The old man sat meekly and sadly. The pages of an open book run and run...

It's no secret that to get high score for part C (essay) on Unified state exam Literature requires preparatory work, either independently or with a tutor. Often, success depends on the initially correctly chosen strategy for preparing for the exam. Before you start preparing for the Unified State Exam in Literature, you should answer important questions for yourself. How can a tutor systematize topics so that he doesn’t have to start all over again with each new piece? What “pitfalls” are hidden in the wording of the topic? How to plan your work correctly?

One of the time-tested principles preparatory work to the essay is the breakdown of various topics into certain types. If necessary, subgroups can be distinguished within the type. Careful work with one type of topic different writers(four to six) allows you to better understand the uniqueness of each person’s creativity and at the same time learn to work with a similar topic, not be afraid of it and recognize it in any formulation. You should strive to be able to determine the type of topic for Part C and formulate it both orally and in writing. The main task of such preparation is to develop the ability to argue your thoughts and draw conclusions necessary to uncover the topic. Any form of preparation can be chosen: an essay of 1–2 pages, selection of material for given topic, drawing up an essay plan, analysis small text, compilation quotation portrait any character, analysis of a scene, even free reflections on a quote from a work...

Experience shows: the more homework a tutor gives for a certain type of topic, the more successful the exam will be. We believe that sometimes it is more useful, instead of writing an essay, to think about one type of topic and develop a plan for constructing several essays that you can use in the exam.

This article will be devoted to one type of topic - “The originality of details...”. During the exam, the topic can be formulated in different ways (“An artistic detail in the lyrics...”, “Psychological details in the novel...”, “The function of a household detail...”, “What does Plyushkin’s garden tell us?”, “No one understood so clearly and subtly, like Anton Chekhov, the tragedy of the little things in life...", etc.), the essence does not change: we got a topic related to a certain literary concept - artistic detail.

First of all, let us clarify what we mean by the term “artistic detail”. A detail is a detail that the author has endowed with significant meaning. An artistic detail is one of the means of creating or revealing a character's image. By artistic detail we mean a generic concept, which is divided into many particular ones. An artistic detail can reproduce features of everyday life or furnishings. Details are also used by the author when creating a portrait or landscape (portrait and landscape detail), an action or state (psychological detail), the hero’s speech (speech detail), etc. Often, an artistic detail can be at the same time portrait, everyday, and psychological. Makar Devushkin in Dostoevsky’s “Poor People” invents a special gait so that his holey soles are not visible. The holey sole is a real item; as a thing, it can cause trouble to the owner of the boots - wet feet, colds. But for the attentive reader, a torn sole is a sign whose content is poverty, and poverty is one of the defining symbols of St. Petersburg culture. And Dostoevsky’s hero evaluates himself within the framework of this culture: he suffers not because he is cold, but because he is ashamed. After all, shame is one of the most powerful psychological levers of culture. Thus, we understand that the writer needed this artistic detail in order to visually present and characterize the characters and their environment, the life of St. Petersburg in the 19th century.

The saturation of a work with artistic details is determined, as a rule, by the author’s desire to achieve an exhaustive completeness of the image. Particularly significant with artistic point From a visual perspective, a detail often becomes a motif or leitmotif of a work, an allusion or reminiscence. So, for example, Varlam Shalamov’s story “To the Show” begins with the words: “We played cards at Naumov’s horse-driver.” This phrase immediately helps the reader draw a parallel with the beginning of “ Queen of Spades": "...played cards with the horse guard Narumov." But besides literary parallel, the true meaning of this phrase is given by the terrible contrast of life surrounding Shalamov’s heroes. According to the writer’s intention, the reader must assess the extent of the gap between the horse guardsman - an officer of one of the most privileged guards regiments - and the horse guardsman belonging to the privileged camp aristocracy, where access is denied to “enemies of the people” and which consists of criminals. There is also a significant difference, which may escape the uninformed reader, between the typical noble surname Narumov and common people Naumov. But the most important thing is the terrible difference in character itself card game. Playing cards is one of the everyday details of the work, which particularly sharply reflected the spirit of the era and the author's intention.

Artistic detailing may be necessary or, on the contrary, excessive. For example, a portrait detail in the description of Vera Iosifovna from the story of A.P. Chekhov's “Ionych”: “...Vera Iosifovna, a thin, pretty lady in pence-nez, wrote stories and novels and willingly read them aloud to her guests.” Vera Iosifovna wears pence-nez, that is men's glasses, this portrait detail emphasizes the author’s ironic attitude towards the heroine’s emancipation. Chekhov, speaking about the heroine’s habits, adds “she read aloud to guests” from her novels. Vera Iosifovna’s exaggerated passion for her work is emphasized by the author, as if in mockery of the heroine’s “education and talent.” In this example, the heroine’s habit of “reading out loud” is a psychological detail that reveals the heroine’s character.

Items belonging to the heroes can be a means of revealing character (Onegin’s office in the estate) and a means social characteristics hero (Sonia Marmeladova’s room); they can correspond to the hero (Manilov’s estate), and even be his doubles (Sobakevich’s things), or they can be opposed to the hero (the room in which Pontius Pilate lives in “The Master and Margarita”). The situation can influence the hero’s psyche, his mood (Raskolnikov’s room). Sometimes objective world is not depicted (for example, the significant lack of description of Tatyana Larina’s room). For Pushkin's Tatyana, the significant absence of substantive details is the result of poeticization; the author seems to elevate the heroine above everyday life. Sometimes the importance of subject details is reduced (for example, in Pechorin’s Journal), this allows the author to focus the reader’s attention on the inner world of the hero.

When preparing an applicant for Part C, the tutor should remember that the formulation of the topic may not include the term artistic (everyday, object, etc.) detail, but this, nevertheless, should not confuse or distract from the topic.

The tutor must discuss non-standard formulations of the topic in the form of a question or an unexpected detail with the student when preparing for part C, since the purpose of such exercises is to help better remember information and achieve free expression of thoughts. We recommend that both the tutor and the student use some topics from our list:

What do we know about Onegin's uncle? (mini-essay)
The estate and its owner. (essay on “Dead Souls”)
What does Korobochka's clock show? (mini-essay)
The world of communal apartments in the stories of M. Zoshchenko. (composition)
Turbines and their house. (essay on “The White Guard”)

The type of topic we have chosen - “Originality of details...” - is more conveniently divided into two subgroups: originality of details in the works of one author and in the works of different authors. Below is a work plan for each of the subgroups, which explains not what to write, but how to write, what to write about.

I. The originality of details in the works of one author:

What is meant by household item?
The degree of saturation of the work with everyday details.
The nature of household parts.
Systematization of household parts.
The degree of specificity of everyday parts and the functions that the parts perform for the time of creation of the work.

Household parts can be characterized as follows:

the degree of saturation of the space in the work with everyday details (“I clenched my hands under a black veil...”, A. Akhmatova);
combining parts into a certain system (System significant details in "Crime and Punishment" by Dostoevsky);
a detail of an expansive nature (in Zoshchenko’s “Bath”, the narrator’s coat with the only surviving top button indicates that the narrator is a bachelor and travels on public transport during rush hour);
contrasting details with each other (the furnishings of Manilov’s office and the furnishings of Sobakevich’s office, the knocking of knives in the kitchen and the singing of a nightingale in the Turkins’ garden in “Ionych”);
repetition of the same detail or a number of similar ones (cases and cases in “The Man in the Case”);
exaggeration of details (the men in “The Wild Landowner” did not have a rod to sweep out their hut);
grotesque details (deformation of objects when depicting Sobakevich’s house);
endowment of objects independent life(Oblomov’s Persian robe becomes almost acting character novel, we can trace the evolution of the relationship between Oblomov and his robe);
color, sound, texture, noted when describing details (color detail in Chekhov’s story “The Black Monk”, grey colour in "The Lady with the Dog");
perspective of the depiction of details (“Cranes” by V. Soloukhin: “Cranes, you probably don’t know, // How many songs have been composed about you, // How much up when you fly, // Looks with misty eyes!”);
the attitude of the author and the characters to the described everyday objects (object-sensory description by N.V. Gogol: “the head is radish down”, “a rare bird will fly to the middle of the Dnieper...”).

The originality of details in the work of one author can be consolidated when preparing the following tasks:

Two eras: Onegin's office and his uncle's office.
The room of the man of the future in Zamyatin’s dystopia “We”.
The role of everyday objects in Akhmatova’s early lyrics.

One of the arts of a professional tutor is the ability to create a complex work with a type of topic. A full-fledged work for part C must necessarily contain an answer to the question of what functions the household parts perform in the work. We will list the most important:

character description (French sentimental novel in the hands of Tatiana);
opening technique inner world hero (pictures of hell in a dilapidated church, stunning Katerina);
means of typification (furnishings of Sobakevich’s house);
means of characterization social status person (Raskolnikov’s room, similar to a coffin or closet);
detail as a sign of a cultural-historical nature (Onegin’s office in Chapter I of the novel);
a detail of an ethnographic nature (the image of an Ossetian sakli in “Bel”);
details designed to evoke certain analogies in the reader (for example, Moscow–Yershalaim);
a detail designed for the emotional perception of the reader (“Farewell to the New Year’s tree” by B.Sh. Okudzhava, “Khodiki” by Yu. Vizbor);
symbolic detail (the dilapidated church in “The Thunderstorm” as a symbol of the collapse of the foundations of the Domostroevsky world, a gift to Anna in I.I. Kuprin’s story “The Garnet Bracelet”);
characteristics of living conditions (life in Matryona’s house from “ Matryona Dvor» A.I. Solzhenitsyn).

As a training exercise, we suggest thinking through a plan for the following topics:

The function of everyday details in the novel in verse “Eugene Onegin”.
Functions of household parts in the “Overcoat”.
Researchers called the heroes of the "White Guard" a "commonwealth of people and things." Do you agree with this definition?
In Bunin's poem “The whole sea is like a pearl mirror...” there are more signs, colors and shades than specific objects. It is all the more interesting to think about the role of object details, for example, the legs of a seagull. How would you define this role?
What is the role of objective details in Bunin’s poem “The old man sat, obediently and sadly...” (cigar, watch, window - your choice)? (Based on Bunin’s poem “The old man sat, obediently and sadly...”).

II. The originality of details in the works of different authors. For example, an essay on the topic “Household item in the prose of A.S. Pushkina, M.Yu. Lermontov and N.V. Gogol" can be written according to the following plan:

What is meant by a household item?
The difference in the author's tasks and the differences in this regard in the selection of household parts.
The nature of household details compared by all authors.
The functions of household items that they perform in the work.

To answer questions C2, C4, the tutor must explain to the student how literary tradition connected the works, show similarities and differences in the use of artistic detail in the works of different authors. IN Unified State Exam assignments According to the literature, the wording of tasks C2, C4 may be different:

In what works of Russian literature do we encounter descriptions of everyday life and how in them does everyday life interact with humans?
What works of Russian classics contain Christian symbolism (description of cathedrals, church services, Christian holidays) plays as in the text of the story " Clean Monday", important role?
What role does artistic detail play in Chekhov's stories? In what works of Russian literature does an artistic detail have the same meaning?

For tasks C2, C4, a small answer of 15 sentences will be sufficient. But the answer must include two or three examples.

Many years before his death, in house number 13 on Alekseevsky Spusk, the tiled stove in the dining room warmed and raised little Elena, Alexey the elder and very tiny Nikolka. As I often read “The Carpenter of Saardam” near the glowing tiled square, the clock played the gavotte, and always at the end of December there was the smell of pine needles, and multi-colored paraffin burned on the green branches. In response, the bronze ones, with gavotte, which stand in the bedroom of the mother, and now Elenka, beat the black wall towers in the dining room. My father bought them a long time ago, when women wore funny sleeves with bubbles at the shoulders. Such sleeves disappeared, time flashed like a spark, the father-professor died, everyone grew up, but the clock remained the same and chimed like a tower. Everyone is so used to them that if they somehow miraculously disappeared from the wall, it would be sad, as if a native voice had died and nothing would happen. empty space you won't shut up. But the clock, fortunately, is completely immortal, the Saardam Carpenter is immortal, and the Dutch tile, like a wise rock, is life-giving and hot in the most difficult times.

Here is this tile, and the furniture of old red velvet, and beds with shiny knobs, worn carpets, variegated and crimson, with a falcon on the hand of Alexei Mikhailovich, with Louis XIV basking on the shore of a silk lake in the Garden of Eden, Turkish carpets with wonderful curls in the oriental the field that little Nikolka imagined in the delirium of scarlet fever, a bronze lamp under a lampshade, the best cabinets in the world with books that smelled of mysterious ancient chocolate, with Natasha Rostova, Captain's Daughter, gilded cups, silver, portraits, curtains - all seven dusty and full rooms that raised the young Turbins, all this is the mother at the very hard time left it to the children and, already out of breath and weakening, clinging to Elena’s crying hand, she said:

Together... live together.

But how to live? How to live?

M. Bulgakov.

"White Guard".

This text asks you to complete two tasks:

C1. Researchers called the house of the White Guard heroes “a community of people and things.” Do you agree with this definition? Give reasons for your answer.
C2. In what other works of Russian literature do we encounter descriptions of everyday life and how in them does everyday life interact with humans? Support your answer with examples.

The specificity of both questions is that they are closely related, which makes the task of the teacher preparing for the Unified State Exam easier. Thus, when answering the questions proposed in these tasks, students can remember that the depiction of everyday life often helps to characterize the person around whom this everyday life is built (a typical example is the first chapter of Onegin). The relationship between man and everyday life is different. Everyday life can absorb a person or be hostile to him. This happens, for example, in Gogol’s “ Dead souls", in Chekhov's "Gooseberry". Everyday life can emphasize the special warmth of a person, as if extending to the surrounding things - let’s remember Gogol’s “Old World Landowners” or Oblomovka. Everyday life may be absent (reduced to a minimum), and thereby emphasize the inhumanity of life (depiction of the camp by Solzhenitsyn and Shalamov).

War may be declared on everyday life (“On rubbish”, Mayakovsky). The image of the Turbins’ house is constructed differently: before us is truly a “commonwealth of people and things.” Things and the habit of them do not make Bulgakov’s heroes philistines; on the other hand, things, from a long life next to people, seem to become alive. They carry the memory of the past, warm, heal, feed, raise, educate. These are the Turbins' stove with tiles, clocks, books; symbolic meaning The novel is filled with images of lampshades and cream curtains. Things in Bulgakov's world are spiritual.

It is they who create beauty and comfort at home and become symbols of the eternal: “The clock, fortunately, is completely immortal, the Saardam carpenter is immortal, and the Dutch tile, like a wise rock, is life-giving and hot in the most difficult times.” Let us remind you that quoting the text when answering the exam is welcome.

A topic such as artistic detail, infinitely broad, presupposes a creative attitude towards literary heritage. In this article we were able to highlight only some aspects of this broad and very interesting topic. We hope that our recommendations will help both high school students in preparing for the literature exam, and teachers in preparing for classes.

It was mysteriously bright.

Drenched in it strange light,
Suppressed by dead silence
I became - and a pale silhouette
My shadow fell behind me.
Across the skies, in the foggy haze,
Shining, the lunar face dived
And the silvery shine of mercury
The mica was illuminated by the crust.

Who was he, this midnight
An invisible guest? Where is he from
Comes to me at the appointed time
Through the snowdrifts to the balcony?
Or did he find out that I was sad,
Am I alone? what's in my house
Only snow and the sky on a silent night
Looking from the garden in the moonlight?

Perhaps he heard today
As I left the office,
He walked through the dark hall into the bedroom,
Where the parquet shimmered in the dusk,
Where the skies turned blue in the windows,
And in this blue I stood up clearly
Black and green spruce cone
And the sharp Sirius shone?

Now the moon was at its zenith,
A thick fog floated in the sky...
I was waiting for him - I was going to the broom
On the crust of snow glades,
And if my enemy were out of temptation
Suddenly he jumped onto a snowdrift, -
I'd fire a rifle without mercy
It pierced his broad forehead.

But he didn't go. The moon was hiding
The moon shone through the fog
The darkness fled... And it seemed to me
That Sapsan is sitting in the snow.
Frosty frost like diamonds
Shined on him, and he dozed,
Gray-haired, googly, round-eyed,
And he pressed his head into his wings.
And he was terrible, incomprehensible,
Mysterious as this running
Foggy haze and light spots,
Sometimes they illuminated the snow, -
Like a force incarnate
That Will, that at the midnight hour
Fear united us all -
And she made us enemies.

Russian spring

The birch trees are boring in the hollows,
Foggy haze in the fields,
Soggy horse manure
The road turns black in the fog.
In a sleepy steppe village
Smelling breads are baked.
Slowly two beggars
They wander through the village.
There, in the middle of the street, there are puddles,
Ash and spring dirt,
There is a fumes in the huts, and outside
The rubble is smoldering and smoking.
Squinting, he sits by the barn
Shepherd on a rusty chain.
The huts are dark from fumes.
Foggy and quiet - in the steppe.
Only the cock is carefree
He sings of spring all day long.
It's warm and drowsy in the field,
And there is happy laziness in the heart.

The old man sat submissively and sadly...

The old man sat, obediently and sadly
Raising his eyebrows, in a chair by the window.
On the table where the cup of tea was getting cold,
Cigar burnt stream
Blue fiber strips.
It was a winter day, and on thin face,
Through this light and fragrant smoke,
The sun looked forever young,
But its radiance is golden
To the west it walked through empty rooms.
The clock in the corner with its clear measure
We measured the time... For sunset
The old man looked with helpless faith...
Gray ash grew on the cigar,
A sweet aroma flowed.

Into the living room, through the garden and dusty curtains...

Into the living room, through the garden and dusty curtains,
Cheerful summer light streams from the window,
Crystal gold lying on the harpsichords,
On shabby carpets and faded parquet floors.
There is wilderness and game around the house. There are maples and aspens,
Shelters of turtle doves, rose hips, euonymus...
And in the house there is rubbish, decay: there are cobwebs everywhere,
All the doors are locked... And so it has been for many years.
In deep silence, mysteriously sparkling,
Like small mother of pearl, the moth floats silently.
On the rainbow glasses, like dry velvet,
The purple butterfly scurries around anxiously.
But there is no window in the window, and the frame in it is blank.
Even a moth won’t live long here!

Autumn. Thicket of the forest...

Autumn. Thicket of the forest.
Dry swamp moss.
Lake Beleso.
The sky is pale.
The water lilies have bloomed,
And the saffron bloomed.
The paths are broken,
The forest is empty and bare.
Only you are beautiful
Although it has been dry for a long time,
In the hummocks by the bay
Old alder.
You look feminine
Into the water, half asleep -
And you'll turn silver
First of all, to spring.

The pages of an open book run and run...

The sheets are running, running open book,
The poplars are running and flowing towards the sky,
The sound of threshing is louder coming from the barn,
The groves and fields were blown by the wind.
The landowner stood up and, closing the windows,
Looks south... But the rain cloud
Already passed. Again peace and laziness.
It's fun and dry in the hot light
Lilac foliage glitters under the windows;
The river lit up like gold; old woman
Carries to plant makhotkas on the fence;
The rooster crows; into the nettles for the hen
A dozen little yellow chickens are in a hurry...
And the shades of the curtains are patterned with a light mesh
The horse hospital is full of people.

The whole sea is like a pearl mirror...

The whole sea is like a pearl mirror,
Lilac with a milky golden tint.
A rainbow shone in the sunset rain.
Now a thin smoke is fragrant over the saklya.
There's a seagull sitting in a rocky cove, -
Like a float. Sometimes it takes off
And you can see how a stream of silver
Water runs off the pink paws.
Rocks are frozen in the water off the coast,
A liquid emerald shines beneath them,
And there, in the distance, there are pearls and opals
They flow through the golden yachts.

Black spruce and pine trees shine through in the dark front garden...

Black spruce and pine trees shine through in the dark front garden:
In the black pattern of branches there is a golden horn of the month.
I hear the roosters crow. I recognize you by the sad melodies
Late, mysterious hour. I’ll go out into the snow, onto the porch.
Everything has frozen and frozen, the cruel stars are shining,
But I'm ready to freeze to the bones in the lungs of the fur,
Just to see you, the dying month in gold,
Golden glittering snow, light shadows of birches
And the gems of heaven: amber-green Jupiter,
Sirius, a daring sapphire, burning with blue fire,
Aldebaran ruby, Orion diamond chain
And the silver ghost leaving for the seas is Argo.

Dense green spruce forest near the road...

Thick green spruce forest by the road,
Deep fluffy snow.
A deer walked in them, powerful, thin-legged,
Throwing heavy horns to the back.
Here is his trace. There are paths trampled here,
Here I bent the tree and scraped it with a white tooth -
And a lot of coniferous crosses, ostinok
It fell from the top of the head onto the snowdrift.
Here is the trail again, measured and sparse,
And suddenly - a jump! And far away in the meadow
The dog race is lost - and the branches are lost,
Covered with horns on the run...
Oh, how easily he passed through the valley!
How madly, in an abundance of fresh strength,
14

Lesson 4. Idea

There is no poem without an idea.

The poet does not come up with ideas. They themselves are formed from the fact that the poet thoroughly “to the depths of his soul” touches, worries, pleases or saddens...

Experienced poets know: the reader will not leave indifferent (figuratively will remain in his memory) only that poem, the idea of which is still to a greater extent did not leave the author indifferent. Which forced me to be sincerely interested in myself, to seek explanations for the facts; pushed me to create a poetic form for my expression.

But authors who consider themselves poets, but are not, are often content with unprincipled writing - they copy from reality without penetrating into the depths of phenomena. They superficially copy what already exists. And then they are offended that they are not recognized as poets.

The idea is always deep and may not be revealed immediately.

The idea is not the topic of the poem. In the second lesson, we worked on the topic set by the words “The day ends...” And how many ideas were in the presented poems!

The idea of "worth" poetic work(like the words used in it) is always “fresh”, new. It's always a discovery. Before the author, no one had seen her “from this perspective.”

“Catching” (seeing, hearing, feeling) an idea is one of the most difficult tasks.

Let's try to "taste" some bright ideas recognized poets.

Let's start with some pointless nonsense Velimir Khlebnikov:

Bobeobi's lips sang,
Veeomi's eyes sang,
The eyebrows sang,
Lieeey - the image was sung,
Gzi-gzi-gzeo the chain was sung.
So on the canvas there are some correspondences
Outside the extension lived a Face.

The author “struggled” over seven lines from 1908 to 1909 and they express the idea of the impression of the portrait seen at the exhibition. According to the author's intention unusual combination letters (sounds) and words (in unusual meaning) can create in the reader sensations similar to those of Khlebnikov himself, caused by the picture.

Vladimir Mayakovsky was a remarkable ideological propagandist:

And if
to the party
the little ones huddled together -

surrender, enemy,
freeze
and lie down!

The consignment -
Million-fingered hand
compressed
into one
thundering fist.

The idea of historical foresight (and foresight itself) was expressed by Mikhail Lermontov in the poem “Prediction”:

The year will come, Russia's black year,
When the kings crown falls;
The mob will forget their former love for them,
And the food of many will be death and blood;
When children, when innocent wives
The overthrown will not be protected by the law;
When the plague is from the stinking ones, dead bodies
Will begin to wander among the sad villages...

The idea of spiritualizing nature Fedor Tyutchev formulated this way:

Not what you think, nature:
Not a cast, not a soulless face -
She has a soul, she has freedom,
It has love, it has language...

The camp idea - in the “Kolyma Notebooks” Varlama Shalamova:

Square sky and countless stars.
It would have sunk to the bottom long ago,
And only the bindings of iron bars
He is not allowed through the window.

An idea can carry historical fact- like Alexandra Pushkina in Poltava

It's almost noon. The heat is blazing.
Like a plowman, the battle rests.
Cossacks are prancing here and there.
The shelves are built while leveling.
The battle music is silent.
On the hills the guns are subdued
They stopped their hungry roar.
And lo and behold, announcing the plain
It thundered in the distance hooray:
The regiments saw Peter.

Condition - like Ivan Bunin in “The old man sat, obediently and sadly...”

The old man sat, obediently and sadly
Raising his eyebrows, in a chair by the window.
On the table where the cup of tea was getting cold,
Cigar burnt stream
Blue fiber strips.

It was a winter day, and my face was thin,
Through this light and fragrant smoke,
The sun looked forever young,
But its radiance is golden
To the west it walked through empty rooms.

The clock in the corner with its clear measure
We measured the time... For sunset
The old man looked with helpless faith...
Gray ash grew on the cigar,
A sweet aroma flowed.

Our contemporary has a different state Vladimir Shemshuchenko

The apple tree glowed in the garden
Three minutes before dawn.
Summer bathed in the shadow of willow trees
Yellow water lilies in a pond.
The fish played in the depths
On a mother-of-pearl pipe,
And the reeds sang about the eternal,
And I wanted to sing along.
A mosquito rang at my temple
About something infinitely important
And this happened more than once,
And the same clouds floated.
The apple fell - it's time -
And the branch, groaning, straightened up.
And, triumphantly, life extended
Three minutes before morning.

Figuratively speaking, an idea is a skeleton (invisible frame) that is clothed (packed) visible tissue(living flesh) poems.

Like smoke, the gray haze of frost
Frozen in the darkness of the night.
Like a ghost, birch
Standing gray outside the window.
Mysteriously it became dark in the corners,
The stove is shining a little, and someone's shadow
She stretched out timidly over everything, -
Sadness that sees off the day
Sadness spilled at sunset
In half-faded ashes,
And in a subtle warm aroma
Burnt wood, and in the semi-darkness,
And in silence, so gloomy,
Like a pale ghost of the day
With some deep thought
He looks at me through the darkness.

polar Star

Your wild plague among the snow and ice
Created by Death. Above the plague is night for six months.
And the pale Pole Star
Burns motionless in the abyss of the sky.
Peer into the misty ghost. This is Death.
She sits near the tent, directed
Blind gaze into the midnight firmament -
And forever the Star froze above her.

Ruins

Above the blue port are gray ruins
Remains of an ancient Greek prison
To the south are the unsteady plains of the sea,
To the north are bare hills.
In the breaches of the walls there are gnarled olives
And dereza, companion of ruins,
And under the walls there are red cliffs
And the waves are thick aquamarine.
It's already October, but summer doesn't go away:
Already on the hills the silk of grass is turning yellow,
But the air is clean - and how much light there is in the sky,
And in a sea of gentle blue!
And the old ruins are quiet, quiet.
And all day long, under the measured noise of the shafts,
I am watching the sail of a brigantine at sea,
And in the sky there are circles of eagles.
And the satin noise lulls the sea.
And it seems that there is no life in the world:
There is only shine, azure and clear air,
Space, silence and light.

Peregrine Falcon

In the fields, far from the estate,
Millet omelet overwinters.
There are herds of wolf weddings there,
There are pieces of fur and droppings.
Ox ribs by the road
They stick out in the snow - and I slept on them
Peregrine falcon, space-footed vulture,
Ready to soar every moment.
I shot him. And this
Threatens disaster. And here's to me
The guest began to walk. He's up until dawn
He wanders around the house in the moonlight.
I haven't seen him. I heard
Just the crunch of steps. But I can’t sleep.
On the third night I went out into the field...
Oh, what a sad night it was!
Clawed footprint in deep snow
It led into the remote steppes from the threshing floor.
In the hazy and high sky
The cold moon floated.
Behind the shaft, above the bait in the pit,
The Serbian willow loomed.
Distance above the deserted fields
It was mysteriously bright.
Bathed in this strange light,
Suppressed by dead silence
I became - and a pale silhouette
My shadow fell behind me.
Across the skies, in the foggy haze,
Shining, the lunar face dived
And the silvery shine of mercury
The mica was illuminated by the crust.
Who was he, this midnight
An invisible guest? Where is he from
Comes to me at the appointed time
Through the snowdrifts to the balcony?
Or did he find out that I was sad,
Am I alone? what's in my house
Only snow and the sky on a silent night
Looking from the garden in the moonlight?
Perhaps he heard today
As I left the office,
He walked through the dark hall into the bedroom,
Where the parquet shimmered in the dusk,
Where the skies turned blue in the windows,
And in this blue I stood up clearly
Black and green spruce cone
And the sharp Sirius shone?
Now the moon was at its zenith,
A thick fog floated in the sky...
I was waiting for him - I was going to the broom
On the crust of snow glades,
And if my enemy were out of temptation
Suddenly he jumped onto a snowdrift, -
I'd fire a rifle without mercy
It pierced his broad forehead.
But he didn't go. The moon was hiding
The moon shone through the fog
The darkness fled... And it seemed to me
That Sapsan is sitting in the snow.
Frosty frost like diamonds
Shined on him, and he dozed,
Gray-haired, googly, round-eyed,
And he pressed his head into his wings.
And he was terrible, incomprehensible,
Mysterious as this running
Foggy haze and light spots,
Sometimes they illuminated the snow, -
Like a force incarnate
That Will, that at the midnight hour
Fear united us all -
And she made us enemies.

Russian spring

The birch trees are boring in the hollows,
Foggy haze in the fields,
Soggy horse manure
The road turns black in the fog.
In a sleepy steppe village
Smelling breads are baked.
Slowly two beggars
They wander through the village.
There, in the middle of the street, there are puddles,
Ash and spring dirt,
There is a fumes in the huts, and outside
The rubble is smoldering and smoking.
Squinting, he sits by the barn
Shepherd on a rusty chain.
The huts are dark from fumes.
Foggy and quiet - in the steppe.
Only the cock is carefree
He sings of spring all day long.
It's warm and drowsy in the field,
And there is happy laziness in the heart.

“The old man sat, humbly and sadly...”

The old man sat, obediently and sadly
Raising his eyebrows, in a chair by the window.
On the table where the cup of tea was getting cold,
Cigar burnt stream
Blue fiber strips.
It was a winter day, and my face was thin,
Through this light and fragrant smoke,
The sun looked forever young,
But its radiance is golden
To the west it walked through empty rooms.
The clock in the corner with its clear measure
We measured the time... For sunset
The old man looked with helpless faith...
Gray ash grew on the cigar,
A sweet aroma flowed.

"Into the living room, through the garden and dusty curtains..."

Into the living room, through the garden and dusty curtains,
Cheerful summer light streams from the window,
Crystal gold lying on the harpsichords,
On shabby carpets and faded parquet floors.
There is wilderness and game around the house. There are maples and aspens,
Shelters of turtle doves, rose hips, euonymus...
And in the house there is rubbish, decay: there are cobwebs everywhere,
All the doors are locked... And so it has been for many years.
In deep silence, mysteriously sparkling,
Like small mother of pearl, the moth floats silently.
On the rainbow glasses, like dry velvet,
The purple butterfly scurries around anxiously.

"Autumn. Thicket of the forest..."

Autumn. Thicket of the forest.
Dry swamp moss.
Lake Beleso.
The sky is pale.
The water lilies have bloomed,
And the saffron bloomed.
The paths are broken,
The forest is empty and bare.
Only you are beautiful
Although it has been dry for a long time,
In the hummocks by the bay
Old alder.
You look feminine
Into the water, half asleep -
And you'll turn silver
First of all, to spring.

"The sheets of an open book are running and running..."

The pages of an open book are running, running,
The poplars are running and flowing towards the sky,
The sound of threshing is louder coming from the barn,
The groves and fields were blown by the wind.
The landowner stood up and, closing the windows,
Looks south... But the rain cloud
Already passed. Again peace and laziness.
It's fun and dry in the hot light
Lilac foliage glitters under the windows;
The river lit up like gold; old woman
Carries to plant makhotkas on the fence;
The rooster crows; into the nettles for the hen
A dozen little yellow chickens are in a hurry...
And the shades of the curtains are patterned with a light mesh
The horse hospital is full of people.

"The whole sea is like a pearl mirror..."

The whole sea is like a pearl mirror,
Lilac with a milky golden tint.
A rainbow shone in the sunset rain.
Now a thin smoke is fragrant over the saklya.
There's a seagull sitting in a rocky cove, -
Like a float. Sometimes it takes off
And you can see how a stream of silver
Water runs off the pink paws.
Rocks are frozen in the water off the coast,
A liquid emerald shines beneath them,
And there, in the distance, there are pearls and opals
They flow through the golden yachts.

“Black spruce and pine trees shine through in the dark front garden...”

Black spruce and pine trees shine through in the dark front garden:
In the black pattern of branches there is a golden horn of the month.
I hear the roosters crow. I recognize you by the sad melodies
Late, mysterious hour. I’ll go out into the snow, onto the porch.
Everything has frozen and frozen, the cruel stars are shining,
But I'm ready to freeze to the bones in the lungs of the fur,
Just to see you, the dying month in gold,
Golden glittering snow, light shadows of birches
And the gems of heaven: amber-green Jupiter,
Sirius, a daring sapphire, burning with blue fire,
Aldebaran ruby, Orion diamond chain
And the silver ghost leaving for the seas is Argo.

"Dense green spruce forest near the road..."

Dense green spruce forest near the road,
Deep fluffy snow.
A deer walked in them, powerful, thin-legged,
Throwing heavy horns to the back.
Here is the trail again, measured and sparse,
And suddenly - a jump! And far away in the meadow
The dog race is lost - and the branches are lost,
Covered with horns on the run...
Oh, how easily he passed through the valley!
How madly, in an abundance of fresh strength,
In joyfully bestial swiftness.
He took beauty away from death!