Song lyrics Vlaemsch
The Flemish Lion
Time devours cities,
no thrones survive,
Armies perish,
but a people never dies.
The enemy takes the field,
surrounded by deadly danger;
We laugh at his anger,
the Flemish Lion is there
He tears, destroys, crushes,
covered in blood and mud,
And he grins triumphantly
over his enemy’s trembling corpse.
We laugh at his anger:
the Flemish Lion is there.
All-seeing sun
All-seeing sun,
by my faith,
I must not deny it.
I’m almost jealous of you;
why are you looking my friend,
if in ten million taken the urge,
the moon left the sky.
I fear that its love binds you,
because a sun deserves better.
A sad departure
A sad departure has put me in pain,
my body is colder
than marble,
numbed by grief
and dry as a tree
my face has lost all color.
When I sing a song on the street,
thought through and in rhythm,
it may happen
that someone passes
who’s ashamed
and wants to put me down.
His argument is very known,
you hear it from Zepperen to Ghent,
from Heverlee to Schoten:
“It’s Flemish, it isn’t worth shit…”
Between celebratory chatter
in the Brabant village of Londerzeel
having sung a bit,
a Brabander came to me
and said: “Sir, how dare you,
and wholeheartedly,
sing for a full hall
and in your own language?
I find that to be quite something
because Flemish isn’t worth shit…”
I was recently in Denderleeuw
In the Flemish café the Flemish Lion.
And I heard them singing,
Not of Flemish jay or of sparrow,
not of blue-footed bird or seagull
but of German things.
And don’t say that I’m lying:
they were singing songs of the war.
The Flemish, that was cast out
because it isn’t worth shit…
Lately it’s been fine
to be a cultural model by speaking proper Dutch.
The ones who like to evoke a fake culture
now speak with a Holland dialect.
Emulate an orange attitude.
In this way our people in one, two, three
has a brand new little complex.
Because according to the great ones
Flemish doesn’t mean shit…
They said it to me before
that he was in the Stutzaert gang
His game no longer enamors me
neither in the beginning nor the end,
Where I turn or where I go,
my man who is no more my friend,
an old grey man that I never knew
since he doesn’t have what serves me.
Soft sweet lady
Soft sweet lady
For the love of God, don’t think
That anyone besides you
Reigns over me
And without any cheating
Cherished
Have I you and humbly
For the rest of my days
Served you
Without any base thoughts
Alas! And I beg
For the hope of comfort
And my joy will vanish
If you do not take pity on me
Soft sweet lady
But your soft mastery
Masters
My heart so harshly
So that it vexes
And ties
My heart to love so great
That I do not feel like doing anything else
There is no other sense
Than being in your company
But your heart does not align
Sweet soft lady
And my malady
When healed
Is never without
You, sweet enemy
Who takes delight
In my torment
Hands clasped I pray
Your heart that forgets me
That it kills me
Because too long languished
Soft sweet lady
For the love of God, don’t think
That anyone besides you
Reigns over me
Crudel Acerba (Italian)
Crudel, acerba, inexorabil Morte,
cagion mi dài di mai non esser lieto,
ma di menar tutta mia vita in pianto,
e i giorni oscuri et le dogliose notti.
I mei gravi sospir' non vanno in rime,
e 'l mio duro martir vince ogni stile.
English translation:
Cruel, bitter, and inexorable Death,
you give me reason never to be happy,
but to live my life instead with weeping,
darkened days, and the saddened nights.
My heavy sighs will not go into rhyme,
and my harsh pain defeats every style.
Song Tister
Bana mboka bayo lele
Bakana nyango mama lela o
Bana mboka bayo lele
Bakana nyango mama lela o
Yo yo yo yoyo
Yo yo yo yoyo
Bilima e yo yo yo
Yo yo yo yoyo
Yo yo yo yoyo
Bilima e yo yo yo
Litoli yo litoli yo yo
Litoli yo litoli yo yo
Bana mboka bayo lele
Bilima e yo yo yo
Bana mboka bayo lele
Bilima e yo yo yo
Likambo lokita o wayé
Bakana nyango mama lela o
Bango wana ba yeyi
Bango wana ba yeyi
English translation:
The people of the village
have received good news
The midwife accompanies mother
The people of the village
have received good news
The midwife accompanies mother
Soon the twins are there
Soon the twins are there
We are waiting, we are waiting
We are waiting, we are waiting
The people of the village
have received good news
Soon the twins are there
The people of the village
have received good news
Soon the twins are there
The news that the twins are there
The midwife accompanies mother
They have arrived
They have arrived
‘Marieke’ by Jacques Brel
Oh, Marieke Marieke, I loved you so much
Between the towers of Bruges and Ghent
Oh, Marieke Marieke, a long time ago
Between the towers of Bruges and Ghent
Without love, warm love
The wind blows, the mute wind
Without love, warm love
The sea cries, the grey sea
Without love, warm love
The light suffers, the dark light
And the sand scrapes over my country
My flat country, my Flanders country
Oh, Marieke Marieke, the Flemish sky
The colors of the towers of Bruges and Ghent
Oh, Marieke Marieke, the Flemish sky
Cry with me from Bruges to Ghent
Without love, warm love
The wind blows, it’s over
Without love, warm love
The sea cries, already finished
Without love, warm love
The light suffers, everything is over
The sand scrapes over my country
my flat country, my Flanders country
Oh, Marieke Marieke, the Flemish sky
does it weigh too much from Bruges to Ghent
Oh, Marieke Marieke, in your twenty years
That I loved so much from Bruges to Ghent
Without love, warm love
The devil laughs, the black devil
Without love, warm love
My heart burns, my old heart
Without love, warm love
The summer dies, the sad summer
And the sand scrapes over my country
my flat country, my Flanders country
Oh, Marieke Marieke, come back the time
come back the time from Bruges to Ghent
Oh, Marieke Marieke, come back the time
where you loved me from Bruges to Ghent
Oh, Marieke Marieke, the night often
Between the towers of Bruges and Ghent
Oh, Marieke Marieke, all the ponds
open their arms for me from Bruges to Ghent
From Bruges to Ghent, from Bruges to Ghent
Slaet op den trommele
Beat on the drums like dum-dum-duh-dum,
beat on the drums like duh-dum-duh-dum,
beat on the drums like dum-dum-duh-dum,
Long live the Geus is now the slogan
Spanish pox,
light as snow flakes,
Spanish pox,
on the loose and bad,
Spanish pox,
under the pope’s robes,
the Spanish pox,
growing nonstop.
The Spanish Inquisition,
for God an evil,
the Spanish Inquisition,
like dragon’s blood
the Spanish Inquisition
you will be punished,
the Spanish Inquisition,
loses the game.
Long live the Geus! Live like a good Christian,
Long live the Geus! Keep real courage;
Long live the Geus! God keeps you from sinning.
Long live the Geus! Nobel Christian blood.
Archi statue by Gasparo Pratoneri
Archi statue trofei colossi e marmi,
Palme trionfi e spoglie oppime e rare,
Communi pregi fù delle vostr' armi,
Hor vi portan' in ciel glorie piu chiari,
Mostrandovi quà giù le prose e i carmi,
Nume lui de la terra e voi del mare.
English translation:
Arches, statues, trophies, colossi and marbles,
Palms, triumphs, magnificent and exotic spoils,
The common merits of your arms
Now bring you in heaven greater glories,
Showing you here below the prose and the poems,
He the god of the earth, and you of the sea.
Oh Flanders free
Oh Flanders free and noble heart,
Famous in distant lands,
Famous still and worth it,
Though many an evil snake bears you ill.
You have been wronged for so long,
Defend yourself wholeheartedly.
Oh Flanders, what keeps you.
You girls
You girls, fifteen years old,
Don’t come to the fountain anymore,
Because you have frisky eyes,
Perky nipples, laughing mouths,
plump ass…
Hearts gayer than a mistress,
You girls, fifteen years old,
Don’t come to the fountain anymore
Oh Lord, help Rima sleep,
may she become sleepy,
May she grow up
and love to pray and to fast.
Oh God, let her grow healthier every day.
I will take you on a little journey
to a place
where there are plums under the apricot tree
and each time the wind blows,
I will pick an apricot for Rima.
Hey Lina,
lend us your kettle and a bowl
So that we can wash Rima’s clothes
and hand them on the jasmine tree.
I am sad and I am
I am sad and I am
so sick,
and I cannot heal.
Sweet love you do this,
and nobody else but you.
What advice do you want to give me.
What advice do you want to give me.
Een gilde jent
A guild gent
recently rode to Ghent;
He was sitting on
a skinny horse barely worth its hire,
dung on his back
snot on his face
it had the tread of an old nag.
My hard feelings
melted at the sight of it.
The horse walked like a chicken
that had been bridled under the chin.
“Sweet friend
Stay home!”
the angry mob cried.
If Lanchals were alive,
he’d run you in.
De Flamingant
In my country of Flanders, mistreated
by devastating wars
And troubled times,
the earth is silent.
Don’t treat me as a flamingant,
being Flemish is hard enough.
Whatever one says about the glorious past,
Spain came to the dance,
Assisted by France,
to erase our consciousness.
Don’t treat me as a flamingant,
being Flemish is hard enough.
On land destined for wheat fields
we had battles,
Pretentious confusion,
while treating us as scoundrels.
Don’t treat me as a flamingant,
being Flemish is hard enough.
Because of the most black proletariat,
we have seen joy
To perish as prey to baseness,
between church and drunkenness,
Don’t treat me as a flamingant,
being Flemish is hard enough.
They say: they were collaborators!
Many were caught,
Believing to make Flanders pure,
this is what misery engenders.
Don’t treat me as a flamingant,
being Flemish is hard enough.
Fascists are everywhere, also among us,
but as people love to
hate what they don’t know,
with this refrain I implore you:
Don’t treat me as a flamingant,
I am Flemish, the son of a worker.
A captain
A captain of raiders
which are sent by Mr. Pierroie,
surprise the city of honor of Antwerp,
but to his dishonor withdrew,
like a kite they retreat
visibly showing fear.
One does not take such a cat without a mitten.
Understood to princes and barons,
saying I have burned various places,
I plundered through and through
I passed Walhem, also Duffel,
but I failed to take Antwerp.
One does not take such a cat without a mitten,
François, if your two champions
Longeval and also Piroye,
had laid siege to Maroye,
and were all in his castle
in front of the hole that blows so well,
he would blow them as far as Roye.
One does not take such a cat without a mitten.
Or oiez
Go run now
the prayers of the tavern,
Jehan Gallet sleeps
deeply amongst you
on your feet, on your feet,
let’s go drink,
to the little cer! to the little cer!
Jean Gallet,
Jehan Gallet come in
a rage,
Jehan Gallet let’s cry out
companions,
march, gay St. Leger,
on the road
Buquet, Benoist, Guiard,
Master Jacques Severin,
goblin, Pierre Mercher,
master Jacques Le Tigneulx
Without pity,
come here
where where where will we go and drink good wine,
at Jehan Baston, Jehan Baston,
tock tock tick tock tick tock
we want to drink a lot
hello host, hello hostess,
valet, chambermaid
give me water to wash my hands,
wash my teeth, wash my teeth,
Let’s rinse our teeth
with white wine at lunch,
white wine from Anjou
or Boyeux de collège.
Dominus Amen,
to lunch the beautiful andouille,
peas with pork
is for Saint Jehan delicious,
charlotte m'amye, apetit nouveau,
Pasta with strong sauce
wine from Beaune,
my friend, or Passi,
eating gruel is over,
eating gruel is over.
Adieu Anvers
Farewell Antwerp,
farewell noble city
it’s hard for me
to leave you
not because of a crime,
or a vulgar thing,
but because of a woman
whom one cannot compare
neither to Venus
nor Helen,
so much is the grace
she carries with her
the pain that my departure
causes me is sweet,
since it will be accompanied
by someone so beautiful
Farewell Antwerp,
farewell Antwerp.
Mílle quingéntis vérum (Latijn)
Mílle quingéntis vérum bis sex mínus ánnis
Vírgine progéniti lápsis ab orígine Chrísti,
Sicílides flérunt Múse, dum Fáta tulérunt
Hóbrecht Guillérmum, mágna probitáte decórum,
Cecílie ad féstum, qui Cecíliam peragrávit
Oram; ídem Orphéicum Músis Jácobum generávit.
Ergo dúlce mélos succentórum chórus álme
Cóncine ut ad célos sit vécta ánima
et dáta pálme. Amen
Cantus firmus:
Réquiem aetérnam dóna éis, Dómine,
et lux perpétua lúceat éis.
English translation:
After fifteen hundred minus twice six years
passed since the birth of Christ,
the Virgin's progeny,
Sicilian Muses wept as the Fates took away
Guillermus Obrecht, adorned with great worthiness,
On the feast of Cecilia, he who traveled thru the Cecilian
shore; the same begot the Orphic Jacob for the Muses.
Therefore a sweet song, gentle accompanying choir,
sing, that his soul may be carried to heaven
and given the palm. Amen
Cantus firmus:
Eternal rest grant them, O Lord,
and may perpetual light shine upon them.
