Luyện nghe bài hát Two Paintings by Nikolai Astrup

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

I can glimpse occasional
Gleaming like bonfires burning across the fjord

In a painting from around called
"Midsummer Eve Bonfire" by Nikolai
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 painting of bonfires on the
And hanging smoke in the
Wrapping up through the fjords at dusk
Offering like scars of mist along the ridges
Of couples dancing in the green twilight around
And in the below,
the reflections of other fires from parties
Illuminate the depths and glitter and alone
Everyone is laughing and there is
And a man climbs up the hill
a juniper down to into the fire
To make some sparks up to join the stars
These people in the painting in magic and earth
And they all loss
And they all to the fire

I saw myself in this one young woman in the
With a of desolation and a body that looked pregnant
As she leaned the moss of a rock soft to the side
from all the people celebrating midsummer

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

The man who painted this girl's big eyes, gazing
Drawing the into ourselves standing alone
Nikolai Astrup, he also young at 47
Right finishing building his studio at home
Where he probably to keep on
painting his resonant into old age
But sometimes people get killed they get to finish
All the things were going to do

That's why I'm not waiting anymore
why I tell you that I love you
Does it even matter what we leave

I'm flying on an airplane over the Grand
strangers going through the
wreckage of this if it were to crash
And would anyone notice or
gathering up my stuff from the below?
Would they investigate the last I was listening to?
Would they go through my phone and see the picture I ever took
Was of our sleeping daughter early this
Getting to go, and I was struck by her face
Sweet in the blue light of our dim

Would they follow the back and find her there?
I snapped back out of this crash fantasy still alive
And I that's not how it would go
I the actual mess that death leaves behind
It gets bulldozed in a panic by
the living, pushed the waterfall
that's me now, holding all your things
Resisting the inevitable flooding of the
The distributed by wind
A work just left out in the rain
But I'm what I can to
reassemble a poor version of you
of the fragments and drawings that you left behind
I go though diaries and notebooks at night
I'm cradling you in me

There's Nikolai Astrup painting from 1920
Called "Foxgloves" that hangs on the
And I at it every morning and every night before bed
Some trees have been cut down to a stream
Flowing a birch brow in late spring
And two girls that look like you gather and baskets
Hunched over young animals, grazing
their red dressed against the
white birch three trunks
Beneath the cluttering
The stumps in the foreground
remind me that everything is
As if is what I need

But the foxgloves grow
And I read that the first flowers that return to disturbed
Like where took place
Or where someone me rolled around wailing in a clearing
Now I don't wonder
If it's significant all these foxgloves spring up
On the where I'm about to build our house
And go to live in, let you fade in the air
Surviving what dust is left of you here
Now you recede into the paintings