Jacques Brel's Haunting Song: "Les Marquises"

Last night, I dreamt about the title track from Jacques Brel’s final album called, “Les Marquises,” named for the Marquesas Islands, where he spent his final years away from France. He had purchased a ’62 sailboat and sailed to the islands from France. The journey took something like six months via the Panama Canal.

The Belgian singer-songwriter had been earlier diagnosed with a cancerous tumor in his lung that was rapidly metastasizing. Already a huge star in France and throughout Europe, selling millions of albums, he wanted to get away from it all. Barclay Records had signed him to a 30-year contract. Brel was an artist who trembled with anxiety before performing, becoming nauseous and even vomiting before stepping stage. Yet onstage, he translated all this anxiety into galvanic, unforgettable performances. There is a film documentary that tells us about his artistic temperament. Click here to watch.

The French often disparage the Belgians, especially the provincial Flemish. However, the French will adopt artists they consider to be great as their own. Personally, I have always loved Brel’s Flemish accent.

Brel wrote his final songs on the 1977 album, Les Marquises, knowing that he was dying. The beauty of the Pacific Island paradise contrasts dramatically with his decline. Brel died at the age of 49 and was buried beside the famous French Post-Impressionist painter, Paul Gauguin.

The English translation once again proves the old adage that “poetry is what is lost in translation.” Whether you understand French or not, you can hear that it is a beautiful and haunting song. Below are the lyrics both in French and English.

“Les Marquises”

Ils parlent de la mort comme tu parles d’un fruit

Ils regardent la mer comme tu regardes un puits

Les femmes sont lascives au soleil redouté

Et s’il n’y a pas d’hiver cela n’est pas l’été

La pluie est traversière elle bat de grain en grain

Quelques vieux chevaux blancs qui fredonnent Gauguin

Et par manque de brise le temps s’immobilise

Aux Marquises

Du soir montent des feux et des points de silence

Qui vont s’élargissant et la lune s’avance

Et la mer se déchire infiniment brisée

Par des rochers qui prirent des prénoms affolés

Et puis plus loin des chiens des chants de repentance

Et quelques pas de deux et quelques pas de danse

Et la nuit est soumise et l’alizé se brise

Aux Marquises

Le rire est dans le coeur le mot dans le regard

Le coeur est voyageur l’avenir est au hasard

Et passent des cocotiers qui écrivent des chants d’amour

Que les soeurs d’alentour ignorent d’ignorer

Les pirogues s’en vont les pirogues s’en viennent

Et mes souvenirs deviennent ce que les vieux en font

Veux-tu que je te dise gémir n’est pas de mise

Aux Marquises.

“The Marquesas”

They talk about death as you talk about a fruit

They look at the sea as you look at a well

Women are lascivious under the dreaded sun

And if there’s no winter, then it’s not summer

The rain runs across, threshes one grain then another

A few old white horses humming Gauguin

And by lack of breeze, time comes to a standstill

At the Marquesas

Evening lights go up and silence points

Go on growing larger, and the moon draws on

And the sea tears itself apart, immeasurably broken

By rocks going now by demented names

And then, further, dogs, repentance songs

And a few pas de deux, and a few dance steps

And the night is submissive and the trade wind breaks

At the Marquesas

Laughter is in the heart, the word is in the eyes

The heart is wanderer, the future is random

And coconut palms pass by, writing love songs

That nearby sisters ignore to ignore

Pirogues go, pirogues come

And my memories become what the old people make of them

Tell you what, whining isn’t appropriate

At the Marquesas.