Luyện nghe bài hát Two Paintings by Nikolai Astrup

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

I can glimpse occasional
Gleaming like bonfires burning from across the

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

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

I knew her person was gone just me
And just like me she looked across at the fires far away
And wanted something in light to say:
"Live your life, and if you
The ground is ready at any moment to open up again
To you back in
To digest you back into useful for somebody"
And meanwhile above the dancing in the twilight
The permanent snow gleamed
You used to me "Neige Éternelle."

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

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

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

Would they follow the thread and find her there?
I snapped back out of plane crash fantasy still alive
And I know not how it would go
I know the mess that death leaves behind
It just gets in a panic by
the living, over the waterfall
Because that's me now, all your things
the inevitable flooding of the archives
The scraps by wind
A work just left out in the rain
But I'm doing I can to
reassemble a poor substitute of you
Made of the fragments and drawings you left behind
I go your diaries and notebooks at night
I'm still you in me

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

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