LES FENETRES by Jacques Brel

The windows look in
As if waiting for our deaths
As if our final breaths
Were awaited by the world
The windows laugh at us
When they see how we behave
When they see what we believe
When they hear the words we hurl
The windows cry
In the dawn’s phlegmatic light
For the dead who lie
In the old cemetery
But the windows curse and frown
And wish they could pull down
Or somehow see around
The great oak tree

The windows mutter to themselves
When the afternoons bring rain
That beats against the pane
Forming streams upon the glass
The windows sing aloud
When autumn comes aggrieved
Blowing dead and fallen leaves
Down the street where people pass
The windows stay closed tight
When the frosts of winter bite
And the snow lies thick and white
On the parapet and frame
But they open wide once more
When the girls pass by the door
Just like they used to do before
The bitter winter came

The windows watch over
The child we used to hold
Who, encircled by the old,
Takes his first few steps
The windows smile
When at fifteen years of age
As if freed from a cage
The child seeks adult depths
But the windows scowl and seethe
The windows threaten me
When with audacity
I frankly speak my mind
The windows follow me
All I do they see
I’ve no way to break free
From my home’s all-seeing eyes

JE SUIS UN SOIR D'ETE by Jacques Brel

In the old city hall
The tables are laid
At the lord mayor’s banquet
We’re served orangeade
And tepid champagne
With the dazed glassy eyes
Of the gloomy young girls
Who wait on us tonight

I am a summer evening

With the windows wide open
The families who dine
Push back their plates
And look out at the night
Where the last light of day
Is not yet quite dead
And brush the tablecloth crumbs
Off the balcony’s edge

I am a summer evening

The terraces fill
People take drinks outside
And speak of their work
And the joys of their lives
It’s hard to remember
The cold winter days
In the sweet summer air
And in alcohol’s haze

I am a summer evening

By the bank of the river
Two girls take a walk
In soft voices they talk
Of the soldiers they miss
While the black waters splash
And lap on the stone
While the river boats drone
Where reflected lights flash

I am a summer evening

By the fountains the old men
Sit with their sticks
With eyes bright reminisce
How it was different then
They laugh toothless laughs
Then are silent again
And watch the girls and young men
Dancing under the stars

I am a summer evening

SUR LA PLACE by Jacques Brel

In the square, in the baking sun
A dark eyed girl began to dance
And it seemed to me it was the dance
Of the dancers of antiquity
In the old town's sweltering heat
Drowsy men and women stare
Through open shuttered windows at
This girl dancing at mid-day there

Sometimes on such sacred days
A flame burns brightly in our eyes
In the church where I once went
They told me that this was our God
But the lover calls it love
The beggar charity
The sun calls it the day
And the good man sympathy

In the square, in the shimmering air
Where not even a dog appears
Suddenly I see her there
The girl who comes as if from nowhere
Without guitar or tambourine
To accompany her steps
She simply claps her painted hands
To give rhythm to her dance

Sometimes on such sacred days
A flame burns brightly in our eyes
In the church where I once went
They told me that this was our God
But the lover calls it love
The beggar charity
The sun calls it the day
And the good man sympathy

In the square, in the burning silence
A dark eyed girl began to sing
The song she sang filled the square
A hymn of love and kindness
But the day is turning hotter still
And no one wants to hear her sing
The men close all the windows fast
Like doors between the dead and living

And sometimes on such sacred days
A flame burns brightly deep inside
Yet we never see its rays
Cursed to live without its light
We place our hands against our ears
Turn our eyes towards the dark
We fear to watch the clocks
Of our already aged hearts

In the square a dog is howling
The dark eyed girl I cannot see
It seems to me it howls in dying
Crying out our destiny

~ Jacques Brel ~