A pensar em Van Gogh

Sou uma privilegiada...estou sentada à lareira num maple de chintze a imitar os velhos sofás ingleses. Mandei-o fazer especialmente para refúgio da minha filha que detesta TV e gosta de ter um cantinho onde possa desligar do real , ler ou ouvir música....hoje sou eu a usufruir deste maravilhoso poiso. O fogo está já menos forte, com aquele tom de brasa, tão quente e atraente que quase não conseguimos desfitá-lo. A casa já estava quente, mas não dispenso esta visão.

Tenho muita música no meu I'Tunes e posso ouvir enquanto medito, recordo, nostalgio ( existe o verbo?) e contemplo as achas a extinguir-se lentamente.

Hoje vieram-me à ideia as telas de Van Gogh, vi-as no Museu de Amsterdam com o meu futuro ex- e ele, que sabia tudo, explicou-me imensa coisa sobre o pintor que eu ignorava. Foi o local onde há mais de quarenta anos começámos a namorar- Amsterdam. éramos tão novos! Van Gogh estará sempre ligado a meu ex-. Para "sofrer" um pouco mais, oiço o Don McLean a cantar uma canção maravilhosa em homenagem ao grande pintor.

Vai aqui com a letra. Deleitem-se com as pinturas e com a melodia feita à medida.



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...


Há quanto tempo não vejo uma starry night? Desde Setembro....estrelas ??? Que saudades das noites de verão....há meses que chove demais!

Mas continuo a achar que sou uma privilegiada...