The image of the forest in Russian literature and painting. The poetry of the forest The image of the forest in Russian philosophical poetry
slide 2
Introduction I. Varieties of landscapes. II. 1. The aesthetic role of the forest. II. 2. Forest as a symbol. III. Features of the disclosure of the image of the forest in the poems of I. Bunin “The leaves rustled, flying around”, K. Balmont “Fantasy”, N. Razgon “My wonderful forest”, S.Ya. Marshak "Forest". Conclusion List of references
slide 3
Introduction
Music, nature, poetry - it's joyful for everyone. Nature has its own bewitching charm that heals the soul, introduces a person to beauty. Nature in the paintings of talented artists, poets, writers opens up to us new world, excites with its originality, with its reminder - do not ruin the beauty around you. Love for the motherland has always been a national trait of Russian poets; they could find deep meaning in the inconspicuous, outwardly shy Russian nature.
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Each national literature has its own system of favorite, stable motifs that characterize its aesthetic originality. There are entire studies of the image of the forest - in German literature, the stream - in French. Russian literature in this respect has not been sufficiently studied. .
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The theme of our scientific work: "Features of the disclosure of the image of the forest in the verses of Russian poets." For the analysis of the ideological concept, poems by I. Bunin, K. Balmont, N. Razgon, S. Ya. Marshak are used. The relevance of the topic of this work is determined by its insufficient study and novelty, as well as the need to educate students in respect for nature.
slide 6
The purpose of the work is to identify common patterns in the disclosure of the image of the forest by different poets, as well as their originality. Tasks of the work: 1. Determine the aesthetic role of the landscape and the image of the forest in the lyrics. 2. Learn about a systematic approach to the study of the landscape and apply the classification to the consideration of the image of the forest. 3.Clarify the possible symbolic meanings of the image of the forest. 4. Reveal the ideological concept of poems by I. Bunin, K. Balmont, N. Razgon, S.Ya. Marshak. 5.Find out what kind of landscape the poem belongs to. 6. Decipher the symbolic meaning of the image of the forest in the work.
Slide 7
Varieties of landscapes
Ideal landscape: 1) a soft breeze, blowing, not stinging, carrying pleasant smells; 2) an eternal source, a cool stream that quenches thirst; 3) flowers covering the ground with a wide carpet; 4) trees spread out in a wide tent, giving shade; 5) birds singing on the branches.
Slide 8
A dull landscape: 1. Special hour of the day: evening, night or special season - which is determined by the distance from the sun, the source of life. 2. Impenetrability to sight and hearing, a kind of veil covering perception: fog and silence. 3.Moonlight, whimsical, mysterious, creepy. 4. A picture of dilapidation, smoldering, ruins. 5. Images of northern nature.
Slide 9
Stormy landscape: 1.Thunderstorm 2.Storm 3.Snowstorm 4.Downpour
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The aesthetic role of the forest
The aesthetic role of the forest is manifested in the creation of colorful elements of the landscape, marvelous landscapes, "collected" from gray stones, transparent springs, quiet backwaters, insinuating noise of silvery streams. The most subtle and elegant lines of talented prose and high poetry are dedicated to this aspect of the forest.
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The forest as a symbol
The forest - in psychological tests, fortune-telling - is the soul, the inner world of a person. The complex symbolism of the forest is connected at all levels with the symbolism feminine or Great Mother. The forest is a widespread symbol of the outside world. In legends and fairy tales, the forest personifies various dangers. For spiritualized people, it can become a place of solitude from the hustle and bustle of life. in literature and fine arts ancient world the image of the forest appears as a "sacred grove" or a heavenly beautiful "forest garden". The Christian tradition combines the understanding of the forest as an ominous "thicket-refuge of animals and dragons" with the motifs of "forest silence" - a fertile environment for solitary prayers. There are images of the forest as a "temple of nature" in poetry. In the literature of the 20th century, the forest is the embodiment of the difficult paths of human knowledge, a clear image of the homeland, a school of "ecological wisdom".
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Ivan Bunin "Noisy leaves, flying around"
The leaves rustled, flying around, The forest started an autumn howl ... Some gray birds flock Circling in the wind with foliage. And I was small, - Their confusion seemed to me like a careless joke: Under the rumble and rustle of a terrible dance I had doubly fun. I wanted, together with a noisy whirlwind, Spinning through the forest, shouting, And meeting each copper sheet with Delight joyfully - crazy! The image of the forest in the poem 1) refers to the "stormy landscape"; 2) reflects the inner world of the lyrical hero; 3) is a symbol of the outside world, filled with life and dangers.
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K. Balmont "Fantasy"
Like living statues, in the sparks of moonlight, the outlines of pines, firs and birches slightly tremble; The prophetic forest calmly slumbers, accepts the bright shine of the moon, And listens to the murmuring of the wind, all full of secret dreams. Hearing the quiet groan of the blizzard, the pines whisper, the spruces whisper, It is comforting to rest in a soft velvet bed, Not remembering anything, not cursing anything, Bowing the slender branches, listening to the sounds of midnight. The poem can be attributed to the elegiac landscape. The forest reflects the internal state of the lyrical hero. The work reflects mythological motifs - "spirits of the night". The forest symbolizes the outer world of nature and the inner world of man.
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Natalya Razgon "My Wonderful Forest" The days of blizzard and cold are in the past, March enters into legal rights. And now I'm waiting for the puddles to dry up And the first grass to be born. - queen! The forest is my possession, The eternal heritage of the soul! My wonderful forest ... Of course, everything is different ... After all, I am his random line! And for nature, maybe the Birth of a person and a leaf is equivalent? ...
The image of the forest in this poem can be attributed to the ideal landscape, because. it highlights the beauty of nature. The forest symbolizes the eternity of the soul. The poem reflects the enthusiastic mood of the lyrical hero.
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S.Ya. Marshak "Forest" This multi-storey house Does not know idle idleness. He is busy with hard work From the dome to the dungeon. Here mirrors catch the sun In a high laboratory. And move inside the trunk Juices extracted by roots. Leaves mumble in a half-sleep, But this is an imaginary slumber. In the wilderness, at rest, in silence, Invisible work is going on.
In the poem, signs of a dull landscape can be distinguished: wilderness, peace, silence, but this is a deceptive “drowsiness”, because life is in full swing in the forest. So this is the perfect landscape. The forest symbolizes the outside world and at the same time resembles the intense life of the soul, the creative process.
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Conclusions 1. The image of the forest is present in many poems of Russian poets and helps the authors express their feelings and experiences.2. The authors also show the beauty of the forest, its mystery3. Most often, the forest appears before us as a symbol of the external world and the inner experiences of a person. 4. The mythological motifs of the forest are also found in the poems of Russian poets.
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The practical benefit of this study lies in the fact that we have proved by examples the possibility systems approach to the analysis of poems that describe the forest. And this greatly facilitates the task - to determine the idea of the poem, its motives, the symbolic meaning of the images and the mood of the lyrical hero. In addition, the question of the aesthetic role of the forest makes us think again about the need to protect native nature, green spaces.
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Information sources:
http://allstude.ru/Literatura_i_russkiiy_yazyk/Poeziya_prirody.html http://www.symbolsbook.ru/Article.aspx?id=293 http://relax.wood.ru/wood/symbol.php3 http://www .simbolarium.ru/simbolarium/sym-uk-cyr/cyr-l/lar/les.htm http://www.bibliofond.ru/view.aspx?id=80657 http://full-house.ru/detail .php?id=22644 http://newyear2012t.evidentia.org/deti-v-lesu-kartinki.html http://antonov-andrey.ucoz.ru/photo/39-0-283-3 http:// imgcoder.com/gdefon/coder/full/4648-img-full http://deswal.ru/nature_forests/1280-1024/00000046.php http://wallpapers-diq.com/ru/42_~_Indian_Creek,_Siuslaw_National_Forest, _Oregon.html http://www.wallpampers.ru/photos/16094 http://maskarad.endgametv.info/zimnii-les-risunki.html http://znak.at.ua/photo/12-0-2579 -3 http://www.zastavki.com/rus/Nature/Forest/wallpaper-683.htm http://wpapers.su/90/ http://www.artfile.ru/oboi/b/i.php ?i=45238sin http://wpapers.ru/wallpapers/nature/Winter/8184/1280-720_Deep-silence.html http://deswal.ru/nature_forests/1280-1024/00000032.php http://deswal. ru/nature_forests/1280-1024/00000032.php http://vsjamebel-tut.ru/dub-v-bane.htmlhttp://luchik8888.livejournal.com/100742.html http://www.iskusstvu.ru/ photos.php?id=4421&type=man http://www.volosov.spb.ru/E9ru. http://beta.diary.ru/~yuri-senpai/?tag=727 Image sources
Slide 19
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around the corner
Alert, alert
At the entrance to the thicket
A bird chirps on a bitch
Easy, enticing.
She chirps and sings
On the eve of boron,
As if protecting the entrance
In forest burrows.
Under it are branches, windbreak,
Clouds above her
In the forest ravine around the corner
Keys and twists.
A heap of stumps, decks
The deadwood is lying.
In the water and cold of the marshes
Snowdrop blooms.
And the bird believes, as in a vow,
Into your rolls
And does not let you over the threshold
Who is not needed.
Around the bend, in the depths
forest log,
The future is ready for me
Return the deposit.
You can't drag him into an argument anymore.
And you won't make it.
It's open like a boron
All deep, all wide open.
B.L. Pasternak
forest coolness
The forest, and the clear azure sky looks
In springtime light waters rivers
In the meadows of the flood, thin steam is golden,
And fishing shine, and waders scream.
The forest is green all around, young and dewy,
And in the forest there is silence, and among the silence
Only the voice of the cuckoo. The vociferous bastard!
- Respond, will I live until the new spring?
And will I come again to this forest, drunk
The aroma of spring and the brilliance of rays,
Will I count again in the thicket dark, green,
How many bright days do I have left?
Will I again listen to you with deep sadness,
With a secret sadness in my soul that the years pass,
That I love the whole world, but I love lonely,
Lonely everywhere and always?
I.A. Bunin
Trees (9)
What inspiration
What truths
What are you making noise about?
Spills deciduous?
What a frantic
Sibyls with mysteries -
What are you making noise about?
What are you mindless about?
What is in your trend?
But I know - treat
Resentment of Time -
Coolness of Eternity.
But the young genius
Rebellion - denigrate
lies of sight
The finger of absentia.
So that again, as before,
The earth seemed to us.
To under the eyelids
Plans were completed.
To coins
Miracles - do not boast!
To under the eyelids
The mysteries have been completed!
And away from strength!
And away from urgency!
Into the stream! -- In Prophecy
Indirect speech...
Are leaves leaves?
Did the Sibyl groan?
... Deciduous avalanches,
Leafy ruins...
M.I. Tsvetaeva
Forest
Noise, noise, green forest!
I know your majestic noise,
And your peace, and the brilliance of heaven
Above your curly head.
I used to understand since childhood
Your silence is dumb
And your mysterious tongue
Like something close.
How I loved when sometimes
The beauty of gloomy nature,
You argued with a strong thunderstorm
In moments of terrible bad weather,
when your big oaks
The dark peaks swayed
In your wilderness they called to each other ...
Or when it was daylight
Shining in the far west
And bright purple fire
Illuminated your clothes.
Meanwhile, in the wilderness of your trees
It was already night, and above you
A chain of colorful clouds
Stretched in a motley ridge.
And here I come again
To you with my barren longing,
Again I look at your dusk
And maybe in your wilderness
Like a prisoner animated by will,
I will forget the sorrow of my soul
And the bitterness of everyday life.
I.S. Nikitin
Morning
In the forest under the feet of a mountain of silver.
There are battalions of black trees,
There are trees like peaks, like shots - maples,
Their roots are like pivots, knots are like rafters,
The winds caress them, the luminaries shine on them.
There are woodpeckers, swinging on oak cheese,
In the morning they cut down with their ax
Gloomy notes from the book of oak forests,
Taking short heads into the shoulders.
Born of the desert
The sound oscillates
fluctuates blue
Spider on a thread.
The air oscillates
Transparent and pure
In shining stars
The leaf is shaking.
And the birds, dressed in bright helmets,
They sit on the gates of a forgotten poem,
And the girl in the river plays naked
And looks at the sky, laughing and blinking.
The rooster sings, it's getting light, it's time!
In the forest under the feet of a mountain of silver.
ON THE. Zabolotsky
***
My quiet dream, my every minute dream -
Invisible, enchanted forest,
Where some vague rustle is worn,
Like the wondrous rustle of silk veils.
In crazy meetings and vague disputes,
At the crossroads of wondering eyes
Invisible and incomprehensible rustle,
Under the ashes flared up and already went out.
And how mist dresses the faces,
And the word freezes on the lips
And it seems like a frightened bird
I darted through the evening bushes.
O.E. Mandelstam
Noon
I'm leaving in the hot afternoon
To rest idle in the dark forest
And there I lay down, and I look all
Between the peaks in the distance of heaven.
And endlessly drowning eyes
In their blue distance;
And the forest rustles around,
And it talks:
A bird is chirping, a beetle is buzzing,
And the dried leaf rustles,
Falling on brushwood by chance, -
And the sounds are all so full of mystery...
At that time a strange feeling to me
Sweetly embraces the whole soul;
Lost in the blue sky
She listens to the forest rumble
And in oblivion some slumbers.
N.P. Ogarev
Pines
In the grass, among the wild balsams,
Daisies and forest baths,
We lie with our arms outstretched
And lift your head to the sky.
Grass on a pine clearing
Impassable and dense.
We look at each other - and again
We change positions and places.
And now, immortal for a while,
We are numbered among the pines
And from diseases, epidemics
And death is released.
With deliberate uniformity,
Like an ointment, deep blue
Lies like bunnies on the ground
And dirty our sleeves.
We share the rest of the redwoods,
Under the swarm of ants
Pine sleeping pill mixture
Lemon with incense breathing.
And so frantic on the blue
Runs of fire trunks,
And we won't take out our hands for so long
From broken heads
And so much breadth in the eyes
And so submissively everything from the outside,
That somewhere behind the trunks of the sea
Seems to me all the time.
There are waves above these branches,
And falling off the boulder
Bring down a hail of shrimp
From the churned bottom.
And in the evenings in tow
Dawn stretches on traffic jams
And oozes fish oil
And hazy haze of amber.
It's getting dark, and gradually
The moon buries all traces
Under white foam magic
And the black magic of water.
And the waves are getting louder and higher
And the public on the float
Crowds at a post with a poster,
Indistinguishable from afar.
B.L. Pasternak
Bor
Everyone who goes out into the open in the morning,
One hundred gates are called to the pine forest.
Between tall and straight trunks
One hundred gates are called under coniferous shelter.
Twilight and heat stand in the forest.
Resins seep through the bark.
And you will go into the forest distance and wilderness,
Dryness smells like ant alcohol.
In more often anthills do not sleep -
They wiggle, they sway, they boil.
Yes, squirrels flicker in the sky,
Like arrows, from pine to pine.
This forest has been familiar to me for half a century.
I was a child, I became an old man.
And now I wander, as if in the footsteps,
For my boyhood years.
But, as before, for me my own -
Needles, bumps, squirrels, ants.
And me, as in childhood, still
One hundred gates are called to the pine forest.
S.Ya.Marshak
Bright forest carnation color.
Spicy smell of bitter herbs.
The rays of the sun fell,
Pine needles pierced.
Stuffy. The rocks heated up
Smolny air is motionless,
The clouds have stopped
And vanish like smoke...
All covered in dust, bristles sticking out
Roadside horsetail.
Desert buzzes above the foliage
The song of the May Khrushchev.
Dropped from the shoulders of a heavy bag,
The eye goes far...
And a bare shoulder on a stone
It leans on easily.
In the depths of the damp forest
So cool and dark.
The shade of the green canopy
Threw the secret to the bottom.
In the silence of intransitive
The beetles rustle a little in the grass.
Good for cold moss
Lie down with a tired head!
And closing your eyes, blissfully
Go into the silence of the forest
And understand that everything is forgotten
Everything that you keep in your memory.
Sasha Black
forest sketch
Pine forests. Pale road.
I am sitting in a spruce forest, kindling a fire.
I sit until the evening, cutting firewood ...
Rustling green birch foliage...
An angry bee over anthills,
Over fly agarics and over burdocks
Buzzing and spinning, exhausted by evil ..
Coniferous trees. Clay road.
I. Severyanin
By mushrooms
Let's go for mushrooms.
Highway. Forests. Ditches.
road poles
Left and right.
From the wide highway
We go into the darkness of the forest.
Ankle-deep in dew
We stray.
And the sun under the bushes
On milk mushrooms and waves
Through the wilds of darkness
Throws light from the edge.
The mushroom hides behind a stump.
A bird sits on a stump.
Our shadow is a milestone for us,
To keep from going astray.
But time in September
Measured like this:
Barely before us dawn
Reach through the thicket.
Boxes full of
Baskets filled.
Some mushrooms
A good half.
We're leaving. Behind the back
The forest is motionless with a wall,
Where is the day in the beauty of the earth
Burned out quickly.
B.L. Pasternak
Forest in autumn
Between thinning tops
Blue appeared.
Noisy at the edges
Bright yellow foliage.
Birds are not heard. Crack small
broken knot,
And, with a flickering tail, a squirrel
Easy makes a jump.
The spruce in the forest became more noticeable -
Protects deep shade.
Boletus last
He pushed his hat to one side.
A.T. Tvardovsky
*****
Fog all night, and in the morning
The spring air is definitely dying
And turns blue with a soft haze
In the distant clearings in the forest.
And the green forest slumbers quietly,
And in the silver of forest lakes
Even slimmer than his columns,
More fresh pine crowns
And delicate larches pattern!
Green Noise (excerpt)
The Green Noise is coming,
Green Noise, spring noise!
Playfully divergent
Suddenly the wind is riding:
Shakes alder bushes,
Raise flower dust
Like a cloud: everything is green -
Both air and water!
The Green Noise is coming,
Green Noise, spring noise!
Like drenched in milk
There are cherry orchards,
Quietly noisy;
Warmed by the warm sun
The merry ones make noise
pine forests,
And next to the new greenery
Babbling a new song
And the pale-leaved linden,
And a white birch
With a green braid!
A small reed makes noise,
Noisy cheerful maple ...
They make new noise
In a new way, spring ...
Goes-buzzes, Green Noise,
Green Noise, spring noise!
****
The buds blossomed, the forest stirred,
Bright beams all richened.
On its outskirts of fragrant grass
A silver lily of the valley looked out into the sun,
And opened meekly from the spring caress
Sweet forget-me-not blue eyes.
****
Greetings, happy spring!
Shining, sounding, fragrant,
And the strength of life, and full of joy, -
How beautiful you are, young!
Face to face with you alone wandering in the forest
And all yours is subject to spells,
I carry reasonable advice to myself,
As befits old people.
I tell myself: “Look down often;
Everywhere you will see a gentle flower;
There are a lot of fragrant lilies of the valley here; beware
So as not to crush them with a careless foot.
Try to catch both light and shadows
A game of fancy patterns
And hold back your cough so that you can hear more clearly
Songs of birds and rustling of leaves.
****
The birch forest is getting greener and darker and curly;
Lily-of-the-valley bells bloom in the thicket of green;
At dawn in the valleys it blows warm and bird cherry,
Nightingales sing until dawn.
Trinity Day is coming soon, songs, wreaths and mowing soon...
Everything blooms and sings, young hopes are melting ...
O spring dawns and warm May dews!
O my distant youth!
****
Heavy rain in the green forest
Rumbled through the slender maples,
By forest flowers...
Do you hear? - The song flows loudly,
Carefree resounds
Voice through the woods.
Heavy rain in the green forest
Rumbled through the slender maples,
The sky is clear...
In every heart arises -
And torments and captivates
Your image, Spring!
O golden hopes!
The groves are dark, dense
You have been deceived...
Soft and inviting voice!
You sounded a wondrous song -
And faded into the distance!
spring evening
Golden clouds are walking
Above the resting earth;
The fields are spacious, mute
Shine, doused with dew;
The brook murmurs in the darkness of the valley,
In the distance the spring thunder rumbles,
Lazy wind in aspen leaves
Trembles with a caught wing.
The high forest is silent and thrilling,
The green, dark forest is silent.
Only sometimes in the deep shadow
The sleepless leaf will rustle.
The star trembles in the lights of the sunset,
Love beautiful star
And the soul is light and holy,
Easy, as in childhood.
Lily of the valley
The forest turns black, awakened with warmth,
Embraced by spring dampness.
And on the strings of pearls
Everyone trembles from the wind.
Buds round bells
Still closed and tight
But the sun opens the corollas
At the bluebells of spring.
Nature carefully swaddled,
Wrapped up in a wide sheet
A flower grows in the wilderness untouched,
Cool, fragile and fragrant.
The forest languishes in early spring,
And all the happy longing
And all your fragrance
He gave to the bitter flower.
After the flood
The rains have passed, April is getting warmer,
Fog all night, and in the morning
The spring air is definitely dying
And turns blue with a soft haze
In the distant clearings in the forest.
And the green forest slumbers quietly,
And in the silver of forest lakes
Even slimmer than his columns,
More fresh pine crowns
And delicate larches pattern!
***
Through the forest, the goblin yells at an owl.
Midges hide from birds in the grass.
Ay!
The bear sleeps, and it seems to her:
The hunter stabs sharp children.
Ay!
She cries and shakes her head.
- Children, children, go home.
Ay!
A ringing echo screams into the blue:
- Hey you, respond, who I'm calling!
Ay!
***
Dawn lazily burns out
In the sky a scarlet stripe;
The village silently falls asleep
In the radiance of the night blue;
And only the song, fading,
Sounds in the sleeping air
Yes, a stream, playing with a jet,
Running through the forest with a murmur...
What a night! Like the giants
Sleepy trees stand
And emerald meadows
Sleeping silently in deep darkness...
In capricious, strange shapes
Clouds are rushing in the sky;
Light and darkness in luxurious combinations
Lies on foliage and trunks ...
With joy, the greedy chest inhales
In itself cool jets,
And boils in the heart again
Wishing you happiness and love...
Forest
Noise, noise, green forest!
I know your majestic noise,
And your peace, and the brilliance of heaven
Above your curly head.
I used to understand since childhood
Your silence is silent
And your mysterious tongue
Like something close.
How I loved when sometimes
The beauty of gloomy nature,
You argued with a strong thunderstorm
In moments of terrible bad weather,
When your big oaks
The dark peaks swayed
And hundreds of different voices
In your wilderness they called to each other ...
Or when it was daylight
Shining in the far west
And bright purple fire
Illuminated your clothes.
Meanwhile, in the wilderness of your trees
It was already night, and above you
A chain of colorful clouds
Stretched in a motley ridge.
***
excerpt from the poem "Peasant Children"
Wow, it's hot!.. We picked mushrooms until noon.
Here they came out of the forest - just towards
A blue ribbon, winding, long,
Meadow river: they jumped in a crowd,
And blond heads over the desert river,
What porcini mushrooms in a forest clearing!
The river resounded with both laughter and a howl:
Here a fight is not a fight, a game is not a game ...
And the sun scorches them with midday heat.
Home, kids! it's time to dine.
Have returned. Everyone has a full basket,
And how many stories! Got scythe
Caught a hedgehog, got lost a little
And they saw a wolf ... oh, what a terrible one!
Mushroom time did not have time to depart,
Look - everyone has black lips,
They stuffed the oskom: the blueberries are ripe!
And there are raspberries, lingonberries, walnuts!
A childish cry echoing
From morning to night it rumbles through the forests.
Frightened by singing, hooting, laughter,
Will the grouse take off, croaking to the chicks,
Whether a hare jumps up - sodom, turmoil!
Here is an old capercaillie with a slick wing
In the bushes it was brought in ... well, the poor thing is bad!
The living are dragged to the village with triumph ...
Spring
In the wilderness of the forest, in the wilderness of green,
Always shady and damp
In a steep ravine under the mountain
A cold spring beats from stones:
Boils, plays and hurries,
Spinning in crystal clubs,
And under the branchy oaks
Runs like molten glass.
And the heavens and the mountainous forest
They look, thinking in silence,
As in light moisture naked
They tremble with a patterned mosaic.
On the hunt in summer
(excerpt) It's hot, painfully hot ... But the forest is not far
green…
From dusty, waterless fields we go there together
hurry.
We enter ... fragrant pours into a tired chest
cool;
The caustic moisture of labor freezes on a hot face.
Emerald, fresh shadows received us affectionately;
Quietly jumped around, quietly on the soft grass
Whispering greeting speeches are transparent, light
leaves…
Oriole screams loudly, as if marveling at the guests.
What a joy it is to be in the woods! And the sun's softened strength
Here it does not blaze with fire, it plays with brilliance alive.
***
Wrapped in a thing of drowsiness,
The half-naked forest is sad...
Is it the hundredth of summer leaves,
Shining with autumn gilding,
Still rustling on branches.
I look with compassion,
When, breaking through the clouds,
Suddenly through the trees dotted
With their decrepit leaves exhausted,
A lightning beam will splatter!
How fading cute!
What a beauty in it for us,
When that so blossomed and lived,
Now, so feeble and feeble,
Smile for the last time!
The forest drops its crimson dress,
The withered field is silvered by frost,
The day will pass as if involuntarily
And hide behind the edge of the surrounding mountains.
Blaze, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, autumn cold friend,
Pour a pleasant hangover into my chest,
Minute oblivion of bitter torments.
leaf fall
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful, colorful wall
It stands over a bright meadow.
Birches with yellow carving
Shine in blue azure,
Like towers, Christmas trees darken,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Clearances in the sky, that windows.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
During the summer it dried up from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
He enters his motley tower.
Today in an empty meadow
In the middle of a wide courtyard
Air web fabric
Shine like a net of silver.
Playing all day today
The last moth in the yard
And like a white petal
Freezes on the web
warmed by the warmth of the sun;
Today it's so bright all around
Such a dead silence
In the forest and in the blue sky
What is possible in this silence
Hear the rustle of a leaf.
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Standing above the sunny meadow,
Enchanted by silence;
The thrush quacks, flying
Among the podsed, where thick
Foliage an amber reflection pours;
Playing in the sky will flash
Scattered flock of starlings -
And again everything around will freeze.
Last moments of happiness!
Autumn already knows what it is
Deep and mute peace -
A harbinger of a long storm.
Deep, strange forest was silent
And at dawn, when from sunset
Purple glitter of fire and gold
The tower illuminated with fire.
Then it darkened gloomily.
The moon is rising, and in the forest
Shadows fall on the dew...
It's cold and white
Among the glades, among the through
Dead autumn thicket,
And terribly one Autumn
In the desert silence of the night.
Now the silence is different:
Listen - it's growing
And with her, frightening with pallor,
And the moon slowly rises.
He made all the shadows shorter
Transparent smoke brought to the forest
And now he looks straight into the eyes
From the misty heights of the sky.
0, dead dream autumn night!
0, a terrible hour of night miracles!
In the silvery and damp fog
Light and empty in the clearing;
Forest filled with white light
With its frozen beauty
As if death is prophesying for itself;
The owl is silent too: it sits
Yes, it looks stupidly from the branches,
Sometimes wildly laughing
Will break with noise from a height,
flapping soft wings,
And sit on the bushes again
And looks with round eyes
Driving with an eared head
On the sides, as in amazement;
And the forest stands in a daze,
Filled with pale, light haze
And rotten dampness of leaves ...
Do not wait: the next morning will not glimpse
The sun is in the sky. Rain and haze
The forest is fogged with cold smoke, -
No wonder the night is over!
But Autumn will hold deep
Everything she's been through
In the silent night and lonely
Forbidden in his terem:
Let the forest rage in the rain
Let the dark and rainy nights
And in the clearing wolf eyes
Glow green with fire!
Forest, like a tower without a prize,
All darkened and shed,
September, circling through the thickets of boron,
He removed the roof in places
And the entrance was strewn with damp foliage;
And there the winter fell at night
And he began to melt, killing everything ...
Horns are blowing in distant fields,
Their copper overflow rings,
Like a sad cry, among the wide
Rainy and foggy fields.
Through the noise of the trees, beyond the valley,
Lost in the depths of the forests
Turin's horn howls sullenly,
Clicking on the prey of dogs,
And the sonorous din of their voices
The noise of the desert spreads storms.
It's raining, cold as ice,
Leaves are spinning across the fields,
And geese in a long caravan
They fly over the forest.
But the days go by. And now the smoke
Rise like pillars at dawn,
The forests are scarlet, motionless,
Earth in frosty silver
And in ermine shugai,
Wash your pale face,
Meeting the last day in the forest,
Autumn comes out on the porch.
The yard is empty and cold. At the gate
Among two dried aspens,
She can see the blue of the valleys
And the expanse of the desert swamp,
Road to the Far South:
There from winter storms and blizzards,
From the winter cold and blizzard
The birds have long since departed;
There and Autumn in the Morning
He will direct his lonely path
And forever in an empty forest
The open tower will leave its own.
Forgive me, forest! Sorry, goodbye,
The day will be gentle, good,
And soon soft powder
The dead edge will be silvered.
How strange will be in this white,
Deserted and cold day
And the forest, and the empty tower,
And the roofs of quiet villages,
And heaven, and without borders
In them leaving fields!
How happy the sables will be
And ermines, and martens,
Playing and basking on the run
In soft snowdrifts in the meadow!
And there, like a violent dance of a shaman,
Break into the naked taiga
Winds from the tundra, from the ocean,
Buzzing in the swirling snow
And howling in the field like a beast.
They will destroy the old tower,
Leave stakes and then
On this empty island
Hang frost through,
And they will be in the blue sky
Shine halls of ice
And crystal and silver.
And at night, between their white divorces,
The fires of heaven will ascend,
The star shield Stozhar will sparkle -
At that hour, when in the midst of silence
Frosty glowing fire,
Bloom of the aurora.
***
Noisy leaves, flying around,
The forest started the autumn howl ...
Some gray birds flock
Spinning in the wind with foliage.
And I was small - a careless joke
Their confusion seemed to me:
Under the rumble and rustle of a terrible dance
I had doubly fun.
I wanted along with a noisy whirlwind
Spinning through the forest, screaming -
And meet each copper sheet
Delight joyfully-crazy!
***
A green forest is going by a cliff,
Autumn maples are already blushing,
And the spruce forest is green and shady;
Aspen yellow sounds the alarm;
A leaf fell off a birch
And as a carpet strewn the road -
You walk - as if on the waters -
The leg makes noise ... And the ear listens
Softened speech in the thicket, there,
Where the lush fern slumbers
And a row of red fly agaric
Like fabulous dwarfs, they sleep;
And here is the gap: through the leaves they shine,
Sparkling gold, jets ...
You hear the saying: the waters are splashing,
Rocking sleepy boats;
And the mill wheezes and groans
To the sound of frenzied wheels.
Won-won hides a heavy cart:
They bring grain. Klyachonka drives
Peasant, carrying a child,
And the granddaughter amuses the grandfather with fear,
And, lowering the fluffy tail,
A bug bustles around barking,
And loudly in the dusk of the forest
Cheerful barking flies around.
The forest whispered, in pre-sunset prayer.
Sadness-artist rules in it.
Autumn, smearing her colors in the palette,
Illuminated with blinding fire.
Blind - and fade for a while!
Let me get used to this fire.
The wind from the maples will sweep away the burden of colors,
Throws after the passing day.
Forests and hillocks will be sprinkled
Here crimson, and there - gray.
The sun will roll down the rainbow hill,
And from the clouds will blow in the winter.
Above the ravine, a simple aspen,
Frustrated, she crouched down on the ground.
Rain autumn outfit with her...
The forest for the gnome is a good home.
He knows everyone here.
In the morning, going out to exercise,
Say hello, in order
And flowers, and fungi,
And dewdrops and leaves.
The ancient forest is friends with the gnome.
It's full of miracles
Cook from the heart.
Do you want a miracle? hurry up
Morning - hello, say
Shine a smile during the day.
In the evening, lying down in bed,
Good dreams to all.
The world will become like a good forest,
Where is always full of miracles.
© Copyright: Nadezhda Muntseva, 2020...
The forest is a green wall.
Through which the road winds.
The wind darling in more often makes noise.
And suddenly anxiety left my heart.
Alright here, I'll close my eyes.
Dissolve my heart in the noise of the forest.
The forest will whisper something to me with foliage.
And he will tell you about something.
A bird will sing among the foliage somewhere.
Oh, how good life is!
Is this all waking up, or am I dreaming?
The forest sings and the soul sings with it.
We live in a fast and noisy world.
We forgot - we are children of the Earth.
We forgot, racing in a crazy run.
Why this...
The forest in Russia was cut like this,
What must have been forgotten...
The forest of the century grows
And only then he sings there!
What a handsome man he has grown...
Into the winds performs a dance!
He makes noise, the beast howls...
The bird is all singing!
Forest life goes on in it ...
Nature sings everywhere!
In the dashing democratic years ...
A criminal environment has developed.
The forest in Russia is set on fire,
And then they cut it out.
They send abroad
Capitals are making money!
And go find the ends...
After all, specialists work!
They cut the forest, he screamed ...
Gene...
Autumn forest. The sky is clear
Wind flutter dry wood,
Eared mushroom in the clearing
Hides the hat under the foliage.
The train travels far
A thud is heard,
Restless magpie
It stirred up everything around.
The forest shuddered and everything fell silent,
Peace and quiet again
Like someone's misunderstanding
Resolved by the new world.
But suddenly everything faded
The sun hid a row of clouds,
And the cold rain is fine
Spills leaf fall.
The wind picked up the pace
Krona sharply aroused
Deciduous round dance
Circle of magic administer...
The forest on the Don bends all over ...
In the floodplain of the Don, it dries up!
The whole deadwood is littered with ...
On extinction all is real.
Although the beaver thrives here...
It helps the forest to die here,
Such fells, there are trees!
that have been here for centuries.
This is how we live on the Don now ...
Breaking records according to reports
But in fact, the picture is different ...
The Small Motherland bends the Motherland!!!
The meadow is overgrown with weeds...
The forest from diseases bends around!
Not enough money for good deeds...
Here nature on the Don bends.
Dense forest. Pine trees smelling of antiquity
From the earth to the sky they embrace space.
Creepy and scary and it's so easy to get lost here
Weaving a pattern along the tempting paths of steps.
Folding dialect of branches that knew the birth of the world
And the enchanting dusk of the undergrowth, and the call of talkative flowers,
The divination of soft mosses and swamps is a magical quagmire,
Windbreaks of the taiga, weaving the mind, bushes.
Here everything is saturated with a primitive and proud beginning.
As if heavenly Eden fell from the hateful skies.
Here just...
Lost in silence, slightly ringing,
Listen to the conversation of leaves and wind,
Barely audible, see in the trembling haze
Only the forest around for many kilometers.
Silence. Not even the sound of a gentle wind can be heard. The leaves of the trees seem to have frozen in horror and are waiting for something secret, unknown. The whole forest is waiting for it. There are drops of fresh dew on the grass. It seems that you are standing frozen in this charm of the art of nature. Twilight, slightly lowering the already heavy eyelids, the darkness does not allow to see the whole picture. Lonely edges, a forest shrouded in mysterious darkness. A few seconds later, the light is bright, warm rays pierce the trees. The forest thicket comes to life little by little, the magic of the fireflies that frolic at night among the dense foliage leaves.
You inhale this immensely fresh air to the fullest. As much as possible, more often, stronger, but there is no way to breathe. No, this is not dawn - you do not see the sun, but the solar filaments beckon you to look at them for hours. A living organism that acts one system, breathing in full force forest. Here the most variety of trees, animals, insects, and even small shrubs are welcome here: every living organism plays its role. Streams of light breeze on the face, on the cheeks, into the lungs, deeper and deeper.
A waltz in the middle of nature... Here, somewhere in the distance, a flock of freedom-loving birds suddenly takes off, creating a commotion throughout the forest. The vibrations in the air that they create by fluttering their wings set the leaves on the trees in motion. Time seems to slow down. In general, observing such a picture, you will never be able to understand how much time it really is - all this is so mesmerizing. The forest is more and more filled with sounds: somewhere you can hear a wakeful owl, somewhere a woodpecker is busy with his usual business, and squirrels are running around you in search of their nuts...
You don't have to look with your eyes, you have to see with your eyes. The smell of dampness - it had recently rained. Somewhere not far from you, a river roars, even now you can hear how the fish desperately jumps up, trying to feel like a bird and feel freedom, but, having no chance, flops into the water, raising splashes of water up.
A huge, languid, powerful forest... The sun has finally completely enveloped everything with its rays and warmth. Do you feel lonely being in the center of a huge organism that lives according to its own laws?! Rather, freedom, lightness, carelessness. And yet you are afraid to break any law, you are afraid that the picture will fade. You stand in amazement, enchanted by the shadow of the majestic forest thicket ... And in a couple of hours it will get dark again, and the forest will be filled with silence, and the fireflies will again delight us with their games in the darkness. The forest will fall asleep at night, living like this from day to day...
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