Il y a cinquante ans, à Paris,
Ils étaient des milliers, en habit du dimanche pour demander dans la dignité l’indépendance de leur pays.
La police les a arrêtés, torturés, tués.
D’autres se sont jetés dans la Seine pour y échapper.
Des centaines d’Algériens morts parce qu’ils demandaient juste le droit d’être Algériens.
La ville où l’on rafle, on tue, on torture, la ville où l’on réprime, ne l’oublions pas si nous voulons en faire un lieu où tous peuvent vivre ensemble.
Peuple français, tu as tout vu
Oui, tout vu de tes propres yeux
Tu as vu notre sang couler
Tu as vu ta police
Assommer les manifestants
Et les jeter dans la Seine.
La Seine rougissante
N’a pas cessé les jours suivants
De vomir à la face
Du peuple de la commune
Ces corps martyrisés
Qui rappelaient aux Parisiens
Leurs propres révolutions
Leur propre résistance
Peuple français, tu as tout vu
Oui tout vu de tes propres yeux,
Et maintenant vas-tu parler ?
Et maintenant vas-tu te taire ?
Kateb Yacine, 1961
Fifty yearss ago, in Paris,
There were thousands, in their Sunday best to ask for their country’s independence in dignity.
The police arrested them, tortured them, killed them.
Others flew into the Seine to break away from it.
Hundreds of Algerians, dead because they just asked for the right to be Algerians.
The city where raids are carried out, people are killed, tortured, the city of repression, we should not forget it if we want to make out of it a place where all can live together.
French people, you saw it all
Yes, you saw it with your own eyes
You saw our blood flooding
You saw your police
Knocking out the demonstrators
And throw them into the Seine.
The reddening Seine
The following days, didn’t stop
To vomit at the face
Of the Commune’s people
These tormented bodies
That reminded the Parisians
Of their own revolutions
Of their own resistance
French people, you saw it all
Yes, you saw it with your own eyes
And now, will you speak?
And now, will you keep silent?
Kateb Yacine, 1961
The Seine is lucky
She has no worries
She takes it easy
By day and by night
And she flows from her spring
Gently, quietly
And without foaming
Without overflowing her banks
She’s leaving for the sea
Passing through Paris
The Seine is lucky
She has no worries
And when she roams
Sliding down her banks
With her lovely green dress
And her golden lights
The jealous Notre Dame
Still and severe
Looks at her askance
From the top of her stones
But the Seine doesn’t care
She has no worries
She takes it easy
By day and by night
And is leaving for Le Havre
And is leaving for the sea
Flowing like a dream
In the middle of the mysteries
Of the miseries of Paris.
Chroniques erratiques d'une emmerdeuse 