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.
Voir
Jacques Brel Lyrics
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Et les peuplades sans musique
Bien sûr, tout ce manque de tendre
Et il n'y a plus d'Amérique
Bien sûr, l'argent n'a pas d'odeur
Mais pas d'odeur vous monte au nez
Bien sûr, on marche sur les fleurs, mais
Mais, voir un ami pleurer
Bien sûr, il y a nos défaites
Et puis la mort qui est tout au bout
Nos corps inclinent déjà la tête
Étonnés d'être encore debout
Bien sûr, les femmes infidèles
Et les oiseaux assassinés
Bien sûr, nos cœurs perdent leurs ailes, mais
Mais, voir un ami pleurer
Bien sûr, ces villes épuisées
Par ces enfants de cinquante ans
Notre impuissance à les aider
Et nos amours qui ont mal aux dents
Bien sûr, le temps qui va trop vite
Ces métro remplis de noyés
La vérité qui nous évite, mais
Mais, voir un ami pleurer
Bien sûr, nos miroirs sont intègres
Ni le courage d'être juif
Ni l'élégance d'être nègre
On se croit mèche, on n'est que suif
Et tous ces hommes qui sont nos frères
Tellement qu'on n'est plus étonné
Que, par amour, ils nous lacèrent, mais
Mais, voir un ami pleurer
The song "Voir Un Ami Pleurer" by Jacques Brel is a poignant meditation on the difficulties of life and the importance of empathy and friendship. The opening verses acknowledge the harsh realities of the world, including war in Ireland and the absence of music in some cultures. Despite the lack of tenderness and the loss of America, the singer notes that money has an inherent value that can overwhelm our senses. Although we may trample on flowers along the way, there is nothing that hurts more than seeing a friend cry.
The second verse speaks to the inevitability of defeat and death, as well as the infidelity of women and the senseless killing of birds. Time moves too quickly, and we often fail to help the desperate cities filled with prematurely aged children. Our love affairs may suffer from dental problems, and truth may elude us. But in the face of all these harsh realities, there is still nothing that cuts us to the core like seeing a friend cry.
The final verse critiques self-delusion and the blindness that comes with it. Despite our desires to be brave or stylish, we often fall short. We are all brothers, but sometimes we hurt one another out of love. And yet, even in the face of all these human flaws, the singer finds solace in the knowledge that simply being present for a friend's tears can be the greatest gift we can offer.
Line by Line Meaning
Bien sûr, il y a les guerres d'Irlande
Of course, there are the wars in Ireland
Et les peuplades sans musique
And the tribes without music
Bien sûr, tout ce manque de tendre
Of course, all this lack of tenderness
Et il n'y a plus d'Amérique
And there is no more America
Bien sûr, l'argent n'a pas d'odeur
Of course, money has no smell
Mais pas d'odeur vous monte au nez
But an odorless scent rises to your nose
Bien sûr, on marche sur les fleurs, mais
Of course, we walk on flowers, but
Mais, voir un ami pleurer
But, to see a friend cry
Bien sûr, il y a nos défaites
Of course, there are our defeats
Et puis la mort qui est tout au bout
And then death that is at the end
Nos corps inclinent déjà la tête
Our bodies are already bending their heads
Étonnés d'être encore debout
Surprised to still be standing
Bien sûr, les femmes infidèles
Of course, unfaithful women
Et les oiseaux assassinés
And murdered birds
Bien sûr, nos cœurs perdent leurs ailes, mais
Of course, our hearts lose their wings, but
Mais, voir un ami pleurer
But, to see a friend cry
Bien sûr, ces villes épuisées
Of course, these exhausted cities
Par ces enfants de cinquante ans
By these children of fifty years
Notre impuissance à les aider
Our inability to help them
Et nos amours qui ont mal aux dents
And our love that has a toothache
Bien sûr, le temps qui va trop vite
Of course, time that goes too fast
Ces métro remplis de noyés
These subway trains filled with drowned people
La vérité qui nous évite, mais
The truth that avoids us, but
Mais, voir un ami pleurer
But, to see a friend cry
Bien sûr, nos miroirs sont intègres
Of course, our mirrors are honest
Ni le courage d'être juif
Neither the courage to be Jewish
Ni l'élégance d'être nègre
Nor the elegance of being Black
On se croit mèche, on n'est que suif
We think we are a wick, but we are only tallow
Et tous ces hommes qui sont nos frères
And all these men who are our brothers
Tellement qu'on n'est plus étonné
So much that we are no longer surprised
Que, par amour, ils nous lacèrent, mais
That, out of love, they tear us apart, but
Mais, voir un ami pleurer
But, to see a friend cry
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc
Written by: Jacques Brel, Marcel Azzola, Gerard Jouannest
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
Arnaud Foeller
Rare Merci
fany fan fan
Paroles de la chanson Voir par Jacques Brel
Voir la rivière gelée
Vouloir être un printemps
Voir la terre brûlée
Et semer en chantant
Voir que l’on a vingt ans
Vouloir les consumer
Voir passer un croquant
Et tenter de l’aimer
Voir une barricade
Et la vouloir défendre
Voir périr l’embuscade
Et puis ne pas se rendre
Voir le gris des faubourgs
Vouloir être Renoir
Voir l’ennemi de toujours
Et fermer sa mémoire
Voir que l’on va vieillir
Et vouloir commencer
Voir un amour fleurir
Et s’y vouloir brûler
Voir la peur inutile
La laisser aux crapauds
Voir que l’on est fragile
Et chanter à nouveau
Voilà ce que je vois
Voilà ce que je veux
Depuis que je te vois
Depuis que je te veux.
Rempenault David
Enfin