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Life of Varda

If we can forget it all
The Defense Arena stadium
The plows, the contest in the shower
If we can tonight take away
The three million box office
Simply say what touches us
 
If we can live like Agnes
Talking to each other in the room
And feeling an emotion
If we can live a life of Varda
Walking on the sand like that
Live a life without competition
 
If we can look at elsewhere
Not the clash, not the chroniclers
Sometimes looking for elegance
If we can find the beauty
A face crinkled by time
In the night of a dancing dancer
 
If we can live like Agnes
Talking to each other in the room
And feeling an emotion
If we can live a life of Varda
Walking on the sand like that
Live a life without competition
 
If I can sleep by you
If I can love you in the cold
 
If I can till the end of times
Take pictures of you on the streets
In Lisbon, one summer morning
If I can again in one moment
If I can live like Agnes
Talking to you in the room
And feeling an emotion
If I can live a life of Varda
Walking on the sand with you
Live a life without competition
 
If I can live like Anges
If I can live a life of Varda
 

Fanny Ardant and I

We listen to Gregorian singing,
She talks little and I say nothing
We have such a relationship
Fanny Ardant and I
 
I spend the evening with Sylvain
While she stares at the wallpaper
We have stayed independent
I and Fanny Ardant
 
She's sitting on the shelf
Between a book by Eric Holder
A white IKEA chandelier
And a postcard from Maria
 
She's always completely black and white
She doesn't say 'Finally Sunday' anymore
Since I pull her along to my parents
Every week end, Fanny Ardant
 
I don't talk to her about the girls from Jussieu¹
She doesn't talk too much about Depardieu²
Yes, we avoid those subjects
Fanny Ardant and I
 
There is something in her eyes
That accuses me of coming home too late
She'd like if I were there all the time
Obviously, Fanny Ardant
 
She's sitting on the shelf
Between a book by Eric Holder
A white IKEA chandelier
And a postcard from Maria
 
She's always completely black and white
She doesn't say 'Finally Sunday' anymore
Since I pull her along to my parents
Every week end, Fanny Ardant
 
We listen to Gregorian singing,
She talks little and I say nothing
We have such a relationship
Fanny Ardant and I
 

Back Cover

July 23, Paris fades away
And on the Quai des Grans Augustins
We unexpectedly turn the pages
In front of the outlay of a bouquiniste
 
I don't know you, I accidentally touch you,
There on the quay, shoulder against shoulder.
At the same time we take a quick look
At the back covers.
 
A biography of Signoret,
Look at the kind of thing that you like.
A storyboard by Fellini
The kind of thing that makes you get up at night.
 
I can see you at Juan-les-Pins
A Pocket Press between the hands
Does it carry you to Maisons-Laffite
This [book by] Boris Vian from [the collection] 10/18?
 
I know your wrist
I recognise your hands, your bracelet.
I like the way in which you rest
Tristan Corbière on the side.
 
What will you think of me if
I grab on the shelf The Years of Platini?
In the end I prefer to fall back
On the New French Review from '54.
 
300 on the Spanish War
The kind of thing that alienate us
An old Sempé printed as softback
The kind of things that brings us closer together
 
Guide of Sri Lanka by Routard
Thank god, that we don't know each other.
Hitchkock/Truffaut: the 'interviews'
We have lots of things in commin.
 
July 23, Paris fades away
And on the Quai des Grans Augustins
We unexpectedly turn the pages
In front of the outlay of a bouquiniste
 
I don't know you, I accidentally touch you,
There on the quay, shoulder against shoulder.
On the back covers
We look for the same adventure
On the back covers...