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Three French Songs
1987

voice
piano

SCORE
If You Imagine
Louis XVI Goes to the Guillotine
Real Miracles

TEXTS
If You Imagine
If you imagine,
if you imagine,
little sweetie, little sweetie,
if you imagine this will,
this will,
this will last forever
this season of love,
you're fooling yourself
little sweetie, little sweetie
you're fooling yourself. 

If you think, little one,
if you think,
ah, ah, that that rosy complexion,
that waspy waist,
those lovely muscles,
the enamel nails,
nymph thigh,
and your light foot,
if you think, little one,
that will,
that will,
that will last forever,
you're fooling yourself,
little sweetie, little sweetie,
you're fooling yourself. 

The lovely days disappear,
the lovely holidays,
suns and planets go round in a circle,
but you, my little one,
you go straight toward you know not what,
very slowly draw near,
the sudden wrinkle,
the weighty fat,
the triple chin,
the flabby muscle,
come gather,
gather the roses of life,
and may their ptals be a calm sea of happinesses,
come gather, gather,
if you don't do it,
you're fooling yourself,
little sweetie, little sweetie,
you're fooling yourself. 

Raymond Queneau (1903–1976) 
trans. Michael Benedikt


Louis XVI Goes to the Guillotine
Stink
stink
stink
what's that stink, 
it's Louis the sixteenth, that bad egg, 
and his head drops into the basket, his rotten head
Since the cold is terrific,
this twenty-first of January,
it rains blood,
it rains snow and all sorts of other filth
that flourishes out of his ancient corpse,
like a dog croaked
on the bottom of a pail,
in the midst of dirty laundry, 
who has had plenty of time to start decomposing
like the fleur-de-lys on the garbage can,
which the cows refuse to nibble,
for they give off an odor of true divinity,
god the father of all mud
who gave to Louis sixteenth the divine right to croak,
like a dog in a laundry pail. 

Benjamin Peret (1899–1959) 
trans. Charles Simic 

Real Miracles
Nice old priest!
After he'd left us we saw him fly over the lake,
just like a bat,
his thoughts absorbing him,
not even understanding that this flight was a miracle.
The hem of his cassock is wet!
That amazes him.

Max Jacob (1876–1944) 
trans. Armand Schwerner