此歌曲首次發首在2001年《Waking Hour(2001)》專輯中。
作詞：Vienna Teng
作曲：Vienna Teng
基本介紹
- 外文名：The Tower
- 首發時間：2001年
- 作詞：Vienna Teng
- 作曲：Vienna Teng
簡介,歌曲,詩歌,
簡介
史逸欣很早就展露她的音樂才華。五歲開始沉醉在巴哈與蕭邦的古典鋼琴世界裡，六歲寫下自己的第一首歌，十六歲高中時完成個人首張創作演奏專輯。大學時期的錄音作品早在舊金山一帶校園周邊流傳開來，口耳相傳中她成為東岸地下音樂圈的學生才女。大學畢業前已完成個人首張專輯的錄音製作。
這是史逸欣對《Waking Hour》 的最好腳註。她在寫自己的故事，也寫著別人的故事，就好像一股暖流，流到周遭的人群中，交融在一起。電腦工程教育背景與音樂創作天賦看似衝突，在她的音樂中卻早已聽出靈性中兼具縝密編曲與浪漫創作的兩極。Vienna Teng的這張Chamber Pop風格的專輯《Waking Hour》在美國一發行，便穩坐全美三大告示排行榜、並進占亞馬遜網站銷售榜排名第二，AMG 網站四顆星評價。
史逸欣以精湛的鋼琴和古典的聲線出名，《Waking Hour》在知名製作人 David Henry (REM) 的助陣下，加入類似室內管弦樂的伴奏與民謠吉他，讓整張專輯層次豐厚，而史逸欣就像說故事的人，唱著情愛與生死的人生百態。
Vienna在《Between》這首歌中啟承轉合的演唱表現還真有些Sarah McLachlan的味道，唱片宣傳語這一次沒有欺騙我們。《Drought》大約是整張專輯中相對最為複雜的作品，電子合成音效的套用使音樂層次更加豐富，也更為有趣。《Unwritten Letter #1》是頗有敘事耐心的作品，帶著些許清爽的拉丁風味。《Lullabye For A Stormy Night》中的奔涌而出的母性情懷讓我們相信天下有一種聲音只能由女性的嗓子唱出，鋼琴悄悄地響起，你可以清楚地感覺到手指觸鍵一剎那裡的小心，平和、安詳，背景後的和聲輕柔得宛如春夜裡拂面而過的微風，潛藏的那一點點憂傷終於在睡意漸起的心頭消散，窗外是風雨如晦，屋內輕語呢喃，溫暖的歌聲里亮一盞微明的燈。
對於史逸欣這樣的創作人來說，歌曲應該不僅僅只是歌曲而已，而是另一種型態的人文省思，史逸欣就像是那溫暖的陌生人，唱出我們心底最溫馨與悲哀，但，那都是真實，都是人性。
對於從高科技領域踏入音樂界，史逸欣說："19歲時就希望能以音樂為工作，但當時也對計算機感到興趣，在不確定的情況下，把學計算機視為一項挑戰。在高科技領域工作了兩年之後，雖然覺得這份工作不錯，也獲得許多經驗，但卻無法想像自己要長期地投入高科技領域。"由於在大學時代就已經開始自己製作專輯的史逸欣非常熱愛音樂，因此在唱片公司的發掘下，決定踏入音樂界。"
在一般人的觀念里，總覺得音樂可以當成副業。但史逸欣覺得，若要將音樂做好，還是需要全心投入。"尤其在今年6、7月時，由於要籌備唱片，除工作上的會議無法參加外，原有的企劃案也無法如期完成。在無法兩者兼顧的情況下，最後決定離開現有的工作。"
華裔成功打入美國主流音樂的例子不多，而擅長自己作詞作曲的史逸欣可說是其中的佼佼者。對於音樂，史逸欣表示，有一股無限的驅動力，讓自己能透過音樂來了解世界。因此，無形中成為生命的一部份。
無謂的日子有時其實只是一種存在，沒有資格稱其為生活。
《The Tower》有兩個版本：專輯版4分15秒，短版3分50秒。專輯版是在專輯中的歌曲，短版是在QQ音樂上我們經常聽到的版本。
兩個版本的歌詞有些許不同，下面把兩個版本的歌詞都在下面列出，兩個版本歌詞的不同之處用黑體標出，專輯版的前奏較長，而且比短版的要多出幾個單詞，我會在下面給出兩個版本的連結，大家一聽便知。
歌曲
歌詞——The Tower短版：
The one who survives by making the lives
of others worthwhile
she's coming apart
right before my eyes
她曾迫於生計
背離自己
如今在我眼前
她的偽裝都已碎去
The one who depends on the services she renders
to those who come knocking
she's seeing too clearly what she can't be
what understanding defies
她曾卑躬屈膝
強顏歡喜
她清楚自己的能力所及
更明白這一切的無法抗拒
She says I need not to need
or else a love with intuition
someone who reaches out to my weakness
and won't let go
I need not to need
I've always been the tower
but now I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow
她說，我並無所求
只要一份純愛的感受
一個能安撫我脆弱的人
長相廝守
我並無所求
一直堅強的承受
如今卻感覺自己像雪中的花朵
昂首綻放，決不低頭
She turns out the light anticipating night falling
tenderly around her
and watches the dusk
the words won't come
光影淡去
夜幕如期縈繞身旁
凝視暮藹處
她許久無言，心緒惆悵
she carries the act so convincingly the fact is
sometimes she believes it
that she can be happy the way things are
be happy with the things she's done
用行動去實現理想
她欣喜異常
那些努力，那些收穫
正是她所希望
And I need not to need
or else a love with intuition
someone who reaches out to my weakness
and won't let go
I need not to need
I've always been the tower
but now I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow
的確，我並無所求
只要一份純愛的感受
一個能安撫我脆弱的人
長相廝守
我並無所求
一直堅強的承受
如今卻感覺自己像雪中的花朵
昂首綻放，決不低頭
Reach out
Hold back
where is safety
reach out
and hold back
where is the one who can change me
where is the one
the one a…a…a…
去追求理想
還是維持現狀
哪裡是我的溫床
是追求理想
還是維持現狀
能改變我的那個人身在何方
那個人在何方
Music......
Reach out
Hold back
where is safety
reach out
and hold back
where is the one who can save me
where is the one
the one a…a…a…
去追求理想
還是維持現狀
哪裡是我的溫床
是追求理想
還是維持現狀
能拯救我的那個人身在何方
那個人在何方
在何方
I need not to need
or else a love with intuition
someone who reaches out to my weakness
and won't let go
I need not to need
I've always been the tower
but now I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow
我並無所求
只要一份純愛的感受
一個能安撫我脆弱的人
長相廝守
我並無所求
一直堅強的承受
如今卻感覺自己像雪中的花朵
昂首綻放，決不低頭
I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow
The danger and the power
The friend and the foe
我感覺自己像雪中的花朵
昂首綻放，決不低頭
危險和力量同在
朋友和敵人共存
=========================================華麗的分割線========================================
歌詞——The Tower專輯版：
The one who survives by making the lives
of others worthwhile
she's coming apart
right before my eyes
她曾迫於生計
背離自己
如今在我眼前
她的偽裝都已碎去
The one who depends on the services she renders
to those who come knocking
she's seeing too clearly what she can't be
what understanding defies
她曾卑躬屈膝
強顏歡喜
她清楚自己的能力所及
更明白這一切的無法抗拒
She says I need not to need
or else a love with intuition
someone who reaches out to my weakness
and won't let go
I need not to need
I've always been the tower
but now I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow
她說，我並無所求
只要一份純愛的感受
一個能安撫我脆弱的人
長相廝守
我並無所求
一直堅強的承受
如今卻感覺自己像雪中的花朵
昂首綻放，決不低頭
She turns out the light anticipating night falling
tenderly around her
and watches the dusk
the words won't come
光影淡去
夜幕如期縈繞身旁
凝視暮藹處
她許久無言，心緒惆悵
she carries the act so convincingly the fact is
sometimes she believes it
that she can be happy the way things are
be happy with the things she's done
用行動去實現理想
她欣喜異常
那些努力，那些收穫
正是她所希望
And I need not to need
or else a love with intuition
someone who reaches out to my weakness
and won't let go
I need not to need
I've always been the tower
but now I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow
的確，我並無所求
只要一份純愛的感受
一個能安撫我脆弱的人
長相廝守
我並無所求
一直堅強的承受
如今卻感覺自己像雪中的花朵
昂首綻放，決不低頭
Reach out
but hold back
where is safety
reach out
and hold back
where is the one who can change me
where is the one
the one
the one a…a…a…
去追求理想
還是維持現狀
哪裡是我的溫床
是追求理想
還是維持現狀
能改變我的那個人身在何方
那個人在何方
在何方
Music......
Reach out
but hold back
where is safety
reach out
and hold back
where is the one who can save me
where is the one
the one a…a…a…
去追求理想
還是維持現狀
哪裡是我的溫床
是追求理想
還是維持現狀
能拯救我的那個人身在何方
那個人在何方
在何方
I need not to need
or else a love with intuition
someone who reaches out to my weakness
and won't let go
I need not to need
I've always been the tower
but now I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow
我並無所求
只要一份純愛的感受
一個能安撫我脆弱的人
長相廝守
我並無所求
一直堅強的承受
如今卻感覺自己像雪中的花朵
昂首綻放，決不低頭
But now I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow
The danger and the power
The friend and the foe
但是現在我感覺自己像雪中的花朵
昂首綻放，決不低頭
危險和力量同在
朋友和敵人共存
PS：請不要再胡亂修改歌詞！！上個版本的翻譯不是很好，這個版本是翻譯的比較有水平的版本。
詩歌
The Tower
I
1
1
WHAT shall I do with this absurdity -
O heart, O troubled heart - this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
As to a dog's tail?
Never had I more
Excited, passionate, fantastical
Imagination, nor an ear and eye
That more expected the impossible -
No, not in boyhood when with rod and fly,
Or the humbler worm, I climbed Ben Bulben's back
And had the livelong summer day to spend.
It seems that I must bid the Muse go pack,
Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend
Until imagination, ear and eye,
Can be content with argument and deal
In abstract things; or be derided by
A sort of battered kettle at the heel.
II
1
O heart, O troubled heart - this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
As to a dog's tail?
Never had I more
Excited, passionate, fantastical
Imagination, nor an ear and eye
That more expected the impossible -
No, not in boyhood when with rod and fly,
Or the humbler worm, I climbed Ben Bulben's back
And had the livelong summer day to spend.
It seems that I must bid the Muse go pack,
Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend
Until imagination, ear and eye,
Can be content with argument and deal
In abstract things; or be derided by
A sort of battered kettle at the heel.
II
1
I pace upon the battlements and stare
On the foundations of a house, or where
Tree, like a sooty finger, starts from the earth;
And send imagination forth
Under the day's declining beam, and call
Images and memories
From ruin or from ancient trees,
For I would ask a question of them all.
2
Beyond that ridge lived Mrs. French, and once
When every silver candlestick or sconce
Lit up the dark mahogany and the wine.
A serving-man, that could divine
That most respected lady's every wish,
Ran and with the garden shears
Clipped an insolent farmer's ears
And brought them in a little covered dish.
3
Some few remembered still when I was young
A peasant girl commended by a Song,
Who'd lived somewhere upon that rocky place,
And praised the colour of her face,
And had the greater joy in praising her,
Remembering that, if walked she there,
Farmers jostled at the fair
So great a glory did the song confer.
4
And certain men, being maddened by those rhymes,
Or else by toasting her a score of times,
Rose from the table and declared it right
To test their fancy by their sight;
But they mistook the brightness of the moon
For the prosaic light of day -
Music had driven their wits astray -
And one was drowned in the great bog of Cloone.
5
Strange, but the man who made the song was blind;
Yet, now I have considered it, I find
That nothing strange; the tragedy began
With Homer that was a blind man,
And Helen has all living hearts betrayed.
O may the moon and sunlight seem
One inextricable beam,
For if I triumph I must make men mad.
6
And I myself created Hanrahan
And drove him drunk or sober through the dawn
From somewhere in the neighbouring cottages.
Caught by an old man's juggleries
He stumbled, tumbled, fumbled to and fro
And had but broken knees for hire
And horrible splendour of desire;
I thought it all out twenty years ago:
7
Good fellows shuffled cards in an old bawn;
And when that ancient ruffian's turn was on
He so bewitched the cards under his thumb
That all but the one card became
A pack of hounds and not a pack of cards,
And that he changed into a hare.
Hanrahan rose in frenzy there
And followed up those baying creatures towards -
8
O towards I have forgotten what - enough!
I must recall a man that neither love
Nor music nor an enemy's clipped ear
Could, he was so harried, cheer;
A figure that has grown so fabulous
There's not a neighbour left to say
When he finished his dog's day:
An ancient bankrupt master of this house.
9
Before that ruin came, for centuries,
Rough men-at-arms, cross-gartered to the knees
Or shod in iron, climbed the narrow stairs,
And certain men-at-arms there were
Whose images, in the Great Memory stored,
Come with loud cry and panting breast
To break upon a sleeper's rest
While their great wooden dice beat on the board.
10
As I would question all, come all who can;
Come old, necessitous. half-mounted man;
And bring beauty's blind rambling celebrant;
The red man the juggler sent
Through God-forsaken meadows; Mrs. French,
Gifted with so fine an ear;
The man drowned in a bog's mire,
When mocking Muses chose the country wench.
11
Did all old men and women, rich and poor,
Who trod upon these rocks or passed this door,
Whether in public or in secret rage
As I do now against old age?
But I have found an answer in those eyes
That are impatient to be gone;
Go therefore; but leave Hanrahan,
For I need all his mighty memories.
12
Old lecher with a love on every wind,
Bring up out of that deep considering mind
All that you have discovered in the grave,
For it is certain that you have
Reckoned up every unforeknown, unseeing
plunge, lured by a softening eye,
Or by a touch or a sigh,
Into the labyrinth of another's being;
13
Does the imagination dwell the most
Upon a woman won or woman lost?
If on the lost, admit you turned aside
From a great labyrinth out of pride,
Cowardice, some silly over-subtle thought
Or anything called conscience once;
And that if memory recur, the sun's
Under eclipse and the day blotted out.
III
1
On the foundations of a house, or where
Tree, like a sooty finger, starts from the earth;
And send imagination forth
Under the day's declining beam, and call
Images and memories
From ruin or from ancient trees,
For I would ask a question of them all.
2
Beyond that ridge lived Mrs. French, and once
When every silver candlestick or sconce
Lit up the dark mahogany and the wine.
A serving-man, that could divine
That most respected lady's every wish,
Ran and with the garden shears
Clipped an insolent farmer's ears
And brought them in a little covered dish.
3
Some few remembered still when I was young
A peasant girl commended by a Song,
Who'd lived somewhere upon that rocky place,
And praised the colour of her face,
And had the greater joy in praising her,
Remembering that, if walked she there,
Farmers jostled at the fair
So great a glory did the song confer.
4
And certain men, being maddened by those rhymes,
Or else by toasting her a score of times,
Rose from the table and declared it right
To test their fancy by their sight;
But they mistook the brightness of the moon
For the prosaic light of day -
Music had driven their wits astray -
And one was drowned in the great bog of Cloone.
5
Strange, but the man who made the song was blind;
Yet, now I have considered it, I find
That nothing strange; the tragedy began
With Homer that was a blind man,
And Helen has all living hearts betrayed.
O may the moon and sunlight seem
One inextricable beam,
For if I triumph I must make men mad.
6
And I myself created Hanrahan
And drove him drunk or sober through the dawn
From somewhere in the neighbouring cottages.
Caught by an old man's juggleries
He stumbled, tumbled, fumbled to and fro
And had but broken knees for hire
And horrible splendour of desire;
I thought it all out twenty years ago:
7
Good fellows shuffled cards in an old bawn;
And when that ancient ruffian's turn was on
He so bewitched the cards under his thumb
That all but the one card became
A pack of hounds and not a pack of cards,
And that he changed into a hare.
Hanrahan rose in frenzy there
And followed up those baying creatures towards -
8
O towards I have forgotten what - enough!
I must recall a man that neither love
Nor music nor an enemy's clipped ear
Could, he was so harried, cheer;
A figure that has grown so fabulous
There's not a neighbour left to say
When he finished his dog's day:
An ancient bankrupt master of this house.
9
Before that ruin came, for centuries,
Rough men-at-arms, cross-gartered to the knees
Or shod in iron, climbed the narrow stairs,
And certain men-at-arms there were
Whose images, in the Great Memory stored,
Come with loud cry and panting breast
To break upon a sleeper's rest
While their great wooden dice beat on the board.
10
As I would question all, come all who can;
Come old, necessitous. half-mounted man;
And bring beauty's blind rambling celebrant;
The red man the juggler sent
Through God-forsaken meadows; Mrs. French,
Gifted with so fine an ear;
The man drowned in a bog's mire,
When mocking Muses chose the country wench.
11
Did all old men and women, rich and poor,
Who trod upon these rocks or passed this door,
Whether in public or in secret rage
As I do now against old age?
But I have found an answer in those eyes
That are impatient to be gone;
Go therefore; but leave Hanrahan,
For I need all his mighty memories.
12
Old lecher with a love on every wind,
Bring up out of that deep considering mind
All that you have discovered in the grave,
For it is certain that you have
Reckoned up every unforeknown, unseeing
plunge, lured by a softening eye,
Or by a touch or a sigh,
Into the labyrinth of another's being;
13
Does the imagination dwell the most
Upon a woman won or woman lost?
If on the lost, admit you turned aside
From a great labyrinth out of pride,
Cowardice, some silly over-subtle thought
Or anything called conscience once;
And that if memory recur, the sun's
Under eclipse and the day blotted out.
III
1
It is time that I wrote my will;
I choose upstanding men
That climb the streams until
The fountain leap, and at dawn
Drop their cast at the side
Of dripping stone; I declare
They shall inherit my pride,
The pride of people that were
Bound neither to Cause nor to State.
Neither to slaves that were spat on,
Nor to the tyrants that spat,
The people of Burke and of Grattan
That gave, though free to refuse -
pride, like that of the morn,
When the headlong light is loose,
Or that of the fabulous horn,
Or that of the sudden shower
When all streams are dry,
Or that of the hour
When the swan must fix his eye
Upon a fading gleam,
Float out upon a long
Last reach of glittering stream
And there sing his last song.
And I declare my faith:
I mock plotinus' thought
And cry in plato's teeth,
Death and life were not
Till man made up the whole,
Made lock, stock and barrel
Out of his bitter soul,
Aye, sun and moon and star, all,
And further add to that
That, being dead, we rise,
Dream and so create
Translunar paradise.
I have prepared my peace
With learned Italian things
And the proud stones of Greece,
Poet's imaginings
And memories of love,
Memories of the words of women,
All those things whereof
Man makes a superhuman,
Mirror-resembling dream.
2
As at the loophole there
The daws chatter and scream,
And drop twigs layer upon layer.
When they have mounted up,
The mother bird will rest
On their hollow top,
And so warm her wild nest.
3
I leave both faith and pride
To young upstanding men
Climbing the mountain-side,
That under bursting dawn
They may drop a fly;
Being of that metal made
Till it was broken by
This sedentary trade.
4
Now shall I make my soul,
Compelling it to study
In a learned school
Till the wreck of body,
Slow decay of blood,
Testy delirium
Or dull decrepitude,
Or what worse evil come -
The death of friends, or death
Of every brilliant eye
That made a catch in the breath - .
Seem but the clouds of the sky
When the horizon fades;
Or a bird's sleepy cry
Among the deepening shades.
I choose upstanding men
That climb the streams until
The fountain leap, and at dawn
Drop their cast at the side
Of dripping stone; I declare
They shall inherit my pride,
The pride of people that were
Bound neither to Cause nor to State.
Neither to slaves that were spat on,
Nor to the tyrants that spat,
The people of Burke and of Grattan
That gave, though free to refuse -
pride, like that of the morn,
When the headlong light is loose,
Or that of the fabulous horn,
Or that of the sudden shower
When all streams are dry,
Or that of the hour
When the swan must fix his eye
Upon a fading gleam,
Float out upon a long
Last reach of glittering stream
And there sing his last song.
And I declare my faith:
I mock plotinus' thought
And cry in plato's teeth,
Death and life were not
Till man made up the whole,
Made lock, stock and barrel
Out of his bitter soul,
Aye, sun and moon and star, all,
And further add to that
That, being dead, we rise,
Dream and so create
Translunar paradise.
I have prepared my peace
With learned Italian things
And the proud stones of Greece,
Poet's imaginings
And memories of love,
Memories of the words of women,
All those things whereof
Man makes a superhuman,
Mirror-resembling dream.
2
As at the loophole there
The daws chatter and scream,
And drop twigs layer upon layer.
When they have mounted up,
The mother bird will rest
On their hollow top,
And so warm her wild nest.
3
I leave both faith and pride
To young upstanding men
Climbing the mountain-side,
That under bursting dawn
They may drop a fly;
Being of that metal made
Till it was broken by
This sedentary trade.
4
Now shall I make my soul,
Compelling it to study
In a learned school
Till the wreck of body,
Slow decay of blood,
Testy delirium
Or dull decrepitude,
Or what worse evil come -
The death of friends, or death
Of every brilliant eye
That made a catch in the breath - .
Seem but the clouds of the sky
When the horizon fades;
Or a bird's sleepy cry
Among the deepening shades.
