Five Poems of Max Jacob

Translations © by Faith J. Cormier

Song Cycle by Francis Poulenc (1899 - 1963)

View original-language texts alone: Cinq Poèmes de Max Jacob

1. Chanson bretonne
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
J'ai perdu ma poulette
Et j'ai perdu mon chat.
Je cours à la poudrette
Si Dieu me les rendra.

Je vais chez Jean le Coz
Et chez Marie Maria.
Va-t'en voir chez Hérode
Peut-être il le saura.

Passant devant la salle
Toute la ville était là
À voir danser ma poule
Avec mon petit chat.

Tous les oiseaux champêtres
Sur les murs et sur les toits
Jouaient de la trompette
Pour le banquet du roi.

Text Authorship:

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First published in the revue Commerce, no. 22, Winter 1929, as the second of a collection of poems titled "Morven Le Gaëlique- Poèmes", and then later in Chants Bretons et inédits signés Morven le Gaélique, Paris, Éd. NRF Gallimard, 1953.

by Max Jacob (1876 - 1944)
1. Breton song
Language: English 
I've lost my little hen, 
and I've lost my cat.
I'll run to the trash heap
if God gives them back to me. 

I will go see Jean le Coz 
and Marie Maria.
You go see Herod. 
Maybe he will know. 

When I went by the room, 
the whole town was there 
to see my hen dancing 
with my little cat. 

All the birds of the fields 
were playing the trumpet on the walls
and the rooftops 
for the king's banquet.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2004 by Faith J. Cormier, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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This text was added to the website: 2004-12-09
Line count: 16
Word count: 81

Translation © by Faith J. Cormier
2. Cimetière
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Si mon marin vous le chassez,
Au cimetière vous me mettrez,
Rose blanche, rose blanche et rose rouge.

Ma tombe, elle est comme un jardin,
Comme un jardin, rouge et blanche,
Le dimanche vous irez, rose blanche,
Vous irez vous promener,
Rose blanche et blanc muguet,

Tante Yvonne à la Toussaint
Une couronne en fer peint
Elle apporte de son jardin
En fer peint avec des perles de satin,
Rose blanche et blanc muguet.

Si Dieu veut me ressusciter
Au Paradis je monterai, rose blanche,
Avec un nimbe doré,
Rose blanche et blanc muguet.

Si mon marin revenait,
Rose rouge et rose blanche,
Sur ma tombe il vient auprès,
Rose blanche et blanc muguet.

Souviens-toi de notre enfance, rose blanche,
Quand nous jouions sur le quai,
Rose blanche et blanc muguet.

Text Authorship:

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First published in the revue Commerce, no. 22, Winter 1929, as the second of a collection of poems titled "Morven Le Gaëlique- Poèmes", and then later in Chants Bretons et inédits signés Morven le Gaélique, Paris, Éd. NRF Gallimard, 1953.


by Max Jacob (1876 - 1944)
2. Graveyard
Language: English 
If you send my sailor away 
you'll send me to my grave. 
White rose, white rose and red. 

My grave is like a garden, 
like a garden, red and white.
On Sunday you will go walking, 
white rose, white rose 
and white lily of the valley. 

On All Saints' Day, 
Aunt Yvonne carries 
into her garden a wreath
of painted iron with satin beads, 
white rose and white lily of the valley. 

If God wishes to bring me back to life, 
I will go to Heaven, white rose,
with a golden halo, 
white rose and white lily of the valley. 

If my sailor returns, 
red rose and white, 
he will come to my grave, 
white rose and white lily of the valley. 

Remember our childhood, white rose, 
when we played on the wharf, 
white rose and white lily of the valley.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2004 by Faith J. Cormier, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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This text was added to the website: 2004-12-09
Line count: 24
Word count: 141

Translation © by Faith J. Cormier
3. La petite servante
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Préservez-nous du feu et du tonnerre,
Le tonnerre court comme un oiseau,
Si c'est le Seigneur qui le conduit
Bénis soient les dégats.
Si c'est le diable qui le conduit
Faites-le partir au trot d'ici.

Préservez-nous des dartres et des boutons,
de la peste et de la lèpre.
Si c'est pour ma pénitence que vous l'envoyez,
Seigneur, laissez-la moi, merci.
Si c'est le diable qui le conduit
Faites-le partir au trot d'ici.

Goître, goître, sors de ton sac,
sors de mon cou et da ma tête!
Feu Saint Elme, danse de Saint Guy,
Si c'est le Diable qui vous conduit
mon Dieu faites le sortir d'ici.

Faites que je grandisse vite 
Et donnez-moi un bon mari
qui ne soit pas trop ivrogne
et qui ne me batte pas tous les soirs.

Text Authorship:

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First published in the revue Commerce, no. 22, Winter 1929, as the second of a collection of poems titled "Morven Le Gaëlique- Poèmes", and then later in Chants Bretons et inédits signés Morven le Gaélique, Paris, Éd. NRF Gallimard, 1953.


by Max Jacob (1876 - 1944)
3. The little maidservant
Language: English 
Preserve us from fire and lightning. 
Lightning runs like a bird. 
If the Lord drives it, 
blessed be the damage. 
If the Devil drives it, 
drive him out of here at a trot. 

Preserve us from sores and pimples, 
plague and leprosy. 
If you have sent them to me for a penance, 
Lord, leave them with me, thank you. 
If the Devil drives it, 
drive him out of here at a trot. 

Goiter, goiter, jump out of your bag, 
leave my neck and my head! 
St. Elmo's fire, St. Vitus' dance, 
if it's the Devil who drives you, 
God, drive him away from here.

Make me grow up fast 
and give me a good husband
who isn't too much of a drunkard 
and doesn't beat me every night.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2004 by Faith J. Cormier, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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This text was added to the website: 2004-12-09
Line count: 21
Word count: 128

Translation © by Faith J. Cormier
4. Berceuse
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Ton père est à la messe,
Ta mère au cabaret,
Tu auras sur les fesses
Si tu vas encore crier.

Ma mère était pauvresse
Sur la lande à Auray
Et moi je fais des crêpes
En te berçant du pied.

Si tu mourais du croup,
Coliques ou diarrhées
Si tu mourais des croûtes
Que tu as sur le nez,

Je pêcherais des crevettes
À l'heure de la marée
Pour faire la soupe aux têtes:
Y a pas besoin de crochets.

Text Authorship:

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First published in the revue Commerce, no. 22, Winter 1929, as the second of a collection of poems titled "Morven Le Gaëlique- Poèmes", and then later in Chants Bretons et inédits signés Morven le Gaélique, Paris, Éd. NRF Gallimard, 1953.


by Max Jacob (1876 - 1944)
4. Lullaby
Language: English 
Your father is at Mass, 
your mother at the cabaret. 
You'll have a spanking 
if you cry again.

My mother was a poor woman,
on the plain of Auray, 
and I make pancakes 
and rock you with my foot. 

If you died of the croup, 
colic or diarrhea, 
if you died of the crust 
on your nose,

I would fish for shrimp 
when the tide came in.
You don't need hooks 
to make fishhead chowder.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2004 by Faith J. Cormier, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
    Contact: 

Based on:

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This text was added to the website: 2004-12-09
Line count: 16
Word count: 75

Translation © by Faith J. Cormier
5. Souric et Mouric
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Souric et Mouric,
Rat blanc, souris noire,
Venus dans l'armoire
Pour apprendre à l'araignée
À tisser sur le métier
Un beau drap de toile.

Expédiez-le à Paris, à Quimper, à Nantes,
C'est de bonne vente!
Mettez les sous de côté,
Vous achèterez un pré,
Des pommiers pour la saison
Et trois belles vaches,
Un boeuf pour faire étalon.

Chantez, les rainettes,
Car voici la nuit qui vient,
La nuit on les entend bien,
Crapauds et grenouilles,
Écoutez, mon merle
Et ma pie qui parle,
Écoutez, toute la journée,
Vous apprendrez à chanter.

Text Authorship:

See other settings of this text.

First published in the revue Commerce, no. 22, Winter 1929, as the second of a collection of poems titled "Morven Le Gaëlique- Poèmes", and then later in Chants Bretons et inédits signés Morven le Gaélique, Paris, Éd. NRF Gallimard, 1953.

by Max Jacob (1876 - 1944)
5. Souric and Mouric
Language: English 
Souric and Mouric, 
white rat and black mouse,
came to the cupboard 
to teach the spider 
how to weave a beautiful sheet 
of web on the loom. 

Send it to Paris, Quimper, Nantes - 
it will sell well!
Save your pennies 
and buy a field, 
with apple trees for the season 
and three fine cows, 
and a bull for stud. 

Sing, frogs, 
for night is coming.
We hear them clearly at night, 
toads and frogs.
Listen, my merle 
and my talking magpie. 
Listen all the day long, 
and you will learn to sing.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2004 by Faith J. Cormier, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
    Contact: 

Based on:

Go to the general single-text view


This text was added to the website: 2004-12-09
Line count: 21
Word count: 92

Translation © by Faith J. Cormier