Vincent
The following is a tribute to Vincent Van Gogh, the amazing artist who died of his own hand in 1890. He died, tragically alone, and in obvious pain, unrecognized and unappreciated by the people of his day. But, in 1972, a talented young recording artist, Don Mclean, wrote and recorded a beautiful and stirring tribute to the artist, Vincent. The following are the lyrics to the song, featured on the American Pie album. I hope you will appreciate not only the sentiment so beautifully expressed, but the marvelous imagery and flawless poetry. It moves me; I hope it will likewise move you. And now, Vincent:
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,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And 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 tired to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And 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,
Though 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 in the virgin snow.
Now I think I know,
What you tried to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free--
They would not listen,
They're not listening still...
Perhaps they never will.
~M
Copyright © Mel Merrill | Year Posted 2014
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