The Metic ( Le Métèque )

I first heard Georges Moustaki’s “Le Métèque” when I was six or seven. I couldn’t possibly have understood the lyrics in their entirety without an adult’s life experience, but there were parts, however, that struck me viscerally, as I heard it for the very first time. I knew the “metic” was me, too, even before I fully understood what it meant to be me.



Le Métèque / The Metic ~ Lyrics in English

with my mouth of a metic
of a wandering Jew, of a Greek shepherd
and my hair with the four winds
with my totally diluted eyes
that put me in a dreaming state
me, that doesn’t dream much anymore
with my hands of a petty thief
of a musician and of a prowler
who plundered so many gardens
with my mouth that drank
that kissed and bit
without ever appeasing its hunger

with my mouth of a metic
of a wandering Jew, of a Greek shepherd
of a thief and of a vagrant
with my skin that rubbed
with the sun of all the summers
and all that wore underskirt
with my heart that knew how to
whistle as much as it suffered
without making storied for that
with my soul that no longer has
the least chance to greet
to avoid the purgatory

with my mouth of a metic
of a wandering Jew, of a Greek shepherd
and my hair with the four winds
I will come, my sweet prisoner
my soul mate, my source of life
I will come to drink your twenty years
and I’ll become the prince of blood
a dreamer or even a teenager
as you will like to choose
and we will make of everyday
all the eternity of love
that we will live till we die

and we will make of everyday
all the eternity of love
that we will live till we die


Le Métèque
Avec ma gueule de métèque, de juif errant, de pâtre grec
Et mes cheveux aux quatre vents
Avec mes yeux tout délavés, qui me donnent l’air de rêver
Moi qui ne rêve plus souvent.
Avec mes mains de maraudeur, de musicien et de rôdeur
Qui ont pillé tant de jardins
Avec ma bouche qui a bu, qui a embrassé et mordu
Sans jamais assouvir sa faim
Avec ma gueule de métèque, de juif errant, de pâtre grec
De voleur et de vagabond
Avec ma peau qui s’est frottée au soleil de tous les étés
Et tout ce qui portait jupon
Avec mon coeur qui a su faire souffrir autant qu’il a souffert
Sans pour cela faire d’histoire
Avec mon âme qui n’a plus la moindre chance de salut
Pour éviter le purgatoire.

Avec ma gueule de métèque, de juif errant, de pâtre grec
Et mes cheveux aux quatre vents
Je viendrai ma douce captive, mon âme soeur, ma source vive
Je viendrai boire tes vingt ans
Et je serai prince de sang, rêveur, ou bien adolescent
Comme il te plaira de choisir
Et nous ferons de chaque jour, toute une éternité d’amour
Que nous vivrons à en mourir.
Et nous ferons de chaque jour, toute une éternité d’amour
Que nous vivrons à en mourir.”

― Georges Moustaki


Wikipedia entry for the word métèque:

The French translation métèque has modernly acquired a pejorative meaning, being applied against Mediterranean immigrants, as in the works of Charles Maurras. According to Nicole Loraux, who compares Athens and Paris, it was probably better to be an Athenian Metic, than an immigrant in 1990s France.[6]

Curated from en.wikipedia.org


Click here to read a biography of Georges Moustaki on Mikis Theodorakis’ tribute page

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