Translation of the song lyrics Les rires et le clown - Yves Jamait

Les rires et le clown (original)

Ce soir trangement, le chapiteau repose.
La mort a fait main basse sur le rire des enfants.
Le clown s’en est all et la lune rpand
Sur son lit les onguents de la mtamorphose.
La fanfare afflige et l’cuyre en pleurs,
Les petits poneys blancs aux toupets de velours
L’escorteront demain grands coups de tambours
Sur la butte escarpe o sera sa demeure.
Lui, drap dans l’azur, ira dire aux plantes
Naissantes et toutes pleines de vie dcanter,
Le secret lourd et bleu des rires dsenchants
Qui sonnent en mineur les flonflons de la fte.
Dans un cirque toil tendu de nues blondes,
Pour des soleils enfants aux rires incandescents,
Le clown fera revivre, ridicule et savant,
Les rires o sont caches les dtresses du monde.
Le rire du vieillard prs de l’arbre palabres,
Cassant comme un regret sous le poids d’un jour neuf.
Le rire du coolie reint comme un boeuf
Ou le rire du fou, afft comme un sabre.
Saltimbanque des rires qu’une larme enchevtre
Il jonglera si bien, le clown, que l’infini
Refera le calcul de ses cosmogonies
Pour renouer les fils de ses pantins terrestres.
Mais il taira le pire, le rire impardonnable,
Ce triste rire d’enfant si las que dj vieux,
Pour qui le clown ira botter le cul des dieux
O qu’ils soient, dans leurs Olympes improbables.
Ce soir trangement, le chapiteau repose.

(translation)

Strangely tonight, the marquee rests.
Death has taken over the children's laughter.
The clown is gone and the moon is pouring out
On his bed the ointments of metamorphosis.
The brass band afflicts and the squire in tears,
Little white ponies with velvet forelocks
Will escort him tomorrow great drumbeats
On the steep knoll where his home will be.
Him, draped in the blue, will tell the plants
Nascent and all full of life decant,
The heavy blue secret of disenchanted laughter
Which sound in minor the blare of the party.
In a circus stretched canvas of blonde nudes,
For childish suns of incandescent laughter,
The clown will revive, ridiculous and learned,
The laughter where the troubles of the world are hidden.
The laughter of the old man near the palaver tree,
Brittle like regret under the weight of a new day.
The coolie's laugh runs like an ox
Or the madman's laughter, sharp as a sword.
Mountebank of laughter that a tear entangles
He will juggle so well, the clown, that infinity
Will redo the calculation of his cosmogonies
To retie the threads of his earthly puppets.
But he will silence the worst, the unforgivable laughter,
This sad child's laughter so tired that already old,
For whom the clown will kick the ass of the gods
Wherever they are, in their improbable Olympus.
Strangely tonight, the marquee rests.