Luyện nghe bài hát Two Paintings by Nikolai Astrup

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

I can glimpse occasional
Gleaming like bonfires burning from the fjord

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

I saw myself in this one young 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
from all the people celebrating midsummer

I knew her person was gone just 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 ground is ready at any moment to open up again
To swallow you in
To digest you into something useful for somebody"
And above the Norwegians dancing in the twilight
The white snow gleamed
You to call me "Neige Éternelle."

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

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

I'm on an airplane over the Grand Canyon
Imagining going through the
of this flight if it were to crash
And would anyone notice or
gathering up my stuff from the desert
Would they the last song I was listening to?
Would they go through my phone and see the last picture I took
Was of our sleeping daughter early morning
ready to go, and I was struck by her face
Sweet in the blue of our dim room?

Would they follow the back and find her there?
I snapped back out of this plane fantasy still alive
And I know not how it would go
I the actual mess that death leaves behind
It just gets in a panic by
the living, pushed the waterfall
Because that's me now, all your things
Resisting the flooding of the archives
The scraps by wind
A work just left out in the rain
But I'm what I can to
reassemble a substitute version of you
Made of the and drawings 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" hangs on the fridge
And I look at it every morning and every before bed
Some trees have been cut down next to a
Flowing through a birch brow in late
And two girls that look like you gather and baskets
over like young animals, grazing
With their red against the
white birch three trunks
Beneath the cluttering
The three stumps in the
remind me everything is fleeting
As if reminding is I need

But the foxgloves grow
And I read that the first flowers that return to disturbed
Like where logging took
Or where someone like me rolled around 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 in, let you fade in the night air
Surviving what dust is left of you here
Now you will into the paintings