He was uncompromising when composing his songs. His tactical method of addressing issues was profound and often humorous, making him a unique and effective figure in the French community.
Brassens, born in 1921 in the small Mediterrenean port of Sete, wanted to be a poet. He realized very early however that poetry in the 20th century could hardly put bread on the table and instead set himself to become a singer.
He is much less famous internationally than contemporaries like Charles Aznavour, Edith Piaf and Yves Montand, as much of the impact of his songs came from the lyrics, which proved difficult to translate into other languages. He loved the Middle Ages and used a great deal of Old French vocabulary, as well as many classical - ie., Latin and Greek - references. Few people, even in France, possess the background to fully understand his songs.
Yet he was at the same time a hugely popular singer and many of his songs still carry a lot of appeal and relevance. In this sense, he can be compared to Boris Vian, to Jacques Brel, and to a lesser extent to Serge Gainsbourg.
He was very sophisticated, yet at the same time used profanity liberally. While he wasn't politically engaged, he was nevertheless unambiguously a leftist, many of his songs carrying blatant and buoyant anarchist overtones.
While his music was initially quite primitive, the 1950's St-Germain-des-Pres influence quickly made itself felt and while subdued and - in his mind - always secondary to the lyrics, it became increasingly sophisticated - to the point that many of his songs have been covered and reinterpretated by jazzmen (see for instance this UK site: www.projetbrassens.eclipse.co.uk)
He died in 1981, but up to this date (2006) there are few French people - including most of those born since - who can't sing along to his most famous song, Les Copains d'abord ("Friends foremost") or his "Bancs public" ("Public Benches").
For those interested, this site carries a number of (quite good) English tranlations of his songs: www.brassens.org
À Mireille dite "Petit verglas"
Georges Brassens Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
un fichu mauvais garçon, dans sa chambre, là-bas derrière le Panthéon,
rue Descartes, où mourut Paul Verlaine.
O! oui, je l'ai bien aimée ma petite "Petit Verglas" à moi si bonne
et si douce et si triste. Pourquoi sa tristesse? Je ne l'avais pas
deviné, je ne pouvais pas le deviner.
l'échafaud, Petit Verglas! J'aurais bien dû le comprendre à tes sourires.
J'aurais dû le deviner à tes petits yeux, battus de sang, à ton bleu
regard indéfinissable, papillotant et plein de retenue.
Et moi qui avais toujours l'air de te dire "Mademoiselle, voulez-vous
partager ma statue?" Ah! J'aurais dû comprendre à tes sourires, tes
yeux bleus battus et plein de retenue.
Et je t'appelais comme ça, le Petit Verglas, que c'est bête un poète!
O petite chair transie! Moi, je l'ai su après que ton père était mort ainsi...
Pardonne-moi, Petit Verglas. Volez, les anges!
The song "À Mireille dite 'Petit Verglas'" by Georges Brassens is a melancholic and nostalgic tribute to a woman named Mireille, nicknamed "Petit Verglas" by the singer. The lyrics reveal that Mireille was murdered by a bad boy with a knife in her room behind the Pantheon on Descartes Street, where the poet Paul Verlaine died. Brassens reminisces about his love for Mireille, who was so good, sweet, and sad, and wonders why she was so melancholic. He realizes later that her sadness was due to the fact that her father was executed.
Throughout the song, Brassens expresses his regret that he didn't recognize Mireille's sorrow earlier. He reflects on how he should have seen her father's execution reflected in her eyes and smiles. Despite her tragic fate, Brassens remembers Mireille with affection and sensitivity, calling her his little frost, or "Petit Verglas," and acknowledging his own foolishness as a poet to give her such a nickname. The song ends with Brassens asking Mireille for forgiveness and wishing her to fly with the angels.
Overall, the song is a tender tribute to a lost love and a reflection on missed opportunities to connect with someone who was suffering. It is also a poignant commentary on the impact of family tragedies on individuals and the ways in which they can shape one's life and emotions.
Line by Line Meaning
Ne tremblez pas, mais je dois le dire elle fut assassinée au couteau par un fichu mauvais garçon, dans sa chambre, là-bas derrière le Panthéon, rue Descartes, où mourut Paul Verlaine.
Don't tremble, but I must tell you that she was knifed to death by a terrible street thug in her room over there behind the Panthéon on Descartes street, where Paul Verlaine passed away.
O! oui, je l'ai bien aimée ma petite "Petit Verglas" à moi si bonne et si douce et si triste. Pourquoi sa tristesse? Je ne l'avais pas deviné, je ne pouvais pas le deviner.
Oh! yes, I really loved my little "Petit Verglas", she was so good and sweet, but also sad. Why was she so sad? I didn't know, I couldn't know.
Non, je l'ai su après tu me l'avais caché que ton père était mort sur l'échafaud, Petit Verglas! J'aurais bien dû le comprendre à tes sourires.
No, I found out later that you had hidden from me the fact that your father was executed on the scaffold, Petit Verglas! I should have understood it from your smiles.
J'aurais dû le deviner à tes petits yeux, battus de sang, à ton bleu regard indéfinissable, papillotant et plein de retenue.
I should have guessed it from your small eyes, bloodshot and with a blue gaze that was indescribable, twinkling and full of restraint.
Et moi qui avais toujours l'air de te dire "Mademoiselle, voulez-vous partager ma statue?" Ah! J'aurais dû comprendre à tes sourires, tes yeux bleus battus et plein de retenue.
And there I was always talking to you like a gentleman and saying "Mademoiselle, would you like to share my statue?" Ah! I should have understood from your smiles, your blue eyes that were bloodshot and full of restraint.
Et je t'appelais comme ça, le Petit Verglas, que c'est bête un poète! O petite chair transie! Moi, je l'ai su après que ton père était mort ainsi...
And I called you that, Petit Verglas, how foolish of a poet! Oh, little trembling flesh! I found out later that your father died like that...
Pardonne-moi, Petit Verglas. Volez, les anges!
Forgive me, Petit Verglas. Fly away, angels!
Contributed by Levi R. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
@xapile
toujours , profond et touchant , tonton Geoges
@gontrandtrand4036
Bien profond ! Bien touchant ! Comme un prêtre avec les enfants ! xDDDD
@davidkoper9085
Que dire...juste un commentaire sur ce magnifique parler de brassens.. je suis plu..de ce temps..pauvre France....
@tonyzanco7179
Par là je voulais simplement dire que quand tu construit un pont, supportant une autoroute et une voie ferrée, sur un cratère sytémique hautement sensible à la langue et aux idées de l'héritier de Victor Hugo, et de sa tragédie comédie...
Oui oui ca vas allez allez, le message politique est passé. Point assertiffeuh.
@tonyzanco7179
Avec l'index l'elephant.
Heritagescientifique et religieux. Une larme d'acier.