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 me forward into the rest of life

I can glimpse moments
Gleaming like burning from across the fjord

In a painting from 1915 called
"Midsummer Eve Bonfire" by Astrup
That shines on my computer in 2017 in the awful July night
The house is finally quiet and still with the asleep upstairs
So I sit and notice the painting of on the hillside
And hanging in the valleys
Wrapping back up through the at dusk
Offering like scars of mist draped the ridges
Of couples dancing in the green twilight fires
And in the below,
the reflections of other fires from other
Illuminate the and glitter shining and alone
is laughing and there is music
And a man climbs up the hill
a juniper down to into the fire
To make sparks rise up to join the stars
These people in the painting believed in magic and
And they all loss
And they all came to the

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

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

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

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

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

Would they follow the thread back and her there?
I snapped out of this plane crash fantasy still alive
And I know 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, all your things
the inevitable flooding of the archives
The scraps by wind
A life's work just out in the rain
But I'm what I can to
reassemble a poor version of you
Made of the fragments and that you left behind
I go though your and notebooks at night
I'm still you in me

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

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