just leave this monkey suit behind.
and the day will come, I am sure
When I will run into the arms of nature
I will embark on the Great Highway
whatever toll I’ll pay
And if for me the time’s run out
I will leave just leave here lying down
from this hole where I make holes, still more little holes
Little holes, little holes, always little holes
This job’s carried me round the bend
enough to put this gun to my head.
To make a hole, little hole, one last little hole,
little hole, little hole, one last little hole
And they’ll put me in a big hole.
where I’ll not hear or speak of holes. Last stop for holes!
Those little holes, little holes
little holes, little holes.