There is no better native land
Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
-Where is the best land? -
He answered as he flew by:
- There is no better native land!
(P. Voronko)
Motherland
“Motherland” is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends,
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window,
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.
(T. Bokova)
Motherland
Spring, cheerful,
Eternal, kind,
Plowed by tractor
Sown with happiness -
She's all there before our eyes
From south to north!
Dear homeland,
The homeland is fair-haired,
Peaceful-peaceful
Russian-Russian...
(V. Semernin)
Our Motherland
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
It's a long drive from the capital
To any of its borders.
Everything around you is your own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
The rivers sparkle blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
Dear to the heart,
Every rural house is precious.
Everything in battles is taken at some point
And strengthened by labor!
(G. Ladonshchikov)
Hello, my Motherland
In the morning the sun rises,
He's calling us to the street.
I leave the house:
- Hello, my street!
I sing and in silence
The birds sing along with me.
The herbs whisper to me on the way:
- Hurry up, my friend, grow up!
I answer to herbs,
I answer the wind
I answer the sun:
- Hello, my Motherland!
(V. Orlov)
Go beyond the seas and oceans
Go beyond the seas and oceans,
You have to fly across the entire earth:
There are different countries in the world,
But you won’t find one like ours.
Our bright waters are deep,
The land is wide and free,
And the factories thunder without ceasing,
And the fields are noisy, blossoming...
(M. Isakovsky)
Key words
We learned in kindergarten
We are beautiful words.
They were read for the first time:
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
Spring and summer will fly by.
The foliage will become sunny.
Illuminated with new light
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
The sun shines kindly on us.
Blue is pouring from the sky.
May they always live in the world
Mom, Motherland, Moscow!
(L. Olifirova)
Home country
In the wide open space
Before dawn
Scarlet dawns have risen
Over my native country.
Every year it gets more beautiful
Dear countries...
Better than our Motherland
Not in the world, friends!
(A. Prokofiev)
What we call Motherland
What do we call Motherland?
The house where you and I live,
And the birch trees along which
We walk next to mom.
What do we call Motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs,
Warm evening outside the window.
What do we call Motherland?
Everything that we cherish in our hearts,
And under the blue-blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin.
(V. Stepanov)
Coat of arms of Russia
Russia has a majestic
The coat of arms has a double-headed eagle,
So that to the west and east
He could have looked right away.
He is strong, wise and proud.
He is Russia's free spirit.
(V. Stepanov)
Vast country
If for a long, long, long time
We're going to fly on the plane,
If for a long, long, long time
We should look at Russia,
We'll see then
And forests and cities,
Ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra, where spring rings,
And then we will understand what
Our Motherland is big,
An immense country.
(V. Stepanov)
Native
I found out that I have
There is a huge family
And the path and the forest,
Every spikelet in the field,
River, blue sky -
This is all mine, dear,
This is my homeland
I love everyone in the world!
(V. Orlov)
Flag of Russia
White color - birch,
Blue is the color of the sky.
Red stripe -
Sunny dawn.
(V. Stepanov)
Russian flag - tricolor
Russian flag - tricolor,
Three stripes catch the eye.
And each one has a new color,
And color has its own secret.
Below red is the brightest,
The color of victories in hot battles,
What was gained with Russian blood?
And they are not forgotten by the people.
In the middle of the flag is blue,
Like the Volga across the plain...
Blue of the native rivers
Russian people love.
Above, like clouds
The color of snow and milk.
Pure white is the color of the world,
He says - no more wars!
(I. Ageeva)
Me and We
There are a lot of words in the world,
Like snowflakes in winter.
But let's take these for example:
The word "I" and the word "We".
“I” am lonely in the world,
There is not much use in "I".
One or one
It's hard to cope with adversity.
The word “We” is stronger than “I”.
We are family and we are friends.
We are the people and we are united.
Together we are invincible!
(V. Orlov)
Song of the happiest
These are not fish diving in a pond, -
These are the guys playing in the garden
In the funniest
In the most beautiful
In the happiest
Our garden.
How many bright rays does the sun have, -
We have so many fun and adventures.
The most fun ones
The most beautiful
The happiest
Fun and challenging.
How many grains of sand are there in the depths of the sea?
So many of us are growing up in the country,
In the most fun,
In the most beautiful
In the happiest
Our country.
How many streams gurgle through the ravines -
There are so many songs about the Motherland,
The most fun ones
The most beautiful
The happiest
Songs sound. (N. Sakonskaya)
P. Voronko
Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
-Where is the best land? - He answered, flying:
- There is no better native land!
Motherland
M. Yu. Lermontov
I love my fatherland, but with a strange love!
My reason will not defeat her.
Nor glory bought with blood,
Nor the peace full of proud trust,
Nor the dark old treasured legends
No joyful dreams stir within me.
But I love - for what, I don’t know myself -
Its steppes are coldly silent,
Her boundless forests sway,
The floods of its rivers are like seas;
On a country road I like to ride in a cart
And, with a slow gaze piercing the shadow of the night,
Meet on the sides, sighing for an overnight stay,
The trembling lights of sad villages;
I love the smoke of burnt stubble,
A convoy spending the night in the steppe
And on a hill in the middle of a yellow field
A couple of white birches.
With joy unknown to many,
I see a complete threshing floor
A hut covered with straw
Window with carved shutters;
And on a holiday, on a dewy evening,
Ready to watch until midnight
To dance with stomping and whistling
Under the talk of drunken men.
Go away, Rus'
Goy, Rus', my dear,
The huts are in the robes of the image...
No end in sight -
Only blue sucks his eyes.
Like a visiting pilgrim,
I'm looking at your fields.
And at the low outskirts
The poplars are dying loudly.
Smells like apple and honey
Through the churches, your meek Savior.
And it buzzes behind the bush
There is a merry dance in the meadows.
I'll run along the crumpled stitch
Free green forests,
Towards me, like earrings,
A girl's laughter will ring out.
If the holy army shouts:
“Throw away Rus', live in paradise!”
I will say: “There is no need for heaven,
Give me my homeland."
Sergey Yesenin
1914
For peace, for children
In any part of any country
The guys don't want war.
They will have to enter into life soon,
They need peace, not war,
The green noise of the native forest,
They all need school
And the garden at the peaceful threshold,
Father and mother and father's house.
There's a lot of space in this world
For those who are used to living by hard work.
Our people raised an imperious voice
For all children, for peace, for work!
Let every ear of corn ripen in the field,
Gardens are blooming, forests are growing!
Who sows bread in a peaceful field,
Builds factories, cities,
The one for the children of the orphan's share
He will never wish!
E. Trutneva
About the Motherland
What is called my homeland?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?
That autumn birch tree over there?
Or spring drops?
Or maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a frosty winter day?
Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without my mother's care, dear,
And without friends I don’t feel the same.
That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be side by side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!
Oh, Motherland!
Oh, Motherland! In a dim glow
I catch with my trembling gaze
Your woodlands, copses - Everything that I love without memory:
And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross over the bell tower,
And a low hill with a star...
My grievances and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone there is consolation
And my healing.
A. V. Zhigulin
Motherland
Motherland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.
Tatyana Bokova
Vast country
If for a long, long, long time
We're going to fly on the plane,
If for a long, long, long time
We should look at Russia.
We'll see then
And forests and cities,
Ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra, where spring rings.
And then we will understand what
Our Motherland is big,
An immense country.
Russia is my Motherland!
Russia - You are like a second mother to me,
I grew and grew before Your eyes.
I walk forward confidently and straight,
And I believe in God who lives in heaven!
I love the ringing of Your church bells,
And our rural flowering fields,
I love people, kind and spiritual,
Who were raised by the Russian Land!
I love slender, tall birch trees -
Our sign and symbol of Russian beauty.
I look at them and make sketches,
Like an artist I write my poems.
I could never part with you,
Because I love You with all my heart and soul.
War will come and I will go to fight,
At any moment I want to be only with You!
And if it ever happens,
That fate will separate us from you
I will fight like a bird in a tight cage,
And every Russian here will understand me!
E. Kislyakov
Native land
We don’t carry them on our chests in our treasured amulet,
We don’t write poems about her sobbingly,
She doesn't wake up our bitter dreams,
Doesn't seem like the promised paradise.
We don’t do it in our souls
Subject of purchase and sale,
Sick, in poverty, speechless on her,
We don't even remember her.
Yes, for us it’s dirt on our galoshes,
Yes, for us it's a crunch in the teeth.
And we grind, and knead, and crumble
Those unmixed ashes.
But we lie down in it and become it,
That's why we call it so freely - ours.
Anna Akhmatova
Native picture
Flocks of birds. Road tape.
A fallen fence.
From the foggy sky
The dim day looks sad,
A row of birches, and the view is sad
Roadside pillar.
As if under the weight of heavy sorrow,
The hut swayed.
Half-light and half-dark, -
And you involuntarily rush into the distance,
And involuntarily crushes the soul
Endless sadness.
Konstantin Balmont
Motherland
I will return to you, fields of my fathers,
Peaceful oak groves, sacred shelter to the heart!
I will return to you, home icons!
Let others respect the laws of decency;
Let others honor the jealous judgment of the ignorant;
Free at last from vain hopes,
From restless dreams, from windy desires,
Having drunk the whole cup of trials untimely,
Not the ghost of happiness, but I need happiness.
Tired worker, I hasten to my native country
Fall asleep in the desired sleep under the roof of your dear one.
O fatherly house! O land, always beloved!
Dear heavens! my silent voice
In pensive verses I sang you in a foreign land,
You will bring me peace and happiness.
Like a swimmer in a pier, tested by bad weather,
He listens with a smile, sitting above the abyss,
And the thunderous whistle of the storm and the rebellious roar of the waves,
So, the sky is not begging for honors and gold,
A calm homebody in my unknown house,
Hiding from the crowd of demanding judges,
In the circle of your friends, in the circle of your family,
I will look from afar at the storms of light.
No, no, I will not cancel my sacred vow!
Let the fearless hero fly to the tents;
Let the young lover have bloody battles
He studies with excitement, ruining his golden watch,
The science of measuring combat trenches -
Since childhood, I have loved the sweetest works.
The diligent, peaceful plow, exploding the reins,
More honorable than the sword; useful in a modest way,
I want to cultivate my father's field.
Oratai, who reached the ancient days over the plow,
In sweet worries my mentor will be;
My decrepit father's sons are hardworking
They will help clarify hereditary fields.
And you, my old friend, my faithful well-wisher,
My zealous nurturer, you, the first vegetable garden
Who scouted his father's fields in the days of yore!
You will lead me to your dense gardens,
Tell me the names of the trees and flowers;
I myself, when a luxurious spring comes from heaven
Will breathe the joy of the resurrected nature,
I will appear in the garden with a heavy spade;
I’ll come with you to plant roots and flowers.
O blessed feat! you will not be in vain:
The goddess of pastures is more grateful to fortune!
For them an unknown age, for them a pipe and strings;
They are available to everyone and to me for easy work
They will reward you abundantly with juicy fruits.
From the ridges and the spade I hasten to the fields and the plow;
And where the stream flows through the velvet meadow
The desert streams roll thoughtfully,
On a clear spring day, I myself, my friends,
I’ll plant a secluded forest near the shore,
And fresh linden and silvered poplar;
My young great-grandson will rest in their shade;
There friendship will once hide my ashes
And instead of marble he will put it on the tomb
And my peaceful spade and my peaceful spear.
Evgeny Baratynsky
There is a sweet country, there is a corner on earth
There is a sweet country, there is a corner on earth,
Wherever, wherever you are - in the midst of a riotous camp,
In the Armidine gardens, on a fast ship,
Having fun wandering the plains of the ocean, -
We are always carried away by our thoughts;
Where, alien to base passions,
We assign a limit to everyday exploits,
Where the world we hope to forget someday
And close the old eyelids
We wish you the last, eternal sleep.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I remember a clear, clean pond;
Over the canopy of branchy birches,
Among the peaceful waters its three islands bloom;
Brightening the fields between their wavy groves,
Behind him there is a mountain, in front of him there is a noise in the bushes
And the mill splashes. Village, wide meadow,
And there is a happy home... the soul flies there,
I wouldn’t be cold there even in my deep old age!
There the languid, sick heart found
The answer to everything that was burning inside him,
And again for love, for friendship it blossomed
And happiness understood again.
Why the languid sigh and tears in the eyes?
She, with a painful blush on her cheeks,
She, who is not there, flashed before me.
Rest, rest easily under the grave turf:
A memory alive
We will not be separated from you!
We're crying... but I'm sorry! The sadness of love is sweet.
Tears of regret are wonderful!
Or cold, harsh melancholy,
The dry sorrow of disbelief.
Evgeny Baratynsky
Rus
You are extraordinary even in your dreams.
I won't touch your clothes.
And in secret - you will rest, Rus'.
Rus' is surrounded by rivers
And surrounded by wilds,
With swamps and cranes,
And with the dull gaze of a sorcerer,
Where are the diverse peoples
From edge to edge, from valley to valley
They lead night dances
Under the glow of burning villages.
Where are the sorcerers and sorcerers?
The grains in the fields are enchanting
And the witches are having fun with the devils
In road snow pillars.
Where the blizzard sweeps violently
Up to the roof - fragile housing,
And the girl on the evil friend
Under the snow it sharpens the blade.
Where are all the paths and all the crossroads
Exhausted with a living stick,
And a whirlwind whistling in the bare twigs,
Sings old legends...
So - I found out in my slumber
Country of birth poverty,
And in the scraps of her rags
I hide my nakedness from my soul.
The path is sad, night
I trampled to the graveyard,
And there, spending the night in the cemetery,
He sang songs for a long time.
And I didn’t understand, I didn’t measure,
To whom did I dedicate the songs?
What god did you passionately believe in?
What kind of girl did you love?
I rocked a living soul,
Rus', in your vastness you are,
And so - she did not stain
Initial purity.
I doze - and behind the doze there is a secret,
And Rus' rests in secret.
She is extraordinary in dreams too,
I won't touch her clothes.
Alexander Blok
About Motherland
O Motherland, O new
Shelter with a golden roof,
Trumpet, moo cow,
Roar the body of thunder.
I wander through the blue villages,
Such grace
Desperate, cheerful,
But I am all about you, mother.
At the school of revelry
I strengthened my flesh and mind.
From the birch tree
Your spring noise is growing.
I love your vices
And drunkenness and robbery,
And in the morning in the east
Lose yourself as a star.
And all of you, as I know,
I want to crush it and take it,
And I curse bitterly
Because you are my mother.
Sergey Yesenin
Is it my side, my side?
Is it my side, my side,
Burning streak.
Only the forest and the salt shaker,
Yes, the spit beyond the river...
The old church is withering away,
Throwing a cross into the clouds.
And a sick cuckoo
Doesn't fly from sad places.
Is it for you, my side,
In high water every year
From the buttocks and the knapsack
Goddamn sweat pours out.
Faces are dusty, tanned,
The eyelid has gnawed away the distance,
And dug into the thin body
Sadness saved the meek.
Sergey Yesenin
You can't understand Russia with your mind
You can't understand Russia with your mind,
The general arshin cannot be measured:
She will become special -
You can only believe in Russia.
Fedor Tyutchev
These poor villages
These poor villages
This meager nature
The native land of long-suffering,
You are the land of the Russian people!
He won't understand or notice
Proud look of a foreigner,
What shines through and secretly shines
In your humble nakedness.
Dejected by the burden of the godmother,
All of you, dear land,
In slave form, the King of Heaven
He came out blessing.
Fedor Tyutchev
From the wilds the fogs timidly
From the wilds the fogs timidly
My native village was closed;
But the spring sun warmed me
And the wind blew them away.
To know, to wander for a long time and get bored
Over the vastness of lands and seas,
A cloud is reaching home,
Just to cry over her.
Afanasy Fet
Homeland
They mock you
They, O Motherland, reproach
You with your simplicity,
Poor looking black huts...
So son, calm and impudent,
Ashamed of his mother -
Tired, timid and sad
Among his city friends,
Looks with a smile of compassion
To the one who wandered hundreds of miles
And for him, on the date of the date,
She saved her last penny.
Ivan Bunin
Russia
In the hundredth glow of the fire,
Under the ardent cry of worldwide hostility,
In the smoke of untamed storms, -
Your appearance radiates with imperious charm:
Ruby and sapphire crown
The azure pierced above the clouds!
Russia! in the evil days of Batu
Who, who to the Mongol flood
Built the dam, weren't you?
Whose, in tense will, howl,
For the price of slavery, she saved Europe
From Genghis Khan's heel?
But from the deep depths of shame,
From the darkness of constant humiliation,
Suddenly, with a bright cry from the fire, -
Is it not you, with the scorching steel of your gaze,
Ascended to the sovereignty of commands
During the days of Peter's revolution?
And again, at the hour of global reckoning,
Breathing through cannon barrels,
Your chest swallowed fire, -
All ahead, country leader,
You raised a torch above the darkness,
Illuminating the way for the people.
What do we have to do with this terrible force?
Where are you, who dares to contradict?
Where are you, who can know fear?
We just have to do what you decide
We - to be with you, we - to praise
Your greatness endures for centuries!
Valery Bryusov
Russia
Again, like in the golden years,
Three worn out flapping harnesses,
And the painted knitting needles knit
Into loose ruts...
Russia, poor Russia,
I want your gray huts,
Your songs are like wind to me, -
Like the first tears of love!
I don't know how to feel sorry for you
And I carefully carry my cross...
Which sorcerer do you want?
Give me your robber beauty!
Let him lure and deceive, -
You won't be lost, you won't perish,
And only care will cloud
Your beautiful features...
Well then? One more concern -
The river is noisier with one tear
And you are still the same - forest and field,
Yes, the patterned board goes up to the eyebrows...
And the impossible is possible
The long road is easy
When the road flashes in the distance
An instant glance from under a scarf,
When it rings with guarded melancholy
The dull song of the coachman!..
Alexander Blok
***
Winter evening
Nikolay Rubtsov
The wind is not the wind -
I'm leaving home!
It's familiar in the stable
The straw crunches
And the light is shining...
And more -
not a sound!
Not a light!
Blizzard in the darkness
Flying over bumps...
Eh, Rus', Russia!
Why am I not calling enough?
Why are you sad?
Why did you doze off?
Let's wish
Good night everyone!
Let's take a walk!
Let's have a laugh!
And we'll have a holiday,
And we'll reveal the cards...
Eh! The trumps are fresh.
And the same fools.
***
“My quiet homeland!..”
Nikolay Rubtsov
Quiet my homeland!
Willows, river, nightingales...
My mother is buried here
In my childhood years.
Where is the churchyard? Haven't you seen it?
I can’t find it myself.-
The residents answered quietly:
- It's on the other side.
The residents answered quietly,
The convoy passed quietly.
Church monastery dome
Overgrown with bright grass.
Where I swam for fish
Hay is rowed into the hayloft:
Between river bends
People dug a canal.
Tina is now a swamp
Where I loved to swim...
My quiet homeland
I haven't forgotten anything.
New fence in front of the school
The same green space.
Like a cheerful crow
I'll sit on the fence again!
My school is wooden!..
The time will come to leave -
The river behind me is foggy
He will run and run.
With every bump and cloud,
With thunder ready to fall,
I feel the most burning
The most mortal connection.
***
Star of the Fields
Nikolay Rubtsov
Star of the fields, in the icy darkness
Stopping, he looks into the wormwood.
The clock has already rung twelve,
And sleep enveloped my homeland...
Star of the fields! In moments of turmoil
I remembered how quiet it was behind the hill
She burns over the autumn gold,
It burns over the winter silver...
The star of the fields burns without fading,
For all the anxious inhabitants of the earth,
Touching with your welcoming ray
All the cities that rose in the distance.
But only here, in the icy darkness,
She rises brighter and fuller,
And I'm happy as long as I'm in this world
The star of my fields is burning, burning...
***
HOMELAND
Konstantin Simonov
Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading out the cities,
Covered with a grid of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.
But at the hour when the last grenade
Already in your hand
And in a short moment you need to remember at once
All we have left is in the distance
You don't remember a big country,
Which one have you traveled and learned?
Do you remember your homeland - like this,
How you saw her as a child.
A piece of land, leaning against three birch trees,
The long road behind the forest,
A small river with a creaking carriage,
Sandy shore with low willow trees.
This is where we were lucky to be born,
Where for life, until death, we found
That handful of earth that is suitable,
To see in it the signs of the whole earth.
Yes, you can survive in the heat, in thunderstorms, in frosts,
Yes, you can go hungry and cold,
Go to death... But these three birches
You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.
There the skies and waters are clear!
V. Zhukovsky
There the skies and waters are clear!
There the songs of the birds are sweet!
O homeland! all your days are beautiful!
Wherever I am, but everything is with you
Soul.
Do you remember how under the mountain,
Silvered with dew,
The ray turned white in the evening
And silence flew into the forest
From heaven?
Do you remember our calm pond,
And the shadow from the willows at the sultry hour of noon,
And over the water there is a discordant roar from the herd,
And in the bosom of the waters, as if through glass,
Village?
There, at dawn, a little bird sang;
The distance lit up and brightened;
There, there my soul flew:
It seemed to the heart and eyes -
Everything is there!..
Kremlin stars
Kremlin stars
They are burning above us,
Their light reaches everywhere!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
No!
(S. Mikhalkov)
There is no better native land
Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
–
Where is the best land?
–
He answered as he flew by:
–
There is no better native land!
(P. Voronko)
Native land
Hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
Native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you once come out?
To the fork in the road.
And I realized what it was
Expanse of fields -
A piece of the great
My fatherland.
(G. Ladonshchikov)
Native nest
Song swallows
Above my window
They sculpt, sculpt a nest...
I know it will be there soon
The chicks will appear
They will start shouting
They will have parents
Wear midges.
The little ones will fly out
In summer from the nest,
They'll fly over the world
But they always
They will know and remember
What's in our native land
The nest will greet them
Above my window.
(G. Ladonshchikov)
Motherland
Homeland –
the word is big, big!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.
(T. Bokova)
Motherland
Spring,
cheerful,
Eternal,
kind,
Tractor
plowed,
Happiness
sown -
She's all there before our eyes
From the south
to the north!
Dear homeland,
The homeland is fair-haired,
Peaceful-peaceful
Russian-Russian...
(V. Semernin)
Our Motherland
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
It's a long drive from the capital
To any of its borders.
Everything around you is your own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
The rivers sparkle blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
Dear to the heart,
Every rural house is precious.
Everything in battles is taken at some point
And strengthened by labor!
(G. Ladonshchikov)
Good morning!
The sun rose over the mountain,
The darkness of the night is blurred by the dawn,
A meadow of flowers, like a painted one...
Good morning,
Native land!
The doors creaked noisily,
The early birds began to sing,
They argue loudly with silence...
Good morning,
Native land!
People went to work
The bees fill the honeycombs with honey,
There are no clouds in the sky...
Good morning,
Native land!
(G. Ladonshchikov)
Hello, my Motherland
In the morning the sun rises,
He's calling us to the street.
I leave the house:
- Hello, my street!
I sing in silence too
The birds sing along with me.
The herbs whisper to me on the way:
- Hurry up, my friend, grow up!
I answer to herbs,
I answer the wind
I answer the sun:
- Hello, my Motherland!
(V. Orlov)
Key words
We learned in kindergarten
We are beautiful words.
They were read for the first time:
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
Spring and summer will fly by.
The foliage will become sunny.
Illuminated with new light
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
The sun shines kindly on us.
Blue is pouring from the sky.
May they always live in the world
Mom, Motherland, Moscow!
(L. Olifirova)
Our region
Now a birch tree, now a rowan tree,
Willow bush over the river.
Where else can you find one like this?
From the seas to the high mountains,
In the middle of our native latitudes -
Everyone is running, the roads are running,
And they call forward.
The valleys are filled with sunshine,
And wherever you look -
Native land, forever beloved,
Everything is blooming like a spring garden.
Our childhood is golden!
You are getting brighter every day
Under a lucky star
We live in our native land!
(A. Alien)
What we call Motherland
What do we call Motherland?
The house where you and I live,
And the birch trees along which
We walk next to mom.
What do we call Motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs,
Warm evening outside the window.
What do we call Motherland?
Everything that we cherish in our hearts,
And under the blue-blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin.
(V. Stepanov)
Vast country
If for a long, long, long time
We're going to fly on the plane,
If for a long, long, long time
We should look at Russia,
We'll see then
And forests and cities,
Ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra, where spring rings,
And then we will understand what
Our Motherland is big,
An immense country.
(V. Stepanov)
What is our Motherland!
An apple tree blooms over a quiet river.
The gardens stand thoughtfully.
What an elegant homeland,
She herself is like a wonderful garden!
The river plays with riffles,
The fish in it are all made of silver,
What a rich homeland,
A leisurely wave is flowing,
The vastness of the fields is pleasing to the eye.
What a happy homeland
And this happiness is all for us!
(V. Bokov)
Native land
Have your own native land
By the stream and by the crane.
And you and I have it -
And the native land is one.
(P. Sinyavsky
■
)
Russia
Here the warm field is filled with rye,
Here the dawns splash in the palms of the meadows.
Here are the golden-winged angels of God
They came down from the clouds along the rays of light.
And they watered the land with holy water,
And the blue expanse was overshadowed with a cross.
And we have no homeland except Russia –
Here is mother, here is the temple, here is the father’s house.
(P. Sinyavsky ■ )
Drawing
In my drawing
Field with spikelets,
Church on the hill
Near the clouds.
In my drawing
Mom and friends
In my drawing
My homeland.
In my drawing
Rays of dawn
Grove and river,
Sunshine and summer.
In my drawing
Song of the stream,
In my drawing
My homeland.
In my drawing
The daisies have grown
Jumps along the path
Rider on a horse
In my drawing
Rainbow and me
In my drawing
My homeland.
In my drawing
Mom and friends
In my drawing
Song of the stream,
In my drawing
Rainbow and me
In my drawing
My homeland.
(P. Sinyavsky ■ )
Native song
The cheerful sun is pouring
Golden streams
Over the gardens and over the villages,
Over fields and meadows.
It's raining mushrooms here,
Colored rainbows shine,
Here are simple plantains
Since childhood we have been dearest.
Poplar powder
Spun at the edge of the forest
And scattered throughout the grove
Strawberry freckles.
It's raining mushrooms here,
Colored rainbows shine,
Here are simple plantains
Since childhood we have been dearest.
And they started burying me again
Flocks of swallows over the house,
To sing about the Motherland again
Familiar bells.
(P. Sinyavsky
■
)
Native land
Cheerful forest, native fields,
Rivers meander, flowering slope,
Hills and villages, free space
And the melodious ringing of bells.
With your smile, with your breath
I'm merging.
Immense, protected by Christ,
My native land,
My love.
(M. Pozharova)
Motherland
If they say the word “homeland”,
Immediately comes to mind
Old house, currants in the garden,
Thick poplar at the gate,
A modest birch tree by the river
And a chamomile hillock...
And others will probably remember
Your native Moscow courtyard.
The first boats are in the puddles,
Where was the skating rink recently?
And a large neighboring factory
Loud, joyful whistle.
Or the steppe is red with poppies,
Virgin gold...
Homeland is different
But everyone has one!
(Z. Alexandrova)
Above our native land
Airplanes are flying
over our fields...
And I shout to the pilots:
“Take me with you!
So that over our native land
I shot through like an arrow,
I saw rivers, mountains,
Valleys and lakes
and swell on the Black Sea,
and boats in the open air,
plains in lush color
and all the children in the world!”
(R. Bosilek)
Rain, rain, where have you been?..
- Rain, rain, where have you been?
- I was floating across the sky with a cloud!
- And then you crashed?
- Oh, no, no, it spilled with water,
Dripped, dripped down, fell -
I fell straight into the river!
And then I sailed far away
In the fast, blue-eyed river,
Loved it with all my heart
Our Motherland is great!
Well, then it evaporated,
Attached to a white cloud,
And I swam, I tell you,
To distant countries, islands.
And now over the ocean
I'm still floating into the distance with the fog!
Enough, wind, keep blowing -
We need to swim back.
To meet the river,
To rush with her into the native forest!
To admire with your soul
Our Motherland is big.
So, wind, my friend,
With a cloud we are hurrying home!
You, wind, urge us on -
Point the cloud towards the house!
Because I miss home...
Come on, I’ll rock the cloud!
I'm in such a hurry to get home...
I'll be back to you soon!
(K. Avdeenko
■
)
Go beyond the seas and oceans
Go beyond the seas and oceans,
You have to fly across the entire earth:
There are different countries in the world,
But you won’t find one like ours.
Our bright waters are deep,
The land is wide and free,
And the factories thunder without ceasing,
And the fields are noisy, blossoming...
(M. Isakovsky)
Home country
In the wide open space
Before dawn
Scarlet dawns have risen
Over my native country.
Every year it gets more beautiful
Dear countries...
Better than our Motherland
Not in the world, friends!
(A. Prokofiev)
Hello
Hello to you, my native land,
With your dark forests,
With your great river,
And endless fields!
Hello to you, dear people,
Tireless hero of labor,
In the middle of winter and in the summer heat!
Hello to you, my native land!
(S. Drozhzhin)
baby crane
The warmth has gone from the fields,
and a flock of cranes
The leader leads to the green overseas land.
The wedge flies sadly,
And only one is cheerful,
One stupid little crane.
He rushes into the clouds
hurries the leader,
But the leader says to him sternly:
- At least that land is warmer,
And the homeland is dearer,
Miley - remember, little crane, this word.
Remember the sound of birches
and that steep slope,
Where your mother saw you flying;
Remember forever
Otherwise never
My friend, you won’t become a real crane.
We have snow,
We're in the middle of a blizzard
And you can’t hear bird voices at all.
And somewhere out there in the distance
The cranes are crowing,
They mumble about their snow-covered homeland.
(I. Shaferan)
Song of Glory
Hail, great one,
Multilingual
Fraternal Russian
Family of peoples.
Stand surrounded
Armed
An ancient stronghold
Gray Kremlin!
Hello, darling,
Unshakable
Banner flowing
Light of reason!
Glorious for grandfathers,
Brave grandchildren
Friendly Russian
Family of peoples.
Strengthen yourself with victories,
Expand yourself in sciences,
Eternally incorruptible
Glory to the earth!
(N. Aseev)
Russia, Russia, Russia
There is no more beautiful land in the world,
There is no homeland in the brighter world!
Russia, Russia, Russia, –
What could be dearer to the heart?
Who was your equal in strength?
Anyone suffered defeats!
Russia, Russia, Russia, –
We are in sorrow and happiness – with you!
Russia! Like a blue bird
We protect and honor you,
And if they violate the border,
We will protect you with our breasts!
And if we were suddenly asked:
“Why is the country dear to you?”
– Yes, because Russia is for all of us,
Like a dear mother, – one!
(V. Gudimov)
The best in the world
Russian region, my land,
Dear spaces!
We have rivers and fields,
Seas, forests and mountains.
We have both north and south.
Gardens bloom in the south.
In the north there is snow all around -
It's cold and blizzardy there.
In Moscow they go to bed now,
The moon looks out the window.
Far East at the same hour
Rising to meet the sun.
Russian region, how great you are!
From border to border
And a fast train straight ahead
It won't finish in a week.
The words are heard on the radio -
The long journey is not difficult for them.
Your familiar voice, Moscow,
Heard by people everywhere.
And we are always happy to hear news
About our peaceful life.
How happy we live
In your native Fatherland!
Nations are like one family,
Although their language is different.
All are daughters and sons
Your beautiful country.
And everyone has one homeland.
Hello and glory to you,
Invincible country
Russian power!
(N. Zabila, translated from Ukrainian by Z. Alexandrova
)
Russian house
Russia is like a huge apartment.
There are four windows and four doors:
North, west, south, east.
A heavenly ceiling hangs above her.
Luxurious carpet lays in the apartment
Floors in Taimyr and Anadyr.
And the sun burns at a billion kilowatts,
Because our house is a bit dark in places.
And, as befits every apartment,
There is a Pantry of Siberia in it:
Various berries are stored there,
And fish, and meat, and coal, and gas.
And next to the Kurilka - Kuril ridge -
There are hot water taps,
Springs are bubbling at Klyuchevskaya Hill
(Go and turn on the hot water!)
There are also three cool baths in the apartment:
Northern, Pacific and Atlantic oceans.
And a powerful stove of the Kuzbass system,
What warms us in the cold winter.
And here is a refrigerator with the name "Arctic",
The automation works great in it.
And to the right of the ancient Kremlin clock
There are seven more time zones to go.
The Russian House has everything for a comfortable life,
But there is no order in the huge apartment:
A fire breaks out here, a pipe leaks there.
Then the neighbors knock loudly from the corner.
The walls are cracking, the paint is falling,
About two hundred years ago Alaska fell away,
The roof went down, the horizon disappeared...
Again rebuilding and again repairs.
The builders themselves do not know what they are building:
First they will build it, and then they will tear it down.
Everyone wants it to be built right away
Hut-Chum-Yarangu-Palace-Skyscraper!
We are all neighbors and residents in our house:
Ordinary residents, building managers, builders.
And what will we build now in Rus'?..
Ask your mom and dad about this.
(A. Usachev)
Poems for little citizens of Russia
Poems about the flag of the Russian Federation
ABC of a little Russian
The patriotic spirit must be present in every citizen of a great power. And Russia, as one of the greatest, is no exception. After all, patriotism is not just a word, it is patriotism that makes a country and its citizens great, with all that it implies. And the education of this bright feeling should begin from early childhood. And who better than a poet can convey the feelings that he experiences for the Motherland. Therefore, poems about the Motherland are very relevant at school age. We offer a small part of poems about the Motherland in this section.
There is no better native land (P. Voronko)
Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
-
Where is the best land?-
He answered as he flew by:
-
There is no better native land!
Motherland(T. Bokova)
Homeland - the word is big, big!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.
Good morning!(G. Ladonshchikov)
The sun rose over the mountain,
The darkness of the night is blurred by the dawn,
A meadow of flowers, like a painted one...
Good morning,
Native land!
The doors creaked noisily,
The early birds began to sing,
They argue loudly with silence...
Good morning,
Native land!
People went to work
The bees fill the honeycombs with honey,
There are no clouds in the sky...
Good morning,
Native land!
Key words(L. Olifirova)
We learned in kindergarten
We are beautiful words.
They were read for the first time:
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
Spring and summer will fly by.
The foliage will become sunny.
Illuminated with new light
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
The sun shines kindly on us.
Blue is pouring from the sky.
May they always live in the world
Mom, Motherland, Moscow!
What we call Motherland(V. Stepanov)
What do we call Motherland?
The house where you and I live,
And the birch trees along which
We walk next to mom.
What do we call Motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs,
Warm evening outside the window.
What do we call Motherland?
Everything that we cherish in our hearts,
And under the blue-blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin.
Motherland(Z. Alexandrova)
If they say the word “homeland”,
Immediately comes to mind
Old house, currants in the garden,
Thick poplar at the gate,
A modest birch tree by the river
And a chamomile hillock...
And others will probably remember
Your native Moscow courtyard.
The first boats are in the puddles,
Where was the skating rink recently?
And a large neighboring factory
Loud, joyful whistle.
Or the steppe is red with poppies,
Virgin gold...
Homeland is different
But everyone has one!
Motherland(Tatiana Bokova)
Motherland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.
Where does the Motherland begin?(M. Matusovsky)
Where does the Motherland begin?
From the picture in your ABC book,
From good and faithful comrades,
Living in the neighboring yard.
Or maybe it's starting
From the song that our mother sang to us.
Since in any test
No one can take it away from us.
Where does the Motherland begin?
From the treasured bench at the gate.
From that very birch tree in the field,
Bowing in the wind, it grows.
Or maybe it's starting
From the spring song of a starling
And from this country road,
Which has no end in sight.
Where does the Motherland begin?
From the windows burning in the distance,
From my father's old budenovka,
What we found somewhere in the closet.
Or maybe it's starting
From the sound of carriage wheels
And from the oath that in my youth
You brought it to her in your heart.
Where does the Motherland begin?..
Cranes - cranes
Got off the ground.
Wings raised to the sky,
We left our dear land.
They began to purr in the distance
Cranes are cranes!
Streams run down the hill -
Goodbye winter!
Do you hear someone calling in the distance?
The cranes have returned to us!
Take a closer look: there in the distance
The cranes started dancing!
They stood side by side in a circle,
Jump and jump, and jump and jump!
They stomp their feet,
They'll flap their wings!
Every dance is good -
Very similar to ours:
And cheerful and funny...
Ah!.. How joyful it is in spring!
Grudanov E.
The maple leaves unfolded,
Birch leaves rustle,
Cranes flying moan
They plunge their thoughts into daydreams.
Under your wing there are countries and villages,
Rivers with seas, forests and meadows,
The wind and will greet you,
The Sun and Moon are seeing you off.
Where do you live, beautiful birds,
And you dance your waltzes,
Green calicoes hide you,
Nightingales sing songs to you.
Spectators are captivated by the ball
Graces of wedding days
To all the forest concert hall
Call for an encore of the cranes!
The days of summer are ending.
The cranes are flying away.
The nests were empty in an instant.
The crane cry is melting.
You know, winter is just around the corner...
See you again in the spring!
Kaiser T.
Zhura-zura-Zhuravel!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
“Where is the best land?”
He answered as he flew by:
“There is no better native land!”
The crane has arrived
To old places:
Ant grass
Thick - thick!
And the dawn is over the willow tree,
Clear - clear!
Fun for the crane:
In spring - spring!
Blaginina E.
High under the blue sky
The wedge rushes like a crane.
In the morning amidst the silence
Trumpets can be heard.
The road is far for birds
From the birth threshold,
And their flight is not easy...
So let them be lucky!
Grudanov E.
Cranes are flying high
Over empty fields.
The forests where we spent the summer,
They shout: “Fly with us!”
And in the sleepy and empty grove
The aspen trees are shaking from the cold,
And for a long time the golden leaf
Flies behind a flock of cranes.
Sometimes it seems to me that the soldiers
Those who did not come from the bloody fields,
They once did not perish in this earth,
And they turned into white cranes.
They are still from those distant times
They fly and give us voices.
Isn’t that why it’s so often and sad
Do we fall silent while looking at the heavens?
Today, in the early evening,
I see cranes in the fog
They fly in their own specific formation,
They wandered like people through the fields.
They fly, complete their long journey
And they call out someone's name.
Isn’t that why with the cry of a crane
Has Avar speech been similar since centuries?
A tired wedge flies, flies across the sky -
Flying in the fog at the end of the day,
And in that order there is a small gap -
Maybe this is the place for me!
The day will come, and with a flock of cranes
I will swim in the same gray haze,
Calling from under the sky like a bird
All of you whom I left on earth.
Gamzatov Rasul
Cranes, you probably don’t know
How many songs have been composed about you,
How much up when you fly
Looks with misty eyes!
From the edges of swamps and forests
Schools float into the sky.
Their screams are long and silver,
Their wings are slowly flexible.
Lyrics of their melodious flight
Our book lyrics are stronger.
They fly by, delighting and tormenting,
Brightening up people's faces.
They left me years of memory,
How I stood near the river
And until they melted into blue,
I watched the cranes from under my hand.
The cranes were flying, not the tits,
With whose fluttering the earth is filled...
How many years ago, if you think about it,
I didn’t see a crane in the sky!
It’s like I had a bright dream or
This was a children's fairy tale.
Or they just took it and surrounded it
Adults, serious matters.
Books completely surrounded
Idleness is shameful and alien to me...
Well, I ask the reader,
When have you seen cranes?
So that not just in song, but in person,
Where the grass withers by the river,
So that, forgetting about petty other things,
Everyone looks at them from under their arms.
Cranes!
Swamped with work
Far from cloudy fields,
I live with strange care -
I wish I could see cranes in the sky!
In spring from distant hot countries
The caravan is flying towards us like a wedge.
They are on the road without rest.
Without food there are often nights and days.
Even though it is warmer in southern countries,
but our homeland is nicer.
Waiting for the crane's arrival
their nests are in forest swamps.
And now there are already two eggs in the nest.
Two chicks opened their mouths.
Standing on long legs in the swamp,
Mom and Dad bring them food.
Over the summer the children grow up,
and in a flock they fly away to the south
then, so that in early spring
return to your native land again.
Sosnina Z.
It's quiet by the swamp at noon
The willows rustle gently.
There is a crane on the hill
Teaches cranes.
Only heard over the meadows,
Where the cranes crow:
“One, two, three!
Leg push!
Get off the ground!
Zhuravlikha's voice is thin,
There is joy in it, and there is sadness in it.
The youngest crane
He says: “But I’m afraid!”
The mother looked at her son:
“How timid he was!”
She pushed with her long beak
- The little crane flew...
The distances are long!
A difficult path for the cranes!
For the first time in foreign lands
The cranes will fly.
And in the spring you will find them
Where the willows rustle,
At a familiar swamp
With a new flock of cranes.
Baranov S.
Waking up from sad thoughts, eyes
I lift from the ground:
In the dark azure at midnight
The cranes are flying in the village.
From their screams in the distant sky
As if the gospel is coming, -
Hello patriarchal forests,
Hello to the familiar reaches of water!..
There are plenty of these waters and forests here,
There is juicy grain in the fields...
What else? after all, it's their share
It is not possible to love and think...
Maykov Apollo
In the whirlwind of showers and blizzards
The days rolled into distant distances.
The cranes flew south
And they flew back home.
Leaving Africa in April
To the shores of the father's land,
They flew in a long triangle,
Drowning in the sky, cranes.
Stretching out silver wings
Across the wide firmament,
The leader led to the valley of plenty
Its small people.
But when it flashed under the wings
Lake, transparent through and through,
Black gaping barrel
It rose up from the bushes towards us.
A ray of fire struck the bird's heart,
A quick flame flared up and went out,
And a piece of wondrous greatness
It fell on us from above.
Two wings, like two huge griefs,
Embraced the cold wave
And, echoing the sorrowful sob,
The cranes rushed into the heights.
Only where the stars move,
To atone for one's own evil
Nature returned to them again
What death took with it:
Proud spirit, high aspiration,
Unyielding will to fight -
Everything from the previous generation
Youth passes on to you.
And the leader in a metal shirt
Sank slowly to the bottom,
And the dawn formed over him
Golden glow spot.
Zabolotsky Nikolay
The east flaunted between the swamp trunks
fire-faced...
When October comes, the cranes will suddenly appear!
And the crane cries will wake me up and call me
Above my attic, above the swamp, forgotten in the distance...
Widely throughout Rus', the designated period of withering
They proclaim like a legend from ancient pages.
Everything that is in the soul expresses sobbing to the end
And the high flight of these proud, illustrious birds.
In Rus', harmonious hands are widely waved to the birds.
And the forgetting of the fields, and the loss of the chilling fields -
This will be expressed by everything, like a legend, heavenly sounds,
The flying cry of cranes will be heard far away...
Here they are flying, here they are flying... Open the gates quickly!
Come out quickly to look at your tall ones!
Now they are silent - and again the soul and nature are orphaned
Because - shut up! - no one will express them that way...
Rubtsov Nikolay
In a sky as clear as a page
Birds fly smoothly.
Over the expanses of fields
A wedge of handsome cranes.
Sibirtsev V.
Like a traveler who remained in the steppe,
Having lost my friends in the steppe,
The crane made its way through the winds,
To find the way to a warm region.
Then he walks through the swamp for a long time,
It will flutter as if it knows the way...
Shaking off the drops from the wings of the wolves,
He flies with his chest exposed to the wind.
...Maybe it's easier for the heart to break,
To be exhausted, but still to reach the goal,
Just don't be left alone,
Having lost your comrades along the way!
The cranes fly away
They fly away.
Get off the ground
And they will melt.
They fly far
They're delirious about the south,
Stretched out like days
One after another.
They leave their native land,
They leave.
Will they come back in the spring? —
Who knows...
Maksimchuk L.
Through the evening fog to me under the darkened sky
The cries of the cranes can be heard more and more clearly...
My heart rushed towards them, flying from afar,
From a cold country, from the naked steppes.
Now they are flying close and sobbing louder,
As if they brought me sad news...
What inhospitable land are you from?
Did you fly here for the night, cranes?..
I know that country where the sun is already without power,
Where is the shroud waiting, the cold earth
And where in the bare forests the sad wind howls, -
Either my native land, or my fatherland.
Dusk, poverty, melancholy, bad weather and slush,
A gloomy view of people, a sad view of the earth...
Oh, how my soul hurts, how I want to cry!
Stop crying over me, cranes!..
Zhemchuzhnikov Alexey
I'll go out into the field along a long path,
I will disperse unnecessary sadness.
A flock of cranes in the blue sky -
Like a triangular seal.
I love the first clearing,
The stubble of red bearded rye,
Over which it is fun and drunk
The last swifts are darting about.
And the cars are running,
At the forks
Like hay that has crumbled into dust.
Smooth as the backs of soldiers' heads
The wheat fields are shaved.
Cutting through the smoky winter
Lines of country roads,
Writes the coming autumn
An epilogue to the summer gone by.
Pink leaves - along the hummocks,
Morning dew - along the furrow,
And the last rook
Flashes a dot
At the end of the story about suffering.
Summer has said goodbye to us
And it left, taking away the warmth.
Under the silent branches
The whisper of sad grasses is heard...
And they dance farewell
Cranes through the falling leaves:
"Summer! We will guide you!..”
And they fly after him, they fly...
Mishakova M.
Ivikov's cranes
There is a merry feast at Posidonov,
Where did the children of Gela flock to?
Watch the running of horses and the fight of singers,
There was Ivik, a modest friend of the gods.
Him with a winged dream
Apollo sent the gift of song;
And with a lyre, with a light stick
He walked, inspired, towards Isthmus.
His eyes have already been opened
In the distance is Acrocorinth and the mountains,
Merged from the blue skies.
He enters the Posidonov forest...
Everything is quiet; the leaf does not sway;
Only cranes above
The noisy village winds
The countries are midday for spring.
“O companions, your winged swarm,
Hitherto my faithful guide,
Be a good omen for me.
Having said: sorry! native country,
Visitor to a foreign shore,
I am looking for shelter, just like you;
May Guardian Zeus avert
Trouble from the wanderer's head."
And with firm faith in Zeus
He enters the depths of the forest;
Walking along a dead path...
And he sees the killers in front of him.
He is ready to fight his enemies;
But his hour of fate had arrived:
Familiar with the lyre strings,
He didn't know how to bend a bow.
He calls to the gods and people...
Only the echo repeats the moans -
There is no life in the terrible forest.
“And so I will perish in the prime of my life,
I will rot here without burial
And not mourned by friends;
And there will be no vengeance on these enemies
Neither from gods nor from people."
And he was already struggling with death...
Suddenly... noise from a flock of cranes;
He hears (the gaze has already faded)
Their plaintive, wailing voice.
"You, cranes under the sky,
I call you as a witness!
Let it thunder, attracted by you,
Zeus thunders upon their head."
And they saw the corpse naked;
The killer's hand is distorted
Beautiful facial features.
A Corinthian friend recognized the singer.
“And are you motionless before me?
And on your head, singer,
I imagined with a solemn hand
Put a pine crown."
And the guests of Posidon listen,
That Apollo's confidant fell...
All of Greece is amazed;
For all hearts there is one sadness.
And with a wild roar of frenzy
Prytanov was surrounded by people
And he screams: “Elders, vengeance, vengeance!
The villains will be executed, their generation will perish!”
But where is their trace? Who cares
The face of the enemy in the countless crowd
Flowed into the Poseidon Temple?
They curse at the gods.
And who is the despicable robber?
Or did a secret enemy strike?
Only Helios matured sacred,
Illuminating everything from heaven.
With his head raised, perhaps,
Between the noisy crowd,
The villain is hidden at this very hour
And the voice coldly listens to sorrow;
Or in the temple, on bended knees,
Burns incense with a vile hand;
Or crowded on the steps
Amphitheater behind the crowd
Where, with your eyes fixed on the stage
(The supports can barely hold them back)
Coming from near and distant countries,
Noisy like a vague ocean,
Above a row, people sit;
And they move like a forest in a storm,
The passages are seething with people,
Rising to the blue skies.
And who will count those of different tribes,
United by this triumph?
They came from everywhere: from Athens,
From ancient Sparta, from Mykin,
From the borders of distant Asia,
From the Aegean waters, from the Thracian mountains...
And they sat down in deep silence,
And the choir performs quietly.
According to the ancient rite, it is important
With a measured and drawn-out gait,
Surrounded by sacred fear,
He walks around the theater.
The fingers of children do not march like that;
This is not where their cradle was.
Their camp is a marvelous mass
The limit of the earthly has been crossed.
They walk with drooping heads
And they move with their skinny arms
Candles that give off dark light;
And there is no blood on their cheeks;
Their faces are dead, their eyes are sunken;
And, entwined between their hair,
Echidnas move with a whistling sting,
Revealing a terrible row of teeth.
And they stood around, their gaze sparkling;
And the anthem was sung in a wild chorus,
Fear piercing into the hearts;
And in it the criminal hears: execution!
Thunderstorm of the soul, troubler of the mind,
Erinny's terrible chorus thunders;
And, numb, the viewer listens;
And the lyre, numb, is silent:
“Blessed is he who is ignorant of guilt,
Who is pure with an infant soul!
We do not dare to follow him;
The road of troubles is alien to him...
But to you, murderers, woe, woe!
Like a shadow, we are behind you everywhere,
With a thunderstorm of vengeance in his eyes,
Terrible creatures of darkness.
Don’t hesitate to hide - we are with wings;
You are in the forest, you are in the abyss - we are behind you;
And, having confused you in their networks,
We throw those torn to pieces into the dust.
Repentance is not your protection;
Your groan, your cry is joy for us;
We will torment you until Cocytus,
But we will not leave you there either.”
And the song of the terrible fell silent;
And lay above those who listened,
Goddesses are full of presence,
Silence over a grave.
And with a quiet, measured foot
They flowed back
Heads bowed, hand in hand,
And slowly disappeared into the distance.
And the viewer is shaky with doubt
Between truth and error -
With fear he thinks of that Power,
Which, in the thick darkness
Hiding, inevitable,
Weaving the threads of fatal nets,
In the depths only the heart is visible,
But hidden from the daylight.
And that’s all, and still in silence...
Suddenly there is an exclamation on the steps:
“Parfeniy, do you hear?.. A scream in the distance -
Those are Ivikov’s cranes!..”
And the sky suddenly became covered with darkness;
And the whole air is noisy from the wings;
And they see... a black stripe
A flock of cranes is flying.
"What? Ivik!..” Everything shook -
And the name Ivika rushed
From mouth to mouth... people are making noise,
Like a stormy abyss of water.
“Our good Ivik! ours, smitten
An unknown enemy, poet!..
What, what is hidden in this word?
And why are these cranes flying?”
And to all hearts in one moment,
It's like a revelation from above,
The thought flashed: “The killer is here;
That is the terrible judgment of the Eumenides;
Vengeance for the singer is ready;
The criminal has betrayed himself.
The one who spoke the word is brought to justice
And the one he was listening to!”
And, pale, trembling, confused,
Convicted by a sudden speech,
The villain is plucked from the crowd;
Before the seat of the judges
He is attracted with his minion;
Confused look, bowed gaze
And futile crying was their answer;
And death was their sentence.
Friedrich Schiller
(Translation by Vasily Zhukovsky)
“The cranes have flown away, the cranes have flown away!
Restaurant song. How much do you need?
So that a man sparkles with a half-drunk tear?
I recognize the singer as a soldier of the same age,
Scorched by the last war.
No, I don’t know him and don’t know him in detail,
What kind of cranes is he yearning for now?
But the melancholy must be both acute and enormous,
If he squeezes a tear from us too.
“The cranes have flown away, the cranes have flown away!!
The cold winds darkened the earth.
Only the flock left amidst storms and blizzards
One with a broken crane wing.”
Well, what kind of crane is there? And what kind of flock is there?
And where did she fly away from him?
There's an apartment, I guess
My daughter is growing up, I guess
The busy wife salts the tomatoes.
And which wing was broken?
And which wing is broken?
But we thought about it. And the wine is not finished.
Our souls were filled with sweet sadness.
“The cranes have flown away, the cranes have flown away!!!
The cold winds darkened the earth.
Only the flock left amidst storms and blizzards
One with a broken crane wing.”
Restaurant song. A vulgar tune.
Well, come on, finish it off, take it!
Over there, in the far corner, the conversations died down,
The major with the Star on his chest is choking his glass.
The woman also turned pale, biting her lips,
As the chorus repeats, it hurts more and more...
Or does everyone have a flock that has flown away?
Or has everyone fallen behind their cranes?
He will finish singing and return to the night apartment.
People will disperse too. The lights will go out.
Bad weather is noisy. The sky is empty and damp.
Did they really fly away?
Soloukhin Vladimir