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 could beacon me forward into the rest of life

I can glimpse occasional
Gleaming bonfires burning 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 awful July
The house is finally and still with the child asleep upstairs
So I sit and the painting of bonfires on the hillside
And hanging smoke in the
back up through the fjords at dusk
Offering like scars of draped along the ridges
Of couples dancing in the green twilight fires
And in the below,
the reflections of fires from other parties
Illuminate the and glitter shining and alone
is laughing and there is music
And a man climbs up the pulling
a juniper to throw into the fire
To make some sparks rise up to join the
These people in the believed in magic and earth
And all knew loss
And they all came to the

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

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

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

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

I'm flying on an over the Grand Canyon
Imagining strangers going the
of this flight if it were to crash
And would notice or care
gathering up my stuff from the below?
Would they investigate the song I was listening to?
Would they go through my phone and see the picture I ever took
Was of our sleeping daughter this morning
Getting ready to go, and I was 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 this plane crash fantasy still
And I know that's not how it go
I know the actual that death leaves behind
It just gets bulldozed in a 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 life's work just left out in the
But I'm doing I can to
a poor substitute version of you
Made of the fragments and drawings that you behind
I go though diaries and notebooks at night
I'm still you in me

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

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