Strange Fruit Abel Meeropol Southern trees bear a

Strange Fruit Abel Meeropol Southern trees bear a strange fruit, Blood on the leaves and blood at the root, Black bodies swinging in the Southern breeze, Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees. Pastoral scene of the gallant South, The bulging eyes and twisted mouth, The scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh, Then the sudden smell of burning flesh. Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck, For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck, For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop, Here is a strange and bitter crop.

Strange Fruit Abel Meeropol Un étrange fruit Southern trees bear strange fruit Blood on the leaves and blood on the root Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze Strange fruit hanging from poplar trees Les arbres du Sud portent un fruit étrange, Du sang sur les feuilles et du sang à la racine, Des corps noirs se balançant dans la brise du Sud, Un étrange fruit suspendu aux branches des peupliers. Pastoral scene of the gallant South The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh Then the sudden smell of burning flesh Scène bucolique du Sud galant, Les yeux exorbités et la bouche tordue, Le parfum des magnolias, doux et frais, Et tout à coup l'odeur de chair brûlée. Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck For the sun to ripe, to the tree to drop Here is a strange and bitter crop ! Voilà un fruit pour être cueilli par les corbeaux, Ramassé par la pluie et sucé par le vent, Pour être pourri par le soleil et laissé tomber par les arbres, Voilà une étrange et amère récolte.

Billie Holiday • American jazz musician and singer-songwriter • Death of her father from pneumonia/ several southern hospitals had refused to treat him • On tour in the south: had to wear makeup to appear to have lighter skin • Not a political singer, but touched by the song

Southern trees bear a strange fruit, Blood on the leaves and blood at the root, Black bodies swinging in the Southern breeze, Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees. Pastoral scene of the gallant South, The bulging eyes and twisted mouth, The scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh, Then the sudden smell of burning flesh. Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck, For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck, For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop, Here is a strange and bitter crop