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A Most Peculiar English lesson
I was teaching an English class of mine in Paris the difference between the present perfect tense and the past tense (stay with me!). One difference is that you can mention a specific time when you use the past tense but it’s often not possible when you use the present perfect. I gave as an example a line from a Simon & Garfunkel song, A Most Peculiar Man. The line was: “He died last Saturday” – the point being that you wouldn’t say, “He has died last Saturday”. This is especially puzzling to French speakers because in French the tense used for the ordinary past looks like the English present perfect. At the end of the lesson, one of the class came up to me to say that he wouldn’t be able to come to the following week’s lesson because he had to go to his aunt’s funeral. I expressed my condolences. “Thank you”, he said. “You see, she died last Saturday.”
L’Aquarium – Renaud
I have added my English translation of this song at the end, plus a couple of explanatory footnotes:
Énervé par la colère
Un beau soir, après la guerre
J’ai balancé ma télé par la fenêtre
Comme je suis un garçon primaire
Je me suis dit “un militaire
Avec un peu de bol
Se la mange en pleine tête”Libérés, enfin, mes yeux
Ont regardé le scaphandrier de l’aquarium
Qui cherche un trésor planqué
Sous les cailloux bariolés
Pauvre bonhommeÉnervé par France Intox
Les FM, et les juke-box
J’ai balancé ma radio par la fenêtre
En priant pour qu’elle tombe pas
Sur la tronche du môme, en bas
Petit joueur d’accordéon à casquetteLibérées, mes deux oreilles
Ont écouté le poisson rouge de l’aquarium
Qui était content d’être tout seul
Qui faisait juste un peu la gueule
Ou tout commeÉnervé par un Bon Dieu
Que je trouvais bien trop dangereux
J’ai balancé ma vieille Bible par la fenêtre
Comme je suis un garçon normal
Je me suis dit: “un cardinal
Avec un peu de bol
Se la mange en pleine tête”Libéré, enfin, mon âme
Est allée se nicher au fond de l’aquarium
Dans une eau limpide et claire
Loin des centrales nucléaires
Loin des hommesÉnervé par ces gauchos
Devenus des patrons bien gros
J’ai balancé mon journal par la fenêtre
Comme je suis un garçon réglo
J’ai visé le caniveau
Sur d’y retrouvé le rédacteur en chefLibérée, enfin, ma tête
A rejoint le scaphandrier de l’aquarium
Qui cherche un trésor planqué
Sous les cailloux bariolés
Pauvre bonhommeJe suis un peu le scaphandrier
De l’aquarium, sur la cheminée
Je suis un peu le poisson rouge
Et c’est chouette
Je cherche un trésor planqué
L’amour et la liberté
Sous les cailloux bariolés
De la planèteLibérez, enfin, ma terre
Des curés, des journaleux, des militaires
De tous les preneurs de tête
Qui provoquent, sous ma fenêtre
Ma colère***
Angry and on edge
One fine evening after the war[1]
I threw my TV out of the window,
And, as I am just a simple boy,
I said to myself, “A soldier
(with a bit of luck)
Will get it right on the head!”
Liberated at last, my eyes
Looked at the diver in the aquarium
Who is looking for hidden treasure
Under the multi-coloured pebbles,
Poor fellow.
Irritated by France Intox,[2]
FM and the juke box,
I threw my radio out of the window,
Just praying that it wouldn’t fall
On the head of the little kid in a baseball cap
Playing his accordeon down below
Liberated, my two ears
Now heard the goldfish in the aquarium,
Who was content to be alone,
Who simply makes a sulky face,
Or something
Irritated by a Good God
Who I find much too dangerous,
I throw my old Bible out of the window,
And as I am a normal fellow
I say to myself, “A cardinal
(with a bit of luck)
Will get it full on the head
Free at last, my soul
Went to nestle
At the bottom of the aquarium,
In the clear, limpid water,
Far from nuclear reactors,
Far from people
Irritated by those lefties
Who have now become fat bosses,
I threw my newspaper out of the window,
And aim it at the gutter,
Sure that it will find
The editor-in-chief
Liberated at last, my head
Has caught up with the diver in the aquarium,
Who is looking for hidden treasure
Under the multi-coloured pebbles,
Poor fellow.
I’m a bit like the diver
In the aquarium on the mantelpiece,
I’m a bit like the goldfish,
And it’s great,
I’m looking for hidden treasure,
Love and liberty,
Under the multicoloured pebbles
Of the planet
Liberated at last, my earth,
From priests, journalists and armies,
From all those people who do your head in,
Who, under my window,
Provoke my anger.
[1] Probably the first Gulf war.
[2] Wordplay on the radio station France-Inter.
Tonton
The picture (below) seems to be of Mitterrand at some point using an apparently compliant Renaud, probably for electoral purposes. Mitterrand was elected President of France in 1981 on a programme of reforms and a commitment to anti-racism. But a combination of galloping inflation, a balance-of-payments crisis and a budget deficit led to a retreat from promises to “change the life” of France. The government retreated, too, on its anti-racism policies and its commitment to the integration of immigrants, continuing the hard line on immigration controls and deportations of the previous government of the right under Giscard D’Estaing. As early as October 1981, a new law made the conditions for entry into the country even more restrictive than under Giscard. Mitterrand was capitulating to the right. By 1984, the right to family reunification became virtually meaningless. Jean-Marie Le Pen’s fascist Front National argued that the mainstream politicians of both left and right agreed with its arguments but were afraid to adopt its solutions. Whether it was the housing crisis, unemployment, rising crime, the undermining of French national identity, or AIDS, immigrants, they said, were responsible and should be repatriated. Not surprisingly, the Renaud-Mitterrand show didn’t last long. Later, in this song, Renaud depicted an old and failing Mitterrand having his final nightmare:
Tonton (Mitterrand) is angry
Everything’s turned upside down,
History, glory, it’s all falling apart
Because, this evening, the old man
(it’s hard)
Has a stone in his shoe,
A cold that hangs on,
And then, last night, oh misery,
He dreamt that one day
The left would come back
Bonhomme qui va austère
Au milieu des landes, des bruyères
Silhouette insolites
Bloc de granit
Tonton foule la terre
Lentement
Comme le tempsLe temps qui, pourtant, emporte
Les idées, les hommes et les amours mortes
Le temps qui lui reste
Dans la même veste
Avant de n’être plus
Qu’une statue
Un nom de rueIl a son beau chapeau
Il a son long manteau
Il a son chien, le brave
Le gros qui bave
Il a le regard des sages
Il est la force tranquille, sereine
Il est comme un grand chêne
Il sait la futilité
De toute chose
La douceur et
La fragilité des rosesBonhomme qui va austère
Au milieu des landes, des bruyères
Silhouette insolite
Bloc de granit
Tonton foule la terre
En sifflotant
Comme le ventLe vent qui, pourtant, emporte
Son joli chapeau que le chien rapporte
Il est plein de bave
Ce n’est pas bien grave
Un chapeau ça se lave
Mais ça fait sale
Et tonton râleTonton est colère
Tout va de travers
L’Histoire, la gloire, tout foire
Parce-que ce soir
Le vieille homme a, c’est dur
Un caillou dans sa chaussure
Un vieux rhume qui dure
Et puis cette nuit, misère
Il a rêvé
Qu’un beau jour
La gauche revenaitTonton s’en va
A petits pas
Thiéfaine: Critique du Chapitre 3 (du livre de l’Écclésiaste)
Critique du Chapitre 3 (du livre de l’Écclésiaste)
« … un temps pour aimer et un temps pour haïr ; un temps de guerre et un temps de paix … »
& les roses de l’été
sont souvent aussi noires
que les charmes exhalés
dans nos trous de mémoire
les vaccins de la vie
sur les bleus de nos cœurs
ont la mélancolie
des sols bémols mineurs
pour un temps d’amour
tant de haine en retour
quelques froides statues
aux pieds des sycomores
rappellent un jamais plus
avec le nom des morts
un oiseau de chagrin
dans le ciel assombri
chante un nouveau matin
sur des ruines en bosnie
pour un temps d’amour
tant de haine en retour
je visionne les miroirs
de ces vies déchirées
maintenant que le soir
ne cesse de tomber
& ma colère qui monte
& ma haine accrochée
au-dessus de ces tombes
où je n’ose pas cracher
pour un temps d’amour
tant de haine en retour
d’autres salauds cosmiques
s’enivrent à bételgeuse
dans les chants magnétiques
des putains nébuleuses
l’humain peut disparaître
& son monde avec lui
qu’est-ce que la planète terre
dans l’œil d’un rat maudit
pour un temps d’amour
tant de haine en retour
Hubert-Félix Thiéfaine
Hubert-Félix Thiéfaine: La Nostalgie de Dieu
Hubert-Félix Thiéfaine was another singer I listened to in France, largely at the instigation of one of my students, Raphaël, who told me, “Nobody understands the words of Thiéfaine – I think you’ll like him”!
Here he is with a particular take on the idea of God:
en ce quinzième dimanche après carnaval
je me souviens d’avoir lu quelque part dans le journal
à moins que ce ne soit dans la bible des gidéons
volée dans un de ces motels à la mords-moi l’mormond
je me souviens d’avoir lu que le démiurge au chômage
un jour d’ennui avait fabriqué l’homme à son image
lucy n’était pas encore née quant à l’abel du tchad
il n’avait pas encore testé l’usage de ses gonades
le démiurge au chômage
fit l’homme à son image
c’est une histoire d’amour
d’amour / d’amour toujours
dieu est amour
& jésus change le beurre en vaseline… dieu est in
cette histoire s’est passée très loin des oxydes de carbone
environ 3 millions d’années avant michael jackson
on peut donc affirmer sans offenser son archevêque
que dieu a la gueule & l’aspect d’un australopithèque
dieu est un drôle de mec
un australopithèque
oui mais on l’aime quand même
dieu est amour toujours
dieu est amour
& jésus change le beurre en vaseline… dieu est in
dieu est amour – deus ex machina
dieu est amour – deus ex testa rossa
dieu est amour – deus ex lamborghini
dieu est amour – deus ex maserati
dieu est amour – deus ex aston martin
dieu est amour – deus ex machine
dieu est amour – deus sex machine
dieu est amour – god is sex machine
god gode ! god gode !
Les Mots – Renaud Séchan
Renaud is a French singer and activist who’s songs inspired me in the early 1990s when I worked in Paris as an English teacher and a union rep. His songs were often, though not always, political. He wrote and campaigned against racism and told the stories of its victims in many of his songs. His political sympathies were, I think, with anarchism. He often grew tired and despondent, and disappeared from public view a couple of times in later years, but always came back. This is a song from a 2016 album. This one isn’t political. It is, though, about how words, whether read, or listened to, or words you write yourself, can revive your spirits and bring you back from despondency.
Round and round we go
I suppose we should yawn at this “revelation” about Esther McVey’s expenses claims really (see link below). Of course she did this. Because she can. And that leads to a mildly interesting question (God, I’ve started yawning already): as this stuff is supposed to be scrutinised carefully, not to say regulated, what excuse did the regulators use to let these claims through? The Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority (Ipsa), for it is they, said: “Communication is a large part of an MP’s role and they are able to claim professional services to support them carrying out their duties. This could include photography to be used on their website and other digital and print communication channels.” Perhaps they’re not so much regulators as turnstile operators. There’s a kind of turnstile as visitors leave the parliamentary “estate”. I went through it last week. You just push and round it goes. “On you go, Esther, see you next week.”
I’ve been away
Meanwhile, back on the ground, in a place that may soon officially become “foreign parts”
– and before you ask, no, it isn’t foreign parts as far as I’m concerned –
meanwhile, I say, life and struggles go on against all the odds. According to today’s Libération, some 200 emergency hospital staff met at the weekend in 33 towns in France. It was a strike movement that has affected 65 of these services across France. At the weekend they decided on a day of action in Paris on 6 June. They have a platform of demands, and they are familiar ones:
- stop the closure of hospital beds;
- raise pay levels;
- increase staffing levels
The national strike committee comprises this group, representatives from various regions of France, plus a united front of trade unions comprising the CGT, Force Ouvrière and the SUD (I don’t know what the last one is). There have been a number of strikes in different places. Dr Francis Braun, President of the Emergency Services of France, has called for a half-hour stoppage today across France. “We have reached the end,” he said. “I have never known anything like this before. The services are at breaking point, saturation point, the point of rupture. Rarely have I seen such stoppages of work.”
This is where we will have to head too, in our own austerity-driven crisis. We need a similar movement of resistance, in solidarity with French and other EU workers. Such solidarity will be more difficult if we leave the EU. But it will have to be done. Or we’re buggered.
Les urgences, entre surchauffe et abattement
https://www.liberation.fr/france/2019/05/27/les-urgences-entre-surchauffe-et-abattement_1729921
A short fuse
As we keep hearing about how “reasonable” and “measured” – even “nice”! – the police are during the current Extinction Rebellion demonstrations (despite the regular footage of people being dragged across pavements by their legs), it may be useful to remind ourselves how nasty it will undoubtedly get if demonstrators don’t listen to Metropolitan Police Commissioner Cressida Dick (she who was in charge when her officers killed Brazilian Jean-Paul Menezes on his way to work just a few short years ago) telling us to behave ourselves. So Le Monde quotes today the French government’s response to UN criticism of police violence against the gilets jaunes, in particular their use of “defensive fire” weapons (LBD). First the denial of misuse of weapons and the characterisation of demonstrators as a violent mob:
“At no time is an LBD used against even vehement demonstrators if they have not committed physical violence, particularly against the forces of order, or caused serious damage. But in that case it is no longer a question of demonstrators but of participants in a violent and illegal gathering … The police have recourse to the LBD when it is necessary to dissuade or stop a violent or dangerous person. In terms of the weapons used, the 40mm LBD is capable of causing significant wounds if the people targeted are hit at distances of less than 3 or 10 metres … Although misuse is unfortunately possible, this does not put in question the regular use of these weapons when necessary.”
There then follows a call to the UN to respect French legal processes:
“Inasmuch as enquiries have not yet finished, it is not possible to determine today whether the people injured by the firing of these LBDs were in a situation justifying the use of these weapons or whether such use was abusive or questionable.”
So the message to the UN is not only “Don’t jump to conclusions” but, further, “Don’t interfere – we will be judges in our own case.”
Lesson for us here? The “nice” police officer is on a short fuse.
[“A aucun moment le LBD n’est utilisé à l’encontre de manifestants, même véhéments, si ces derniers ne commettent pas de violences physiques, notamment dirigées contre les forces de l’ordre ou de graves dégradations. Mais alors il ne s’agit plus de manifestants, mais de participants à un attroupement violent et illégal. »
Quatre pages sont consacrées spécifiquement à la défense du LBD, rappelant son objectif premier :
« Les policiers ont recours au LBD lorsqu’il est nécessaire de dissuader ou de stopper une personne violente ou dangereuse. » Les spécificités de l’arme sont décrites par le menu et sa dangerosité est en partie reconnue : « En fonction des munitions utilisées, le LBD 40 mm est susceptible de causer des lésions importantes si le tir atteint des personnes situées à moins de 3 ou 10 mètres. »
Les nombreuses blessures engendrées par des tirs de LBD, largement répertoriées, ne sont pourtant nullement évoquées au fil du document, qui prend des pincettes avant d’évoquer de possibles dérapages :
« Si des cas de mésusages sont toujours malheureusement possibles, (…) ils ne sauraient remettre en cause l’utilisation régulière de cette arme en cas de nécessité. »
Et d’appeler à respecter le temps judiciaire :
« Tant que les enquêtes en cours n’auront pas abouti, il n’est pas possible de déterminer, à ce jour, si les personnes blessées par des tirs de LBD l’ont été dans une situation justifiant le recours à cette arme, avec les conséquences malheureuses qui s’y attachent, ou dans une situation d’usage abusif, critiquable. »]
The Rebellion must continue
Mayor of London Sadiq Khan has tweeted about the climate protesters (see below). A few changes need to be made to his tweet.
In the first paragraph, the phrase “but this is now taking a real toll” should be “and this is now taking a real toll …” (because that is a good, not a bad, thing); the phrase “counter-productive to the cause and our city” should be “good for the cause and our city”.
In the fourth paragraph, the last sentence (“It simply isn’t right to put Londoners’ safety at risk like this”) would be correct if it referred to government complacency about climate change. It doesn’t.
The last paragraph shows that despite saying he shares “the passion about tackling climate change of those protesting” he will do nothing to meet their demands.
So the lesson from Sadiq’s tweet is that the protesters should not “pause”, as some of them have suggested. Instead they should spread the protests further. They should not withdraw from some areas and start “negotiating” – who will they “negotiate” with? – the government is rubbishing them as lawbreakers, Khan says they’re a threat to the safety of Londoners and wants them all to go back to their day jobs, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner just wants them to behave themselves. But the government has to be forced out of its complacency, and the Labour Party must swing behind the protesters and their cause. Without equivocation. No ifs, no buts. Labour MPs should join the protests, including the front bench. Then we may all get somewhere.
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