À une chanteuse morte : Hommage à Édith Piaf [English translation]

You had a bird's name1 and you sang like a flock of them,

like a huge cloud of birds that would have torn their throat bloody

screaming all sorts of things, even plain rubbish,

with such a gusto! You were a genius idiot.

You were a genius idiot.

You had a bird's name and the voice of Attila.

You where heard here and listened to from distant lands.

You were all together the "little black beds ball"2,

a street Wagner, a sidewalk Bayreuth,

a sidewalk Bayreuth.

And there was a kind of blessing in your hands,

and you used it quite well to bless all these idiots,

these nice, emotional idiots that are called people

and, as they become an audience, they become smart as well.

Become smart as well.

It's not always the case, of course, even in Paris.

Shitty authors have to earn a living too.

You did manage to avoid these.

You could have sung tabloid headlines3 like a piece of Apollinaire.

like a piece of Apollinaire.

They couldn't replace you, though they tried hard.

Money can't come to terms with your shadow

under the miracle headlights and the arc lamps,

whatever Mr. Stark might think, say or do.

Whatever Mr. Stark might do.

STOP!

STOP THE MUSIC!4

1. "piaf" is slang for "sparrow"2. no idea what that refers to. Ferré could use pretty obscure references at times. Maybe some popular ball of the era fallen into oblivion?3. "France Soir" is an old and rather cheap newspaper4. from this timeless classic of hers