Brel was born on 8th April 1929 in Schaarbeek, a district of Brussels, and lived half of his life in Paris. He died of lung cancer on 9th October 1978 in Bobigny in the suburbs of Paris, and is buried in the Marquesas Islands.
Although the Brels spoke French, they were of Flemish descent, with some of the family originating from Zandvoorde, near Ieper. Brel's father was co-owner of a cardboard factory and Brel started his professional life at that firm, apparently destined to follow in his father's footsteps. However he had no interest in it, showing instead an interest in the arts, having joined the Catholic-humanist youth organisation Franche Cordée, where he did some singing and acting. At Franche Cordée he met Thérèse Michielsen ('Miche'), and they married in 1950.
In the early 1950s Brel achieved some minor success in Belgium, singing his own songs. A 78rpm record ("La foire"/"Il y a") was released as a result. From 1954 Brel seriously pursued a singing career. He quit his job and moved to Paris, writing music and singing in the city's cabarets and music-halls.. In January 1955 he supported in the Ancienne Belgique in Brussels the performances of the Belgian pop and variety pioneer Bobbejaan Schoepen. After some success his wife and daughters joined him from Belgium. By 1956 he was touring Europe and he recorded the song "Quand on n'a que l'amour", which brought him his first major recognition. He appeared in a show with Maurice Chevalier and Michel Legrand.
By the end of the 1950s Miche and Brel's three daughters moved to Brussels. He and his family led separate lives from then on. Under the influence of his friend Georges Pasquier ('Jojo') and pianists Gérard Jouannest and François Rauber, Brel's style changed. He was no longer a Catholic-humanist troubadour, but sang grimmer songs about love, death, and the struggle that is life. The music became more complex and his themes more diverse, exploring love ("Je t'aime", "Litanies pour un retour"), society ("Les singes", "Les bourgeois", "Jaurès") and spiritual concerns ("Le bon Dieu", "Dites, si c'était vrai", "Fernand"). His work is not limited to one style. He was as proficient in comic compositions ("Le lion", "Comment tuer l'amant de sa femme...") as in more emotional ones ("Voir un ami pleurer", "Fils de...", "Jojo"). He composed and recorded his songs almost exclusively in French, and is widely recognised in French-speaking countries as one of the best French-language composers of all time.
Brel himself occasionally included parts of his songs in Flemish (Dutch), one of the three official languages of Belgium, as in Marieke. He also recorded eight other Flemish versions of songs, such as Mijn vlakke land (Le plat Pays), Laat Me Niet Alleen (Ne me quitte pas), Rosa, De Burgerij (Les Bourgeois), and De Nuttelozen van de Nacht (Les paumés du petit matin). Since his own command of the language was poor, these were translated by Ernst van Altena, renowned translator of French song. Although France was Brel's "spiritual home" and he expressed contradictory statements about his native Belgium, some of his best compositions pay tribute to Belgium.
A very successful theatrical review of his songs, "Jacques Brel is Alive and Living in Paris," was launched in 1968. It featured English translations of his songs, and it was late made into a film.
To English-speaking listeners, Brel's best-known song is probably "Seasons in the Sun," a hit for Terry Jacks in 1973. Its English lyrics are a translation by Rod McKuen of Brel's "Le Moribond."
For twenty years he was a major star gaining recognition beyond French audiences. In 1973 he retreated to French Polynesia, remaining there until 1977 when he returned to Paris and recorded his well-received final album.
A heavy smoker, it was discovered in 1973 that Brel had lung cancer. He died in 1978 and was buried in Calvary Cemetery in Atuona, Hiva Oa, Marquesas Islands, French Polynesia only a few yards away from painter Paul Gauguin.
Les Paumes Du Petit Matin
Jacques Brel Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
Pour se lever à l'heure du thé
Et sortir à l'heure de plus rien
Les paumés du petit matin
Elles, elles ont l'arrogance
Des filles qui ont de la poitrine
Eux, ils ont cette assurance
Des hommes dont on devine
Les paumés du petit matin
Venez danser
Copain, copain, copain, copain
Copain, copain, copain
Venez danser
Et ça danse les yeux dans les seins
Ils se blanchissent leurs nuits
Au lavoir des mélancolies
Qui lave sans salir les mains
Les paumés du petit matin
Ils se racontent à minuit
Les poèmes qu'ils n'ont pas lus
Les romans qu'ils n'ont pas écrits
Les amours qu'ils n'ont pas vécues
Les vérités qui n'servent à rien
Les paumés du petit matin
Venez danser, haha
Copain, copain, copain, copain
Copain, copain, copain
Venez danser
Et ça danse les yeux dans les seins
L'amour leur déchire le foie, ah
Ah, c'était, c'était si bien
C'était, ah ah ah vous ne comprendriez pas
Les paumés du petit matin
Ils prennent le dernier whisky
Ils prennent le dernier bon mot
Ils reprennent le dernier whisky
Ils prennent le dernier tango
Ils prennent le dernier chagrin
Les paumés du petit matin
Venez pleurer
Copain, copain, copain, allez!
Allez, venez, venez
Allez, venez pleurer
Et ça pleure les yeux dans les seins
Les paumés du petit matin
In this haunting and melancholic ballad, Jacques Brel paints a bittersweet portrait of the "paumés du petit matin" ("lost souls of early morning"), those who wake up at the hour of the shepherd but only get up at teatime and go out when there's nothing left to do. They are the drifters, the dreamers, the outsiders who don't fit into society's mold. The women in the song have the arrogance of those who have breasts, while the men have the assurance of those whose lucky fathers paved their way. They gather in the washing place of melancholies, where they whiten their nights without dirtying their hands, and tell each other tales of poems they haven't read, novels they haven't written, loves they haven't lived, and truths that are useless. They dance with their eyes in their breasts and cry with their eyes in their breasts, taking the last drink, the last joke, the last tango, and the last sorrow.
The song is a poignant commentary on the experience of existence, on the fleetingness of youth, love, and dreams, on the search for meaning in a world that seems predetermined by fate, and on the power of art to capture and transcend our fragile human condition. It speaks to anyone who has ever felt lost or misunderstood, who has ever yearned for something more, who has ever wished to dance with their eyes in their breasts, and who has ever shared the pain and joy of being alive.
Line by Line Meaning
Ils s'éveillent à l'heure du berger
They wake up at the hour of the shepherd
Pour se lever à l'heure du thé
To get up at tea time
Et sortir à l'heure de plus rien
And go out at the hour of nothingness
Les paumés du petit matin
The lost souls of the early morning
Elles, elles ont l'arrogance
They, with their arrogance
Des filles qui ont de la poitrine
Girls with ample bosoms
Eux, ils ont cette assurance
They, with their confidence
Des hommes dont on devine
Men of whom one can tell
Que le papa a eu d'la chance
That their dad was lucky
Les paumés du petit matin
The lost souls of the early morning
Venez danser
Come dance
Copain, copain, copain, copain
Friend, friend, friend, friend
Copain, copain, copain
Friend, friend, friend
Et ça danse les yeux dans les seins
And they dance with eyes in breasts
Ils se blanchissent leurs nuits
They whiten their nights
Au lavoir des mélancolies
At the laundry of melancholies
Qui lave sans salir les mains
Which cleans without dirtying the hands
Les paumés du petit matin
The lost souls of the early morning
Ils se racontent à minuit
They tell each other at midnight
Les poèmes qu'ils n'ont pas lus
The poems they haven't read
Les romans qu'ils n'ont pas écrits
The novels they haven't written
Les amours qu'ils n'ont pas vécues
The loves they haven't lived
Les vérités qui n'servent à rien
The truths that don't serve a purpose
Les paumés du petit matin
The lost souls of the early morning
Venez danser, haha
Come dance, haha
L'amour leur déchire le foie, ah
Love tears apart their liver, ah
Ah, c'était, c'était si bien
Ah, it was, it was so good
C'était, ah ah ah vous ne comprendriez pas
It was, ah ah ah, you wouldn't understand
Les paumés du petit matin
The lost souls of the early morning
Ils prennent le dernier whisky
They take the last whiskey
Ils prennent le dernier bon mot
They take the last clever remark
Ils reprennent le dernier whisky
They drink the last whiskey again
Ils prennent le dernier tango
They dance the last tango
Ils prennent le dernier chagrin
They take the last heartache
Les paumés du petit matin
The lost souls of the early morning
Venez pleurer
Come cry
Copain, copain, copain, allez!
Friend, friend, friend, come on!
Allez, venez, venez
Come on, come cry
Allez, venez pleurer
Come on, come cry
Et ça pleure les yeux dans les seins
And they cry with eyes in breasts
Les paumés du petit matin
The lost souls of the early morning
Lyrics © Peermusic Publishing, LES NOUVELLES EDITIONS MERIDIAN
Written by: Francois Rauber, Jacques Brel
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
@jeanpierrezutter587
Une belle chanson de Jacques Brel !!
@wallersayn7975
Très belle chanson avec un excellent accompagnement
@mariehone7130
C'est vrai qu'il n'y pas de mots après ça ....
@sujetverbe8681
Ça c'est au-delà de la chanson.
@galensherwood9483
Mockest me, I mock you back. It's Newton's Law. Look it up toots.