L'Amour

In this song, Carla Bruni is singing and Louis Bertignac is playing in the style of an American Blues song.  I would think that the main purpose of "L'Amour" is this musical experiment and that the lyric is less a personal statement by Carla Bruni than a traditional lament by a female blues singer that love has let her down.  However, if my interpretation is correct, Carla Bruni does slip in a little sentiment of her own.She finally confesses that even though she has renounced love, from time to time she likes "Le gout du vent", the freedom of sexual pleasures without commitment, with men, who, even though she calls them her lovers, do not involve her in the complex, distressing experiences of true love.
 

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L'amour, Hmmm Hmmm, pas pour moi,

Tous ces "toujours",

C'est un acte, ça joue des tours,

Ca s'approche sans se montrer,

Comme un traître de velours,

Ca me blesse ou me lasse selon les jours

 

 

L'amour, Hmmm Hmmm, ça ne vaut rien,

Ça m'inquiète de tout,

Et ça se déguise en doux,

Quand ça gronde, quand ça me mord,

Alors oui, c'est pire que tout,

Car j'en veux, Hmmm Hmmm, plus encore,

Pourquoi faire ce tas de plaisirs, de frissons, de caresses, de pauvres promesses ?

A quoi bon se laisser reprendre

Le coeur en chamade,(1)

Ne rien y comprendre,

C'est une embuscade,

L'amour ça ne va pas,

C'est pas du Saint Laurent,

Ca ne tombe pas parfaitement,

Si je ne trouve pas mon style ce n'est pas faute d'essayer,

Et l'amour j'laisse tomber !

 

 

A quoi bon ce tas de plaisirs, de frissons, de caresses, de pauvres promesses ?

Pourquoi faire se laisser reprendre,

Le cœur en chamade,

Ne rien y comprendre,

C'est une embuscade,

L'amour, Hmmm Hmmm, j'en veux pas

J'préfère de temps de temps

Je préfère le goût du vent

Le goût étrange et doux de la peau de mes amants,

Mais l'amour, Hmmm Hmmm, pas vraiment!

 

Love, Hmmm Hmmm, not for me

All those "for evers",

It's an act, likes playing tricks,

It comes close but doesn’t show up,

Like some smoothie double-crosser,

It wounds me or tires me on different days.

 

 

Love, Hmmm Hmmm, it's not worth a dime,

It’s just one long worry,

And it wears a soft disguise,

When it growls, when it bites me,

Well yes that’s worst of all,

For I want it Hmmm Hmmm, even more,

 Why make this heap of pleasures, of thrills, of caresses, of limp promises?

What’s the point being caught up again

Heart beating crazy,

Not understanding a thing,

It’s simply a trap,

Love is no good at all,

It's not some Saint Laurent,

It doesn't hang to perfection,

If I can't find my style it's sure not through want of trying,

And love I give a miss.

 

 

What good is this heap of pleasures, of thrills, of caresses, of limp promises?

What’s the point being caught up again,

Heart beating crazy,

Not understanding a thing,

It’s simply a trap, 

Love, Hmmm Hmmm, I don't want any,

I prefer from time to time

I prefer the taste of the wind

The strange taste and soft of the skin of my lovers,

But love, Hmmm Hmmm, not really

 



 

 
TRANSLATION NOTE
(1) My dictionary tells me that "Chamade" was the word used for the loud and frantic roll on the drum, that an army made in battle, when they were calling for a truce for negotiations. 
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