To start, “La Bohème” is a way of living day to day in poverty but also in carelessness. It is both a lifestyle that rejects bourgeois domination and its rationality within the framework of industrial society, and the search for an artistic ideal.
As for the song “La Bohème”, It was written by Jacques Plante, composed and sung by Charles Aznavour in 1966. It is, actually, a well-known French song on the theme of bohemian life.
In fact, this tells the story of a painter who remembers with nostalgia his years on the Butte Montmartre (french quarter), in Paris, the parallels with the life of Charles Aznavour are numerous, making it almost reminiscent of an autobiographical song.
Behind this nostalgic evocation of an almost utopian Montmartre, Charles Aznavour takes stock of the life of an artist at a time “que les moins de vingt ans ne peuvent pas connaître” and where these artists lived literally day by day: “Nous ne mangions qu’un jour sur deux – Dans les cafés voisins – Nous étions quelques uns qui attendions la gloire – Et bien que miséreux – Avec le ventre creux – Nous ne cessions d’y croire”. At the end of the song, Aznavour signs his return to the places that have changed since: “Quand au hasard des jours – Je m’en vais faire un tour – À mon ancienne adresse – Je ne reconnais plus – Ni les murs, ni les rues (…) Montmartre semble triste – Et les lilas sont mortes.”
We know living a bohemian life might be appealing to you so here are a few steps you can take to enjoy that life:
- Have the courage to follow your own ideals and live your life to the fullest.
- Free your artistic side and surprise yourself by living your bohemian life to the fullest!
- Speak up about what you believe in.
- Dare to live a more unconventional life.
- Be proud to be different.
- Embrace your body now.
Here are the full lyrics:
| Je vous parle d’un temps Que les moins de vingt ans Ne peuvent pas connaître Montmartre en ce temps-là Accrochait ses lilas Jusque sous nos fenêtres Et si l’humble garni Qui nous servait de nid Ne payait pas de mine C’est là qu’on s’est connus Moi qui criait famine Et toi qui posais nue. La bohème, la bohème. Ça voulait dire on est heureux La bohème, la bohème. Nous ne mangions qu’un jour sur deux Dans les cafés voisins Nous étions quelques-uns Qui attendions la gloire Et bien que miséreux Avec le ventre creux Nous ne cessions d’y croire Et quand quelque bistro Contre un bon repas chaud Nous prenait une toile Nous récitions des vers Groupés autour du poêle En oubliant l’hiver La bohème, la bohème, Ça voulait dire tu es jolie. La bohème, la bohème, Et nous avions tous du génie. Souvent il m’arrivait Devant mon chevalet De passer des nuits blanches Retouchant le dessin De la ligne d’un sein Du galbe d’une hanche Et ce n’est qu’au matin Qu’on s’asseyait enfin Devant un café-crème Épuisés mais ravis Fallait-il que l’on s’aime Et qu’on aime la vie. La bohème, la bohème, Ça voulait dire on a 20 ans La bohème, la bohème, Et nous vivions de l’air du temps. Quand au hasard des jours Je m’en vais faire un tour À mon ancienne adresse Je ne reconnais plus Ni les murs, ni les rues Qui ont vu ma jeunesse En haut d’un escalier Je cherche l’atelier Dont plus rien ne subsiste Dans son nouveau décor Montmartre semble triste Et les lilas sont morts. La bohème, la bohème, On était jeunes, on était fous. La bohème, la bohème, Ça ne veut plus rien dire du tout. | I speak of a time That less than twenty years Can not know Montmartre that time Hung his lilac Just below our windows And so the humble garni That was our nest Do not pay for mine It is there that we knew Me crying famine And you who posed nude Bohemia, bohemian That meant we were happy Bohemia, bohemian We only ate one every other day In the neighboring We had some Who awaited glory And although poor With an empty stomach We never ceased to believe And if a bistro Against a warm meal We took a canvas We recite verses Grouped around the stove Forgetting the winter Bohemia, bohemian It meant you were pretty Bohemia, bohemian And we all had spirit Often it happened to me In front of my easel Of sleepless nights Touching up the design The line of a breast The curve of a hip And it was not until morning We finally sat Over coffee-cream Exhausted but happy Was it that we love each other And we love life Bohemia, bohemian That meant that we were twenty years Bohemia, bohemian And we lived the zeitgeist When random days I’m going for a ride In my previous address I no longer recognize Neither the walls nor the streets Who saw my youth At the top of a staircase I am looking for the workshop Of which nothing remains In its new setting Montmartre seems sad And the lilacs are dead Bohemia, bohemian We were young, we were crazy Bohemia, bohemian That does not mean anything at all |