S.A. Yesenin

Grandma's tales

Backyard on a winter evening

rollicking crowd

On snowdrifts, on hillocks

We're going, we're going home.

The sleds are disgusting,

And we sit in two rows

Listen to grandmother's tales

About Ivan the Fool.

And we sit, barely breathing.

The time is running towards midnight.

Let's pretend we don't hear

If mom calls to sleep.

All stories. Time for bed...

But how can you sleep now?

And again we roared,

We start to get on.

Grandma will say timidly:

“Why sit until dawn?”

Well, what do we care -

Speak to speak.

Sunrise

Red dawn lit up

In the dark blue sky

The band appeared clear

In its golden brilliance.

The rays of the sun are high

Reflected light in the sky.

And scattered far

From them new in response.

Rays of bright gold

Light up the ground all of a sudden.

The skies are already blue

Spread around.

Birch

White birch

under my window

covered with snow,

Exactly silver.

On fluffy branches

snow border

Brushes blossomed

White fringe.

And there is a birch

In sleepy silence

And the snowflakes are burning

In golden fire

A dawn, lazy

Walking around,

Sprinkles branches

New silver.

Night (“Quietly the river slumbers...”)

Quietly the river slumbers.

The dark forest does not make noise.

The nightingale does not sing

And the jerk does not scream.

Night. Silence around.

The stream just gurgles.

With its brilliance the moon

Everything around is silver.

Silver river.

Silver stream.

silver grass

Irrigated steppes.

Night. Silence around.

Everything in nature sleeps.

With its brilliance the moon

Everything around is silver.

Evening is like soot...

Evening is like soot

It pours out the window.

white yarn

Weaving cloth.

The extinguisher is dancing,

Jumping shadow.

Knocking on the windows

Old wattle.

Sticking to the window

Black path.

baby girl

Baika mother.

The unsteady growls

Sleepy troparion:

"Sleep, my fish,

Sleep, don't goof."

Winter

Autumn has flown away

And winter came.

As on wings, flew

She is suddenly invisible.

Here the frost crackled

And they forged all the ponds.

And the boys screamed

Thanks to her for her hard work.

Here come the patterns

On glasses of wondrous beauty.

Everyone fixed their eyes

Looking at it. From high

Snow falls, flashes, curls,

Lies down with a white veil.

Here the sun flashes in the clouds,

And the frost on the snow sparkles.

The road thought about the red evening,

Bushes of mountain ash are more foggy than depth.

Hut-old woman jaw threshold

Chews the odorous crumb of silence.

Autumn cold gently and meekly

Creeps in the darkness to the oat yard;

Through the blue glass yellow-haired boy

He shines his eyes on the checkbox game.

Embracing the pipe, sparkles along the tale

Green ash from the pink oven.

There is no one, and the thin-lipped wind

About someone whispers, who disappeared into the night.

Someone's heels no longer crush the groves

Cracked leaf and gold grass.

A lingering sigh, diving with a skinny ringing,

Kisses the beak of a fluffy owl.

I'll tell you it's not flat,

In it, all the words are important:

Marina Ivanovskaya

You must call me.

Frame me easily

I am a small portrait.

Now I'm learning to read

And soon I'm six years old.

My eyes are brown

And the cheeks are not bad.

My pen is not famous

Sometimes I write wrong

But most like

I have to eat shikolat.

Sergei Yesenin "What is it?"

Enchanted into this forest,

By fluffs of silver

Me with a loaded rifle

I went hunting yesterday.

The path is clean and smooth

I passed, did not inherit ...

Who was sneaking around here?

Who fell and walked here?

I'll come and take a closer look:

The fragile snow is all broken.

Someone strange was running around here.

If only I knew the secret

enchanted words,

I would know by chance

Who walks around here at night.

Because of the tree would be high

I looked at the circle

Who is a deep trace distant

Leaves in the snow?

Beloved edge! Dreaming of the heart...

Beloved edge! Dreaming of the heart

Stacks of the sun in the waters of the womb.

I would like to get lost

In the greens of your bells.

Along the boundary line

Reseda and riza porridge.

And call the rosary

Willows, meek nuns.

The swamp smokes with a cloud,

Burn in the heavenly yoke.

With a quiet secret for someone

I kept my thoughts in my heart.

I meet everything, I accept everything,

Glad and happy to take out the soul.

I came to this earth

To leave her soon.

Sergey Yesenin. "Night"

Tired day turned to night

The noisy wave subsided

The sun went out, and over the world

The moon floats thoughtfully.

The quiet valley listens

The murmur of a peaceful stream.

And the dark forest, leaning, slumbers

To the sound of the nightingale's song.

Listening to songs, with the shores,

Caressing, the river whispers.

And quietly heard above her

The cheerful rustle of the reeds.

The fields are compressed, the groves are bare...

The fields are compressed, the groves are bare,

Fog and damp from the water.

Wheel behind the blue mountains

The sun went down quietly.

The blasted road is slumbering.

She dreamed today

What is very, very little

It remains to wait for the gray winter.

Oh, and I myself am often ringing

I saw yesterday in the fog:

Red month foal

Harnessed to our sleigh.

It's evening. Dew…

It's evening. Dew

Shines on nettles.

I'm standing by the road

Leaning against the willow.

Big light from the moon

Right on our roof.

Somewhere the song of a nightingale

In the distance I hear.

Good and warm

Like in the winter by the stove.

And birches stand

Like big candles.

And far beyond the river

Apparently, behind the edge,

Sleepy watchman knocks

Dead beater.

Winter sings - calls out ...

Winter sings - calls out,

Shaggy forest cradles

The call of a pine forest.

Around with deep longing

Sailing to a distant land

Gray clouds.

And in the yard a snowstorm

Spreads like a silk carpet,

But it's painfully cold.

Sparrows are playful

Like orphan children

Huddled at the window.

Little birds are chilled,

Hungry, tired

And they huddle tighter.

A blizzard with a furious roar

Knocks on the shutters hung

And getting more and more angry.

And gentle birds doze

Under these whirlwinds of snow

At the frozen window.

And they dream of a beautiful

In the smiles of the sun is clear

Spring beauty.

powder

I'm going. Quiet. Ringing is heard

Under the hoof in the snow

Only gray crows

Made a noise in the meadow.

Bewitched by the invisible

The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep,

Like a white scarf

The pine has tied up.

Bent over like an old lady

Leaned on a stick

And above the crown

The woodpecker hammers at the bitch.

The horse is galloping, there is a lot of space,

Snow falls and spreads a shawl.

Endless road

Runs off into the distance.

Good morning!

Golden stars dozed off,

The mirror of the backwater trembled,

Light shines on the river backwaters

And blushes the grid of the sky.

Sleepy birches smiled,

Tousled silk braids.

Rustling green earrings,

And silver dews are burning.

The wattle fence has an overgrown nettle

Dressed in bright mother-of-pearl

And, swaying, he whispers playfully:

"Good morning!"

bird cherry

Fragrant bird cherry

Bloomed with spring

And golden branches

What curls, curled.

Honey dew all around

Slips down the bark

Spicy greens underneath

Shines in silver.

And next to the thawed patch,

In the grass, between the roots,

Runs, flows small

Silver stream.

Fragrant bird cherry,

Hanging out, standing

And the green is golden

Burning in the sun.

Brook with a thundering wave

All branches are covered

And insinuatingly under the steep

She sings songs.

Aunt Motya in a pink hood

Aunt Motya

In a pink hood

Uncle Vadya

In festive attire

Cousin Zina

In a rubber raincoat

In pajamas,

On my son Mishka

New pants -

Do the walk

Down our alley...

And suddenly a phenomenon

To everyone's surprise:

Flushed with heat

Young painters -

Tit and Vasya -

The house is being painted.

Carve up the walls

Under pink...

Mishka screams:

See how!

This is clever -

Instead of a brush, a syringe! -

And Papa Misha:

Quietly wonder!

Is it hard to guess

What is mechanization?

Soon they'll even learn

Douche portraits and landscapes!

"Grandma's Tales" Sergei Yesenin

Backyard on a winter evening
rollicking crowd
On snowdrifts, on hillocks
We're going, we're going home.
The sleds are disgusting,
And we sit in two rows
Listen to grandmother's tales
About Ivan the Fool.
And we sit, barely breathing.
The time is running towards midnight.
Let's pretend we don't hear
If mom calls to sleep.
All stories. Time for bed...
But how can you sleep now?
And again we roared,
We start to get on.
Grandma will say timidly:
“Why sit until dawn?”
Well, what do we care -
Speak to speak.

Analysis of Yesenin's poem "Grandmother's Tales"

Sergei Yesenin has repeatedly admitted that his brightest and most tender memories are associated with childhood. It cannot be said that it was happy in the generally accepted sense of the word, since the future poet was born into a simple peasant family, which was not very wealthy. Plus, once Yesenin's parents quarreled in earnest and even dispersed to different villages. As a result, almost until the very moment he entered the school, the poet lived with his maternal grandparents, practically not meeting with his sisters, mother and father.

It can be said without exaggeration that if Pushkin was brought up by the nanny Arina Rodionovna, then Yesenin grew up in the arms of her grandmother Natalya Evtikhievna, who knew many folk tales and legends. It was she who instilled in the future poet a love of literature and even encouraged his timid experiments in versification. Therefore, it is not surprising that, having become an adult and moved to Moscow, the poet often remembered her with tenderness and warmth. Natalya Evstikhievna died when Yesenin was 16 years old, and after her death he returned to his parents' house, where he felt lonely and useless. It was then that the decision was ripe to move to Moscow and become a poet.

The dream came true, and in 1915, as a token of gratitude, Yesenin created a very touching poem "Grandmother's Tales", based on early childhood memories. It is worth noting that in my grandmother's house it was always noisy and fun, because together with Yesenin, three of his teenage uncles also lived here. In addition, other grandchildren often came here to stay, so a cheerful children's company always found new and new entertainment for themselves. But when the games are already rather tired and “the sleigh gets sick of it”, the kids rush home to their beloved grandmother, persuading her to tell another fairy tale. She did it so skillfully and excitingly that it was impossible to put the kids to bed. “And we are sitting, barely breathing, things are coming to midnight,” the poet shares his memories, mentally transporting himself to the past.

The children even had to go to a little trick, pretending that they did not hear their mother calling them to bed. When she finished all her household chores, it turned out that the night had already come into its own, and the kids were so impressed by what they heard that they didn’t want to sleep at all. The wise grandmother does not even try to send them to bed, she only asks timidly: “Why sit until dawn?” But such an offer suits the children quite well, since at this moment there is nothing more sweet and desirable for them than another grandmother's story, in which reality is often intertwined with fiction, creating an amazing world. And each of those present, including Yesenin, feels like his hero, performing feats or finding answers to difficult life questions.

Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin

Answers to pages 44 - 45

1. thawed patches
Fill in the missing words.

On a winter evening backyards
rollicking crowd
On snowdrifts, on hillocks
We let's go, wandering home.

2. Erudite
How can you say otherwise?

Backyard- behind the yard.
rollicking crowd- cheerful crowd.
Let's go, let's go home- we return home.

3 ∗ . exact word
What words help the poet convey his attitude to fairy tales? Find and highlight. Specify ⇒ rhyming lines.

And we sit, barely breathing.
The time is running out towards midnight.
Let's pretend we don't hear
If mom calls to sleep.
All stories. Time for bed...
But how can I sleep now??
And again we roared,
We start to pester.

And we sit, barely breathing ⇒ Let's pretend we don't hear
The time is running out towards midnight ⇒ If mom calls to sleep.
All stories. Time for bed... ⇒ And again we roared,
But how can you sleep now? ⇒ We start to get on.

4 ∗ . Bookman
Remember the fairy tales about Ivan the Fool. Complete the list.

1. Russian folk tale "Sivka-burka".
2. P. Ershov "Humpbacked Horse".
3. Russian folk tale "Ivan the peasant son and the miracle Yudo"

Backyard on a winter evening
rollicking crowd
On snowdrifts, on hillocks
We're going, we're going home.
The sleds are disgusting,
And we sit in two rows
Listen to grandmother's tales
About Ivan the Fool.
And we sit, barely breathing.
The time is running towards midnight.
Let's pretend we don't hear
If mom calls to sleep.
All stories. Time for bed...
But how can you sleep now?
And again we roared,
We start to get on.
Grandma will say timidly:
“Why sit until dawn?”
Well, what do we care -
Speak to speak.

Analysis of the poem "Grandma's Tales" by Yesenin

S. Yesenin treated Russian folklore with great respect. Born into a simple peasant family, from childhood he was familiar with many fairy tales and legends told by his grandmother. These bedtime stories had a great influence on the poet's early work. Many of the poems of the young Yesenin resemble a fairy tale in which objects and phenomena of the surrounding world come to life. In 1915, the poet wrote the poem "Grandmother's Tales", which reflected his happy childhood memories.

The poet's childhood is difficult to imagine for the modern generation. There was no TV or computer, the toys of the village children were at best made by the hands of their parents. All entertainment and games took place on the street. In winter, sledding from the hills was a special pleasure. But with the onset of darkness, when "the sleigh gets sick of it," I had to return home. After a simple dinner, the most important entertainment awaited the children - "grandmother's tales".

The instructive and exciting stories about the adventures of Ivan the Fool so captivated the village children that they sat with bated breath. The boring and monotonous peasant life seemed to blossom with bright colors under the influence of fairy tales. In their imagination, the children were carried away to distant lands, where miracles took place, and good always triumphed over evil.

It was impossible to stop listening. Children in every possible way delayed the moment when they still have to go to bed. They pretended not to hear their mother's demand. But even when the grandmother herself declared that fairy tales were over for today, excited children began to pester her with a request to tell at least one more. It was very difficult to part with the magical world. And the narrator herself, apparently, liked these long gatherings with the children. Her life was spent in hard exhausting work. Realizing that the same fate awaits her grandchildren, the grandmother is glad to bring them as much happiness as possible, at least in childhood, to distract them from the harsh reality. Therefore, she says "timidly": "Why sit something until dawn?" Feeling the grandmother's insecurity and compliance, the children joyfully declare: "Speak and speak."

Behind the simple plot of the poem "Grandma's Tales" lies a deep meaning. The stories of the old people had a great influence on peasant children. They learned to distinguish between good and evil, assimilated moral ideals, and magically got acquainted with the past of their country. One of the sources of the birth of Yesenin's poetic talent can be confidently considered "grandmother's tales".