Georges Brassens - Unpublished Handwritten Autograph Song

Georges BRASSENS (1921 – 1981), French author, composer, performer
Autograph manuscript of the song "Le passéiste". Slnd; 1 folio page on squared paper with ring binder holes in the margins without affecting the text. Manuscript found of one of the last songs that Brassens did not have time to record before his death on October 29, 1981. The song "Le passéiste" was set to music by Brassens and performed in 1982 by Jean Bertola. Manuscript copied with a few crossings out. Brassens, a perfectionist as usual, spent a considerable amount of time reworking his texts until he obtained the desired version. We note once again, unusually, that the poet did not obtain in this version what would be the final version, verses in this draft were not retained in the final song, as well as verses that were reworked. "My favorite phrase is Once upon a time If I come across as childish Too bad my goodness And in all the salons where we talk So taken if we mock this taste for The old this morose delight In the past make a clean sweep You rascal of fate But spare my little phrase It's a treasure If the snows of yesteryear remain beautiful It's perhaps a good thing that the herds Of cattle no longer lay their big hooves on them. As soon as I lose my composure In the time that runs I call on the good memories To my aid My baggage of English culture Little by little has become a pair A single word remains and if you don't mind It's remember You shouldn't be surprised my dear If you found The collection of yesteryear and bygone days At my bedside If the snows of yesteryear remain beautiful It's perhaps a good thing that the herds Of cattle no longer lay their big hooves on them. In the lost land of old moons May Copernicus forgive me no unwelcome shadow No sputnik The brightness of the extinguished stars In the darkness still illuminates me And I hear the angelus ringing In the dead bell towers That the years nibble at my grimoires It doesn't matter But let them not block my memory My dearest possession If the snows of yesteryear remain beautiful It may be good that the herds Of cattle no longer set their big hooves on them May the sky strike me with aphasia Of influenza But let it save me from amnesia Anything but that If the snows of yesteryear remain beautiful It may be good that the herds Of cattle no longer set their big hooves on them »