Yunna Moritz stories for children. Yunna Moritz

It happened that no matter what I write,

For some, everything doesn’t smell like Russia...

A. S. Pushkin. Delvigu Ivan Solomonovich Byron, a literary, artistic and socio-political translator from Polish, clasped his hands on his lower back, and went for a walk on a summer evening in the alleys of pure spirit. And he was found there in a garbage can filled with pure diamonds. And there were half a kilo of diamonds in that bucket, or even six hundred grams - by eye.

Very cool people went to this bucket at night - due to the shutdown of the toilet in the mansion, where they were repairing the spirit of the Silver Age. But due to exceptional circumstances and the classical unity of action, place and time, about which one can only form countless guesses in the mind, a trash can with diamonds suddenly descended from the window to the ground through a bundle of sheets the color of wet asphalt. Such a bundle was threaded under the handle of the bucket, and the moment it landed, it was pulled back into the window like a quiet noodle.

The bucket, oscillating from within with its varied contents, began to move oscillatingly down the street, slippery after the rain on Thursday.

The pedestrian instantly understood what he was dealing with, since in the last years of the second millennium he was literally haunted by mind-blowing successes, indescribable luck and prosperity. After the abomination of desolation and the emptiness of freezing, a shower of miracles suddenly fell upon him. He was completely ready for this downpour a long time ago and waited, enduring shudderingly long humiliations and agonizing hopelessness in the strain of his exemplary labors.

And now, finally, it serves him right, rightly so - miracles rain down on him one after another, the sky is filled with diamonds, and in the trash can - pure diamonds. Only by this time people for the most part had become disgusting and hateful to him, like cockroaches; he was sick of looking at their gloomy, angry, plebeian faces, and the speech of these faces was just garbage. And worse, even in two hundred years there will be no Great Britain here. Great is the finding of the face... Therefore, I.S.

Byron now constantly reads in transport, so as not to look at people and, behind the backdrop of reading, not to see their faces, this is the reality at the moment.

However, I was personally sent from heaven and ordered to give orders! - this is what Byron thought in the alleys of pure spirit and with respectful gratitude took the trash can with diamonds... Moreover, it must be said that his suffocatingly tiny two-room apartment with low ceilings in a cooperative brick mid-century, in which you and I live and which we We are living with you, dear reader, was chock-full of luxurious antiques from our garbage dumps, from where Byron with his own hands all his life retrieved wondrous things and restored them himself with impeccable taste, combining chic, erudition and meticulous pedantry.

Arriving home, he immediately took down from a shelf found in a trash heap an antique volume, found in a heap and bound with his own hand in morocco with gold embossing, which he had also once found in a heap. There was a wonderful article there, explaining in detail and intelligently how diamonds are removed from a garbage can and restored to their “pure water” nobility. Understanding as well as we do that almost a century and a half has passed since the publication of this manual and since then much more modern means and methods have appeared, yet Byron was not flattered by them, but did his job, as was customary in the old days, when happy serfs glowed with spirituality , they doted on the master and were not yet touched by any damage either to the language or to the mass of people’s faces.

About a week later Byron made full list acquaintances whose acquaintances may have acquaintances who are interested in pure diamonds for purchasing them individually and in bulk.

Many people immediately wanted to buy, but for some reason, certainly in finished products - in rings, bracelets, earrings, belts, tiaras, combs, pins, cufflinks, buckles, cups, covers, frames, binoculars, even in the backs and armrests of chairs, even in bathroom tiles - but no one wanted it separately, naked. But they all promised to quickly find buyers, believing that this was just - as simple as shelling pears and easier than ever, since the most opportune times had come.

It happened that someone ill-mannered would suddenly ask:

Where did you get so much?..

Then Byron immediately answered them:

Well, you see, due to historical circumstances known to you, would you like a cup of coffee? - in my youth, I wandered for a long time in the regions where these pebbles, wrapped in a piece of newspaper, could easily plug a bottle with the remains of vodka. Diamonds lay there underfoot, like lemons in Spain, they were often used to pay for some work, and I kept them until better times.

After about two months, buyers came in a flood, taking lots and lots of them, in large quantities, glasses, cans, buckets. But there were no less stones left than there were!.. And right there Byron again felt like a loser, who, on the crest of his miracles and heavenly luck, got involved with a hellish scammer and is now doomed to Sisyphean labor, as in the old days, when nothing succeeded he had to get to the winning place and there was no way he could demonstrate an absolute and obvious ability to solve at least one of his problems. Again he was exhausted by a dull feeling of powerlessness, humiliating torment, endlessly nourished by the concentration of the whole organism on the only goal - to see the end, which is the crown of the matter.

But the more time, connections, work and imagination he spent searching for buyers and the lower he lowered the price in order to end this business once and for all, the stronger and more inevitable his melancholy burst and the premonition tormented him that this business would not end during his lifetime good!..

Every night Byron counted his pure diamonds. There were still just as many of them!.. And he could no longer think about anything else and could not do anything else, although at social balls and receptions they still sometimes rustled in an enthusiastic whisper: “Here comes Byron, Ivan Solomonovich!..” Sometimes he I really wanted to take a walk, stroll along that musical street where that garbage can of diamonds had found him. But the portrait of Fyodor Mikhailovich, which he once found in a trash heap in a chic frame, did not let him go one step in that direction and directly ordered him under no circumstances, under any pretext or guise, not to return there and to avoid that very street in every possible way making a detour.

Moreover, it pulled him there inevitably, pushing him in the back with a hellish wave, breathing in the back of his head and dragging his legs with small tremors. Well, at least don’t leave the house! And, in order to stop this vicious craving and his bad lack of will, Byron decided to go on a trip around the world. Where to put endless pure diamonds while you are away? Where?!

One very experienced person advised him to take diamonds with him, since they in suitcases do not glow under any X-rays when you go through customs, and do not ring like metals, and they do not smell like drugs.

A wonderful idea!.. Byron took them with him in a simple suitcase and decided to travel around the world until he stopped being drawn to that suspicious Moscow street.

About three months later, Byron blossomed again. He completely got rid of tortured melancholy, drilling fear and panic obsessions. Byron ate exclusively from gardens, vegetable gardens and the sea. Byron enjoyed museums, theaters, beaches, sailing boats, especially opera and horse riding. He had a very developed sense of beauty, and he even fell in love with a Greek woman whom he met in an olive grove, and then in a lemon grove.

One evening, when it was early in the morning, Byron went for a walk in the alleys of pure spirit on the other side of the world, whistling “Beauty's Heart” and clasping his hands at the small of his back. Suddenly, a bunch of sheets the color of wet asphalt threw themselves out of a luxurious Venetian window, grabbed Byron by the chin and dragged him entirely into the window, like a quiet noodle. He didn’t even have time to exhale a scream, he didn’t understand anything at all, well, nothing at all - it seemed to him that he was simply entangled in some kind of kite launched to fly from earth to sky.

Yunna MORITZ

Tales of miracles

Yunna Moritz

“Stories of the Miraculous” is the short prose of Yunna Moritz of mysterious power and beauty, her “pornographic stories.” No one else can tell such stories. This is a special “book creation and drawing” of the Russian story, the nature of which is the scope of divine freedom.

WASH BUCKET

WITH PURE WATER DIAMONDS

It happened that no matter what I write,

For some, everything doesn’t smell like Russia...

The bucket, oscillating from within with its varied contents, began to move oscillatingly down the street, slippery after the rain on Thursday.

Byron now constantly reads in transport, so as not to look at people and, behind the backdrop of reading, not to see their faces, this is the reality at the moment.

- However, I was personally sent from heaven and ordered to give orders! - this is what Byron thought in the alleys of pure spirit and with respectful gratitude took the trash can with diamonds... Moreover, it must be said that his suffocatingly tiny two-room apartment with low ceilings in a mid-century cooperative brick building, in which you and I live and which we We are living with you, dear reader, was chock-full of luxurious antiques from our garbage dumps, from where Byron with his own hands all his life retrieved wondrous things and restored them himself with impeccable taste, combining chic, erudition and meticulous pedantry.

About a week later, Byron prepared a complete list of acquaintances whose acquaintances might have acquaintances who were interested in pure diamonds for purchasing them individually and in bulk.

It happened that someone ill-mannered would suddenly ask:

- Where did you get so much?..

Then Byron immediately answered them:

- Well, you see, due to the historical circumstances known to you, would you like a cup of coffee? – in my youth, I wandered for a long time in the regions where these pebbles, wrapped in a piece of newspaper, could easily plug a bottle with the remains of vodka. Diamonds lay there underfoot, like lemons in Spain, they were often used to pay for some work, and I kept them until better times.

Every night Byron counted his pure diamonds. There were still just as many of them!.. And he could no longer think about anything else and could not do anything else, although at social balls and receptions they still sometimes rustled in enthusiastic whispers: “Here comes Byron, Ivan Solomonovich!..” Sometimes he I really wanted to take a walk, stroll along that musical street where that garbage can of diamonds had found him. But the portrait of Fyodor Mikhailovich, which he once found in a trash heap in a luxurious frame, did not let him go one step in that direction and directly ordered him under no circumstances, under any pretext or guise, not to return there and in every possible way to bypass that very street. making a detour.

A wonderful idea!.. Byron took them with him in a simple suitcase and decided to travel around the world until he stopped being drawn to that suspicious Moscow street.

One evening, when it was early in the morning, Byron went for a walk in the alleys of pure spirit on the other side of the world, whistling "Beauty's Heart" and clasping his hands at the small of his back. Suddenly, a bunch of sheets the color of wet asphalt threw out of a luxurious Venetian window, grabbed Byron by the chin and dragged him entirely into the window, like a quiet noodle. He didn’t even have time to exhale a scream, he didn’t understand anything at all, well, nothing at all - it seemed to him that he was simply entangled in some kind of kite launched to fly from earth to sky.

– A stuffed bird is worth more than a bird! - the last thing Byron heard in this world, but from whom?.. From the air?.. Attention, says the air?.. But the air ran out.

His body was found in the bay. The suitcase disappeared without a trace. His corpse was identified by his hands clasped at the waist, and his body was returned to his homeland. Byron was terribly lonely, but someone is constantly looking after his grave, there is always that same bucket, but already covered with wonderful enamel inside and out - and full of flowers.

The window from which this trash can with diamonds came down to the ground - I know what street it is on, but I won’t tell you. I have not yet been ordered to reveal this wondrous secret to you. Outside that window, the spirit of the Silver Age has already been completely renovated and they are spitting through the balcony. Somehow, miraculously, they came into possession of a musical sofa that Byron found in the trash heap. Every hour he sings, this sofa, and can be heard in all corners of the world.

THE SECRET LIFE OF ANGELINA SUKOVA

The ghost was furious. He came to her every night not on his own...

Yunna Moritz is the author of books of poetry, such as “Face” (2000), “In this way” (2000), as well as poetic children’s books “Bouquet of Cats” (1997), “Big Secret for a Small Company” ( 1987). Many songs have been created based on Moritz's poems.
A short biography of Yunna Moritz proves that she is a good artist. In her books there are many sheets of author's graphics, which are defined as poetry.

Yunna Moritz was born on June 2, 1937 in Kyiv. Then her father was also arrested, and after a while he was released, but after that he became suddenly blind. The poetess stated that it was this feature of her father that had a great influence on the development of her worldview.
In 1954, Yunna graduated from Kyiv school and enrolled in the philological department of Kyiv University. At this time she began her early periodic publications.
In 1955, the poetess entered the Literary Institute in Moscow to study poetry. She graduated from it in 1961, despite the fact that in 1957 she was expelled from there for “wrong sentiments” in literature.
In 1961, Yunna’s first book, Cape Desire (in honor of the cape on Novaya Zemlya), was published, which was based on the mood after a trip to the Arctic in the summer of 56.

Her books were refused publication because of the poems “In Memory of Titian Tabidze” and “Fist Fight”. From 1961-70 (at that time there were “black lists” for publishing houses and censorship), as well as from 1990-2000. they didn't come out. But even with the ban, “Fist Fight” was published by the head of the department of the Young Guard publication, Vladimir Tsybin. After this he was fired.

Lyrics in verse by Yu. Moritz

The lyrics of resistance are present in the book “By the Law - Hello to the Postman,” as Yunna Moritz herself openly states. Her biography also mentions the poem “The Star of Serbia” (about bombs in Belgrade), which is dedicated to human dignity and life. It is published in the book “Face”. The prose cycle “Stories about the Miraculous” is also devoted to the same topics. These works were published in Literaturnaya Gazeta and abroad. Then they were combined into one book.
The poetess wrote her lyrical poems in the best classical traditions, but at the same time they are completely modern, like Yunna Moritz herself. The biography lists the poetess's literary passions as Pushkin, Pasternak, Akhmatova, Tsvetaeva, and her teachers as Andrei Platonov and Thomas Mann. The writer includes Khlebnikov, Homer, and Blok among her poetry.

The language of Yuna Moritz's poems

The poetess’s language is simple and natural, without unnecessary pathos. She uses precise rhymes along with assonance - all this distinguishes her poetry from other authors. Her poems often contain repetitions and metaphors, which Yunna Moritz specifically incorporates into her works. The biography says that in her works the writer tries to get to the essence of existence.
Y. Moritz wrote scripts for the cartoons “The Boy Walked, the Owl Flew” and “A Big Secret for a Small Company.”
Her poems were translated by Thomas Whitney, Elaine Feinstein, Lydia Pasternak and others. The author's works have been translated into all languages in Europe, also into Chinese and Japanese.

Yunna Petrovna Moritz received the Russian Triumph Prize, the Italian Golden Rose, and the national Book of the Year.

Creation

The writer dynamically and multidimensionally compares and contrasts life and creativity. For her, art is an irreplaceable part of life, which has equal rights in relation to man and nature and does not need to be justified by artistic goals, as Yunna Moritz herself defines. The biography of the poetess describes her lyrical heroine.

The character of the poetess's lyrical hero is distinguished by his extraordinary temperament, categorical judgments, and uncompromisingness. All this leads to isolation.
The poetess used the style of the “Silver Age”. In his literary practice, Moritz continues the Akhmatova and Tsvetaeva traditions. Also, her poetry echoes Blok’s world (connects the high and the low). The work of Y. Moritz is an example of the harmony of the impulses of poetry, which are obtained from the symbolist, futurist and acmeist artistic systems.

The poetess received her individual style in the early 60s, and her further literary path is the realization of identified opportunities. Here Moritz refers to poets without history, as Tsvetaeva said. Her poems are devoted to the eternal themes of life and death, creativity and love. She also translated foreign poets - Moses Teyf, Miguel Hernandez and others.

Yunna Moritz, biography for children

Y. Moritz presents childhood as the mystery of the world order and the mystery of poetry. Her poems for children are distinguished by humor, paradox, and kindness. The birth of a son and a more loyal attitude towards children's literature in publishing houses prompted me to write poetry for children. In children's books, Yunna Petrovna shows a paradise in which miracles and fairy tales happen. The dream turns real world in fantastic.

An important place belongs to epithets (“crimson” cat, “rubber” hedgehog). They are accurately perceived by readers.
Yunna Moritz's poems are distinguished by their musicality. Thanks to this, many poems became songs - “Rubber Hedgehog”, “Dog can be biters”, etc.
In his children's poems, Moritz shows joy, sometimes loud and festive, sometimes muted and lyrical (“Bouquet of Cats”). Her poems are also heard in theatrical productions.

Greetings, and today we are talking again about books for children, about children's poetry.

You probably remember songs from your childhood about a rubber hedgehog and a dog that can bite. These songs are performed by Tatyana and Sergei Nikitin, and the author of the poems is the poetess Yunna Moritz. The author has a difficult fate; for a very long time her works were persecuted on the territory of the USSR and Russia. But this is about adult lyrics.
Today we are talking about the children's Yunna Moritz, about her magnificent, funny, sometimes absurd poems for children!

I divided the work of this poetess into three parts.
The first is poetry that is impossible not to sing. It was with them that my son’s acquaintance with the work of this author began. We listened to them and sang ourselves. Some songs you probably remember, others you will get to know right now. While I was writing this article, I discovered some amazing songs myself!

And now the poems are NOT songs!

We have at home here is a collection of poems by Yunna Moritz .

I really like this publication; the mischievous poems of the poetess here are complemented by the lively, kind and slightly strange illustrations of Evgeny Antonenkov.

The second part for me is light, funny poems that children of 2-3 years will like:

Someone's tail appeared.

This tail is not so simple!…

Someone went out to investigate

His tail stuck through the door like a branch...

____________________________

There is a hut in the forest,

And Parsley lives in it,

An animal is coming towards him

Jump and play!

Deer,

Rhinoceroses,

Bears from the den

They come after each other

Jump and play!…

We remember wonderful poems about “The Wonderful Blot” when we play blots with our son:

In every blot

Someone is there

If in a blot

Finger in.

In this blot -

Cat with a tail

Under the tail -

River with a bridge

navigable river

For ships and zander A…

But here is an absolutely stunning and educational poem about the days of the week - you could stage a whole performance based on it:

-Where is the slacker Monday?-

Tuesday asks.

-Monday is not a slacker,

He's no slacker

He's an excellent janitor.

It's for Chef Wednesday

He brought a tub of water.

Fireman Thursday

He made a poker.

But Friday came

Shy, neat.

He left all his work

And I went with her on Saturday

By Sunday for lunch.

I gave it to you

Hello.

The third part consists of poems with subtle humor that will appeal more to schoolchildren and adults. (For example, read a poem about dirty socks to your husbands;). A poem about a cheerful frog is very motivating and uplifting:)

Separately, we can say about crazy poems that evoke contradictory emotions from delight to irritation, from wild laughter to bewilderment...

... A watermelon is flying above the ground.

He chirps and whistles:

"I am mustard, I am lemon,

I'm closed for renovations. ..

... A buffet runs along the river,

It contains a big secret.

He acts in films -

Everyone will love it!…

...I - tiryam-tiryam - strollers,

Two mustachioed pandemoniums.”

Barefoot, crowd, running

Catches the wind with your boot...

This is Yunna Moritz - she may not be for everyone, but give it a try! I started writing just an article, but it turned out to be a two-day immersion with my son into the poetess’s work - books, songs and even cartoons.

When you choose books for children, remember these mischievous poems with unbridled flights of imagination.

As a rule, bare numbers of dates cover up the main circumstances.

Born on June 2, 1937 in Kyiv. Father had double higher education: engineering and legal, he worked as an engineer on transport lines. Mother graduated from high school before the revolution, gave lessons in French and mathematics, worked in the arts, as a nurse in a hospital, and in other jobs, even as a woodcutter.

In the year of my birth, my father was arrested on a slanderous denunciation, after several tortured months he was found innocent, he returned, but quickly began to go blind. My father's blindness had an enormous impact on the development of my inner vision.

In 1941-45, my mother, father, older sister and I lived in Chelyabinsk, my father worked at a military plant.

In 1954 I graduated from school in Kyiv and entered the extramural Faculty of Philology.

In 1955 she entered the full-time poetry department of the Literary Institute in Moscow and graduated in 1961.

In the summer - autumn of 1956, I sailed around the Arctic on the icebreaker "Sedov" and visited many wintering grounds, including Cape Zhelaniya, on Novaya Zemlya, in the area of which the "non-peaceful atom" was tested. The people of the Arctic, winterers, pilots, sailors, their way of life, work (including scientific work), the laws of the Arctic community influenced my 19-year-old personality so much that I was very quickly expelled from the Literary Institute for “increasing unhealthy moods in creativity” and published a huge devastating article in Izvestia signed by V. Zhuravlev, who later became famous for publishing poems by Anna Akhmatova in the same Izvestia, signing them with his own name and making minor corrections to them.

In 1961, my first book was published in Moscow, “Cape of Zhelaniya” (no romantic “desires”!.. purely geographical name cape on Novaya Zemlya), - Nikolai Tikhonov pushed the book into print, when once again I was accused of being not ours, not a Soviet poet, whose talent is especially harmful, since it strongly and vividly affects the reader in the spirit of the West.

My second book, “The Vine,” was published in Moscow 9 years later, in 1970, because I was blacklisted for the poems “In Memory of Titian Tabidze,” written in 1962. I am convinced that all the “black lists” in the department of literature, always and now, are composed by some writers against others, because repression is a very profitable business.

Due to the fact that my poems for children were not yet known to anyone and therefore were not banned, in 1963 I was able to publish a bunch of poems for children in the magazine “Youth”, where on this occasion a column “For younger brothers and sisters” appeared. The reader instantly paid me with love.

Dealing with the poetics of personality and languages visual arts and the philosophy of the poetic world, I then received great pleasure from the fact that the “black lists” shone so brightly and only expanded the circle of loving readers.

From 1970 to 1990, I published books of lyrics: “The Vine”, “A Harsh Thread”, “In the Light of Life”, “The Third Eye”, “Favorites”, “Blue Fire”, “On This High Shore”, “In the Lair of a Voice” ". After that it was not published for 10 years.

“Face” (2000), “Thus” (2000,2001), “According to the law - hello to the postman” (2005, 2006) were published with the inclusion of pages of my graphics and paintings, which are not illustrations, these are poems, in that language.

For many years I was not allowed to go abroad, despite hundreds of invitations from international poetry festivals, forums, universities and the media - they were afraid that I would run away and thereby ruin international relations. But still, since 1985, I had author’s evenings at all the famous international poetry festivals in London, Cambridge, Rotterdam, Toronto, Philadelphia. The poems have been translated into all major European languages, also into Japanese, Turkish, and Chinese.

Now those who were afraid that I would run away are afraid that I will not run away, but will write more than one “Star of Serbosty.” And let them be afraid!..

A sloppy article appeared in Izvestia, and then in other newspapers, where they called me a State Prize laureate and did not apologize to the readers for this mistake. My awards are as follows: “Golden Rose” (Italy), “Triumph” (Russia), A.D. Sakharov (Russia).

My distant ancestors came to Russia from Spain, and along the way they lived in Germany.

I believe in the Creator of the Universes, in beginninglessness and infinity, in the immortality of the soul. I have never been an atheist and have never been a member of any religious community.

Many sites that publish lists of Masons in Russia have given me the honor of being on these lists. But I'm not a Mason.