I wandered in the forest all day. I don’t want to, I can’t, I’d rather run to the owls

My husband still remembers how his mother read this fairy tale to him))))

From the story of a child psychologist:

At one time my son didn’t want to go to bed. I tried everything I could think of, but to no avail. In the evening it’s time to sleep; there is scandal and tears at our house. The son shouts: I don’t want to, I won’t, and so on. This fairy tale helped me out then, but I had to learn it by heart. And when it was time to go to bed, my son started again, another 10 minutes, then tears, then I said: “I have one very true story that my mother told me as a child, do you want to tell me?” And she told me... And after a couple of days he himself asked to tell him about the owls and went to bed peacefully. As soon as I said that it was time to rest and that it was already dark, which means the owls had woken up... Try it, maybe it will help you.
Irina Tokmakova

Evening Tale

I wandered in the forest all day.
I look - evening is just around the corner,
There is no more sun in the sky
All that was left was a red mark.
The spruce trees fell silent. The oak fell asleep.
The hazel tree drowned in the darkness.
The sleepy pine fell silent.
And there was silence:
And the crossbill is silent, and the thrush is silent.
And the woodpecker doesn't knock anymore.
Suddenly I hear an owl hoot,
So much so that the foliage trembled:

Woohoo! Time is wasted
The dawn has faded in the sky.
Let's drag away the screamer
Until the moon came out.
The other muttered in response.
- I didn't finish my lunch.

And again the first one: - Woohoo!
You're always talking nonsense!
We won't make it in time:
After all, they can lock the doors.
Throw lunch, we're flying now,
Let's take it - and the story is over.
I pushed the branches apart with my shoulder
And he shouted: “Owls, what are you talking about?”
Having cleaned the beak, one of them
She answered me for two:
-There is a strange boy in the world
He knows how to eat porridge himself,
Battleship can draw
And train angry dogs.
But they will only say: “It’s time to sleep.”
He starts roaring until the morning:
- Don't put out the Fire,
Don't ask Me
I still won't sleep,
I'll turn the whole bed over,
I don't want
I can not,
I'd rather run to the owls...
We reasoned: so and so,
Since this little weirdo
Doesn't want to sleep at night,
He needs to become an owlet.
We'll bring the boy into the hollow,
Let's say five terrible words,
Let's give you magic grass
And let's turn him into an owl.
Here the owls rose from their place
And they rushed off into the darkness of the night.
I knew where they were going
Who do they want to bewitch?
After all, this is Zhenya, my neighbor,
He is five and a half years old
And all night long he
Screams, rages and roars:
- Don’t extinguish
Fire,
Don't ask
Me,
Doesn't matter
I won't sleep
The whole bed
I'll turn it over
I don't want
I can not,
Better to go to the owls
I'll run away...
How to get ahead of these owls?
How can I warn Zhenka?
Nobody can help me:
It's completely dark, night has fallen.
The fog haze has risen,
A star lit up in the sky...
I rushed to wake up the woodpecker:
- Listen, woodpecker, what should I do?
My best friend is in trouble
But I can't find the way...
The woodpecker thought and was silent
And he shook his head:
- I can’t put my mind to it,
I'll fly off and wake up the mouse.
Now the mouse came running
And she squeaked: “Why are you sad?”
After all, my friend is an old mole
I dug a direct underground passage.
You can go straight
You won't go astray there.
And despite the darkness,
I ran to the mole.

But here again trouble awaited:
The passage was as wide as a mole's!
Well, I'm off on the road,
When I can’t fit in it?
You'll have to walk on top.
How can you find a path in the darkness?
Glasses won't help me here...
But the woodpecker shouted: - Fireflies!
And the fireflies arrived
Such kind bugs.
And immediately the darkness receded,
And I ran like an arrow,
Like a fast walker
Like a helicopter
Like a jet plane!

Here I am at home. Before the owls!
Ordinary Zhenkin I hear a roar
- Don’t extinguish
Fire,
Don't ask
Me,
Doesn't matter
I won't sleep
The whole bed
I'll turn it over
I don't want
I can not,
Better to go to the owls
I'll run away...
I shouted: “Zhenka, brother, trouble!”
After all, two owls are flying here!
You've made a mess!
And I told him everything.
And Zhenya immediately fell silent,
It was as if he had never screamed in his life.
And more in the evenings
Doesn't make a fuss.
As soon as they say: “It’s time to sleep,”
He falls asleep until the morning.
And owls don't sleep at night.

Someone might say that after such a fairy tale, the child will be even more afraid, but this is not so. My owl was not afraid, although he was also not the bravest boy. After reading it, I told him that owls live in the forest, but if you squawk and make a lot of noise, cry in your throat, then they can hear and fly. The son then asked, what will they take me away from? I answered, of course not, my mother won’t give it up, but they’ll fly in and look out the window, who’s screaming so much? He calmed down and we weren’t afraid of owls, but when he started fussing about sleep again, I told him: “Why are you calling the owls?” And after that he somehow calmed down himself.

I came across a slightly earlier version of the illustrations in the 1967 collection “Carousel”:

In the 1967 collection, on 8 pages reserved for a fairy tale, the main thing is rapid movement. First - an impulse towards him, which is already felt in the quick inclination of the main character (a typical intellectual of the 60s). This slope is the diagonal on which the entire composition of the spread is built:

On the following pages, the harbingers of movement and anxiety are the billowing curtains on the window:

On the third turn, everything is subordinated to movement. Owls frowning in flight and an absolutely stunning silhouette picture:

The movement ends with the slam of an open door and the impetuous gesture of the adult hero:

Bright, concise, complete.

“The Evening Tale” of 1968 has 16 pages and, despite the presence of only two colors - black and white, there are significantly more lyrical shades. A country evening, a walk through the forest... The book begins with such a quiet note:

And the main character is not a fast-moving young intellectual, but a short-sighted eccentric in thick glasses, the lenses of which sparkle in the evening light:

And the fairy tale is almost not like a fairy tale, its setting is so real:

Pay attention to the boy Zhenya. In publications of the 60s, he is an ordinary cheerful tomboy:

In the 1968 book there was also a place for a dialogue between an eccentric and a woodpecker, a mouse and a mole:

And here is his run from the dense evening forest to the lights of the village:

The last spread almost repeats the drawing from the collection "Carousel", but how the movements of the eccentric are broken, they do not have the integrity of the impulse that we saw before:

The 1983 book is made in a completely different manner. The main character is a modern “tourist” in a baseball cap and with a camera. And Zhenya is no longer a tomboy, but a real capricious one. And the fairy tale is real, so toy-like and warm.

Great ones about poetry:

Poetry is like painting: some works will captivate you more if you look at them closely, and others if you move further away.

Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creaking of unoiled wheels.

The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong.

Marina Tsvetaeva

Of all the arts, poetry is the most susceptible to the temptation to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen splendors.

Humboldt V.

Poems are successful if they are created with spiritual clarity.

The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is usually believed.

If only you knew from what rubbish poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion on a fence, like burdocks and quinoa.

A. A. Akhmatova

Poetry is not only in verses: it is poured out everywhere, it is all around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life emanate from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.

I. S. Turgenev

For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.

G. Lichtenberg

A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. The poet makes our thoughts sing within us, not our own. By telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.

Where graceful poetry flows, there is no room for vanity.

Murasaki Shikibu

I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in the Russian language. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. It is through feeling that art certainly emerges. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

-...Are your poems good, tell me yourself?
- Monstrous! – Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...

Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "Master and Margarita"

We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write in their words.

John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"

Every poem is a veil stretched over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, and because of them the poem exists.

Alexander Alexandrovich Blok

Ancient poets, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. This is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times there is certainly hidden an entire Universe, filled with miracles - often dangerous for those who carelessly awaken the dozing lines.

Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"

I gave one of my clumsy hippopotamuses this heavenly tail:...

Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea, and not a plague!

Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky

Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore, drive away the critics. They are just pathetic sippers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let poetry seem to him like an absurd moo, a chaotic pile-up of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from a boring mind, a glorious song sounding on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.

Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"

Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing more than pure poetry that has rejected the word.

Today, March 3, is the birthday of children's poet and prose writer Irina Tokmakova, 83 years old - this is no joke! :)
There are many owls in her poems. But today I will only post this.

I wandered in the forest all day.
I look - evening is just around the corner.
There is no more sun in the sky
All that was left was a red mark.
The spruce fell silent, the oak fell asleep.
The hazel tree drowned in the darkness.
The sleepy pine fell silent.
And there was silence.
And the crossbill is silent, and the thrush is silent,
And the woodpecker doesn't knock anymore.
Suddenly I hear an owl hooting,
So much so that the foliage trembled:
- Woohoo! Time is wasted
The dawn has faded in the sky.
Let's drag away the screamer
Until the moon came out. –
Another muttered in response:
– I didn’t finish my lunch. –
And again the first: - Woohoo!
You're always talking nonsense.
We won't make it in time:
After all, they can lock the doors.
Stop lunch, let's fly now.
Let's take it - and the story is over.

I pushed the branches apart with my shoulder
And he shouted: “Owls, what are you talking about?”

Having cleaned the beak, one of them
She answered me for two:
- There is a strange boy in the world.
He knows how to eat porridge himself,
Battleship can draw
And train angry dogs.
But they will only say: “It’s time to sleep!” –
He starts roaring until the morning:

"Don't put out the fire,
Don't ask me
I still won't sleep,
I'll turn the whole bed over,
I don't want
I can not,
Better to go to the owls
I'll run away..."
We reasoned: so and so,
Since this little weirdo
Doesn't want to sleep at night,
He needs to become an owlet.
We'll take the boy to the hollow,
Let's say five terrible words,
Let's give you magic grass
And let's turn him into an owl.-
Here the owls rose from the branches
And they rushed off into the darkness of the night.

I knew where they were going
Who do they want to bewitch?
After all, this is Zhenya, my neighbor,
He is five and a half years old
And all night long he
Screams, rages and roars:

"Don't put out the fire,
Don't ask me
I still won't sleep,
I'll turn the whole bed over,
I don't want
I can not,
Better to go to the owls
I'll run away..."

How to get ahead of these owls?
How can I warn Zhenka?
Nobody can help me:
It's completely dark, night has fallen.
The fog haze has risen,
A star lit up in the sky...

I rushed to wake up the woodpecker:
- Listen, woodpecker, what should I do?
My best friend is in trouble
But I can’t find the way... -

The woodpecker thought and was silent
And he shook his head:
- I have no idea.
I'll fly off and wake up the mouse. –
Now the mouse came running
And she squeaked: “Why are you sad?”
After all, my friend is an old mole
I dug a direct underground passage.
You can go straight
You won't go astray there. –
And despite the darkness,
I ran to the mole.
But here again trouble awaited:
The passage was as wide as a mole's!
Well, I'm off on the road,
When I can’t fit in it?
You'll have to climb over the top
How can you find a path in the darkness?
Glasses won't help me here...
But the woodpecker shouted: “Fireflies!” –
And the fireflies arrived
Such kind bugs
And immediately the darkness receded,
And I ran like an arrow,
Like a fast walker
like a helicopter
Like a jet plane!

Here I am at home. Before the owls!
My friend Zhenkin hears a roar:

"Don't put out the fire,
Don't ask me
I still won't sleep,
I'll turn the whole bed over,
I don't want
I can not,
Better to go to the owls
I'll run away..."

I shouted: “Zhenya, brother, trouble!”
After all, two owls are flying here!
You've made a mess! –
And I told him everything.
And Zhenya immediately fell silent,
It was as if he had never screamed in his life.
And more in the evenings
Doesn't make a fuss.
As soon as they say: “It’s time to sleep!” -
He falls asleep until the morning.
And owls don't sleep at night:
The capricious ones are guarded by the children.

illustrations by Lev Tokmakov.

This is how it always happens: you are looking for something from relatives and friends of a rabbit for about 10 years, but asking Uncle Google comes to mind after the statute of limitations has expired.

Hooray! Young Emil's favorite book has been found!
It's a fun time for everyone!

**************************************** ******************************
Irina Tokmakova,
"Evening Tale", 1983

I wandered in the forest all day,
I look - evening is just around the corner.
There is no more sun in the sky
All that's left is a red mark
The spruce fell silent, the oak fell asleep.
The hazel tree drowned in the darkness.
The sleepy pine has fallen silent
And there was silence:
And the crossbill is silent, and the thrush is silent,
And the woodpecker doesn't knock anymore.
Suddenly I hear an owl hooting,
So much so that the foliage trembled:
- Woohoo! Time is wasted
The dawn has faded in the sky,
Let's drag away the screamer
Until the moon came out. –
The second muttered in response:
– I didn’t finish my lunch. –
And again the first: - Woohoo!
You're always talking nonsense.
We won't make it in time,
After all, they can lock the doors.
Throw lunch, we're flying now,
Let's take it and the story is over.

I pushed the branches apart with my shoulder
And he shouted: “Owls, what are you talking about?”

Having cleaned the beak, one of them
She answered me for two:
- There is a strange boy in the world.
He knows how to eat porridge himself,
Battleship can draw
And train angry dogs.
But they will only say: “It’s time to sleep!” –
He starts roaring until the morning:

"Don't extinguish
fire,
Don't ask
me,
Doesn't matter
I won't sleep
The whole bed
I'll turn it over
I don't want
I can not,
Better to go to the owls
I'll run away..."

We reasoned: so and so,
Since this little weirdo
Doesn't want to sleep at night,
He needs to become an owl.
We'll bring the boy into the hollow,
Let's say five terrible words,
Let's give you magic grass
And let's turn him into an owl. –
Here the owls rose from the branches
And they rushed off into the darkness of the night.

I knew where they were flying
Who do they want to bewitch?
After all, this is Zhenya, my neighbor,
He is five and a half years old
And all night long he
Screams, rages and roars:

"Don't extinguish
fire,
Don't ask
me,
Doesn't matter
I won't sleep
The whole bed
I'll turn it over
I don't want
I can not,
Better to go to the owls
I'll run away..."

How to get ahead of these owls?
How can I warn Zhenka?
Nobody can help me:
It's completely dark, night has fallen.
The fog haze has risen,
A star lit up in the sky...

I rushed to wake up the woodpecker:
- Listen, woodpecker, what should I do?
My best friend is in trouble
But I can’t find the way...

The woodpecker thought and was silent
And he shook his head:
- I can’t put my mind to it,
I'll fly off and wake up the mouse. –
Now the mouse came running
And she squeaked: “Why are you sad?”
After all, my friend is an old mole
I dug a direct underground passage.
You can go straight
You won't go astray there. –
And despite the darkness,
I ran to the mole.
But here trouble awaited me:
The passage was as wide as a mole's!
Well, I'm off on the road,
When will I not fit in it?
You'll have to walk along the top,
How can you find a path in the darkness?
Glasses won't help me here...
But the woodpecker shouted: “Fireflies!” –
And the fireflies arrived
Such kind bugs
And immediately the darkness receded,
And I ran like an arrow,
Like a fast walker
like a helicopter
Like a jet plane!

Here I am at home. Before the owls!
Ordinary Zhenkin I hear a roar:

"Don't extinguish
fire,
Don't ask
me,
Doesn't matter
I won't sleep
The whole bed
I'll turn it over
I don't want
I can not,
Better to go to the owls
I'll run away..."

I shouted: “Zhenya, brother, trouble!”
After all, two owls are flying here!
You've made a mess! –
And I told him everything.
And Zhenya immediately fell silent,
It was as if he had never screamed in his life.
And more in the evenings
Doesn't make a fuss.
As soon as they say: “It’s time to sleep!”
He falls asleep until the morning.
And owls don't sleep at night:
The capricious ones are guarded by the children.