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Vincent

I looked at the poem  on Dean Bakers blog spot today called Desert Song. (  http://deanjbaker.wordpress.com/2012/07/25/desert-song/#respond  ) The poem is good and I am a fan of Deans work too. The picture of Starry Night by VanGogh was headlining the piece.

So I had to go to another artist, Don McLean, and, once again, read the lyrics to Vincent, as for some reason, the song had been playing in my head for a few hours before reading Dean’s blog. What a life of anguish. He took that pain and put it to canvas. It makes me sad that there are so many talented people in this big beautiful world that are not recognized, even an iota, by those who are shown the talent, and scoff at the person.

Is it because of jealousy?

 

Vincent  by Don McLean

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 field 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 head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can’t forget.
Like the strangers that you’ve met,
The ragged men in the 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…

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10 comments on “Vincent

  1. If you wish, you can see my favorite song on my blog. It’s a Harmony project post.

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  2. beautiful

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  3. Van Gogh is one of my favorite artists. The poem was beautiful. It provided me the opportunity to see his pain through Dean’s words.

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  4. Hi Liz,
    Three emotions come forward in me immediately, sadness, regret and anger, – that such a prophet of art was ignored. Sadness that such a creative person was driven to insanity by an uncaring world, regret that he never got the chance to see the effect of his paintings on others and realize how right he was in taking his path, and anger that we as a people are so blind to others greatness. We put ourselves in a box and whatever doesn’t fit in that box is not accepted. And so it was in the time of Van Gogh, only he did not have the inner strength to battle against it. He was alone with his ideas, his thoughts and his creativity, except for his brother, who I believe understood him, if only a little bit.
    Having been to several of Van Gogh’s exhibitions here in Europe, I am always impressed by the shades of blue that he used. His choice of colors were phenomenal in those times. But have we changed? Do we act any different from those people back then? Do we appreciate those artists in whatever art category that are in who step outside the norm, who are doing something totally different than we expect?
    You have got me thinking this early morning. These are questions that I ask myself this morning.
    Thanks! The poem is beautiful and it caused me to think and reflect over my own actions, and that is one of the functions of art, in my opinion.
    Ciao,
    Patricia

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    • Thank you for such a heart felt comment. I hope that one day I am able to visit a Van Gogh exhibit. Until then I will live through your eyes.
      No we have not changed, Patricia. If only the mould could be broken and we could start anew. Hugs and thanks!

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