Starry, starry night 那夜繁星点点,
Paint your palette blue and gray 你在画板上涂抹着灰与蓝。
Look out on a summer's day 夏日里轻瞥一眼
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul 便将我灵魂的阴霾洞穿。
Shadows on the hills 暗影铺满群山,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils 树木与水仙花点缀其间,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills 捕捉着微风与料峭冬寒,
In colors on the snowy linen land 用雪原斑驳的色彩。
Now I understand 我终于读懂了,
What you tried to say to me 你当时的肺腑之言。
How you suffered for your sanity 独醒于众人间的你是那么痛苦,
How you tried to set them free 你多想解开被禁锢者的系绊。
They would not listen 可他们却充耳不闻,
They did not know how 对你视若不见。
Perhaps they'll listen now 也许,现在听还为时不晚……
Starry, starry night 那夜繁星点点,
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze 鲜花盛放,火般绚烂
Swirling clouds in violet haze 紫幕轻垂,云舒云卷。
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue 都逃不过文森特湛蓝的双眼
Colors changing hue 色彩变化万千,
Morning fields of amber grain 清晨琥珀色的谷田,
Weathered faces lined in pain 张张饱经风霜与苦痛的脸,
Are smoothed beneath the artist's Loving hand 在画家笔下渐渐舒展。
Now I understand 我终于读懂了,
What you tried to say to me 你当时的肺腑之言。
How you suffered for your sanity 独醒于众人间的你是那么痛苦,
How you tried to set them free 你多想解开被禁锢者的系绊。
They would not listen 可他们却充耳不闻,
They did not know how 对你视若不见。
Perhaps they'll listen now 也许,现在听还为时不晚……
For they could not love you 他们根本不会在乎你,
But still your love was true 你对他们的爱却未曾改变。
And when no hope was left inside 当最后一点希望都一去不返,
On that starry, starry night 在那繁星点点的夜晚,
You took your life 你愤然结束自己的生命,
As lovers often do 如热恋中盲目的人儿一般。
But I could have told you, Vincent 文森特,我本该告诉你。
This world was never meant for one 像你这样美好的灵魂,
As beautiful as you。 本就不该来这肮脏的世间。
Starry, starry night 那夜繁星点点,
Portraits hung in empty halls 空旷的大厅里画作高悬。
Frameless heads on nameless walls 无名的墙上无框的肖像,
With eyes that watch the world 用注视整个世界的双眼,
And can't forget 把一切刻在心田。
Like the strangers that you've met 就像你曾遇见的匆匆过客,
The ragged men in ragged clothes 褴褛的人身着破烂的衣衫。
The silver thorn of bloody rose 血红玫瑰上银白的利刺,
Lie crushed and broken 零落成泥、摧折寸断,
On the virgin snow 散落于皑皑雪间。
Now I think I know 我想我现在懂了,
What you tried to say to me 你当时的肺腑之言。
How you suffered for your sanity 独醒于众人间的你是那么痛苦,
How you tried to set them free 你多想解开被禁锢者的系绊。
They will not listen 而他们根本不会去听,
They're not listening still 此刻,仍无人在听
Perhaps, they never will 也许,永远。
一首很长很长的民谣,Don Mclean写给梵高的一首歌,在梵高的纪念馆,这首歌陪伴着这位画家一遍一遍地播放着。原唱的感觉,像是一段对话,或是对着自己的独白吧。无论有没有听众,无论有没有观众,无论是以什么样的方式被当世所遗弃,才华终有一天会绽放,只是对那个当世的人,要承受的实在太多.
一个音乐人说,vincent 是他这辈子最喜欢的歌,这个音乐人叫黄国伦,他为王菲写下了《
我愿意》,让王菲成为了永远的国语天后;他为辛晓琪写下了《
味道》,让辛晓琪成为了永远的疗伤系女歌手。
齐豫唱过的歌,声音非常坚定,那样的声音演绎这样的歌似乎有点太过饱满,只是,这个故事用这样的声音来讲,又何尝不是一种享受。代表了台湾民谣一个时代的齐豫,永远不缺少听众,于是我们可以理解那个声音里面的自信吧。
王若琳也唱过vincent, 用她低调的女中音,和Don Mclean,和梵高,开始了一场跨越时空的对话,在简单的吉他中,她也开始了一幅画面的创作,满是星空的天空下,那个孤独地画着画的vincent,this world is never meant for one as beautiful as you. 那些绽放的花儿,那些变幻的色彩,就这样映在vincent的蓝色眼睛里,就这样落在了他的画作中。
听一个歌唱比赛的女孩唱过这首歌,轻轻柔柔的声音,婉约地像nightingale,可是空洞的眼神中,我听不到那种被世界遗忘的痛。我想她应该还没有明白这样的故事,不是美丽的声音就可以感动世界,能感动世界的确实声音里的美丽。