Yup Kuznetsov atomic fairy tale. Literature lesson plan (8th grade) on the topic: Lesson of one poem

Atomic fairy tale

I heard this happy tale

I'm already in the current mood,

How Ivanushka came out into the field

And he fired the arrow at random.

He went in the direction of flight

Following the silver trail of fate.

And he ended up with a frog in a swamp,

Three seas from my father's hut.

It will come in handy for a good cause! -

He put the frog in the handkerchief.

Opened up her white royal body

And started an electric current.

She died in long agony,

Centuries beat in every vein.

And the smile of knowledge played

On happy face fool.

Fight in the networks

The air is full of gods at dawn

At sunset it is fraught with nets,

So are my blood networks

And my wrinkles speak.

I'm covered in living nets,

Networks of pain, earth and fire

Do not tear off with any nails -

These networks grow out of me.

Maybe I'm fighting with myself,

And the more it tore, the stronger

I'm confused and turned

Into a bloody knot of passions?

Nothing to do! I'm dying

The very first one in the last row.

I leave the confused darkness,

I walk with bloody light.

According to the holy and iron fatherland,

Through living and dead water.

I will not die anywhere after death.

And I scream, tearing myself apart:

Where is the fisherman who set my nets?

I am freedom! I'm coming at you!

An epic about a line

From blue skies at a terrible time

The book fell out as a pigeon.

It is unknown who wrote it,

Whoever read it is a mystery.

I opened it with good will,

Not without the help of a violent wind.

On one line he delayed fate,

I began to admire every letter.

No matter the letter, it’s a turkish tree,

And on the tree there is a nightingale,

And behind the tree there is a robber,

For a robber for a young girl,

At the end - the crossbar,

Mother's tears and the sadness of the earth.

No matter what you say, the dark forest is noisy,

Re-whistle whistles reality with fiction,

The echo is worth truth and falsehood,

The eternal battle is between God and the devil.

And behind the forest the good fellows are sleeping,

Silence and peace, truth slumbers,

And the star burns with a clear flame

After the eternity of the world of existence.

The gap between the letters is not wide -

Maybe the bull will pass and give the way.

And the gap between words is white light,

Eternal snow has been blowing since yesterday.

The words stand so well that you’ll forget them,

The line is so long and resilient,

If you look along it, your gaze becomes lost.

You can roll an apple along the line,

And in the line itself only look for death.

At the end it breaks off

The golden cliff is deeper than the abyss -

It beckons you to throw yourself head down.

I read the line past my memory,

Past the mind of the fellow.

And when I read it, I shed bitter tears,

Shed tears bitterly and said:

It's about you and all sorts of other things.

A man was flying upright in the air...

A man was flying upright in the air,

I looked down and was very surprised

And because this world is big,

And the fact that he himself did not crash.

That's right. But he didn't know

Flying over parts of the world,

What made him look like this?

A poet's wild fantasy.

Meanwhile, the poet forgot about him:

The head is rich in inventions,

And the man flies among the stars,

And, perhaps, there is no return for him.

On your birthday

A candle is burning in the constellation Aquarius.

And on earth my centuries pass,

Reminding that Koshchei's soul

Far from Koshchei itself.

I'm lonely, I'm waiting to be freed

Like the tail of a comet, dragging out its life.

It's getting darker for me on my birthday,

The candle prays to God louder and louder.

Eternal snow

By the fire while the dog grumbles

The shepherd was overcome by drowsiness:

And the intermittent knock of a machine gun.

“It’s the branches that are cracking!” In the morning

I looked around: there weren’t enough sheep.

Uninvolved in evil and good,

The peak shines with eternal snow.

But the old man finally woke up

From the radiance coming from the sky,

On the trail of lost sheep

He reached the eternal snow.

He saw sheep - and soldiers,

Both our own and others died

Many years or more ago

And they lie among the sheep, as if alive.

Maybe this is a dream in the morning?..

But the sheep stood at the head,

Uninvolved in evil and good,

And collected frozen tears.

Apparently the distant youth was crying,

Couldn't hold back from fear and pain,

The soldier turned into a salt lick...

Get out, good one, from this vale!

He walked around the sheep and soldiers,

And the soldiers lie as if alive,

Many years or more ago

They wait and watch - their own and others.

From the thick breath of sheep

Frozen sounds have awakened,

The terrible end has moved away,

And the pangs of the cross thawed.

And there was a frantic whistle

Where the grenade fell into eternity.

The old man rushed down in the snow

And he burned a soldier with his body.

And melted away like a spark in the darkness,

“Know the truth: we are not on earth,

Death alone is not to blame.

Our years have not reached us,

Our days flew by.

But this trouble is older than the earth

And he doesn’t know the meaning and purpose...”

After a long time the old man remembered

I remembered nothing but the truth,

I knew nothing but the truth

I understood nothing but the truth.

Who was there? Is he a sage or a saint?

He fell, like everyone else, a nameless hero.

Everyone lay down under the heavenly slab.

Everyone is silent before eternal peace.

Guilt

We did not come to this temple to get married,

We did not come to blow up this temple,

We came to this temple to say goodbye,

We came to this temple to cry.

The mourning faces have dimmed

And they no longer mourn for anyone.

The striking peaks have become damp

And they don’t hurt anyone anymore.

The air is full of forgotten poison,

Unknown either to the world or to us.

Creeping grasses through the dome,

Like tears running down the walls.

Floating in a lumpy stream,

Wraps above the knees.

We forgot about the highest

After so many losses and betrayals.

We forgot that it's full of menace

This world is like an abandoned temple.

And our children's tears flow,

And the grass runs up my legs.

Yes! Our pure tears flow.

The abandoned temple echoes dully.

And creeping vines run up,

Like flames down our legs.

Robber thieves

On the distant shore the thief was bored,

And into the depths of the sea

He ran his hand

But he fumbled in vain.

A passerby passed by

Robber, really!

Instilled awe in those around him,

And his name is Barabbas.

A speck from your neighbor's eye

He stole while playing.

What are you fumbling about, fool?

Keys to Paradise.

You're really bored here

With a bad hand.

But I have master keys,

Come with me...

The robber convinced the thief.

But the way is long

Passed through Golgotha

And the cross is high.

Coming out onto the road, the soul looked back:

A stump or a wolf, or did Pushkin flash?

You managed to squander your pure youth,

And he gave up on maturity.

And in the smoke from Moscow along the Khvalynsk Sea

You've been on a spree like pale death...

What have you, what have you learned about your native land,

To look so indifferently?

Tunic

The soldier left the silence

Wife and small child,

And he distinguished himself in the war...

As the funeral announced.

Why are these words in vain?

And is the consolation empty?

She's a widow, she's a widow...

Give the woman earthly things!

And commanders at war

The following letters were received:

“At least give me something back...” -

And they sent her a gymnast.

She inhaled living smoke,

She pressed herself against the gloomy folds,

She was a wife again.

How often this was repeated!

I've been dreaming about this smoke for years,

She breathed this smoke -

Both poisonous and dear,

Already almost elusive.

The young hostess entered.

While the old woman was remembering,

Dust corners

When this light sank towards sunset,

The bones of the dead man began to move:

My homeland killed me for the truth,

I didn't recognize a single face...

A band of shadows trembled:

Don't remember the murderers. They are famous.

Reveal to us the name of your homeland...

But if the name of the homeland opens,

She will be killed by strangers and her own.

And he is silent, and only the abyss howls

In the living there is the silence of death and love.

Wooden gods

The wooden gods are coming,

Creaking like great peace.

Follows them along the road

Soldier with a wooden leg.

Doesn't see them or Russia

Soldier about one boot.

And listens to dull creaks

In your wooden leg.

The soldier lost his leg

In battle in broad daylight.

And knocked out a new leg

From an old dark stump.

He listens to the creaks of space,

He listens to the creaks of centuries.

The Hungry Fire of Christianity

Devoured the wooden gods.

We didn't pray to God before,

And I stump in the middle of a dark day.

He knocked out a new leg

From this old stump.

Wanders and creaks along the road

Soldier about one boot.

The wooden gods creak

In his wooden leg.

Wooden sighs creak,

They sweep dust along the road.

The people are running away in fear.

And the gods go and go.

Along the old broken road

To an unknown dark end

The wooden gods are coming.

When will they finally pass?..

The wooden gods have passed

We went to great peace.

Left alone on the road

Soldier with a wooden leg.

Days of Charm

On the crest of glory, and perhaps death

I received a flower in a simple envelope -

One flower and nothing more

And it’s not even known from whom.

I wanted to find out - a futile attempt.

The wife said: - This is a daisy. -

The flower dried up, I threw it away.

He meant nothing to me.

About time, about death, about the Universe?

I don't know, I'll remember later. And now

I answer a strange knock and open the door.

I opened the door to the will of providence

And he froze in silent surprise.

And it’s necessary! She's in front of me!

The fan is sweet. One

Of those who ask in the days of enchantment

First attention, and then dates.

Fans who hover around us

They will always snatch their reserved hour.

They fly in the name of a man,

Like midges on fire - and so on for centuries.

Vadim Petrovich - it's me.

She's on first name terms with me. Well, a snake.

Perhaps Thomas Wolfe wrote terribly,

But this guy portrayed it perfectly.

Let me in! -

I see it's passion

Here you can fall under influence.

What's your name? - asked her angrily.

Oh yes! - she was embarrassed. - Margarita! -

And she laughed: - There is such a flower... -

Of course there is... How could I forget!

Just in case, I said: - Come in.

But I have a wife. Don't let us down.

I will not fail! - entered my office,

And we settled down face-to-face.

A flower bloomed: words and sounds, sounds.

Not a conversation, but auditory glitches.

Everything about art - both eyes and chest.

Everything about me, a little about Pushkin.

The eyes sparkle and something flashes in them,

But what does she understand about art?

I dug into the truth once, twice

And I realized that she didn’t stand a chance.

But what words she poured out,

But what eyebrows she moved!

But despite the eyebrows and delight,

I'm bored: eyes blink and blink.

I've known this music for a long time,

With two words I feel drowsy.

Although the fan was nice,

I didn't notice how she left.

What was I thinking about in this mortal life?

About time, about truth, about the Universe?

I don’t remember... Thoughts love silence.

I took it into my mind to drive away my wife,

And I caress this thought like a dove.

And suddenly a call. I notice the phone

I pick up the phone as always

And out of habit I answer: - Yes!

Yes! - I say. There is silence at the other end,

But I hear secret breathing.

I hung up. God knows what!

The wife asked: - Who called? - Nobody! -

I answered. - Some kind of breathing,

But not my ears' charm.

God sleeps, time rolls on its own.

Three days later I received a letter

From Margarita... Okay, for God's sake.

In the letter she used “You” for the syllable.

“I've been thinking about you all these days.

Are you on big view, and I'm in the shadows.

I wanted to see you, but it seems

Your loneliness is more valuable to you.

I sent you a flower - so what!

You didn't even know from whom.

I came to you, but you were bored then

And it seems they didn't notice me...

"Love him and he will notice you,

Call him and he will answer you.”

I wondered what the poet would say to me:

Native “yes” or someone else’s “no”?

I wondered and finally decided

I gave a sign - my fate was decided.

I called, remember... then...

You said everything, you said: “Yes!”

This is where I stopped

And he laughed so hard that he shed tears.

Satan couldn't come up with something like this!

“I am happy that in the same century with you

I breathe the same air,

He caresses me so much... I beg

Have a cherished meeting!..” The woman is bored,

And he appoints the day, and the hour, and the place.

At the end there is a postscript. Large P.S.

“All yours! - here, and here, and here!..”

It's clear what she wanted to say

She meant body parts.

I bet on a large level:

She wrote the letter naked!..

The day, hour and place are excellent.

What day is it? It's coming together - today!

And there is time... There is nowhere to rush,

Here you need to drink before you decide.

I sat down and pulled the soul out of the glass.

Are you drinking alone? - the wife said. - Strange! -

Of course it’s strange, dear soul.

But I drink as I should, slowly.

I poured it for her too. The second one went hunting

Then in a row: I always drink without counting.

And I decided with my common sense:

There is no need for me to go on a date.

He went and collapsed on the sofa.

And I slept through everything. Woke up in a fog

And it seems like someone is teasing me.

He opened a peephole, then another - and looked both ways:

In front of me is the same sweetheart!

I even opened my mouth like a fool,

And he woke up all... It was like this.

Realizing that I didn’t come to the date,

The fan became enchanted

She got it into her head - I’m in trouble!

Shurum-burum, and from here - and here!

She flew forward like locusts

And there's a boom at the door. The wife was dumbfounded.

Where is he? What about him? He is ill? Come on! -

And she pushed the poor wife away.

And finally I found who I was looking for,

Knelt at the head of the head

And trembles with joy that he is alive.

And now she’s ready to lie with me.

And he shakes hands, and I don’t notice

How to shake it I answer.

My wife was amazed:

Vadim, tell me that I am your wife! -

I don't care. Sweetheart turned around

And she didn’t reach into her pocket for a word:

So are you a wife? How stupid this is. Fi!

What can a wife understand in love? -

I'm still lying there. This is the situation!

And nothing comes to mind.

I look at them: both are trembling.

My wife values ​​decency

But he burns her with his last eyes...

To hell with you! Find out for yourself!

Yes, it's just a madhouse,

And I’m not me, and the walls are shaking.

Like in a mirror, I became unreal

He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

The wife is crazy and hasty

I called a doctor by phone.

Well, I think we can’t avoid a scandal!

The wife feigned fainting.

Admirer of my talent

She ran away. But that's okay.

Blossom, flower, the last barren flower,

A different talent idolizing at the same time.

Shine, star! Pray, my candle!..

But then two doctors appeared at once,

The wife and screams were taken to the hospital

And they shook the whole capital into a scandal.

And the next morning I took part in the parade

Empty bottles lined up in a row.

What was I thinking about in this mortal life?

Yes, about nothing - like the King of the entire Universe.

Peace everywhere. And the past is a dream...

When the phone rings in the apartment,

It’s out of habit, as in time,

I pick up the phone

And so as not to ever make a mistake,

I say: “However”, not “Yes”.

But sometimes, like in the days of enchantment,

At the other end I hear a hum of silence.

Over casual conversation on the road

Sometimes we liked to show off

Either a love or a military victory,

Which makes your chest tighten.

I supported the high brand,

I haven’t forgiven you for the old meeting.

And in a noisy circle, like a glass,

I let your proud name go.

You appeared like a vision

I remain faithful to the winner.

For ten years I stood outside the door,

Finally you called out to me.

I looked at you without blinking.

You’re chilled... - and he ordered you to drink.

I'm shaking because I'm naked

But this is what you wanted to see.

God be with you! - and I waved my hand

To your incomplete joy. -

You asked for love and peace

But I give you freedom.

Didn't say anything to this

And she instantly forgot me.

And went to the other side of the world,

Protecting yourself from fire with your hand.

Since then, over a casual conversation,

Remembering the path I've taken,

Neither love nor military victory

I'm not trying to show off anymore.

Fence

The fence leaned and fell,

That the borders have become transparent.

That's right, I see space,

Where wave after wave walks,

Because my fence fell

Straight into the sea - and with me.

I didn’t have time to look back

Oh, my black horses!

I forgot about the joy of work,

But I breathe freely in the open space

And takes me nowhere

On the original wooden fence.

Will

I remember in the post-war year

I saw a beggar at the gate -

Only snow fell into the empty hat,

And he shook it back

And he spoke incomprehensibly.

That's how I am, like this person:

What was given to me was what I was rich with.

I don’t bequeath it, I give it back.

I return my hugs to the oceans,

Love - sea ​​wave or fogs,

Hopes for the horizon and the blind,

Your freedom - to four walls,

And I return my lies to the world.

I return blood to women and fields,

Scattered sadness - to the weeping willows,

Patience is unequal in the struggle,

I give my wife to fate,

And I return my plans to the world.

Dig a grave for me in the shadow of the cloud.

I give my laziness to art and the plain,

Dust from soles - to those living in a foreign land,

Leaky pockets - starry darkness,

And conscience is a towel and prison.

May what is said have force

In the shadow of a cloud...

Do I see a cloud in the high sky...

Do I see a cloud in the high sky,

Will I notice a tree in a wide field -

One floats away, one dries up...

And the wind hums and makes me sad.

That there is no eternal - that there is no pure.

I went wandering around the world.

But the Russian heart is lonely everywhere...

And the field is wide and the sky is high.

Spell

Peace be with you and your homeland!

Leaving my native land,

Take my spell too.

The lightning bolts of lies will be dulled in it,

Other people's knives will get stuck in it,

That they are preparing you for slaughter.

All curses will fall on him,

All pitfalls will emerge,

All incoming bullets will get stuck.

The wolf pits they dig for you

And failures on the mountain path

The words become scarred and dragged out.

It will straighten out all the slingshots,

The evil eye will turn away from itself,

Will save you from trap and poison,

From great and small claws,

From earthly and heavenly networks:

He will take care of everything if necessary.

And when you return home

And you will follow the straight road,

Set fire to the spell at both ends -

And your certain death will burn,

And you shouldn't look at the ashes,

Black ashes will dispel the breath.

Spell in the mountains

And it will fall down from ledge to ledge,

Then let the ear return to the grain

And the oak will turn into an acorn again.

Other humanity will dream

How my prostrate corpse wanders into the distance -

And wheat grows on one hand,

And on the other, a mighty oak tree is rustling.

The boat will clink with a broken chain,

An apple will burst into flames in a quiet garden,

My dream will tremble like an old heron

In an unsociable frozen pond.

How long can you remain silent! May be enough?

I would like to turn there

Where is your white dress?

Like water up to your chest.

I grab myself in the middle of the frozen night

Old friendship, consciousness and strength

And love flaring the nostrils,

From whom he asked for immortality.

With hateful heavy love

I look, turning back.

Protect yourself with a weak palm:

Don't kiss. My lips hurt.

Well, goodbye! We got lost in the crowd.

I dreamed, but the dreams did not come true.

My phones are broken.

The postmen were completely drunk.

Yesterday I drank all day to my health,

For the rosy cheeks of love.

Whom did they fall on on the road?

Are your migratory hands?

What kind of life I don’t understand and don’t know.

And I wonder what will happen next.

Where are you, Lord... I'm dying

Above her yellowed letter.

Golden Mountain

It wasn't mint that smelled under the mountain

And the dew did not lie down,

I dreamed of a hero for my homeland.

His soul slept.

When the soul is seventeen years old

Woke up at dawn

Then she brought him news

About the golden mountain:

On that mountain there is a heavenly house

And the masters live.

They feast at the table

They are calling you.

He had wanted this for a long time -

And he rushed like a beast.

I'm coming! - he said cheerfully.

Where? - asked the door. -

Don't leave the hearth and table.

Don't go away

Where you entered unseen,

Without opening the door.

Behind me is sorrow, love and death,

And you can’t hug the world.

Don't raise your hands to the door,

Don't push away like your mother.

I'm coming! - he said in spite of

And he stepped towards the exit.

He didn't raise his hand

He pushed him away with his foot.

An oblique ray passed right through

Space and emptiness.

Found in the shadow of a cloud

Heavy slab.

I scraped the cold moss off the stove,

From the wrinkles of gray verses:

“To the right is death, to the left is sorrow,

And the opposite is love.”

Want! - he dropped the word. -

Raise what is possible,

Three ways this world

Cut or hug.

The foot moved to the right,

And he walked for three hundred days.

The river of oblivion has laid down,

He walked along it.

A river without a shadow or a trace,

Without ford and bridges -

Never reflected

Heavens and clouds.

And he met a worm

And he stepped on it.

Where are you crawling? - He answered:

I am your grave worm.

Luckily he took a worm

And pierced with a hook.

Threw, Dead River

Hit with the key.

And the forest squealed in response

The cravings are difficult.

But he brought into this world,

Alas, the hook is empty.

Wasn't it Satan who got angry?

Steel hook in hand

He stirred and crawled

And disappeared underground.

He wanted to ask the river

Who will he meet next?

But she managed to forget

Both his life and his death.

He went backwards and scraped off the moss

From the wrinkles of gray poems

And he read: “To the left is sorrow,

And the opposite is love.”

The foot moved to the left,

And he walked for six hundred days.

The valley of sorrow has passed

He walked along it.

A dry old man appeared before him,

Bent over like a question.

What are you missing, old man?

Tell me what happened?

Once upon a time my spirit was high

And obsessed with passion.

They threw me a piece of bread -

I bent down after him.

My face knows no stars

Ends and goals are the way.

My human question

You can't bend it.

And on the way it already shone

Great Ocean

Where did you throw sugar from the shore?

Little boy in pieces.

And he asked, approaching,

Drunk from splashes and salt:

What are you doing here, child?

Changing the ocean.

Immeasurable feat or labor

Forgive him, Father,

Until souls are exhausted

Doubt and lead.

Give thoughts a shiver, a peacock a tail,

And perfection is the way...

He met a wagon of tears -

And I didn’t have time to turn around.

And his shadow wound itself

On the spokes of the wheel.

And the shadow rushed from him,

And the sky is from the face.

Dragged behind the wheel

On the side of a stranger.

And his face changed,

And he grieved at heart.

At the fatal turn

Long way to go

He cut off his shadow with a knife:

Oh faithful one, forgive me!

He paid with a shadow for sorrow

Children and old people.

He stepped back and scraped off the moss:

“And the opposite is love.”

But he doubted his soul

And I lowered my hand

For glory boundary stone

And he left the place.

Opened up to clear skies

A tight ball of worms.

And he didn’t believe his eyes

And his audacity.

A sigh was heard from underground:

Go where you are going.

I have entangled my own ball,

And don't touch him.

You are everywhere, but I am nowhere,

But we are in the same ring.

You are reflected in any water,

And I am in your face.

The soul without a name mourns.

I'm cold. Cover it. -

He said: “I am covered with the sky,

And you are my foot.

The foot led for nine hundred days,

Dust against it is chalk.

Silent night fell on the world.

He went at random.

This is how the west goes to the east,

And the path is irreversible.

The thought lit a fire.

A shadow appeared in front of him.

What are you doing here? - I love. -

And she sat down by the fire.

Tell me, love, in which region

Has the night overtaken me?

Halfway to the big mountain

Where they cry and sing.

Halfway to the big mountain

But they don't wait for you there.

In the fog of a trembling foot

No support to be found.

They'll make your head spin

Detours.

I'm coming! - he said cheerfully

And he went ahead.

The distance opened to his eyes -

He climbed the mountain.

His foot didn’t let him down,

Volatile as smoke.

Uninitiated crowd

She stood up in front of him.

Huddled differently at the gate

Singers of their bridle,

And ciphers of emptiness,

And commonplace blackbirds.

An air block flashed in the crowd,

What Rus' called a wife

And I couldn't think of anything better

Thinking about the country.

An invisible watchman protected

Hospice.

Reflected the uninitiated

Now with a glance, now with a kick.

But the old man retreated before him.

The abyss was at our heels.

Where? And we? - there was a cry.

But he was already there.

Alas! Ill forever

Solemn verb.

And the smoke of oblivion covered

High royal table.

Where Homer drank, where Sophocles drank,

Where gloomy Dante hungered,

Where Pushkin took a sip,

But he spilled more.

He poured into one of the different bowls

The sediment is golden.

The finest hour struck late,

But still he is mine!

He drank in deep silence

For the old masters.

He drank in deep silence

For true love.

She responded like copper

Sad and tender:

To the one who will not die,

You don't need a girlfriend.

Your finest hour is at its best,

And mine is at depth.

And depth more than once

Will remind you of me.

From the earth in the evening, alarming hour...

From the earth in the evening hour, alarming

The fish's humpback fin has grown.

Only there is no sea here! How is it possible!

Here again he appeared two steps away.

He disappeared. Came out again with a whistle.

“Looking for the sea,” the old man told me.

The leaves have dried up on the tree -

It was the fin that cut the roots.

From the Stalingrad chronicle. Komsomol meeting

News nails are not rumors of war

It is important for commanders at the front

Then they roll the dice.

Here the general called the soldier:

Hans, you were slurping Ivan’s cabbage soup.

What do the Russians have?..

They are sitting.

It can not be!..

ELEVEN TIMES

The thunder of the attack shook the ruins.

Volga extinguishes other people's shells.

I pick it up after many years

Minutes of the meeting revealed:

"Autumn. Company. Factory "Barricades".

“The first duty of a Komsomol member in battle?”

“Stand up for your shrine.”

“Is there a reason when he leaves?”

“- There is one, but incomplete: death...”

Young contemporary, note:

The height of these lines exceeds

Letters of the wise sages,

Unconnected beginnings and ends

In governing the world and God...

Hans - a grenade! For the twelfth time

The thunder of the attack shook the ruins,

But on the thirteenth it backfired on us.

Rus, give up! The beast attacked...

Komsomol does not count losses,

The clear falcon does not count crows!

Left for no reason

Even the one who wrote the protocol...

Silence settles on the bodies.

But the fathers stirred in the earth,

The dead have risen from their graves

For incomplete reason for leaving.

Grandfather for grandson, father for son,

Well, there the end was revealed,

Going back to the beginning of the people.

Pull out the nail, crazy head,

On the left is Astrakhan, on the right is Moscow,

Names appear through bodies...

What an abyss! Yes, how many of them are there!

It is unknown where they grow.

Hans, go back! Let them sit!..

From the Stalingrad chronicle. Dedication

Hundreds of troubles or more ago

I entered your fire, Stalingrad,

And I saw the sacred battle.

God! Your bonds are bloody.

The temple of this battle stands on blood

And he says a prayer of retreat.

I pray for my own and others,

Killed, both good and evil.

But when a man kills,

He becomes worse than the beast

In the human house of passions;

And I'm sorry that this happens.

Who am I? What am I? Zegsitz of fire.

I only know that, besides me,

No one will finish this battle.

I know: long in the name of love

I'm knee-deep in blood

Where the darkness of the world bubbles.

Volga, Volga - fluid firmament!

The battle begins, where death is

The reality of a special life.

Father! I am in Your will... So,

I dedicate the poem to the Fatherland.

From the Stalingrad chronicle. Signalman Putilov

The nerve of war is connection. Unprepossessing,

The signalman's job is nameless,

But at the front there is no price for her either.

If only the poor grandchildren knew

About great national torment,

About the iron nerves of war!

I accept it according to the Russian character

I give glory to Sergeant Putilov.

Stand up, sergeant, in the golden line!

Black holes howl in war.

All the strings of the lyre are broken...

Horror stands on end in the rifle regiment.

They almost kicked the phone at headquarters.

There is no connection. Two signalmen are missing.

Let's go to bed. Go, Sergeant!

The sergeant crawled among the fiery grease

Where world connections are broken

And the sovereign’s nerves are on edge.

A mine howled in the air nearby,

The body twitched, ached heavily,

And ore flowed from the shoulder.

There is a blood thread next to the wire

I reached out for him, as if alive,

Yes, she really was alive.

What was alive in him crawled,

To the deadly cliff,

Where the ends parted like centuries.

The mine in the air howled again,

As if she was the same... And she began to whine

A hand broken to death.

He remembered his mother, and maybe God,

There just isn't much power left.

He clenched the ends with his teeth and fell silent,

The current went through the dead body,

The regiment's communications came to life and began to sing

The song of the dead, and therefore the living...

Who will string that wire onto the lyre,

To sing the glory of this world?..

I would be grateful to fate

If by the free will of the poet

I managed two torn lights:

This one and this one - close on yourself.

Who are you waiting for?.. It’s dark outside the windows,
It is given to a woman to love by chance.
You will be the first one to enter your house,
I decided to belong as if it were fate.

For days the soul waited for an answer.
But the door opened from a gust of wind.

You are a woman - and this is the wind of freedom...
Scattered in sadness and love,
With one hand he stroked your hair,
The other one sank ships at sea.

Bone

You are the king: live alone.

I lived alone. You said: - I'm alone too,

I will be faithful to you until the grave, like a dog...

So I was thrown into your mouth by fate along the way.

Gnawing at me like a royal bone in the flesh.

Moaned passionately, although others sometimes

The bone was torn out of your fatal mouth.

You rushed at them with a scream, more terrible than Satan.

That's enough, dear! They, like you, are hungry.

The brain is sucked out, and sometimes the bones are empty

The spirit or the wind sings about my last hour.

Abandoned, I will flicker among the heavenly lights...

Trust in God so that he will forgive you for your loyalty.

Kubanka

Dust swirls across the valley.

I will disperse the melancholy,

Flying from the fire into the fire.

The thunderstorm rumbled early in the morning.

And the bullets hit on the spot.

I dropped my Kubanka

When I crossed the Kuban.

I don’t feel sorry for the famous Kubanka,

Don't be sorry for the blue lining,

It's a pity for the prayer embedded in it

By the hand of a dear mother.

Kuban broke the Kubanka,

Leaked through the lining

I found a prayer and blurred it out,

And she took me into the blue sea.

I don’t feel sorry for the famous Kubanka,

Don't be sorry for the blue lining,

It’s a pity that the prayer was forgotten,

Prayers to the saint's homeland.

Dust swirls across the valley.

Gallop, gallop, my faithful horse.

I will disperse the melancholy,

Flying from the fire into the fire.

lying stone

Lying stone. He flies in his sleep.

Once upon a time in the Universe he flew.

It lies in the ground and is overgrown with moss...

The one who fell from the sky fell forever.

The old woman-death was filming the harvest nearby,

And her scythe found him.

He answered her with a fiery discharge,

He remembered blue skies.

The grass of the tribes rustles about a better fate,

The river of time bypasses.

And he lies in a wide open field,

An eagle soars above him in the deep heat.

And you, poet, whether you are gloomy or cheerful,

And you lie there, O Russian man!

In the flow of time you only dangled your hand.

You've been sleeping all your life, so sleep forever.

Sleep well. The grass of the tribes will tell

In the river of time all the waves will rustle,

When he rolls and lies down,

He will lie on your grave, brother!

Catching a mermaid

Light mermaid, did you listen to Sadko’s songs

And she looked at the lunar sun lightly.

From time immemorial, water and earth have been friends with you,

The jagged gills of the Kremlin breathe peacefully.

Your kingdom lives with a strong hindsight.

Ruled by the past like a fish by its tail.

A clean, cool spring flows from the bottom...

But the great catcher appeared out of nowhere.

He appeared like a shadow from the coming day,

And he said: “This creature will not leave me!”

You were dozing, not knowing about the impending disaster.

He threw the word “freedom” at you.

So that it doesn’t get lost in the mud,

You caught the word - along with the hook.

You grab the sharp air with your open mouth,

Disturbing all kingdoms with a mighty tail.

Silence of Pythagoras

He lived and could not forget anything,

He penetrated the stone with spiritual vision.

He happened to be a man

And a deity, and a beast, and a plant.

I remembered my births from then on

And he visited several places at once.

The river greeted: - Hello, Pythagoras! -

He passed: - Farewell, my former mind!

He kept the students in silence

And he conducted conversations only through the wall.

And dreamed up for future centuries

Musical harmonious system.

He said: - It should sound

But secretly, like a community in the East. -

I preferred to remain silent about the truth,

But he allowed devious hints:

“Don't argue with people. Word naked

Don't let him out: they'll stone him.

Do not move the living fire with a knife:

He is the body of God. Don't make love with shadows..."

He spoke on the seashore,

Where the waves cast a blue light:

We cannot remain silent about everything,

So let’s at least keep quiet about this!

He put a point in the air like rock:

This is the point of the spirit. Here is its basis!

Everything else is a global flow,

That is, a number. And therefore not a word!..

He didn't confirm anything

And last time on the deserted shore,

When he drew a triangle:

What a beauty! There are many in one.

Such beauty is silent,

It is not for ordinary consciousness.

He was the first of people to shut his mouth

And he called this covenant a shield of silence.

By his silence he said that

That truth is not born in disputes.

But many philosophers later

They spent their lives in vain in verbal ordeals.

There is muteness, it’s easy to recognize

In any crowd of another person:

He wants to say something important

His soul has been silent for centuries...

The river of times remembers everything and makes noise,

The river of oblivion is silent and sleeping,

One river shimmers and trembles,

The other is the shadow of a frozen moment.

What noise did the tribes make?

On the shore of sadness and discord!

What times have flown by

Over the golden-thighed ashes of Pythagoras!

Great love doesn't say

And the little one laughs and chats.

And the little one grumbles and weeps.

Love merged two hearts - eye to eye,

They are silent on the deserted shore.

Not a word, oh, not a word, Pythagoras,

About beauty, whose duality is in one!

Eternal peace makes no noise,

And for others they stand in strict silence.

It's not for nothing that the dead are silent,

And so that the soul speaks to God.

The calm before the battle sleeps lightly,

The silence after the battle sleeps deeply.

The living soul is silent around

And the souls of the dead... they are silent far away.

It happened that they went into battle with a wall of silence:

They called it a psychic attack.

Psyche, are you silent? Your attack!

Do you remember the hall? The carefree ball thundered.

But you walked in and everyone was speechless.

And someone said: “An angel has flown by!”

Not just an angel. The years have flown by!..

Silence is gold, words are silver,

And life is a penny with small talk.

Silentium! Shake out the goodness

Hand in bottles with Pythagoras!

When silence is criminal, then die,

Don't buy people's attention!

In the speeches of the leaders it shines from within

A cheap default figure.

What does the demon whisper, tickling your ear?

Where does talkativeness come from in a weak woman?

Where is the meekness of spirit? Where is his candle?

Freedom is noisy. Where is her modesty?..

Go-go! Lead on, gloomy verse!

Lead me along all the stone roads

To the silence of the enlightened and the saints,

Those who took a vow of silence before God.

Lead into the basements of the rising powers,

Where the victims of evil were silent under torture;

Without betraying truth or righteousness,

They died selflessly.

Freeze, my verse!.. The people are silent

In a remote valley of turmoil and suffering.

And somewhere out there, from the voids of the world,

The shield of silence shines through the eyes of the spirit.

Man

A bird flies across the sky,

There's a dead man across the tail.

What he sees, he sweeps away.

Calling her is the end of everything.

Flew over the mountain,

She led with one wing -

And the mountains disappeared

Neither in the future, nor in the past.

Flew over the country

She led with the other wing -

And the country was gone

Neither in the future, nor in the past.

I saw a wisp of smoke

There is a house on a hill,

And very calmly

A man is sitting on the porch.

The bird waved reluctantly

Moved her wing slightly

And looked absentmindedly

From a great distance.

Sees the same stream of smoke

There is a house on a hill,

And the man calmly

He sits as he sat.

With a wild cry she spread out

The wings are noisy above him,

Scattered the air to shreds,

And the man is unperturbed.

“You,” he shouts, “at least took a look,

The end is all over you!

He's looking! - he said and thundered

Dead man straight to the ground.

The man answered, yawning:

But for me, everything is nothing to sneeze at!

Why are you so angry?

It's time to flap your wings.

The bird immediately got bored

Sat next to me on the porch

And destroyed the beginning of everything -

Indifferent egg.

Fly

A mortal groan awakened the silence -

It was the fly that touched the string,

If you believe the rumors.

“It’s not the same,” I say, “and it’s not like that.” -

And caught it in a brave fist

A fly flew in from the yard.

Let go,” she rang, “

I have flown at all times

I always touched something.

I'm in the dozing Parka's arms

Your thread touched in the darkness,

And she let out a mortal groan.

I was floundering in the Milky Way

Stuck in a devious network

I scurried across the halo of the saint,

I crawled over the sleeping princess

And I saw from the Slavic wound...

Repeat, I say, this word!

Let go,” she repeated, “

Your father's blood is salty,

But drunker than your mad glory.

I drank beer at all times,

Flew into all tribes

And she knew tables and ditches.

I fought with the window glass

You fought against invisible evil

What stands between the world and God...

Fly away, I say, if that’s the case. -

And he unclenched his brave fist... -

You've said too much.

On the edge

Battle of stars, duel of shadows

In the blue ocean depths.

Filled with my blood

Eternal snow and footprints on the peaks.

But with a premonition of ancient misfortune

On my and other people's tracks

Green leaves are falling.

From the shadows of a fleeting day

So countless forces howl.

My God, you left me

On the edge of my mother's grave.

In the pits from which he was born,

I will shed tears of blood...

My God, if you are defeated,

Who will save her poor soul?

On the dark slope I hesitate, falling asleep...

On a dark slope I hesitate, falling asleep,

Open to everything, remembering nothing.

I seem to be sleeping - and the horse is blue

Stands at my head.

Obediently bows her blue neck,

He hits with his hoof, fire sparkles in his forehead.

Heavenly shine and torrential mane

I wrapped it around a strong palm.

And on the side, not recognizing the land,

My last love sings.

Words call and fade away, languishing,

And again they sound from the abyss of existence.

Tired of the leaf swinging...

Tired of the leaf swinging

Over the running water.

I flew and dispelled the melancholy...

What will happen to me?

Then another golden flash will flash,

It's also golden.

And I asked: “Where is it taking you?”

Until the last edge.

invisible point

I put on my lucky shirt

Wandering between the sun and the moon,

And he kept looking at an invisible point -

She was always in front of me.

The radars of the world did not detect her,

The evil crow didn't peck

All the bullets in the world flew past

And only my gaze fell into her.

I wore out my lucky shirt

I overlooked someone else's and mine.

And I kept looking at an invisible point,

Until the world moved away from her.

Everything got mixed up and became useless.

I lost what was mine and what was mine.

At an invisible point an abyss gaped -

The fire came out of her.

“- Enter the fire! Don't be afraid of anything!

What about the world? “He seemed to you.

You contemplated me, not him..."

And I entered the fire and I praised

The One who was always in front of me.

And I left my ashes forever

Wander between the sun and the moon.

Unknown Soldier

Oh, Motherland! How strange it is

What's in the Alexander Garden

His grave is unmarked

And - in front of the people.

From the Alexander Garden

He crawls into your light.

Like the tail of a victory parade,

He trails his bloody trail.

In the depths of a thousand years

Vladimir the Sun rises,

And your standard bearer is the last

It's crawling across Red Square.

His eyes are full of fog

And under the elbows there is blue smoke.

Shut up my through wound

He is your former banner.

His words are like delirium

And they sprinkle the dust of the earth:

“Enemies are following me,

They will kill you with me.

Oh, Motherland! With what melancholy

The outraged honor screams!

Finish me off with your hand.

I scream: you are here.

Unmerciful decision

Take it for conscience and for fear.

U Mother of God forgiveness

I will pray in heaven..."

Fate is not ready for a feat.

Words go into emptiness.

And he comes back again

Under the nameless slab.

Out of nowhere, like the rustle of a mouse,
I scraped myself in my native land.
I'm as happy as the dust behind a car,
And unshaven, like a Russian in heaven.

Where have you been? - she will sit down quietly,
I bow my hand cautiously.
But the hand, before stroking,
He will tremble and will not recognize me.

The night is leaving. The plain is empty...

The night is leaving. The plain is empty

From the cherished star to the bush.

Cuts through deserts and heights

Silvery crack of thought.

In grains of stone, in layered mica

I walk as if walking on water.

And the outer tree vault

It floats either green or white.

Like a ray of dispersed light,

A planet swarms within a person.

And he has an endless fate

The path is open to nowhere and to yourself.

Oh, moment! This stone woke up...

Oh, moment! This stone woke up

And touched the empty world,

And this world became stone.

The stone broke everything that exists.

The roads looked back

All directions of the world are closed,

And the lightning went into stone...

And the soul was revealed to the stone.

Father of the astronaut

Don't stand over him, don't stand over him, for God's sake!

You leave him with your unfinished glass.

He finishes his drink and leaves, stamping on the ground: “Who are you?” - I am the road

Then the Mongols rushed by - no one returned alive.

Oh, don’t, he’ll say, don’t talk about old sadness!

Wasn’t it his steps that swept away this dust on you?

On the native ashes, where the coals have not yet cooled,

The image of a widow's sorrow will appear as a shadow before him.

“I went on the road,” he will say, “and they were visiting the house...

Neither the French nor the Germans - no one returned alive.

Oh, don’t, he’ll say, don’t. There is a higher fee.

What do you know about your son, tell me about your own son.

You shared the table with him and the secret bed at night...

He went wrong, I don’t know anything about him.

Where to look for your son, answer him, Spasskaya Tower!

O slow ringing! O solemnly wondrous language!

On Great Rus' there were, there were sons of recklessness,

There were, there were fathers more inconsolable than this old man.

Did this mournful old man turn to the Kremlin wall?

Where the name of the missing son is inscribed in fire:

Tell me, is he really lost within these walls?

He went wrong, I don’t know anything about him.

Where to look for your son, where to look, answer him, heaven!

Fail, but answer, but answer him, blue vault, -

And the star under which we suffer love and bread,

Yes, the star under which both death and love pass!

Oh, don’t, he’ll say, don’t talk about hateful death!

What do you know about your son, tell me about your own son.

You shone for him, you shone for him from the cradle...

He passed through me, I know nothing about him.

Revelation of the Everyman

We look straight ahead, but take a detour.

Bird fish sits on a cross

And screams in the vast expanses.

What screams, we won’t take it

Neither with soul, nor with late mind.

We live in cramped conditions and resentment.

The night is filled with nightingales,

The day passes in empty conversations.

I get bored and catch a fly,

It's a pity that I don't like driving fast

And you can’t fail on the spot.

A traveler told me in the darkness:

“Perestroika is underway on earth!”

What do I care? Bread and salt on the table,

And the wife flies on a broom.

I sneezed at such news!

Life has gone crazy, although this is not the first time,

Like a parable, follow a curve

And guess about the goal through the fog.

There the cauldron will explode halfway across the sky,

There the river will turn the wrong way,

There Judas sells the people.

Everything seems to be going according to plan...

According to some hellish plan.

Who are we drawn into the devil's plan?

Who turned the people into partisans?

Every step you take, there is danger everywhere.

"Publicity!" - even the dumb scream,

But they are silent about the main thing and in their thoughts,

Only my teeth chatter from fear,

This is a knock from the other world, where hell is.

I sneezed at such publicity!

What do I care? I'm serving my cross.

God won't give it away, the pig won't finish it.

It’s not for me that the porridge is brewing.

The bird-fish began to wheeze,

She couldn’t shout to us.

It's boring, my brother! So it goes.

Especially when I'm drunk...

I feel sorry for the soul, even though it is not ours.

Rebuke

What kind of tribe was born?

You can't drive away even with a chained dog.

God's mercy deprived them,

So they want to snatch away from earthly things.

Since you are a poet, open your soul.

Those are knocking, and these are knocking

And they shake my glory like a pear.

Who are they? “Ours,” they say.

Besides arrogant hopes and fog,

No crosses, no bushes, no ideas.

Oh you naked dwarfs of deception,

At least they were ashamed of the people!

I throw the poet's cloak - catch it!

He will bend you to the ground.

Drag him, drag him,

At Olympus knocking down rubles.

Over there, transversely and longitudinally,

Rogues of the soul and roads.

Don't want. I despise it. Enough

Upholster my high threshold.

Crying to myself

The sun was walking high

Everything was reflected in him.

It was hard and easy for me

Shine it with fire...

The heart said: it is given to me

Go deep into the depths

Where was the knowledge

And there was one language.

But my life has darkened

My soul and flesh!

Only mother earth is darker,

Raw mother earth.

It’s as if it’s not buried yet

I lie in the darkness of the steppes.

A distant bell is ringing

From under my nails.

The crape of the night will be stretched,

So empty and dead.

The nations have come to me,

Seeing nothing.

Eyes will open in the grave,

Shining for the last time.

My heavy tear

It will roll out of your eyes.

And the sun will rise high

At my grave.

And he will ask quietly and easily:

You're crying... Why?

O Sun of my Motherland,

I'm crying because

What of all your rays

One is missing.

Burial of grain

The last century goes from century to century.

Everything is dust and noise, just as it was in time.

Can't be! - the man exclaimed,

Finding grain in Pharaoh's tomb.

He took the grain - and the dream of the grain was before him

It disintegrated throughout the depths of the earth.

Millennia passed like smoke:

Egypt, Rome, and all other kingdoms.

In some generation, a grain grower,

And what to do with the desecrator of ashes,

He buried a grain in an open field,

Although not without trepidation and fear.

The grain died - the bread of guilt grew.

Insomnia-wheat noises in my ears.

But this world has lost its depth,

And no one will dream of him anymore.

Under the ice of the North Pole

Under the ice of the North Pole

The atomic boat was sailing.

I ran into my grave,

It leaked to its death.

Under the ice of the North Pole

The sun never shines.

And it already reaches my waist

Dark sad water.

A small nail is missing -

Scribble the name on the spirit.

There is not enough Motherland and air.

Everything remains somewhere above.

Under the ice of the North Pole

My beloved wife is hitting the board.

Only silence answers.

Duel

Against Moscow and Slavic blood

Chelubey rumbled at full volume,

Rushing among the darkness,

And so he burst into tears: “I have no equal!”

Forgive me, God, - said Peresvet -

He's lying, dog!

He mounted his horse and struck the horse,

The rapids of the spear tilt towards the dawn,

Like a spitting image of a knight!

Pray, dear ones, for white churches.

Everything in Navier has woken up and is hitting my eyes.

He's jumping. Pray!

Everything in Navier woke up - with dust and haze

The eyes have turned yellow. He's galloping blind!

But God did not leave.

In the hand of Peresvet the spear saw the light -

The All-Seeing Eye illuminated the tip

And he directed his will.

We looked at two armies, forests and hills,

How two dusts, two darknesses rushed towards,

Two lightning bolts of light -

And they hit each other... The blow reached the moon!

And it came out, shining, from the enemy’s back

Spear of Peresvet.

The horses were lost in thought... Chelubey was forgotten.

Many great sorrows have covered

Wrinkled network.

A crow is circling over Russian glory.

But my memory is guided by a spear

And sees through centuries.

Love the living Christ...

Love the living Christ

That I walked in the dew

And sat by the night fire,

Illuminated like everyone else.

Where is that ancient freshness of dawn,

Aroma and warmth?

The Kingdom of God is humming from within,

Like an empty hollow.

Your faith is dry and dark,

And she's limping.

You have crutches, not wings,

You are a rupture, not a connection.

So open yourself to the breath of the bush,

Not the rustle of pages.

Portrait of a teacher

He is the truth of this world

Brought in the palm of your hand:

“Don’t think that to anyone else,

What you don’t wish for yourself.”

He is light brown, and softly hits his shoulders

His hair is a flowing flood,

And his wide bright forehead is clean,

And there are no wrinkles of contradictions on him;

His straight eyebrows are darker than his hair,

His eyes are indescribable in words,

It's like heaven is looking at you

The edges of the blue eyes are slightly raised,

And the eyelashes set off the depth;

The cheekbones are barely noticeable,

And the smooth nose is neither soft nor rough,

The mustache does not cover full lips,

The thick beard is small,

Slightly cleft at the chin.

Tall and straight. Him from afar

People were recognized by their gait.

He came from both the West and the East,

Both South and North along and across.

He saw two abysses at once in the darkness:

And the sun and the moon. And on the sand

Sometimes I drew spatial signs

And then he swept them away in deep melancholy.

The disciples who betrayed him

This action was considered strange

And, hiding, they asked: - Why?

Don't you write on something permanent?

And the word with the index finger

He drew on the empty air.

And the word flashed and shone,

Like lightning... And he said sternly:

Here's your constant. That's it

What no one can bear.

There is no peace: you dream of peace,

And the forces of darkness are swarming around.

Three battles, three wars have been going on for centuries.

One goes, hidden in silence,

Between human free will

And original personal guilt.

The second battle between good and evil,

It makes noise along all earthly roads.

And the third is between the devil and God,

It thunders in the blue sky.

In the soul and nearby darkness beats with light,

And the baby’s first cry is about this.

Thunderclaps are heard in the blood,

But I tell you: the truth is in love.

Don't expect a miracle, don't ask for bread.

Your way there! - He pointed to the sky.

The disciples said to him: - Father,

Dejection is in the blood, and you are burning

And briefly, and simply say,

But can you say it even more briefly?

Can! - and wrote on the palm

He showed the truth to the world:

Win the first two battles with her.

I don’t dare talk about the third battle.

Will guide you there, transforming you,

Another world's will and impulse.

last night

I died, although I have not died yet,

I had dreams of my enemies.

I saw them and went crazy

That's right, God allowed me to see

How they know how to betray their own,

How can strangers hate?

The night before the burning of love.

Life has passed, but I have not died yet.

Glory is smoke or mara on the way.

I saw the smoke and went crazy:

I can't hold it in my fistful!

I saw the dreams of nature's enemies,

And not just the dreams of my enemies.

I dreamed of the hatred of freedom

On the night before the end of time.

I heard strangers making noise

And not only their own people speak.

I heard Russia silent

The night before the burning of love.

There the house is already burning on the edge,

There run all the rats of existence!

I died, although I grab the edge:

God! And my Motherland?!

Staff

I'll set my soul free

And I will walk across a wide field.

An ancient staff stands above the ground,

Ringed by a dead snake.

Once every hundred years a storm breaks it.

And the snake squeezes this earth.

But when the end comes

The great dead man is resurrected.

Where's my staff? - he says gloomily,

And catches heavenly lightning

In your heroic hand,

And defeats the snake forever.

Letting my soul go free,

He walks across a wide field.

Only the staff trembles behind my back,

Ringed by a dead snake.

Poetry is light, but we are colorful...

On Pushkin's day I see the earth clearly,

On Lermontov's night - starry worlds.

Like life one, three times I accept.

I know somewhere in the twilight of the saints

My broken window is burning,

Where my last verse will shine,

And instead of a dot I will put the sun.

Poet

Do I keep the dispute in my native land,

I remember life with a faithful woman

Or I think my thoughts -

I hear a whistle, but I don’t know where it comes from.

Is the nightingale the robber whistling,

A gap between the stars or a chilled tramp?

There is a rustling sound on my table,

The paper stands on end.

Lonely in my native century,

I call time into interlocutors,

The whistle is getting louder and louder outside the window -

The storm is breaking down the trees.

And since then I don’t remember myself:

This is him, this is the spirit from the sky!

At night I pulled it out of my forehead

Apollo's golden arrow.

Poet and monk

It’s not the damp earth that’s burning,

It’s not the hum that disperses through the forest, -

The poet speaks to the monk,

And the enemy shakes the skies.

The monk recently died.

But darkness mixed with light

He clothed him on the road,

And he appeared before the poet.

The poet greeted him:

How holy, monk? How are the devils alive?

Not very holy. But not alive.

All alive - a dream. Prepare to die.

I was looking for holiness in my soul

And I thought about you sometimes.

And now at the death line

You appeared before me.

Admit that you don't love

Dreams, love and beauty,

Heart requests and answers.

Frankly, I don’t like poets.

You pretend to be a master,

But only evil and only passions,

That they just come from the inside.

You're right, monk. But partly right.

And the birds of your feather -

Imagination and memory.

But as for good,

Your style is pale and strained.

And the power of Derzhavin! Here's the syllable:

“I am a king - I am a slave - I am a worm - I am God!”

It disgusts me with the sound of blood

Derzhavin's ode "God".

What can you say about love?

It is not love that bleeds,

And your self-expression.

In mortal selflessness

I mortify flesh and blood,

Both memory and imagination.

They're pulling us in

Into the whistling whirlwind of earthly dust,

Where a person has been more than once,

There was a monk - and there is no monk.

You're showing off, monk!

David was already singing under the wild cedar tree,

That man is only dust,

Whipped off the face of the earth by the wind.

Your art is mixed

Good with evil and darkness with light,

The shine of the full moon with the deity,

And the burden of old age comes with its afterbirth.

As long as there are thoughts in the mind,

As long as there are desires in the heart,

For the prisoner of enchantment.

Don't think, don't desire - and you

You will achieve supreme bliss

When contemplating perfection

Goodness, love and beauty.

Monk, what kind of mind are you talking about?

And what darkness are you talking about?

What is in the mind is also in the feeling,

This means in the heart and in art.

The art is mixed. So be it.

Let there be a lot of chaff in our field.

But every grain is dear to God.

After all, every grain is the smile of God.

Are you ready to sweep away the entire field?

Because there are tares in it.

Aren't you judging too harshly?

What remains for us, creators?

The cry of repentance remains

The creators, or maybe the dead.

It has long been heard in art

This cry.

Art is a stinking sin,

You're all dead as hell

And you're a dead man - at all of you

There is no gospel of the Lord.

On the eve of the Last Judgment

In Raphael's painting -

A veil of pale shame

And not the radiance of the shrine.

The fool has bent! What more!

So that on the face of the Blessed Virgin

Nothing was expressed

From the ancestor Eve?

So let her go then

From the human race,

From God-given shame

Under the sign of the holy fool's conscience.

You kill flesh and blood,

You take away the feeling of love.

But love is tangible

Touching upon the mysteries of Communion.

What kind of Christian are you?

Without sensory constancy?

Where are you going, son of a bitch?

Living relics of Christianity?

So put your lips to death

Reject the incarnation

Eating the flesh and blood of Christ

And taking Communion!

With the terrible name of Christ,

Trembling with horror and fear,

The monk opened his mouth -

And turned into the shadow of a monk,

And the shadow of a grinning mouth -

Into the whistling crater of ashes.

And mixed in the dust

Good with evil and darkness with light.

And he walks with a terrible shaker

Whistling dust before the poet.

The earth is burning under him,

And the roar spreads through the forest.

Look, he says to the poet,

How I rock the sky.

The poet cried out: “Yes, this is the enemy!” -

He greeted me with a banner wave -

And the enemy disappeared like a shadow into a ravine...

But where is the monk? And what about the monk?

Transformation of Spinoza

Baruch looked mysteriously,

Grinding everyday lenses,

How spiders caught flies

In the corners of the star of David.

From all its six corners,

From sad dead ends

The philosopher collected spiders

And he placed them in the jar.

Spiders ate each other.

The philosopher thought.

But my thoughts were far away

From world issues.

The nose was tickled by bloody smoke -

The spider fight was over.

In an unclean bottle in front of him

One spider remains.

The solution was so close.

The philosopher could not restrain himself

And turned into a spider

And he ended up in the bank.

One of the two survived

One devoured the other.

But to know which of them was Baruch,

It makes no sense.

Premonition

Everything is more dangerous in Moscow, more and more miserable in the wilderness,

Evil spirits are lurking everywhere.

I hit the first person I met in the face with all my heart,

And my hand ached and ached.

The skies are becoming more menacing, the clouds are becoming darker.

Oh, the weather will be amazing!

My hand ached when the weather changed,

And the soul is for a change in the people.

Simplicity of mercy

It happened in the last war

Or did God dream it in a dream,

This is him among the whistles and howls

On the high tablet I read:

Not a scout, but a doctor who crossed over

Through the front after an eternal battle.

He walked through the snow at random,

And he kept it - a white robe,

Like the light of a merciful kingdom.

He came to someone else's hospital

And he said: “I come from where there is no

No cross, no bandage, no medicine.

Help!..” The enemies jumped up,

Seeing nothing but the light,

It’s like a ghost has returned to earth.

"It is Russian! Grab him! –

“We are all blood of this world,”

He said and suddenly smiled.

“We are all brothers,” said the enemies, “

But our circles diverge

There is a great abyss between us."

But they put what they needed into the bag.

He nodded and returned to the darkness.

Who is he? His name is unknown.

Going to sworn enemies,

He went around the heavens

And he didn’t know that he was worthy of immortality.

In this world where there is a battle of ideas

Turns people into a hurricane

This is the simplicity of mercy!

Farewell gesture

Why did you hug him?

Mahala from the sad fields,

As if you were clearing away the fog?..

The fog became denser.

He took a sliding place

In a space devoid of heat.

But the secret of the farewell gesture,

Flickering, she called back.

Alleviate road boredom

The prince of darkness helped him,

That he was pulling some kind of doll,

And the doll waved - and you...

I've been wiping the window for years,

The hand got tired of flickering,

As if the fog was clearing away,

Which cannot be overclocked.

Bubbles

Every bubble is released

The genie trapped within.

But the baby doesn't know that

Milky blowing bubbles.

I want to touch the bubble -

The devil makes faces from the inside.

Eternal battle. You hear thunder and roar -

The metal is blowing bubbles.

And when comets appear

About earthly existence, -

Blowing bloody bubbles

Your pure mind and soul.

Eternity breathes like sea foam,

The cathedral bubbles with its domes.

Living flesh foams instantly,

And the soul goes into space.

The world rings with empty bubbles

Idle dreams and blown glass,

Soapy instant balls,

What glory and praise allow.

Place seals and bans,

Just don't say anything

Because children and poets

Still, they believe in these bubbles.

Wound

I sang to the golden people,

And the golden people listened.

I sang about love and freedom

And the golden people cried.

Like a tati, in bad weather

Enemies and friends appeared,

They grabbed freedom by the throat,

And I was in the throat of freedom!

Farewell love and freedom!

Like dads, enemies and friends

They struck at the heart of the people,

And I was in the heart of the people!

Above the abyss at the very edge

People are shaking from the wind.

There is a gaping wound in him,

And the wound sings from the wind.

Russian popular print

The universe is miserable and damp,

On the outskirts is a popular wasteland.

Through the dark crack of the world

The Svyatorussky hero is flying.

Clouds like wandering mountains

Pieces of foam fly whistling.

The white horseman does not feel support,

Under the hooves there is an abyss and a stench.

He flies over the snake swamp,

He hovered in the non-evening light.

And shoots bloody droppings

Vile dwarf on the left shoulder.

Maybe he's throwing orders

And his hand hits him on the shoulder.

Maybe he saves his soul:

"Carefully! I'm flying too."

The appearance of a dwarf has been carved out over centuries,

And bloody eyes sticking out...

Eh, dear! Don't wave your fists.

Throw it away with a heroic flick.

Russian pendulum

The Russian pendulum swung to the left,

And we skidded to the left.

To the damn left, as you understand,

Magnifying evil.

Full Ivanovo pendulum

Hit the devil between the eyes.

The hours are ticking, as you know,

And it rocks us every time.

The fairy tale doesn't end there,

She goes deep and wide

Where the Russian pendulum swings,

Like a hero at a crossroads.

The Russian pendulum will swing to the right.

To the right is God. He will forgive us.

The clock is ticking, as you know,

For now the hero stands.

Steel Egoriy

The girl was sleeping in an open field

On the grass there is a nightingale ringing.

Terrible lightning came down from the sky

And hit the clean bosom.

Unresponsive flesh poured in,

And beautiful breasts swelled.

Your mercy is heavy, Lord!

What will good people think?

She guarded every rustle,

Burying ourselves for our native sheep.

At sunset she gave birth

The hidden son of the plain.

Cooled with cold dew,

Shaking it off the bush a little at a time.

Swaddled with a heavy scythe

And she took the high road.

The sandpiper did not take off from the swamp,

The sky did not descend to the homeland.

She met a singing old man.

What are you singing? - and gave him bread.

He said: - This staff sings,

A hollow staff from the violent wind.

In a round dance buzzing through the mountains

To the four ends of the world.

And he sings a sad verb,

Fatal Slavic secret,

How the Mongol cut down our army,

Only a small handful remained.

Breathing through empty reeds,

Our grandfathers hid in the river.

Khan ordered to break the reeds

On the uneven bed of victory.

And only one reed remained.

They breathed through one along the chain.

She didn’t reach everyone

In an incomplete circle of sadness.

Since then this news has spread

They went to foreign lands.

This staff, my dear, is

That reed of soul and sadness.

Bury in an endless hill

You are your own unbearable child.

And hide his name in rumors

From someone else's prowling gaze.

Or from either end

They will shake his name like a pear.

And the dragons of the earth's ring

They will gather according to the Russian soul.

Let the reed sing to him

About the breath of the sleeping tour,

About the sorrows of the Masurian swamps

And the air strongholds of Port Arthur...

It was not a flock of forty that flew together,

That crazy mother was wailing.

She dug the sand with a fine comb,

She covered her tracks with her hair.

Weaned from the breast and the cross

Dear my little piece of gold.

At parting I put it in my mouth

The wind's empty reed...

The sun rises from the west like a cross,

The owl claws the soul under the bridge,

The heavens spew out snakes and frogs.

Death crawls like a tornado across the steppe,

Mind after mind goes into chains,

And the gravestones weep.

“Drang nach Osten! - Adolf said. -

The frost will recede before us.

Kyiv fell, the Russian fleet did not resurrect,

And things are bad for Joseph!”

In Moscow a white stone floats,

In Moscow the scarlet boil is burning,

Digging barriers near Moscow.

Glory to the Motherland, the house doesn’t count!..

From the iron Kremlin gates

Iron bells rang out.

The gates opened.

Bleeding from the nose, three crosses gait!

Out of the gate with a valiant gait

A messenger flew out like a moon

And galloped to the impassable end

Along the forgotten road to Murom.

He galloped, overtaking the dawn,

Three hours and three days short of a hundred years.

He prostrated himself with a whistle and a howl

Across the plain in countless numbers.

He fell from his horse and bowed his forehead

Beat three times before eternal rest:

Dashing, dashing great rushing.

Help the people according to the law!.. -

A menacing roar reached my ears,

The damp earth trembled,

And Ilya answers the messenger:

Don’t lose your heroic spirit!

My strength has gone deep,

My step in Rus' is heavy,

And the plain will not hold me.

Your dashing as long as he sleeps.

The old woman stands against the sky,

Let him call out to his slain son!..

The gaps have passed against the sky,

The old mother was burned, crushed,

The old woman’s grief was also carried away.

Settling in the distance as fog,

The old woman's ashes touched the ground:

The hour has come. Wake up, Yegory! -

A hefty roar in an endless hill

I responded to the name through word of mouth.

Son Yegory sensed alarm.

So much dust! - he sneezed loudly,

And he shook off his parents' ashes,

And he took the high road.

Yegory shot an infantry bone:

Are you bending, Ivan, tear out the nail? -

I answered: “I’m standing and retreating.”

You forgot about iron in love,

About nails dissolved in blood?

“Our blood is milk,” I answer, “

We are all breastfed... - But he

Answers: - I am drunk in spirit,

Russian spirit of great sadness.

I lay underground for many years,

Breathed through an empty reed -

Our grandfathers breathed through it.

The wind is still singing

About the sorrows of the Masurian swamps

And the air strongholds of Port Arthur... -

I say: “This is an old distance!” -

He sighed: “This is our sadness,

And sadness is our nature.

I am a sad person, and you pull out the nail,

But sometimes your hollow bone

It will hum like a reed in the wind.

He'll hum and sing, but what about?

In the whole world no one knows -

This is Russian life without an answer.

I dreamed of a different kind of sadness

About gray Damascus steel,

I saw how the steel was tempered

Like one of the young slaves

They chose him, fed him,

So that his flesh gains strength.

Waited the due date

And then a red-hot blade

They plunged into the muscular flesh,

They took out the finished blade.

The East has never known stronger than steel,

Stronger than steel and bitterer than sorrow.

It was so, but the dream is not simple.

I say, Russia should be made of steel!.. -

He went to the forge of the Urals.

And, seeing the thundering Urals,

Immersed in burning metal

So that it is not stronger than metal.

Sometimes from an open-hearth ladle

Like a mist the soul ascended

And the Slavic eyes shone.

He said: - Russia should be made of steel! -

The spirit of the people was covered with armor:

Tank guns made of thunder and steel...

Heroes' Fears

To the homeland of the souls of heroes

They look from afar

And they notice on the ground

A child and an old man.

A child plays with fire

An old man is standing nearby.

Child playing with fire

Merge into a long cry:

A child plays with fire!

Who knows! - says the old man. -

Not only eternal glory

And the funeral verse -

Your fears remain...

He burns them out.

He will also become a hero:

This is his character.

He burns away fears

Like shadows from clouds.

You say: - He takes risks

Destroy everything that exists...

No more risks

How to love your neighbor.

String

White and red lay in the ground,

Sending curses to each other

Two trunks rose from the ground

From the same root, like brothers.

Civil strife has faded into dust,

But the leaven of the grave ferments.

The trunk deviates from the trunk,

It's like the devil is walking between them.

They would be far apart

Yes, the old father by instinct

A happy thought came to me -

Tie them with metal thread.

Listen, listen, dear country,

In stormy stormy times,

Like a string crying in the wind

And crying spreads across the expanse.

On a clear day she does not cry,

And the brothers become family.

And there is such silence,

It's like an angel is hovering over them.

The secret of the Slavs

The wild head bows to sleep.

What is making noise there, making waves?

I’ll go out into the field - deep peace,

The ears of corn stand thickly under the mountain.

The world didn't move. Empty - so what!

The field thought. The rye is drooping.

The coolness quietly washed over me in a wave.

Without a breath the rye fell.

There is noise everywhere. Hear nothing.

Above your head is the heavenly army

He bows his earthly banners,

It tends in the name of goodness and love.

And under your feet it gets darker and darker

The kingdom of shadows is bowing, bowing.

My sinful ancestors are bowing down,

The yoke of goodness and love is bowing.

She's the one rushing through the rye! That's her!

A star is bowing and falling from the sky,

Leads the tramp here and there,

Hangs over a book of innocent children,

Bends the killer over his victim,

Lends lovers to the bed of love,

My years are declining and declining.

Something happened. The habit has passed.

Without a breath, the distance fell.

She's the one rushing through the rye! That's her!

What's the noise there? It's getting hops

A bullet is tilting as it flies towards the target,

The mother bends over her dear child,

Glory and time and smoke are falling.

The blue vault is leaning, leaning

Over my uncovered head.

The tree of knowledge is bowing in paradise.

The apple falls into my hand.

She's the one rushing through the rye! That's her!

A feast for the whole world! This is our custom.

We have lived gloriously for forty centuries.

What is the noise behind the heavenly mountain?

A great peace has awakened.

What should we do?.. Great peace

I disperse it like a cloud with my hand.

The wild head bows to sleep.

It makes noise again, creating a wave...

She's the one rushing through the rye! That's her!

Tehran dreams

Far from the northern ruins

The Tehran blue is burning.

What a meeting, Marshal Stalin!

The crafty Churchill speaks.

I believe in good omens

Today I had a dream.

Leader of the planet

I was appointed in a dream!

Of course it's elevation

Please don't take it seriously...

What a coincidence, really, -

Roosevelt said with a smile.

As a sign of our unforgettable meeting

Today I had a dream.

Head of the Universe

I was appointed in a dream!

Stalin was not embarrassed by his thoughts,

City rumbles and whistles.

And they stand in the window in front of me

All my desires and thoughts.

They are all melodious and light,

They are all colorful and fragrant,

They are all far from here,

Everything is in front of me - and irrevocable.

I don't know how many years

My life is different.

Outside the window there is an otherworldly light

Says there is no death

Everyone lives, no one dies!

Why did you fall in love with the poet?

For his golden words?

From the high moonlight

Your head is spinning.

You have lost your land and support.

What is this slight traction in the foot?

And what spaces it opened up

Is your body both in it and in yourself?

He wanted to dispel his thoughts,

Dear to shake off oblivion.

He managed to measure the skies

Your flight and your fall.

He'll never come back

His trail was obscured by grass.

You will cry, and he will respond

To your golden words.

Patterns

A bright angel flew across the sky.

The girl went out onto the porch,

I sat on a low step

And she took a needle and dark thread,

Embroidered on white canvas

Secret girlish dreams

And the patterns of careful life.

But nothing worked.

The poor thing burst into tears,

I couldn't even see the thread

Not like an angel in heaven.

The bright angel took care of the girl

For her girlish dreams

And the patterns of careful life,

I tapped the pigeon book -

Three hairs fell to the ground,

Three bookmarks between the sacred pages.

The first hair is as golden as a cornfield,

And the second one is silver, like a month,

The third hair is blue and green,

Like the sea in different weather.

And between them there were clouds,

Quiet lightning blazed.

The girl looked at the sky,

And from there lightning flew,

Or rather, say, cobweb,

The cornfield was golden in the cobweb.

The girl said a holy prayer,

She released her soul and said:

This angel hair shines

My grandmother told me about him

And the ears of corn whispered in the field...

I looked up at the sky again,

And from there lightning flew,

Or rather, say, cobweb,

The moon was shining silver in the web.

The girl crossed herself at her,

She relieved her soul and said:

This angel hair shines!

The month reminds me of him,

Winter snow and gray hair of intelligent...

I looked up at the sky again,

And from there lightning flew,

Or rather, say, cobweb,

It changed from blue to green.

The girl trembled in front of her

And she closed her eyes as if she were sleeping,

She closed her soul and said:

This is angel hair playing

Like the sea in different weather!

I dreamed about him last night,

I don't know anything about him

And I'm shaking with my eyes closed...

And when she opened her eyes,

The hair on her legs was dozing.

She took them carefully with her hands.

And she twisted a rainbow thread.

And for three days I embroidered without dreams,

And the patterns of patient life,

Wise sacred patterns.

I sat at my embroidery for three days,

And a quick needle flashed,

And a rainbow thread flowed.

On the fourth day the girl got up:

All is ready! Where is the praise and glory?..

Opened my soul and gates

And she said: “Here are my patterns!”

People came to have a look,

They sank deep into his soul

Wise sacred patterns.

And they, like a cornfield, turned golden,

And they turned silver like a month,

And they played with blue and green,

Like the sea in different weather.

And between them there were clouds,

Quiet lightning blazed.

This is happiness! - people said.

This is joy! - the children exclaimed.

God's secret! - said the oldest.

And mine! - gnashed his teeth

Flashlight

Where is the sage who was looking for a man

With a flashlight in broad daylight?

I am a child of an unreliable age,

And the lantern illuminates me.

Hollow ball of atomized light

Raises in the forest and steppe.

Doesn't give any answer

But the road promises to be along the chain.

There is dust and swirling around him

A cloud of birds and nocturnal small fry.

Swarms like a meteor shower,

And behind the swarm you can’t see a thing.

Sing in, ancient choirs!

Amber was exchanged for resin.

I walked beyond the Kudykin mountains

And I saw the last lantern.

What reminded neither the light nor the dawn:

I doubt everything except the light!

Who came to my lantern?

Human! - I answered from the night.

Human? Come in if so! -

I saw burning eyes

That they looked from the light into the darkness.

Don't worry, my life is daring,

If you're stuck like a fly in amber!

Support me, former strength!..

And I entered the burning lantern.

I saw transparent relics

Hair or thoughts to braid.

I stared into mad eyes,

I heard incoherent speech.

Haven't seen anything like this for ages,

Never unravel this:

He searched with fire for a man during the day,

But there must be a person on fire!

Support me, former strength!

I broke the lantern from the inside.

AND folk choirs, sobbing,

They poured until dawn:

“You will pay for your arrival with fate,

You will pay for your care with your soul..."

And earthly and heavenly price

I paid for everything with interest.

I doubt everything except the light,

I don’t see anything except the light.

But my poet's heart weighs on me

A cloud of lies and earthly small fry.

Stray bullet

I have a cheerful nature

I have a lucky hand.

A foolish bullet whistles in an open field.

Isn't he looking for me, the fool?

The cigarette is about to run out.

The main goal of the lesson in analyzing the poem by Yu. Kuznetsov “Atomic Tale”: improving the skills of analyzing the poem. Analysis of a poetic work, as we know, does not come down to a mechanical fixation of tropes; children must understand their artistic purpose in a particular work. It is important to understand that the title of a work can also help in understanding the idea of ​​the work.

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Yuri Polikarpovich Kuznetsov

“Only the heart is vigilant. You can’t see the most important thing with your eyes.”

Yu. Kuznetsov. "Atomic Tale". One poem lesson. 7th grade.

The purpose of the lesson : develop, improve the ability to analyze a poem. Cultivate attention, interest, love for the native word, the ability to sympathize and empathize.

Dictionary : irony, sarcasm, philosophical (question)

During the classes.

Announcing the topic and purpose of the lesson.

How do you understand the meaning of the sentence: “Only the heart is vigilant; you cannot see the most important things with your eyes”?

The topic of our lesson is unusual: it contains a philosophical meaning. What questions are called philosophical?

(those that contain a deep, vital idea)

We will get acquainted with the poem “Atomic Tale” by Yuri Polikarpovich Kuznetsov.

(Reading a poem by the teacher)

Yuri Kuznetsov.

Atomic fairy tale

I heard this happy tale

I'm already in the current mood,

How Ivanushka came out into the field

And he fired the arrow at random.

He went in the direction of the flight

Following the silver trail of fate.

And he ended up with a frog in a swamp,

Three seas from my father's hut.

It will come in handy for a good cause! –

He put the frog in the scarf

Opened up her white royal body

And started an electric current.

She died in long agony,

Centuries beat in every vein.

And the smile of knowledge played

On the happy face of a fool.

How did this poem make you feel?

(Pity for the dead animal, indignation)

Yes, like that strong feelings embrace the reader... But the poet nowhere directly condemned his hero, was not indignant at his cruelty, did not express out loud sympathy for the animal. Let's see how the poem is constructed, how the poet was able to give such power to the simplest words.

We read a fairy tale, but not a simple one, but an “atomic” one, that is, a modern fairy tale, a fairy tale of the atomic age. And the hero is familiar to us from folk tales. What's his name?

(Ivan the Fool, Ivan the Fool)What is the most common name for a fairy-tale hero?(Ivanushka the Fool) Why?

Read the first two stanzas of the poem. How is the beginning of the poem similar to a folk tale?(Plot, name of the hero, joyful mood, anticipation of happiness).

However, the ending of the atomic fairy tale is tragic.

Why did Ivanushka take the frog with him? Read.

“It will be useful for a just cause.” What kind of things are talked about like this?(Students determine the meaning of a word byexplanatory dictionary. –About deeds that can make all humanity happy.)

Why did Ivanushka cut a living frog and pass a current through its body?

(He wanted to be a scientist, wanted to know the world, find out how the frog’s body works)

What did Ivan learn about the frog, and what did he not know and will never know?

(I found out how the frog’s body works. He will never know how beautiful she is, he will not understand that she could become his happiness, his destiny, the meaning of life).

Why couldn't he find out?(Because he doesn’t like the frog, is deaf and blind to its suffering)

Read the last two verses. What words, not being antonyms, are opposed to each other?(cognition is a fool).Is it a coincidence that these words are placed next to each other?(No. Knowledge does not make the hero smart, he remains a fool).

Why did it happen so?(The prince does not love the frog, does not see the beauty of nature, does not love nature, but only loves his knowledge about it).

Draw a conclusion: what is the main idea (idea) of the poem?

Notebook entries:

Subject. old tale in a new way.

Idea: Only a kind person may be wise, only a kind look at the world reveals its beauty.

Artistic features.

How is the main idea of ​​the poem revealed? How do the paths “work” in it? Find the paths and determine what their role is.

Epithets: white royal body, silvery trace of fate . Why adjective white consider it an epithet? Why body royal ? Perhaps a hint of a relationship with the prince?

Re-read the first stanza. There is a word in it, the real meaning of which is revealed to us only after reading the entire poem (Happy fairy tale.) Do you think this word sounds serious, ironically or irony increases to sarcasm?

Explain the meaning and role of metaphor:centuries were knocking in every vein.

Determine the poetic meter. What pace and tone does the anapest set in the poem?

(Make notes in your notebook.)

Do you think the theme of the work is relevant today? What does the poem teach, what does the poem make you think about?

Many readers perceived these poems as a scientific and technological counter-revolution. Children may have a question: it turns out that the poem is directed against scientists conducting experiments on animals in order to save humans from deadly diseases? That such experiments are immoral? But how can one refuse medical discoveries, without which the health and even life of a person and entire generations would be at risk? The answer is intitle of the poem. An atomic fairy tale, a fairy tale about the atomic age, which confronts a person with a moral choice so often that we get used to not deciding moral problems, and pass by them. The atomic age, which enriched humanity with knowledge, becomes an obstacle to wisdom.)

Independent work. Ideological and artistic analysis of Yu. Kuznetsov’s poem “Atomic Tale” (connected oral history based on class notes)

Homework (at students' choice) Miniature essay: “Only the heart is vigilant” (in writing)

Or: learn by heart the poem “Atomic Tale” by Yu. Kuznetsov.

The poem “Atomic Tale” is a kind of calling card of Yuri Kuznetsov’s poetry:

I heard this happy tale

I'm already in the current mood,

How Ivanushka came out into the field

And he fired the arrow at random.

He went to the direction: flight

Following the silver trail of fate.

And he ended up with a frog in a swamp,

Three seas from my father's hut.

"It will be useful for a just cause!" –

He put the frog in the handkerchief.

Opened up her white royal body

And started an electric current.

She died in long agony,

Centuries beat in every vein.

And the smile of knowledge played

On the happy face of a fool.

The title of the poem is a reaction to a certain cultural paradigm that was widespread at the time it was written. For the second half of the 1960s - 1970s. This is an era of numerous alterations classical works(especially fairy tales) “in a new way” (suffice it to remember that two years before the appearance of the poem, the famous film “Aibolit-66” with Rolan Bykov and Oleg Efremov in the leading roles was released). During this period, Soviet theater and cinema embraced the craze of creating “remakes”, characteristic feature which is the correlation with “turbulent modernity”, “the time of speeds and rhythms, rock and roll and synchrophasotron”. Especially often, when pointing to this correlation, such constructions as “atomic age”, “age of the atomic bomb” are mentioned. The first two lines of the poem (“I heard this happy fairy tale / I’m already in the present mood”) refer to this paradigm and attune the reader to it. The text that follows (until the middle of the third stanza) is a retelling of the plot of the famous Russian folk tale "The Frog Princess". In the second part of the third stanza, an unexpected break in the script occurs: the hero of the poem, Ivanushka, begins to behave not in accordance with the logic of the fairy tale, but in accordance with the model of behavior dictated by the “atomic age” (“He opened up her white royal body / And gave her an electric current”).

Kuznetsov's poem is polemical in relation to "fairy tales in a new way." If in such tales modernity was organically integrated into the folklore-mythological tradition (a typical example: well-read Soviet schoolchildren helped Ivan Tsarevich defeat Koshchei the Immortal with the help of the latest scientific achievements of that day), then Kuznetsov showed that modernity and myth contradict and oppose each other . Their opposition is due to the fact that modernity is unable to understand myth. The language of antiquity is forever lost to modern man. The language of antiquity has been replaced by a new, rationalistic, destructive language of perception of the world. The meanings of the same concepts in these two languages ​​are directly opposite. The ritual language of antiquity is imbued with love and creation: a fairy-tale ritual instructs the hero to kiss an enchanted frog and disenchant it with a kiss, returning its appearance beautiful girl. For newest language“nature is not a temple, but a workshop,” and the frog is just an object of vivisection.

The newest language destroys the fairy tale and makes it impossible. Thus, Kuznetsov leads the reader to the idea that this language (the language of technogenic civilization) is anti-language, the tongue of Satan; that technogenic civilization is incompatible with myth.

The first two lines of the last stanza (“In long agony she died, / Centuries pounded in every vein”) strengthen the author’s idea, focusing on the cruelty of the hero, the blatant unnaturalness and blasphemous immediacy of his actions. The last two lines of “The Atomic Tale” (“And the smile of knowledge played / On the happy face of the fool”) return the hero to his fairy-tale definition – “fool”, colliding the two meanings of this word. The fairy-tale Ivanushka is a “fool” in a figurative sense: behind his outward foolishness he hides wisdom. Newest Ivanushka- a fool (cretin) in the most literal sense of the word. Sharp pairing different meanings the words “fool” gives the poem a shade of evil grotesque. IN Soviet time“The Atomic Tale” by Yuri Kuznetsov was included in the category of “ecological literature”, on the topic of “the struggle to preserve environment"(similar topics were extremely popular in the 1960s–1970s). The real meaning of the work was much deeper than “ecological issues”: Yuri Kuznetsov questioned the foundations of a civilization built on technical progress and scientific and rational ways of perceiving reality (to a certain extent, the poet criticized materialism and rationalism - the basis of the normative Soviet philosophical and ideological system).

I heard this happy tale
I'm already in the current mood,
How Ivanushka came out into the field
And he fired the arrow at random.

He went in the direction of flight
Following the silver trail of fate.
And he ended up with a frog in a swamp,
Three seas from my father's hut.

It will come in handy for a good cause! -
He put the frog in the handkerchief.
Opened up her white royal body
And started an electric current.

She died in long agony,
Centuries beat in every vein.
And the smile of knowledge played
On the happy face of a fool.

WILL

At night I pulled it out of my forehead
Apollo's golden arrow...

At twenty I discovered holiness in earthly love... I discovered the Russian theme, to which I will be faithful until my death.” This is what Yuri Kuznetsov spoke about his work in his essay “Outlook”.

The poet was born on February 11, 1941. in the village of Leningradskaya, Krasnodar Territory. His mother is a teacher, his father is a career officer, in 1944. died in Crimea.

Born in February, under Aquarius
In a complacent emergency age,
I grew up with the infantile generation,
A twitchy and precise person.
The smell of hope has become unbearably bitter,
And the bread of memories became stale.
I forgot the provincial town
Where the streets go straight into the steppe...

In 1961-1964. Yuri Kuznetsov served in Soviet army, caught in Cuba during the Cuban Missile Crisis, when the world hung in the balance

I remember the night with the continental rockets
When every step was an event of the soul,
When we slept, by order, not naked
And the horror of space thundered in our ears.
Since then it’s better not to dream about fame
With lips bitten from the inside,
Forget about happiness and be silent, be silent -
Otherwise you won't be able to solve the memories.

Worked in the police. In 1965 entered the Literary Institute named after. M. Gorky. In 1966 The first collection of poems “The Thunderstorm” was published in Krasnodar. In 1974 The second collection “Inside Me and Nearby is Distance” was published in Moscow. He was immediately noticed by critics. V. Kozhinov announced the birth of a major poet. In 1974 was admitted to the Writers' Union of the USSR.

In the mid-70s, a magazine war broke out in connection with his poems

I drank from my father's skull
For truth on earth,
For a fairy tale from a Russian face
AND Right way in the darkness.

The sun and moon rose
And they clinked glasses with me.
And I repeated the names
Forgotten by the earth.

The poet’s “Rebuke” became a kind of response

What kind of tribe was born?
You can't drive away even with a chained dog.
God's mercy deprived them,
So they want to snatch away from earthly things.

Since you are a poet, open your soul.
Those are knocking, and these are knocking
And they shake my glory like a pear.
- Who are they? “Ours,” they say.

Besides arrogant hopes and fog,
No crosses, no bushes, no ideas.
Oh you naked dwarfs of deception,
At least they were ashamed of the people!

I throw the poet's cloak - catch it!
He will bend you to the ground.
Drag him, drag him,
At Olympus knocking down rubles.

Over there, transversely and longitudinally,
Rogues of the soul and roads.
Don't want. I despise it. Enough
Upholster my high threshold.

Yuri Kuznetsov worked at the publishing house " Soviet writer" After well-known events, he moved to the magazine “Our Contemporary”. He was a member of the editorial board, head of the poetry department. He worked a lot and fruitfully on translations. Laureate of the State Prize of the Russian Federation (1990).
Died of a heart attack on November 17, 2003. He was buried in Moscow at the Troekurovsky cemetery.

Evgeniy REIN about Yuri KUZNETSOV:
“In my opinion, a huge segment of Russian history has ended, and the great Russian culture has sunk to the bottom, like Atlantis, which we still have to search for and unravel. That is why, at the end of such a long historiosophical time, a poet like Yuri Kuznetsov appeared, a poet extremely rare group blood...
He, like any very large phenomenon, in general, came out of the darkness, in which certain fiery signs are visible that we do not fully understand...
He speaks dark symbolic words that will find their decoding, but not today and not tomorrow. That is why he was given an enormous tragic talent. It's tragic. He is one of the most tragic poets of Russia from Simeon of Polotsk to the present day...”

You can read this in full in the 11th issue of the reading room Stihi.Ru. There is also a good selection of the poet's poems.

There is probably nothing to add to Rain's words.

Unless you remember the charming comment clittary_hilton to the above-mentioned source: can a patriot (that is, a person who trumpets his patriotism) not be a bastard?
Apparently it can.

And also pay tribute to the poet’s clairvoyance

Peter's shadow walks on the living.
- What kind of people are these! - speaks. -
Jumps out of the window like a frog,
Is our country on fire?

And the passer-by answers him:
- Sir, he’s heading to Europe.

What about the power? - A passerby spits:
- And the power burned down a long time ago. -
He hears: the sound of a hammer is heard -
This is Peter boarding up the window.

A selection of poems by Yuri Kuznetsov

Over casual conversation on the road
Sometimes we liked to show off
Either a love or a military victory,
Which makes your chest tighten.

I supported the high brand,
I haven’t forgiven you for the old meeting.
And in a noisy circle, like a glass,
I let your proud name go.

You appeared like a vision
I remain faithful to the winner.
- For ten years I stood outside the door,
Finally you called out to me.

I looked at you without blinking.
“You’re chilled...” and ordered a drink.
- I'm trembling because I'm naked,
But this is what you wanted to see.

God be with you! - and I waved my hand
To your incomplete joy. -
You asked for love and peace
But I give you freedom.

Didn't say anything to this
And she instantly forgot me.
And went to the other side of the world,
Protecting yourself from fire with your hand.

Since then, over a casual conversation,
Remembering the path I've taken,
Neither love nor military victory
I'm not trying to show off anymore. (1975)

You are the king: live alone.
A. Pushkin
I lived alone. You said: - I'm alone too,
I will be faithful to you until the grave, like a dog...

So I was thrown into your mouth by fate along the way.
Gnawing at me like a royal bone in the flesh.

Moaned passionately, although others sometimes
The bone was torn out of your fatal mouth.

You rushed at them with a scream, more terrible than Satan.
That's enough, dear! They, like you, are hungry.

The brain is sucked out, and sometimes the bones are empty
The spirit or the wind sings about my last hour.

Abandoned, I will flicker among the heavenly lights...
Trust in God so that he will forgive you for your loyalty. (1988)

We did not come to this temple to get married,
We did not come to blow up this temple,
We came to this temple to say goodbye,
We came to this temple to cry.

The mourning faces have dimmed
And they no longer mourn for anyone.
The striking peaks have become damp
And they don’t hurt anyone anymore.

The air is full of forgotten poison,
Unknown either to the world or to us.
Creeping grasses through the dome,
Like tears running down the walls.

Floating in a lumpy stream,
Wraps above the knees.
We forgot about the highest
After so many losses and betrayals.

We forgot that it's full of menace
This world is like an abandoned temple.
And our children's tears flow,
And the grass runs up my legs.

Yes! Our pure tears flow.
The abandoned temple echoes dully.
And creeping vines run up,
Like flames down our legs. (1979)

DARK PEOPLE

We are dark people, but with a pure soul.
We fell from above with the evening dew.
We lived in darkness with twinkling stars
Refreshing both the earth and the air.
And in the morning the easiest death came,
The soul, like dew, flew to heaven.
We all disappeared into the shining firmament,
Where is the light before birth and the light after death. (1997)

RUSSIAN THOUGHT

Tell me, oh Russian distance,
Where does it start in you?
Such native sadness?..
A branch is swinging on a tree.

The day has passed. Two days pass.
Without wind, he rushes about in the tree.
And doubt took over me:
Is it imagining or not imagining?

The leaves sing as they fall.
Why does it really swing?
I went and got drunk out of boredom...
This is how Russian thought begins. (1969)

BURIAL IN THE KREMLIN WALL

When the flow is noisy
Red Banner,
Weep and cry, O Russian land!
Look: it's a curse
branded
The final assault
Kremlin.
I found an honorable replacement brick,
Which posterity will not forgive.
Cells with ashes are gnawed
wall -
She can hardly stand on them.

AUTUMN SPACE

Ancient autumn, your verse has become obsolete,
Your side is empty.
At night, under the tree, the air screams
From a falling leaf.

And the wind that carried the sound of winter,
All the windows in the village were blown out.
The trees shook out of the ground,
And the leaves go back to the ground.

Not the air, not the field, not the bare forest,
And the abysses passed between us.
The azure of heaven burns underfoot -
So we are far from the earth.

But be quiet, my friend! Wife!
There is a minute of reflection.
Then it started to rain, then there was almost silence...
This cannot be tolerated.

Everything was straightforward, direct.
It was raining straight, it was raining straight,
Suddenly he became sideways.

Everything became askew under the slanting rain:
Houses, horizon, hills,
And the house, the instantly darkened house,
And we are in front of him, and we.

TALE OF THE GOLDEN STAR

General went fishing
And the whole headquarters chose the place.

Is it good? - he gurgled out of God's shoals.
-- Yes sir! - the officers roared.

Where's the fishing rod? - ready to honor honor,

For one minute the retinue did not blink.
But the general's luck is in sight,

And the general’s word is heard:
- Hey! Yes, it's a perch! On the ear!

The hook is in place and the worm is in place.

Where's the stack? - knocked over the stack
By the collar. And I cast the bait.

And for two minutes the retinue did not blink.
But the general's luck is in sight,

And the general’s word is heard:
- Carp? It's great. On the ear!

He threw it into the cauldron, and again it was an honor.
The hook is in place and the worm is in place.

And again he knocked back a shot of vodka
By the collar. And I cast the bait.

And for three minutes the retinue did not blink.
But the general's luck is in sight,

And the general’s word is heard:
-- A, gold fish! On the ear!

But, shining with beauty and intelligence,
The goldfish said:

Let me go, servant, but for friendship
I will do you a great service

Your desire is enough...
But the general did not listen to anything:

What to wish for when I have everything:
And the army, and the will, and the idea,

And that is to say, the wife and daughter are in fur,
The son is a diplomat... In your ear immediately!

Hearing such speech with trepidation,
The golden one changed her mind and said:

Hero! My destiny is in the wrong water
But what can you say about the second Star?

And he waved: “I agree to the second!” --
And he threw the goldfish into the water.

A Sound of Thunder! No retinue, no cars.
In a wide field he stands alone,

In a soldier's tunic, and squeezed
The last grenade is in his hand.

And they are coming at him from all sides
Four tanks from another time. (1981)

Since the mid-70s of the 20th century, a dangerous trend has been revealed in the domestic school of a decrease in the interest of schoolchildren in classes. Teachers tried to stop the alienation of schoolchildren from cognitive work different ways. To aggravate the problem, mass practice includes new pedagogical technologies and non-standard lessons, which have the main goal of arousing and maintaining students’ interest in educational work.

Pedagogical technologies are a structure of teacher activity in which all the actions included in it are presented in a certain integrity and sequence, and implementation involves achieving the required result and is predictable, guaranteeing the success of the educational process. The technology is based on the teacher’s value orientations and goals; the technological chain is built strictly in accordance with the goal and guarantees achievement of the goal. Any educational technology is reproduced taking into account the teacher’s original handwriting. The teacher's signature style is especially clearly visible in such a form of educational activity as a non-standard lesson.

A non-standard lesson is an impromptu training session that has a non-traditional (unspecified) structure. The opinions of teachers about non-standard lessons differ: some see in them the progress of pedagogical thought, the right step in the direction of democratization of the school, while others, on the contrary, consider such lessons to be a violation of pedagogical principles, a forced retreat of teachers under the pressure of lazy students who do not want and do not know how to work seriously.

The word “lesson” is almost one and a half thousand years old. And for the same number of years, the lesson solves the following tasks: to teach, educate, and most importantly, develop. The developmental aspect of the triune lesson goal is the most difficult aspect for the teacher for two reasons:

1) the teacher strives to form a new developmental aspect for each lesson, forgetting that the independence of the development process is relative and occurs more slowly than the process of training and education;

2) insufficient knowledge by the teacher of the child’s psychological structure and those areas of personality that need to be developed.

The developmental aspect of the lesson goal, in contrast to the teaching and educating aspect, can be formulated for the triune goal of several lessons and whole topic. It consists of the following blocks:

1) speech development (enrichment of the student’s vocabulary, strengthening the communicative properties of speech, since speech development– an indicator of intellectual and general development student);

2) development of thinking (learn to analyze, highlight the main thing, compare, build analogies, generalize and systematize, prove and refute.

The rule can be memorized, although this will not bring much benefit, but it is impossible to develop speech and thinking by force. Development occurs if the child is interested in the lesson, if he himself is actively involved in learning activities. Of course, non-standard lessons, unusual in design, organization, and delivery methods, are more popular with students than everyday training sessions with a strict structure and established work schedule. Therefore, such lessons should be practiced, but turning non-standard lessons into the main form of activity is inappropriate due to a large loss of time, low productivity, and lack of serious cognitive work. There are several dozen types of non-standard lessons. Their names give an idea of ​​the goals and objectives, and the methodology for conducting such classes. One of the most interesting non-standard lessons is the workshop lesson.

Lessons-workshops first began to be held in France more than 80 years ago; they have been practiced in domestic pedagogy since 1990.

The workshop lesson has a certain algorithm of actions:

1. (the lesson begins without announcing the topic). The first stage is the “inductor” - a push, a springboard, a creative beginning that motivates all further activities of everyone and creates a comfortable situation for the child. This could be a task around a word, an object, a drawing, but the main thing is unexpected, mysterious, personal. A postcard, photograph, word, sign, etc. can be used as an “inductor”.

2. Working with material:

a) deconstruction (mixing, turning phenomena, words, events into chaos);
b) reconstruction (creating your own text, drawing, statement, etc.)

3. Primary socialization, that is, the correlation of one’s activities with the activities of others (work in a group, dialogue, presentation of the intermediate result of one’s work).

4. Self-correction (the child critically comprehends what he has invented, compares his own with someone else’s. During the exchange

as an intermediate result, he notices something useful for himself in others).

5. Information request.

6. Creativity (on a blank sheet of paper, the student rewrites what he did).

7. New socialization (students can exchange sheets, read their work out loud).

8. Break (the moment of insight and culmination of the creative process; the student looks at his work as a miracle: there was the source material, he destroyed everything, mixed it and got something new).

9. The information request may appear again.

10. Reflection (introspection of what has been done occurs, but not just value judgments, there must be an analysis of the movement of one’s own thoughts, feelings, knowledge).

Working according to the above algorithm often leads to an unexpected result, since not a single opinion expressed on a given topic or problem is considered erroneous. Internally liberating, the student writes and says what he thinks, and not what they want to hear from him. We can say that a non-standard lesson leads to a “non-standard” view of the work. The child does not simply respond to a work of art because the teacher demands it, but through the prism of his own “I” he considers the problems raised by the author in the work, agrees or disagrees with the opinions of the author, critics, and teacher, and offers his own solution to these problems. Conducting a workshop lesson is especially effective in preparing students to write creative works.

Lesson objectives: improve the ability to analyze poetic text; continue work on developing students’ oral and written speech; to attract children's attention to the problem of spirituality in an unspiritual world; fostering a conscious, active interest in knowledge.

Board design

(The topic of the lesson is not recorded)

During the classes

I. Teacher's opening speech

Lyrical works, sadly enough, are loved by few readers. Indeed, in some verses it is difficult, almost impossible, to grasp the meaning; in others, heaps of words may seem incomprehensible and unnecessary. Some poets were even afraid to be understood by readers. For example: Osip Mandelstam wrote to a friend: “I am becoming clear, it scares me.” Poems are a mystery, and a mystery cannot be clear and understandable. In order to understand lyrical work It’s not enough to know, you have to feel: poetry, first of all, awakens feelings. Remember this when we talk about the poem. Yuri Kuznetsov, our contemporary, wrote a poem that we will talk about today in class. We won’t read the work yet; I won’t say what it’s called. With my help, you will restore the content of the poem, determine its main idea, title it, and then get acquainted with the text.

II. Associations

The first clue is written on the board - the name of the lyrical hero, who turns from Ivanushka into Ivan the Fool.

What associations arise in your memory when you hear the names of these fairy-tale characters. Write down in your notebook the epithets that characterize Ivanushka and Ivan the Fool.

(Students read the options for their answers, on the board the teacher writes down associations and epithets that many people have)

The second clue is what had to happen for the kind and sweet Ivanushka to turn into the rude Ivan the Fool?

III. Sound recording

One more hint. The sound signature of the poem is written on the board, that is, the sounds that are in a strong position are written out from the words. Sound recording can say a lot about a poem if you know the semantic characteristics of the sounds. (“a” - light, “o” - dark, “i”, “s” - cold, “e” - warm)

The most common sound is “a”. What does this mean?

(The general background of the poem is “light.” This background is traditional for folk tales, where the dark forces, no matter how strong they are, are always defeated).

- “Light” “a” is contrasted with “dark” “o”, “warm” “e” - “cold” “i”, “s”. What does this express?

(The struggle taking place in the hero’s soul).

Let's summarize everything we know about the poem.

(The fairy tale takes place in the modern world. Events do not develop according to a fairy tale scenario: lyrical hero changes for the worse).

IV. Graphic drawing of the poem

Here is a graphic drawing of a poem. Each dash in a line replaces a word, and some conclusions can also be drawn from the broken line that connects the ends of the lines.

What is the theme of the poem?

(Students express their guesses).

V. Reading of the poem by Yu. Kuznetsov “Atomic Tale”

What can we add to what we have already said?

(Modernity is cruel, a kind person is unlikely to survive in it. A fairy tale from a happy one becomes unhappy. From this behavior of Ivan the Fool, everything good and bright that has been accumulated by humanity is destroyed. Our fate is to die from cruelty and misunderstanding or learn to be humane. Beautiful dream is also necessary, as well as a practically useful thing).

VI. Working on the title of the poem

What do you think the poem is called?

(“Cruel fairy tale”, “New fairy tale”, “Modern fairy tale”, “Terrible fairy tale”. As a rule, none of the students can answer this question correctly, although the essence of the problem is understood correctly)

The poem by Yu. Kuznetsov is called “Atomic Tale”. Why is the fairy tale “atomic”?

(The atom is not only peaceful energy, but also something that can lead the world to disaster. The well-being of people depends on the choice that each of us makes).

VII. Homework or, if you have time, independent work in class

Summarize the work on the poem by composing your own “Atomic Tale.”

Notes

The answers given in brackets were given by 8th grade students.