Luyện nghe bài hát Two Paintings by Nikolai Astrup

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

I can occasional moments
Gleaming like bonfires from across the fjord

In a painting around 1915 called
"Midsummer Eve Bonfire" by Nikolai
shines on my computer 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 painting of bonfires on the
And hanging in the valleys
back up through the fjords at dusk
Offering like scars of draped along the ridges
Of couples dancing in the green around fires
And in the below,
the reflections of other from other parties
Illuminate the and glitter shining and alone
is laughing and there is music
And a man up the hill pulling
a juniper to throw into the fire
To some sparks rise up to join the stars
people in the painting believed in magic and earth
And all knew loss
And they all came to the

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

I knew her person was 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 ready at any to open up again
To you back in
To digest you back into useful for somebody"
And meanwhile above the Norwegians in the twilight
The white snow gleamed
You to call me "Neige Éternelle."

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

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

I'm flying on an airplane over the Grand
Imagining strangers going the
wreckage of flight if it were to crash
And would notice 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 last picture I ever
Was of our sleeping daughter early this
ready to go, and I was struck by her face
Sweet in the blue of our dim room?

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

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

But then the foxgloves
And I read that the first flowers that return to disturbed
where logging took place
Or where someone like me rolled wailing in a clearing
Now I don't anymore
If significant that all these foxgloves spring up
On the place where I'm to build our house
And go to in, let you fade in the night air
Surviving with dust is left of you here
Now you will recede into the