Eugène Edine Pottier

thumb|Stand up, damned of the EarthStand up, prisoners of starvationReason thunders in its volcanoThis is the eruption of the end.Of the past let us make a clean slateEnslaved masses, stand up, stand up.The world is about to change its foundationWe are nothing, let us be all. Eugène Edine Pottier (French: [pɔtje]; 4 October 1816 – 6 November 1887) was a French revolutionary, anarchist, poet, freemason and transport worker. Pottier was elected a member of the Paris municipal council - the Paris Commune, in March 1871. Following the Commune's defeat, in June 1871 he wrote the poem L'Internationale, which became the International Workingmen's Association anthem during its last years (1871–1876), and has been used by most socialist and leftist political internationals since. Quotes On l'a tuée à coups de chassepotA coups de mitrailleuse,Et roulée avec son drapeauDans la terre argileuse.Et la tourbe des bourreaux grasSe croyait la plus forte.Tout ça n'empêche pas, NicolasQu'la Commune n'est pas morte. They killed her with their chassepot,With their machine guns,And rolled her with its flagIn the clay.And the mud of the fat hangmenthought they had prevailed.And with all that, Nicolas,The Commune is not dead. Elle n'est pas morte ! (1886). The Internationale (1864) Translation of The Internationale (1864) on Wikisource. Debout, les damnés de la terreDebout, les forçats de la faimLa raison tonne en son cratèreC'est l'éruption de la finDu passé faisons table raseFoule esclave, debout, deboutLe monde va changer de baseNous ne sommes rien, soyons tout. Stand up, damned of the EarthStand up, prisoners of starvationReason thunders in its volcanoThis is the eruption of the end.Of the past let us make a clean slateEnslaved masses, stand up, stand up.The world is about to change its foundationWe are nothing, let us be all. C'est la lutte finaleGroupons-nous, et demain L'InternationaleSera le genre humain. This is the final struggleLet us group together, and tomorrowThe InternationaleWill be the human race Il n'est pas de sauveurs suprêmesNi Dieu, ni César, ni tribunProducteurs, sauvons-nous nous-mêmesDécrétons le salut communPour que le voleur rende gorgePour tirer l'esprit du cachotSoufflons nous-mêmes notre forgeBattons le fer quand il est chaud. There are no supreme savioursNeither God, nor Caesar, nor tribune.Producers, let us save ourselves,Decree the common salvation.So that the thief expires,So that the spirit be pulled from its prison,Let us fan our forge ourselvesStrike the iron while it is hot. L'État comprime et la loi tricheL'impôt saigne le malheureuxNul devoir ne s'impose au richeLe droit du pauvre est un mot creuxC'est assez, languir en tutelleL'égalité veut d'autres loisPas de droits sans devoirs dit-elleÉgaux, pas de devoirs sans droits. The State oppresses and the law cheats.Tax bleeds the unfortunate.No duty is imposed on the rich;The rights of the poor is an empty phrase.Enough languishing in custody!Equality wants other laws:No rights without duties, she says,Equally, no duties without rights. Hideux dans leur apothéoseLes rois de la mine et du railOnt-ils jamais fait autre choseQue dévaliser le travail ?Dans les coffres-forts de la bandeCe qu'il a créé s'est fonduEn décrétant qu'on le lui rendeLe peuple ne veut que son dû. Hideous in their apotheosisThe kings of the mine and of the rail.Have they ever done anything otherThan steal work?Inside the safeboxes of the gang,What work had created melted.By ordering that they give it back,The people want only their due. Les rois nous saoulaient de fuméesPaix entre nous, guerre aux tyransAppliquons la grève aux arméesCrosse en l'air, et rompons les rangsS'ils s'obstinent, ces cannibalesÀ faire de nous des hérosIls sauront bientôt que nos ballesSont pour nos propres généraux. The kings made us drunk with fumes,Peace among us, war to the tyrants!Let the armies go on strike,Stocks in the air, and break ranks.If they insist, these cannibalsOn making heroes of us,They will know soon that our bulletsAre for our own generals. Ouvriers, paysans, nous sommesLe grand parti des travailleursLa terre n'appartient qu'aux hommesL'oisif ira loger ailleursCombien de nos chairs se repaissentMais si les corbeaux, les vautoursUn de ces matins disparaissentLe soleil brillera toujours. Workers, peasants, we areThe great party of labourers.The earth belongs only to men;The idle will go to reside elsewhere.How much of our flesh have they consumed?But if these ravens, these vulturesDisappear one of these days,The sun will still shine forever. External links Author:Eugène Pottier Category:1816 births Category:1887 deaths Category:People from Paris Category:Social anarchists Category:Freemasons Category:Authors from France Category:Revolutionaries Category:Anarchists from France