My translation of Serge Gainsbourg's amazing song "le poinçonneur des Lilas" and why it is superior to that of Mick Harvey and Alan Chamberlain

            First of all I will present, with the guitar chords, the original french lyrics by Serge Gainsbourg. Then I will show Mick Harvey and Alan Chamberlain's version. After that I will present my arguments as to why their version does not do Serge Gainsbourg justice. At the end I will offer what I consider the definitive English version of the song, the one that I wrote.

le poinçonneur des Lilas

Em

J'suis l'poinçonneur des Lilas

                                           Am

Le gars qu'on croise et qu'on n' regarde pas

C                        G

Y a pas d'soleil sous la terre

               Am

Drôle de croisière

              B

Pour tuer l'ennui j'ai dans ma veste

Les extraits du Reader Digest

Em

Et dans c'bouquin y a écrit

                                      Am

Que des gars s'la coulent douce à Miami

C                            G

Pendant c'temps que je fais l'zouave

              Am

Au fond d'la cave

            B

Paraît qu'y a pas d'sous-métier

Moi j'fais des trous dans des billets

Em                                 Bm               Em

J'fais des trous, des p'tits trous, encor des p'tits trous

Em                                 Bm                 Em

Des p'tits trous, des p'tits trous, toujours des p'tits trous

Em                 Am

Des trous d'seconde classe

D                   G  B

Des trous d'première classe

Em                                 Bm              Em

J'fais des trous, des p'tits trous, encor des p'tits trous

Em                                 Bm                 Em

Des p'tits trous, des p'tits trous, toujours des p'tits trous

Bm         Em    Bm        Em

Des petits trous, des petits trous,

Bm        Em    Bm        Em

Des petits trous, des petits trous

Em

J'suis l'poinçonneur des Lilas

                           Am

Pour Invalides changer à Opéra

C                      G

Je vis au cœur d'la planète

             Am

J'ai dans la tête

         B  

Un carnaval de confettis

J'en amène jusque dans mon lit

Em

Et sous mon ciel de faïence

                                   Am

Je n'vois briller que les correspondances

C                   G

Parfois je rêve je divague

            Am

Je vois des vagues

           B

Et dans la brume au bout du quai

J'vois un bateau qui vient m'chercher

Em                      Bm            Em

Pour m'sortir de ce trou où je fais des trous

Em                                 Bm                 Em

Des p'tits trous, des p'tits trous, toujours des p'tits trous

Em              Am

Mais l'bateau se taille

D                G            B

Et j'vois qu'je déraille

Em                       Bm                Em

Et je reste dans mon trou à faire des p'tits trous

Em                                 Bm         Em

Des p'tits trous, des p'tits trous, toujours des p'tits trous

Bm         Em     Bm        Em

Des petits trous, des petits trous,

Bm        Em    Bm        Em

Des petits trous, des petits trous

Em

J'suis l'poinçonneur des Lilas

                               Am

Arts-et-Métiers direct par Levallois

C                      G

J'en ai marre j'en ai ma claque

         Am

De ce cloaque

               B

Je voudrais jouer la fill' de l'air

Laisser ma casquette au vestiaire

Em

Un jour viendra j'en suis sûr

                                Am

Où j'pourrais m'évader dans la nature

C                      G

J'partirai sur la grand'route

             Am

Et coûte que coûte

           B

Et si pour moi il n'est plus temps

Je partirai les pieds devant

Em                                 Bm       Em

J'fais des trous, des p'tits trous, encor des p'tits trous

Em                                 Bm         Em

Des p'tits trous, des p'tits trous, toujours des p'tits trous

Em                Am

Y a d'quoi d'venir dingue

D                 G           B

De quoi prendre un flingue

Em                             Bm              Em

S'faire un trou, un p'tit trou, un dernier p'tit trou

Em                           Bm              Em

Un p'tit trou, un p'tit trou, un dernier p'tit trou

Bm         Em      Bm      Em

Et on m'mettra dans un grand trou

Bm          Em        Bm     Em         Bm       Em

Où j'n'entendrai plus parler d'trou plus jamais d'trou

Bm        Em      Bm     Em      Bm    Em

De petits trous de petits trous de petits trous

The Ticket Puncher by Mick Harvey and Alan Chamberlain

I’m the ticket puncher at Lilas.

To me the passengers pay no regard.

There is no sunshine in this Metro station.

Strange vacation.

To kill the boredom, in my vest,

I have extracts from Readers Digest,

And this book says to me,

That life is just a ball in Miami,

All the while I’m working like a slave,

Down in this cave,

They say work’s better than the dole

But all day long I just make holes

I punch holes, little holes and more little holes

Little holes, little holes, always little holes

I make second class holes

And punch first class holes

I punch holes, little holes and more little holes

Little holes, little holes, always little holes

Little holes, little holes
Little holes, little holes.

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas

Invalids you change at Opera

I live down in the bowels of this here planet

I have in my head

A carnival of confetti that even gets between my sheets.

Under this white tile sky

The only things that shine are insect’s eyes.

Sometimes I dream, I go into a daze

And in that phase

The railway platform is a quay

A boat is coming to get me

From this hole, little hole where I make little holes

From this hole, this little hole where I make little holes

But the boat is sailing

My daydream’s always failing

In this hole, in this hole, punching little holes

Little holes, little holes, always little holes

Little holes, little holes
Little holes, little holes.

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas

Arts and Metiers direct by Lavallois

I’ve had enough,

I’ve had it with this bullshit

Down in this cess-pit

I’d like to get out in the trees

They can keep their cloakroom keys

One day will come I am sure

When I will get away to something more

Take a car, a plane, a train (something that rhymes with “what”)

No matter what

But if the time I have is cursed

I’ll have to leave this place feet first

I punch holes, little holes and more little holes

Little holes, little holes, always little holes

I think I will trifle

with a great big rifle

and make a hole, little hole, one last little hole

make a hole, little hole, one last little hole

and then they’ll put me in a hole

where I will hear no more of holes

Never again make little holes

Those little holes, those little holes.

   There are plenty of holes in the above version, and they're not the number of times the word "holes" is used. 

   First of all is the use of the word "Invalids" as if the narrator is trying to say that invalids must take a certain route on the Metro in Paris. "Invalides" is the real name of a subway station in Paris and yes Gainsbourg chose the name obviously because of its double meaning. But to simply say "Invalids" takes the subtlety away that is so important in many of Serge Gainsbourg's meanings.

   The second gaping hole in Harvey and Chamberlain's version is the omission of a translation of Gainsbourg's phrase: la grand'route. They ignored it and instead listed various means of transportation. I am almost certain that Gainsbourg's use of  la grand'route is a reference to August Stindberg's play La Grand'Route, which in the original Swedish is Stora landsvägen, and which in English is the Great Highway. In Strindberg's play, the Great Highway is the road that leads to the graveyard. The last verse of Gainsbourg's song is all about death, first referencing it symbolically and finally literally.

   The third problem is the use of the rhyme "I think I will trifle with a great big rifle". Ugh! I feel like throwing up every time I read or hear this rhyme. It's as if Dr. Seuss were translating Serge Gainsbourg. 

   Then there is the use of the word "rifle". I don't think that when Gainsbourg conceived of his poinçonneur putting a hole in his head that he envisioned him doing it with a rifle. First of all Gainsbourg himself liked handguns. Second of all the ticket puncher, since it's his job that is driving him to suicide, would want to kill himself at work. A rifle is an extremely impractical implement of suicide, especially if you are trying to carry it to work on the underground transit system.

   It amazes me that it took two people to write this flawed English version of a Serge Gainsbourg masterpiece. But then again, maybe it's not so amazing. My observation over the years is that in general, the more writers there are behind a song, the worse the song is. Case in point: most of Britney Spears' songs have four writers for each one.

  Finally, I heard that Mick Harvey left Nick Cave's Bad Seeds because of creative differences with Nick Cave. Judging from this effort I would say that the difference was that Nick Cave was creative and Mick Harvey wasn't.

   

   Here is my  version of le poinçonneur des Lilas. Let me know what you think.

The Ticket Puncher at Lilas Station

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas
The guy you pass but don’t quite ever see there
There is no sun underneath the ground, strange way to get around

To kill the boredom, in my vest
I keep the new Reader's Digest
And inside a writer’s telling me

That guys can lead a sweet life in Miami
While I work here just like an idiot

in this covered pit

They say there are no worthless roles,
but my job’s making

little

holes
I make holes, little holes, still more little holes

I make holes, little holes, always little holes
Holes for second class cars, holes for those first class cars.
I make holes, little holes, still more little holes
I make holes, little holes, always little holes
Little holes, little holes, little holes, little holes

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas,
For Invalides transfer at Opera
I live in the planet’s nucleus 

and there's a circus of confetti in my head
that follows me right home to bed.
And staring up at my ceramic sky

I see no stars, just cold fluorescent lights
Sometimes I dream and my mind wanders, to the the water
And through the mist just off the quay
I see a ship come to get me
To take me from this hole where I make little holes
little holes, little holes, always little holes

But the boat drifts on back to sea
And my mind flips on track to be
making holes, little holes still more little holes
Little holes, little holes, little holes, little holes
 

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas,
Arts et Metiers direct by Levallois

I am backed up, while lodged here toiling down this toilet.
I want to break this cage and fly,
just leave this monkey suit behind.
and the day will come, I am sure
When I will run into the arms of nature
I will embark on the Great Highway

whatever toll I’ll pay
And if for me the time’s run out
I will leave just leave here lying down
from this hole where I make holes, still more little holes

Little holes, little holes, always little holes
This job’s carried me round the bend
enough to put this gun to my head.

To make a hole, little hole, one last little hole,
little hole, little hole, one last little hole
And they’ll put me in a big hole.
where I’ll not hear or speak of holes. Last stop for holes!
Those little holes, little holes
little holes, little holes.