Some years ago, I was asked to translate the lyrics to Cinema El Mundo, one of my favourite albums by Lo’Jo. I felt blessed in several ways; by the chance to work with Lo’Jo, a band I love; by the opportunity to translate the words of Lo’Jo’s lead singer Denis Péan, a true poet if ever there was; and by the gift of translating poetry, which is surely the most challenging, yet rewarding job a translator can wish for.
All the songs on the album offer rich poetic possibilities, so it’s been hard to choose which one deserves to be singled out. But there’s something about ‘Algiers’ that weaves a special charm for me. It’s a good illustration of one of Péan salient talents, which is his ability to evoke a powerful sense of place with a few deft words and phrases. I only ever spent a single night in Algiers, in January 1991, just before the whole country was engulfed in the civil war that blighted it for a decade and more. It was a strange, scary night. When I read about the mosques that draw a necklace around the nape of Algiers in Péan’s poem, the connection with my memory of the city was immediate.
ALGER
(D. Péan / Lo’jo)
Des mosquées font un collier au cou d’Alger.
Je ne suis qu’une larme évaporée de Méditerranée,
la plus petite poussière de Bab El Oued.
La terre est inventée pour les chardons ;
gens de compassion, de certitude et de pardon,
priez pour moi, priez pour moi !
Le manège électrique du petit Paris
tourne son bonheur innocent
pour les gosses palpitants de la Casbah.
Chouf…Notre-dame d’Afrique,
les cigognes s’envolent vers Naciria.
Des mosquées font un collier au cou d’Alger.
Des anges déposaient à nos pieds des coffrets d’alphabets,
désaccordaient nos violons à des immensités ;
aux cordages des cités s’attèlent de grands bateaux.
La ville est un verset versatile ;
gens de compassion, de certitude et de pardon,
priez pour moi, priez pour moi !
Je ne suis qu’une larme évaporée de Méditerranée,
le fruit jeté sur le marché des Trois Horloges,
la plus petite poussière de Bab el Oued.
ALGIERS
(D. Péan / Lo’Jo)
Mosques make a necklace round the nape of Algiers,
I am but an evaporated Mediterranean tear,
The smallest speck of dust from Bab El Oued.
The earth is invented for thistles ;
People of compassion, of certainty and forgiveness,
Pray for me, pray for me!
The electrical merry-go-round of little Paris
Turns its innocent happiness
For the exhilarated kids of the Casbah.
Shouf, look…Notre-Dame d’Afrique,
The swans fly off towards Naciria.
Mosques make a necklace around the nape of Algiers
Angels left caskets of alphabets at our feet,
Untuned our violins to the immensities;
Big ships are tethered to the rigging of the old town.
The city is a versatile verse ;
People of compassion, of certainty and forgiveness,
Pray for me, pray for me!
I’m nothing but an evaporated Mediterranean tear.
The fruit thrown on the marché des Trois Horloges,
The smallest speck of dust from Bab El Oued.
© Denis Péan / Lo’jo 2012. All Rights Reserved.
Translated by Andy Morgan.
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