Another view of war to the one we’re getting in the commemoration/glorification events relating particularly  to the First World War. It was called “the war to end all wars” but in fact led to 100 years of war. Patriotism does not allow us to say “My country was wrong”. Instead the most we can say is “My country, right or wrong.” Some years ago, the French singer Renaud expressed his own brand of anti-war feeling, and his words are worth hearing. Here he is on YouTube performing his song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DYs-Xd2N3lE

and I’ve put the words below – with my own translation (apologies, but I am not a poet!):

 

LA MÉDAILLE

Un pigeon s’est posé‚

Sur l’épaule galonnée

Du Maréchal de France

Et il a décoré

La statue dressée

D’une gastrique offense

Maréchaux assassins

Sur vos bustes d’airain

Vos poitrines superbes

Vos médailles ne sont

Que fiente de pigeon

De la merde.

Un enfant est venu

Aux pieds de la statue

Du Maréchal de France

Une envie naturelle

L’a fait pisser contre elle

Mais en toute innocence

Maréchaux assassins

Le môme mine de rien

A joliment vengé

Les enfants et les mères

Que dans vos sales guerres

Vous avez massacres.

Un clodo s’est couché

Une nuit juste aux pieds

Du Maréchal de France

Ivre mort au matin

Il a vomi son vin

Dans une gerbe immense

Maréchaux assassins

Vous méritez rien

De mieux pour vos méfaits

Que cet hommage immonde

Pour tout le sang du monde

Par vos sabres verses.

Un couple d’amoureux

S’embrasse sous les yeux

Du Maréchal de France

Muet comme un vieux bonze

Il restera de bronze

Raide comme une lance

Maréchaux assassins

L’amour ne vous dit rien

A part bien sur celui

De la Patrie hélas

Cette idée dégueulasse

Qu’à mon tour je conchie.

 

THE MEDAL

A pigeon perched

On the braided shoulder

Of the Marshal of France

And he decorated

The upright statue

With a gastric offence

Marshals – assassins –

On your busts of bronze

Your superb chests

Your medals are nothing

But pigeon’s droppings

Nothing but shit.

A child came

To the feet of the statue

Of the Marshal of France

A natural need

Made him piss against it

But in all innocence

Marshals – assassins –

This unthinking child

Has nicely avenged

The children and mothers

You have massacred

In your dirty wars.

A tramp slept

One night at the feet

Of the Marshal of France

In the morning, dead drunk,

He vomited his wine

Like an enormous fountain

Marshals – assassins –

You deserve nothing better

For your misdeeds

Than this filthy homage

For all the blood of the world

Shed by your swords.

Two lovers are kissing

Under the gaze

Of the Marshal of France

The dumb old despot

Will remain set in bronze

Stiff as a lance

Marshals – assassins –

Love means nothing to you

Except, of course, patriotic love

That disgusting idea

That I, in my turn,

Cover with shit.