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No, You Don't Have a Name

No, no you don't have a name
No, you don't exist
You're only what we think you are
No, no you don't have a name
 
Oh no, you are not a being
You might become one
If I gave you asylum
If it was less difficult
If I just had to wait
To see my stomach to be drawn taut
If it wasn't a trap
Or some dubious curse
 
No, no you don't have a name
No, you don't exist
You're only what we think you are
No, no you don't have a name
 
Do they know that it transforms
The mind as well as the body?
That we carry you in our head?
That it never stops?
You won't be my focus
What do they know about my stomach?
Do they think we control it1
When I'm so many other things?
 
No, no you don't have a name
No, you don't exist
You're only what we think you are
No, no you don't have a name
 
Already you push me to action
I feel like I'm shriveling up
And instinctually I resist you
For so long, I've existed
For so long, I've loved you
But I want you without any problem
Today I refuse you
Who are they who accuse me?
 
No, no you don't have a name
No, you don't exist
You're only what we think you are
No, no you don't have a name
 
Supposing that you live
You're nothing without your captive
But do you have more importance
More weight than a seed?
Oh, it's not a celebration
It's more of a loss
But it's mine and I figure
That there are two victims
 
No, no you don't have a name
No, you don't exist
You're only what we think you are
No, no you don't have a name
 
They have all the luck
Those who believe that it is thought
It is yelled, it is suffered
It's death and it's abyss
It's white solitude
It's the fall, the avalanche
It's the desert that spreads out
Tear by tear, struggle by struggle
 
No, no you don't have a name
No, you don't exist
You're only what we think you are
No, no you don't have a name
 
Whoever puts themselves between
My existence and my stomach
Will only have contempt or hatred
Will throw me to the dogs
It's a tiresome battle
That will leave me with marks
But I am made of marks
And hits and losses
 
No, no you don't have a name
No, you don't exist
You're only what we think you are
No, no you don't have a name
 

• 1. I'm unsure of how to properly translate 'en disposer' in this context

Stand Up Straight!

Stand up straight!
If you slouch, you'll look like an arch.
Stand up straight!
If you slouch, you won't look like anything much.
 
You'll look like a bridge, not even of stone,
a wooden bridge, a steel bridge,
a trunk thrown across the river,
a mere nothing upon which I'm free to thread.
You'll look like an hyphen, a walkway,
that which I can use to go further,
a background music, a corny tune
of no use to me whatsoever.
 
Stand up straight!
If you slouch, you'll look like an arch.
Stand up straight!
If you slouch, you won't look like anything much.
 
You'll look like the shadow of a nobody,
an intermission, a school break,
a lover out of an Enyd Blyton1 story,
a suitor only good for shows,
a big road like any other
lending your flat ground to my steps,
you'll look like a tarmac, a guy too happy
to wallow in his own misery.
 
Stand up straight!
If you slouch, you'll look like an arch.
Stand up straight!
If you slouch, you won't look like anything much.
 
I really don't want you to slouch,
I want to bump against you, always.
Don't take away all the chasms
love will summon under my steps.
I don't want any bridge, only rivers,
streams where I could swirl,
I want this life, I want it all,
even if my heart drowns in it.
 
Come on, stand up straight.
Don't slouch, I've got to walk forth.
Stand straight,
if you slouch I won't look like anything much.
 

• 1. the 'pink library' is a big collection targetting children 8-10, including adaptations of 'The Famous Fives' and 'The Secret Seven'. There is also a 'green library' for children 10-12

Nothing to It

Ending up in the street? Nothing to it
Ashamed of your begging hand? Nothing to it.
It's like the other side of a sliding game
where you slip down bit by bit, a comedown.
All you need is a very ordinary grey morning
and a letter telling you there's no helping it:
you can't have a job anymore
you can't have a home anymore
you can't have a love anymore
you'll have to get by all by yourself.
 
(chorus)
When bad luck kicks in,
the going gets rough, a weird dance.
It makes me think.
 
Sleeping on a subway platform? Nothing to it
Some scribbling in chalk? Nothing to it
No more home, nor warmth, nor status.
We won't hire such a filthy nobody.
No more job, nor money, nor roof.
It's a crazy and not really funny story.
We can't allow you to stay
since the station is about to close
We have nothing to give for you
to go and get drunk all by yourself.
 
(chorus)
When bad luck kicks in,
the going gets rough, a weird dance.
It makes me think.
 
Ending up in jail? Nothing to it.
Your mother was right. Nothing to it.
Taking a bit of what stands there and you covet
and won't be given to you, enjoy your life1,
or perhaps unknowingly getting caught, bizarre, bizarre2,
in the net of despair for a few grams3
We can't give you anything
We can't heal you
We can't forgive you
You'll have to get used to it all by yourself.
 
(chorus)
When bad luck kicks in,
the going gets rough, a weird dance.
It makes me think.
 
Walking on by without a glance, that's too easy
Saying you have no business giving alms, that's too easy
Thinking you're not the same because you're clean
when disgruntled misery shouts out to you
is to ignore that one morning, maybe tomorrow
you might hold the sad letter in your hand, saying
you can't have a job anymore
you can't have a home anymore
you can't have a love anymore
you'll have to get by all by yourself.
 
(chorus)
When bad luck kicks in,
the going gets rough, a weird dance.
When bad luck kicks in,
the going gets rough, a weird dance.
It makes me think, and think, and think...
 

• 1. sounds like a typical ad slogan
• 2. From ' of the movie. It's just a pun on 'drôle' (funny/weird), the movie is not about destitution
• 3. of dope

The people who doubt

Versions: #2
I love people who doubt
Who care too much about
Their little swinging heart
Those who speak for themselves
and contradict themselves
and without backing out
 
I love people who fear
That we may think out here
They judge or can’t abide
I love the ones that cruise
halfway inside their shoes
and halfway by their side
 
I love the little song they make
Though they’re called dummies by mistake
 
I love those panicking
Those who ain’t right-thinking
Who are behind the times
And when dragging their chain,
To spare us any pain
make sounds of little chimes
 
Those who will have no shame
At the end of the game
For being looser’s hearts
For having failed to say:
'don’t take the best away
and keep the worse appart'
 
I love the little song they make
Though they’re called dummies by mistake
 
I love those who won’t dare
Consider things as theirs
Let alone girls and guys
Those who are happily
Just windows, merely
For all the children's eyes
 
Whose pennons are untwined
Whose souls are colorblind
Ignoring all the hues
Those letting, foolishly
Ungrateful History
Deprive them of their dues
 
I love the little song they make
Though they’re called dummies by mistake
 
I love people who doubt
but who could live without
being bugged, from time to time
And never being downed
When showing all around
Their falls in springing time
 
Let’s tell them the Soul glares
Much more alluring flares
than all those mournful bums
And thank them fervently
say, shout immediately:
'Thank you for living, chums
thanks for your tender guts
and too bad for your buts
That did, just all they could.'