Ирина (fontyler) wrote,
Ирина
fontyler

STARRY, STARRY NIGHT - ЗВЁЗДНАЯ НОЧЬ. ВИНСЕНТ


Эта замечательная песня о Винсенте Ван Гоге.
Песня подсказывает ему выглянуть из окна погожим деньком (здесь речь идёт о лечебнице в Сант-Реми. Сначала, когда он поступил туда, он писал то, что видел из окна.  Но позже смог выходить на пренэр.)
В песне поётся и о его подсолнухах, и о том, что он попытался покончить с собой, выстрелив в грудь, что и привело к его гибели парой дней позже… Поётся и о том, что он не был понят и принят современниками, и о том, как он страдал и боролся с болезнью, и о том, что может быть, мы не сможем понять
вего

[LYRICS:]
Starry, starry night.

Paint your palette blue and grey,

Look out on a summer's day,

With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.

Shadows on the hills,

Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,

In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,

How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they did not know how.

Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,

Swirling clouds in violet haze,

Reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue.

Colors changing hue, morning fields of amber grain,

Weathered faces lined in pain,

Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,

How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they did not know how.

Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,

But still your love was true.

And when no hope was left in sight

On that starry, starry night,

You took your life, as lovers often do.

But I could have told you, Vincent,

This world was never meant for one

As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.

Portraits hung in empty halls,

Frameless heads on nameless walls,

With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.

Like the strangers that you've met,

The ragged men in  ragged clothes,

The silver thorn of bloody rose,

Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they're not listening still.

Perhaps they never will.
Donald "Don" McLean (born October 2, 1945) is an American singer-songwriter.


Tags: pop music, van gogh, АУДИРОВАНИЕ, ЖИВОПИСЬ, ИЗУЧАЮЩИМ АНГЛИЙСКИЙ, МУЗЫКА
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Что мы читаем на этой гифке? - R U talking to me? - Love this guy. Вторая строчка (вторая реплика того же персонажа) Love this guy затруднений не вызывает. Мне нравится этот парень А что такое R, U и 2? R - сокращённо are - так же точно звучит и название буквы R…
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