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 beacon me forward into the rest of life

I can occasional moments
Gleaming like bonfires 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 July night
The is finally quiet and still with the child asleep upstairs
So I sit and notice the painting of bonfires on the
And hanging smoke in the
Wrapping back up through the 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 fires from other
the depths and glitter shining and alone
Everyone is laughing and there is
And a man climbs up the pulling
a down to throw into the fire
To make some sparks rise up to the stars
These people in the painting in magic and earth
And they all knew
And they all to the fire

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

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

The man who painted this girl's big black eyes,
Drawing the fire into ourselves standing
Nikolai Astrup, he died young at 47
after finishing building his studio at home
Where he probably to keep on
painting his life 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 tell you I love you
Does it even matter what we leave

I'm flying on an airplane over the Canyon
Imagining strangers through the
wreckage of this if it were to crash
And would anyone or care
gathering up my stuff the desert below?
Would they investigate the last song I was to?
Would they go through my phone and see the last I ever took
Was of our sleeping daughter early this
Getting ready to go, and I was struck by her
in the blue light of our dim room?

Would they follow the thread back and find her
I snapped back out of this plane crash fantasy alive
And I that's not how it would go
I know the mess that death leaves behind
It gets bulldozed in a panic by
the living, pushed the waterfall
Because that's me now, holding all your
Resisting the flooding of the archives
The distributed by wind
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 and drawings that you left behind
I go though your diaries and at night
I'm cradling you in me

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

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