Luyện nghe bài hát Two Paintings by Nikolai Astrup

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

I can glimpse occasional
Gleaming like bonfires from across the fjord

In a painting from around called
"Midsummer Eve Bonfire" by Nikolai
That shines on my computer in 2017 in the awful July night
The house is finally and still with the child asleep upstairs
So I sit and notice the of bonfires on the hillside
And hanging in the valleys
Wrapping back up the fjords at dusk
Offering like scars of mist draped along the
Of couples dancing in the green twilight fires
And in the below,
the reflections of other fires from parties
Illuminate the depths and shining and alone
Everyone is and there is music
And a man climbs up the hill
a juniper down to into the fire
To make some sparks up to join 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 moss of a soft to the side
Apart from all the people midsummer

I knew her person was just like me
And just like me she looked across at the from far away
And wanted something in their 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 you back into something useful for somebody"
And meanwhile above the dancing in the twilight
The permanent white snow
You used to me "Neige Éternelle."

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

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

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

Would follow the thread back and find her there?
I snapped back out of this crash fantasy still alive
And I that's not how it would go
I know the actual mess that death leaves
It just gets in a panic by
the living, pushed the waterfall
Because me now, holding all your things
Resisting the flooding of the archives
The scraps distributed by
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 drawings that you behind
I go your diaries and notebooks at night
I'm still you in me

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

But then the grow
And I read that the first flowers that to disturbed ground
Like where logging took
Or someone like me rolled around wailing in a clearing
Now I wonder anymore
If it's significant 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 what dust is left of you here
Now you will recede the paintings