Boris Vian

Boris Vian HOME
Boris Vian The deserter Mr. President I'm writing you a letter that perhaps you will read If you have the time. I've just received my call-up papers to leave for the front Before Wednesday night. Mr. President I do not want to go I am not on this earth to kill wretched people. It's not to make you mad I must tell you my decision is made I am going to desert. Since I was born I have seen my father die I have seen my brothers leave and my children cry. My mother has suffered so, that she is in her grave and she laughs at the bombs and she laughs at the worms. When I was a prisoner they stole my wife they stole my soul and all my dear past. Early tomorrow morning I will shut my door on these dead years I will take to the road. I will beg my way along on the roads of France from Brittany to Provence and I will cry out to the people: Refuse to obey refuse to do it don't go to war refuse to go. If blood must be given go give your own you are a good apostle Mr. President. If you go after me warn your police that I'll be unarmed and that they can shoot. I Won’t Want To Die Before having known The black Mexican dogs Who sleep without dreaming The butt-naked monkeys Gobbling up tropics The silver spiders in Webs riddled with bubbles I wouldn't want to die Not knowing if the moon Behind its fake nickel look Has a sharper side If the sun is cold If the four seasons Are really only four Not having tried To wear a dress On the boulevards Not having peeped Through a sewer peephole Not having put my dick Inside weirdo corners I wouldn't want to end Without experiencing leprosy Or the seven diseases One catches over there Neither the good nor the bad Would cause me some sorrow If if if I knew that I would get it firsthand And there iz also Everything I know Everything I like That I know that I like The green bottom of the sea Where the seaweeds waltz On the rippled sand The burnt grass in June The crackling earth The smell of conifers And the kisses of the one She's this and she's that The belle here she comes My bearcub, Ursula I wouldn't want to die Before having used up Her mouth with my mouth Her body with my hands The rest with my eyes I say no more one should Remain polite I wouldn't want to fade Without someone inventing Eternal roses The two hour day The sea at the mountain The mountain at the sea The end of pain Newspapers in color All children happy And so many other tricks That sleep inside the brains Of genius engineers Of jovial gardeners Of concerned socialists Of urban urbanists And of thoughtful thinkers So many things to see To see and to hear So much time to wait Searching in the dark And me I see the end It swarms and it comes closer With its ugly face And it opens its arms to me Like a cripplety frog I wouldn't want to die No sir no madam Before having tested The taste which torments me The taste which is the strongest I wouldn't want to die Before having tasted The flavour of death...

The deserter

Mr. President
I'm writing you a letter
that perhaps you will read
If you have the time.

I've just received
my call-up papers
to leave for the front
Before Wednesday night.

Mr. President
I do not want to go
I am not on this earth
to kill wretched people.

It's not to make you mad
I must tell you
my decision is made
I am going to desert.

Since I was born
I have seen my father die
I have seen my brothers leave
and my children cry.

My mother has suffered so,
that she is in her grave
and she laughs at the bombs
and she laughs at the worms.

When I was a prisoner
they stole my wife
they stole my soul
and all my dear past.

Early tomorrow morning
I will shut my door
on these dead years
I will take to the road.

I will beg my way along
on the roads of France
from Brittany to Provence
and I will cry out to the people:

Refuse to obey
refuse to do it
don't go to war
refuse to go.

If blood must be given
go give your own
you are a good apostle
Mr. President.

If you go after me
warn your police
that I'll be unarmed
and that they can shoot.

I Won’t Want To Die

Before having known
The black Mexican dogs
Who sleep without dreaming
The butt-naked monkeys
Gobbling up tropics
The silver spiders in
Webs riddled with bubbles
I wouldn't want to die
Not knowing if the moon
Behind its fake nickel look
Has a sharper side
If the sun is cold
If the four seasons
Are really only four
Not having tried
To wear a dress
On the boulevards
Not having peeped
Through a sewer peephole
Not having put my dick
Inside weirdo corners
I wouldn't want to end
Without experiencing leprosy
Or the seven diseases
One catches over there
Neither the good nor the bad
Would cause me some sorrow
If if if I knew that
I would get it firsthand
And there iz also
Everything I know
Everything I like
That I know that I like
The green bottom of the sea
Where the seaweeds waltz
On the rippled sand
The burnt grass in June
The crackling earth
The smell of conifers
And the kisses of the one
She's this and she's that
The belle here she comes
My bearcub, Ursula
I wouldn't want to die
Before having used up
Her mouth with my mouth
Her body with my hands
The rest with my eyes
I say no more one should
Remain polite
I wouldn't want to fade
Without someone inventing
Eternal roses
The two hour day
The sea at the mountain
The mountain at the sea
The end of pain
Newspapers in color
All children happy
And so many other tricks
That sleep inside the brains
Of genius engineers
Of jovial gardeners
Of concerned socialists
Of urban urbanists
And of thoughtful thinkers
So many things to see
To see and to hear
So much time to wait
Searching in the dark
And me I see the end
It swarms and it comes closer
With its ugly face
And it opens its arms to me
Like a cripplety frog
I wouldn't want to die
No sir no madam
Before having tested
The taste which torments me
The taste which is the strongest
I wouldn't want to die
Before having tasted
The flavour of death...