Luyện nghe bài hát Two Paintings by Nikolai Astrup

I no one now
Now I say "you"
Now after the ground has up
Now you died
I wonder what could beacon me forward the rest of life

I can glimpse occasional
like bonfires burning from across the fjord

In a painting from around 1915
"Midsummer Eve Bonfire" by Astrup
That shines on my computer screen in 2017 in the awful night
The house is finally quiet and still the child asleep upstairs
So I sit and notice the of bonfires on the hillside
And smoke in the valleys
back up through the fjords at dusk
Offering like scars of mist draped along the
Of couples dancing in the green twilight around
And in the below,
the reflections of other fires other parties
the depths and glitter shining and alone
Everyone is and there is music
And a man climbs up the hill
a down to throw into the fire
To make some rise up to join the stars
These people in the painting believed in and earth
And they all loss
And all came to the fire

I saw myself in this one woman in the foreground
With a look of and a body that looked pregnant
As she leaned against the moss of a rock soft to the
Apart from all the celebrating midsummer

I her person was gone just like me
And just like me she looked across at the fires from far
And wanted something in light to say:
"Live life, and if you don't
The ground is definitely at any moment to open up again
To swallow you in
To digest you back into something for somebody"
And meanwhile the Norwegians dancing in the twilight
The permanent white snow
You used to me "Neige Éternelle."

The man who painted girl's big black eyes, gazing
Drawing the fire into standing alone
Nikolai Astrup, he died young at 47
Right after finishing building his studio at
Where he intended to keep on
painting his life into old age
But sometimes people get killed before get to finish
All the things they were to do

That's why I'm not around anymore
That's why I tell you that I you
Does it matter what we leave behind?

I'm flying on an over the Grand Canyon
Imagining going through the
wreckage of this flight if it were to
And would anyone or care
up my stuff from the desert below?
Would they investigate the song I was listening to?
Would they go through my phone and see the picture I ever took
Was of our daughter early this morning
Getting ready to go, and I was struck by her
Sweet in the blue of our dim room?

Would follow the thread back and find her there?
I snapped back out of this plane crash still alive
And I that's not how it would go
I know the actual mess that death behind
It just bulldozed in a panic by
the living, pushed over the
Because that's me now, holding all your
Resisting the flooding of the archives
The scraps distributed by
A life's work left out in the rain
But I'm what I can to
reassemble a poor substitute of you
Made of the fragments and that you left behind
I go though your diaries and notebooks at
I'm cradling you in me

There's another Astrup painting from 1920
Called "Foxgloves" that hangs on the
And I look at it every morning and every before bed
Some trees been cut down next to a stream
through a birch brow in late spring
And two that look like you gather berries and baskets
Hunched over young animals, grazing
With their red dressed the
white birch three interweaving
Beneath the leaves
The three stumps in the
remind me everything is fleeting
As if reminding is what I

But the foxgloves grow
And I read that the first flowers that return to disturbed
Like where logging place
Or where someone like me rolled wailing in a clearing
Now I wonder anymore
If it's significant that all foxgloves spring up
On the place I'm about to build our house
And go to live in, let you in the night air
Surviving with dust is left of you here
Now you will recede the paintings