Let's indulge in running. "Winter Morning" A

Painting by Gustav Courbet "The Outskirts of a Village in Winter"

Through the wavy mists
The moon creeps in
To the sad meadows
She sheds a sad light.

On the winter, boring road
Three greyhounds are running,
Single bell
It rattles tiresomely.

Something sounds familiar
In the coachman's long songs:
That reckless revelry
That's heartbreak...

Painting by Nikolai Krymov "Winter Evening"

IT WAS AUTUMN WEATHER THAT YEAR

That year the weather was autumn
She stood in the yard for a long time.
Winter was waiting, nature was waiting,
Snow only fell in January
On the third night. Waking up early
Tatiana saw in the window
In the morning the yard turned white,
Curtains, roofs and fences,
There are light patterns on the glass,
Trees in winter silver,
Forty merry ones in the yard
And softly carpeted mountains
Winter is a brilliant carpet.
Everything is bright, everything sparkles all around.

Painting by Arkady Plastov "First Snow"

WHAT A NIGHT! CRACKING FROST

What a night! Frost is bitter,
There is not a single cloud in the sky;
Like an embroidered canopy, a blue vault
Replete with frequent stars.
Everything in the houses is dark. At the gate
Locks with heavy locks.
People are buried everywhere;
Both the noise and the shout of the trade died down;
As soon as the yard guard barks
Yes, the chain rattles loudly.

And all of Moscow is sleeping peacefully...

Konstantin Yuon "End of Winter. Midday"

WINTER MORNING

You are still dozing, dear friend -

It's time, beauty, wake up:

Open your closed eyes

Towards northern Aurora,

Be the star of the north!

In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,

There was darkness in the cloudy sky;

The moon is like a pale spot

Through the dark clouds it turned yellow,

And you sat sad -

And now..... look out the window:

Under blue skies

Magnificent carpets,

Glistening in the sun, the snow lies;

The transparent forest alone turns black,

And the spruce turns green through the frost,

And the river glitters under the ice.

The whole room has an amber shine

Illuminated. Cheerful crackling

The flooded stove crackles.

It's nice to think by the bed.

But you know: shouldn’t I tell you to get into the sleigh?

Ban the brown filly?

Sliding on the morning snow,

Dear friend, let's indulge in running

impatient horse

And we'll visit the empty fields,

The forests, recently so dense,

And the shore, dear to me.

1829

Analysis of the poem “Winter Morning” by Pushkin (1)

Pushkin is considered one of the founders of the modern Russian language. “Winter Morning” is one of the small but important building blocks in this matter. The poem is written in simple and understandable language. Iambic tetrameter, which the poet loved so much, is ideal for describing the beauty of the landscape. The work is imbued with extraordinary purity and clarity. Main expressive means are numerous epithets. The past sad day includes: “cloudy”, “pale”, “gloomy”. A real joyful day is “magnificent”, “transparent”, “amber”. The central comparison of the poem is dedicated to the beloved woman - the “star of the north.”

There is no hidden philosophical meaning in the poem, no omissions or allegories. Without using beautiful phrases and expressions, Pushkin painted a magnificent picture that cannot leave anyone indifferent.

Analysis of Pushkin’s poem “Winter Morning” (2)

From the very first lines, Alexander Pushkin puts the reader in a romantic mood, in a few simple and elegant phrases describing the beauty of winter nature, when the duet of frost and sun creates an unusually festive and optimistic mood. To enhance the effect, the poet builds his work on contrast, mentioning that just yesterday “the blizzard was angry” and “darkness rushed across the cloudy sky.” Perhaps each of us is very familiar with such metamorphoses, when in the midst of winter endless snowfalls are replaced by a sunny and clear morning filled with silence and inexplicable beauty.

On days like these, it’s simply a sin to sit at home, no matter how comfortably the fire crackles in the fireplace. And in every line of Pushkin’s “Winter Morning” there is a call to go for a walk, which promises a lot of unforgettable impressions. Especially if outside the window there are amazingly beautiful landscapes - a river glistening under the ice, forests and meadows dusted with snow, which resemble a snow-white blanket woven by someone’s skillful hand.

Every line of this poem is literally permeated with freshness and purity, as well as admiration and admiration for beauty. native land, which never ceases to amaze the poet at any time of the year. Moreover, Alexander Pushkin does not seek to hide his overwhelming feelings, as many of his fellow writers did in the 19th century. Therefore, in the poem “Winter Morning” there is no pretentiousness and restraint inherent in other authors, but at the same time, each line is imbued with warmth, grace and harmony. In addition, simple joys in the form of a sleigh ride give the poet true happiness and help him fully experience the greatness of Russian nature, changeable, luxurious and unpredictable.

The poem “Winter Morning” by Alexander Pushkin is rightfully considered one of the most beautiful and sublime works of the poet. It lacks the causticity so characteristic of the author, and there is no usual allegory, which makes you look for the hidden meaning in every line. These works are the embodiment of tenderness, light and beauty. Therefore, it is not surprising that it is written in light and melodic iambic tetrameter, to which Pushkin resorted quite often in those cases when he wanted to give his poems special sophistication and lightness. Even in the contrasting description of bad weather, which is intended to emphasize the freshness and brightness of a sunny winter morning, there is no usual concentration of colors: a snow storm is presented as a fleeting phenomenon that is not able to darken the expectations of a new day filled with majestic calm.

At the same time, the author himself never ceases to be amazed at such dramatic changes that occurred in just one night. It’s as if nature itself acted as the tamer of an insidious blizzard, forcing her to change her anger to mercy and, thereby, giving people an amazingly beautiful morning, filled with frosty freshness, the creaking of fluffy snow, the ringing silence of silent snowy plains and charm sun rays shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow in frosty window patterns.

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Reading the first stanza:

Frost and sun; wonderful day!
You are still dozing, dear friend -
It's time, beauty, wake up:
Open your closed eyes
Towards northern Aurora,
Be the star of the north!

Let's pay attention to lines 4-6. They contain not only "dark" words, although their obscurity may not be noticed, but also two now outdated archaic facts of grammar. Firstly, aren’t we surprised by the phrase “open your eyes”? After all, now you can only cast your gaze, direct your gaze, lower your gaze, but not open it. Here the noun gazes has the old meaning of “eyes.” The word gaze with this meaning is constantly found in artistic speech of the first half of the 19th century. The participle “closed” is of unconditional interest here. A short participle, as you know, is always a predicate in a sentence. But then, where is the subject to which it refers? In meaning, the word closed clearly gravitates towards the noun gazes, but it is (open what?) an undoubted direct object. This means “closed” is the definition of the word “gaze”.

But why then are they closed and not closed? Before us is the so-called truncated participle, which, like the truncated adjective, was one of the favorite poetic liberties of poets of the 18th - first half of the 19th centuries.

Now let's touch on one more word in this line. This is the noun "bliss". It is also not without interest. In S.I. Ozhegov’s dictionary it is interpreted: “Nega - i.zh. (obsolete) 1. Complete contentment. Live in bliss. 2. Bliss, a pleasant state. Indulge in bliss."

“The Dictionary of Pushkin’s Language” notes along with this the following meanings: “State of serene peace” and “sensual intoxication, pleasure.” The word bliss does not correspond to the listed meanings in the poem in question. In this case, it is best translated into modern Russian by the word sleep, since sleep is the most complete “state of serene peace.”

Let's go down a line below. Here, too, linguistic facts await us that require clarification. There are two of them. Firstly, this is the word Aurora. As a proper name, it begins with a capital letter, but in its meaning it acts here as a common noun: the Latin name of the goddess of the morning dawn names the morning dawn itself. Secondly, his grammatical form. Indeed, now after the preposition towards, the dative case of the noun follows and, according to modern rules, it should be “Towards northern Aurora”. And the genitive case is Aurora. This is not a typo or an error, but a now obsolete archaic form. Previously, the preposition towards required a noun in the genitive case after itself. For Pushkin and his contemporaries this was the norm.

Let's say a few words about the phrase “Appear as a star of the north.” The word star (of the north) here means the most worthy woman in St. Petersburg, and is not used in direct meaning- heavenly body.

Second stanza

In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,
There was darkness in the cloudy sky;
The moon is like a pale spot
Through the dark clouds it turned yellow,
And you sat sad -
And now... look out the window:

Here we will pay attention to the words evening and darkness. We know that the word vecher means yesterday evening. In common usage, the word haze now means darkness, gloom. The poet uses this word to mean “thick snow, hiding everything around in the fog, like a kind of curtain.”

Third stanza

Under blue skies
Magnificent carpets,
Glistening in the sun, the snow lies;
The transparent forest alone turns black,
And the spruce turns green through the frost,
And the river glitters under the ice.

The third stanza of the poem is distinguished by its linguistic transparency. There is nothing out-of-date about it, and it does not need any explanation.

4th and 5th stanzas

The whole room has an amber shine
Illuminated. Cheerful crackling
The flooded stove crackles.
It's nice to think by the bed.
But you know: shouldn’t I tell you to get into the sleigh?
Ban the brown filly?

Sliding on the morning snow,
Dear friend, let's indulge in running
impatient horse
And we'll visit the empty fields,
The forests, recently so dense,
And the shore, dear to me.

There are linguistic “peculiarities” here. Here the poet says: “It’s nice to think by the couch.”

Analysis of incomprehensible words and expressions

Here the poet says: “It’s nice to think by the couch.” Do you understand this proposal? It turns out not. The word bed is bothering us here. A lounger is a low (at the level of a modern bed) ledge near a Russian stove, on which, while warming up, they rested or slept.

At the very end of this stanza, the word ban sounds strange and unusual instead of the normative, correct modern harness from the verb harness. At the time, both forms existed on equal terms, and, undoubtedly, the form “to ban” appeared here in Pushkin for rhyming as a fact of poetic license, which was determined by the word stove that stood above.

Pushkin's poems

Winter morning

Frost and sun; wonderful day!

You are still dozing, dear friend -

It's time, beauty, wake up;

Open up closed eyes

Towards northern Aurora,

Be the star of the north!

In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,

There was darkness in the cloudy sky;

The moon is like a pale spot

Through the dark clouds it turned yellow,

And you sat sad -

And now... look out the window:

Under blue skies

Magnificent carpets,

Glistening in the sun, the snow lies;

The transparent forest alone turns black,

And the spruce turns green through the frost,

And the river glitters under the ice.

The whole room has an amber shine

Illuminated. Cheerful crackling

The flooded stove crackles.

It's nice to think by the bed.

But you know: shouldn’t I tell you to get into the sleigh?

Ban the brown filly?

Sliding on the morning snow,

Dear friend, let's indulge in running

impatient horse

And we'll visit the empty fields,

The forests, recently so dense,

And the shore, dear to me.

To the poet

Poet! do not value people's love.

There will be a momentary noise of enthusiastic praise;

You will hear the judgment of a fool and the laughter of a cold crowd,

But you remain firm, calm and gloomy.

You are the king: live alone. On the road to freedom

Go where your free mind takes you,

Improving the fruits of your favorite thoughts,

Not demanding rewards for a noble feat.

They are in you. You are your own highest court;

You know how to evaluate your work more strictly than anyone else.

Are you satisfied with it, discerning artist?

Satisfied? So let the crowd scold him

And spits on the altar where your fire burns,

And your tripod shakes in childish playfulness.

Madonna

Not many paintings by ancient masters

I always wanted to decorate my abode,

So that the visitor might superstitiously marvel at them,

Heeding the important judgment of experts.

In my simple corner, amidst slow labors,

I wanted to be forever a spectator of one picture,

One: so that from the canvas, like from the clouds,

Most Pure and our divine savior -

She with greatness, he with intelligence in his eyes -

They looked, meek, in glory and in the rays,

Alone, without angels, under the palm of Zion.

My wishes came true. Creator

Sent you to me, you, my Madonna,

The purest beauty, the purest example

No, I don't value rebellious pleasure

Sensual delight, madness, frenzy,

With the lamentations and cries of the young bacchante,

When, curling in my arms like a snake,

With a burst of ardent caresses and an ulcer of kisses

She is hastening the moment of the last shudders!

Oh, how sweeter you are, my humble girl!

Oh, how painfully happy I am with you,

When, bending over for long prayers,

You surrender to me tenderly without rapture,

Shy - cold, to my delight

You barely respond, you don’t listen to anything

And then you become more and more animated -

And you finally share my flame against your will!

Desert fathers and blameless wives,

To fly with your heart into the field of correspondence,

To strengthen it in the midst of long storms and battles,

They composed many divine prayers;

But none of them touches me,

Like the one the priest repeats

In sad days of Great Lent;

Most often it comes to my lips

And he strengthens the fallen with an unknown force:

Vladyko my days! sad spirit of idleness,

Lustful beginnings , this hidden serpent,

And do not give idle talk to my soul.

But let me see my sins, oh God,

Yes, my brother will not accept condemnation from me,

And the spirit of humility, patience, love

And revive chastity in my heart.

It was time: our holiday is young

He shone, made noise and was crowned with roses,

And the clinking of glasses mixed with the songs,

And we sat together in a crowd.

Then, careless ignoramuses at heart,

We all lived easier and bolder,

We drank everything to the health of hope

And youth and all its undertakings.

Now it’s not like that: our riotous holiday

With the arrival of years, like us, I went crazy,

He calmed down, calmed down, settled down,

The ringing of his health bowls became muffled;

The conversation between us does not flow so playfully.

More spacious, sadder we sit,

And less often laughter is heard among the songs,

And more often we sigh and remain silent.

It's time for everything: for the twenty-fifth time

We celebrate the Lyceum's cherished day.

The years have passed in unnoticed succession,

And how they changed us!

No wonder - no! – a quarter of a century has flown by!

Do not complain: this is the law of fate;

The whole world revolves around man,

Will he really be the only one who doesn't move?

Remember, O friends, from that time,

When our circle of fate was connected,

What, what were we witnesses to!

Games of the mysterious game,

rushed about confused nations;

And kings have risen and fallen;

And the blood of people is either Glory or Freedom,

Then Pride stained the altars.

Do you remember: when the lyceum appeared,

How the king opened the Tsaritsyn's palace for us.

And we came. And Kunitsyn met us

Greetings among the royal guests, -

Then the storm of the twelfth year

Still asleep. More Napoleon

Didn't experience the great people -

He still threatened and hesitated.

Do you remember: the army followed the army,

We said goodbye to our older brothers

And they returned to the shadow of science with annoyance,

Jealous of the one who dies

He walked past us... and the tribes fought,

Rus' embraced the arrogant enemy,

And they were illuminated by the glow of Moscow

His shelves are ready with snow.

Do you remember how our Agamemnon

He came rushing to us from captive Paris.

What delight there was then [before him]!

How great he was, how beautiful he was,

Friend of the people, savior of their freedom!

Do you remember how you suddenly perked up?

These gardens, these living waters,

Where he spent his glorious leisure time.

And he is gone - and he left Rus',

Ascended them over the world in amazement

And on the rock as a forgotten exile,

A stranger to everything, Napoleon has faded away.

And the new king, stern and mighty,

At the turn of Europe he became cheerful,

[And above the earth] new clouds came together,

And their hurricane...

It's time, my friend, it's time! [peace] the heart asks -

Days fly by, and every hour carries away

A piece of existence, and you and I together

We assume live, and lo and behold, we’ll die.

There is no happiness in the world, but there is peace and will.

I have long dreamed of an enviable share -

Long ago, a tired slave, I planned to escape

To the distant monastery of labors and pure bliss