Charles Aznavour (RIP) - Com'e' Triste Venezia ( How sad Venice is)

[umbertino]

 

Italian version

 

 

 

 

 

 

How sad Venice can be
When you return alone
A fond memory
In every paving stone

I walk among the birds
That fill San Marco's Square
With echoes of her words
Around me in the air

 

How sad Venice can be
When mandolins play
A song she sung for me
One unforgotten day

Like images of sleep
The gondoliers go by
But when I try to weep
I find my tears are dry

 

How sad Venice can be
When mist is in your eyes
And you can hardly see
As pigeons fill the skies

I find the little street
And then the old cafe
Where we would always meet
To dream away the day

 

How sad Venice can be
Beneath the silent moon
That rises from the sea
And silvers the lagoon

I hear the vespers chime
And cross the Bridge of Sighs
I know that it is time
To bid my last goodbye

There's nothing more to say
I pass beneath the light

And then I turn away
From Venice in the night

How sad Venice can be
It's too lonely to bear
When you have lost the love
That you discovered there

 

 

 

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Aznavour

[umbertino]

 

L'Istrione ( The Histrion....Meaning a talented Theater Actor)

 

Translation in link below ( won't let me copy and paste...) ...I think it's the translation of the French version (Le Cabotin), even if the lyrics are similar to the Italian one

 

 

 

 

 

 

https://lyricstranslate.com/en/listrione-le-cabotin-ham.html

 

 

To me...A Giant Artist

[umbertino]

 

Dying of love

 

 

 

 

 

 

https://lyricstranslate.com/en/node/137284

[umbertino]

 

 

 

 

 

I am telling you about a time

That people under twenty years old would not know.

Montmartre at the time was hanging its lilacs

Up under our windows, and even if our modest furnished1

That we used as a nest did not look great,

This is where we met,

Me starving and you posing nude.

 

La boheme, la boheme, it meant we are happy.

La boheme, la boheme, we only ate every other day.

 

In the coffee shops nearby

We were a few

Waiting for glory, and although poor

With our empty bellies

We would not stop believing, and when some bistro

For a nice warm meal

Would take a painting, we recited verses,

Gathered around the stove while forgetting the winter.

 

La boheme, la boheme, it meant you are pretty.

La boheme, la boheme, and we were all talented.

 

Often I would,

In front of my easel,

Spend sleepless nights

Altering the drawing,

Of the line of a breast,

Of the curve of a hip, and only in the morning,

We would finally sit,

In front of a coffee with milk,

Exhausted but delighted.

We must have loved each other and loved life.

 

La boheme, la boheme, it meant we are twenty years old.

La boheme, la boheme, we lived from the air of the time2

 

When on a random day

I go for a walk

To my old address

I no longer recognize

Neither the walls, nor the streets

That witnessed my youth.

At the top of a stairway,

I look for the studio

Of which nothing remains.

In its new setting,

Montmartre seems sad and the lilacs are dead.

 

La boheme, la boheme. We were young, we were foolish.

La boheme, la boheme. It doesn't mean anything anymore.

Edited July 13, 2019 by umbertino