Stories about love for the Motherland, even in a foreign land there is longing and very strong sadness for the Motherland.

Evgeny Permyak. The Tale of the Great Bell

The sailor who arrived in England by ship and fell ill in the city of London has long been dead, but the fairy tale about him lives on.

The Russian sailor remained in the city of London. He was admitted to a good hospital. Provisions and money were left:

- Get well, friend, and wait for your ship!

The ship's buddies said so and headed back to their native Russian land.

The sailor was ill for a short time. He was treated with good medicine. They didn’t spare any medicine, powders or drops. Well, yes, life took its toll. The guy is of Arkhangelsk blood - the son of native Pomeranian parents. Can you really break someone like that with illness?

The sailor was discharged from the hospital. I cleaned the jacket and polished the buttons. Well, the rest of the clothing received a hot iron. I went to the harbor to look for fellow countrymen.

“Your fellow countrymen are not here,” they tell him in the harbor. — Iceland has been driving away fogs for three weeks now. Why would there be Russian sails in London?

“It’s no problem,” says the sailor. - I'm big-eyed. And I will find fellow countrymen on your ships.

He said so and stepped onto the English ship. He wiped his feet on the mat and saluted the flag. Introduced himself.

The British love it. Because the maritime order is the same everywhere.

- Look what you are like! A sailor in full uniform. It’s just a pity that you won’t find any fellow countrymen on our royal ship.

And the sailor smiles at this, says nothing, and heads towards the mainmast.

“Why,” the sailors think, “does he need our mainmast? »

And the Russian sailor came up to her, stroked her with his hand and said:

- Hello, fellow countrywoman, Arkhangelsk pine!

The mast woke up and came to life.

It was as if I had woken up from a long sleep. She rustled with the Russian mast pine forest and shed an amber resin tear:

- Hello, fellow countryman! Tell me how things are going at home.

The English sailors looked at each other:

- Look how big-eyed you are! I found a fellow countrywoman on our ship.

Meanwhile, the sailor is having intimate conversations with the mainmast. What's going on at home, he tells, hugs the mast:

- Oh, my dear, you are good! You mast miracle tree. The forest winds did not blow your spirit away. The storm did not bend your pride.

The English sailors look - and the sides of the ship smile at the Russian sailor, the deck spreads under his feet. And he recognizes in them a pattern dear to his heart, he sees his native forests and groves.

- Look how many fellow countrymen he has! “It’s like being at home on a foreign ship,” the English sailors whisper to themselves. - And the sails flock to it.

The flax sails cling to the sailor, and the ship's hemp mooring ropes at his feet twist as if they were clinging to their own.

- Why do the sails flock to you? - asks the captain. “They were woven in our city of London.”

“That’s true,” the sailor answers. - Only before this they grew as fiber flax on Pskov land. How can I not love them! Yes, and take the same ropes. And they were born with four to five arshins of hemp. That's why they came to you.

The sailor says this, but he himself glances sideways at the anchors and glances at the guns. In those years, our iron, our copper, our cast iron Ural mountains They went quickly to many countries: to Sweden, to Norway, to England.

- Well, what am I up to? good company got it! - the sailor rejoices.

- Oh, what a big-eyed Russian sailor you are! You can see your family everywhere. It's expensive, obviously, it's for you.

“Expensive,” the sailor answered and began to tell such things about our region that the swell of the sea subsided and the seagulls landed on the water.

The whole team listened.

And at this time, the clock began to chime in the main London bell tower. The big bell was struck. Far away its velvety ringing floated over the fields, forests, rivers and went over the sea.

The Russian sailor listens to this ringing and cannot hear enough. He even closed his eyes. And the ringing spreads further and further, on a low, sloping wave it rocks you to sleep. There is no equal voice in all the bell towers of old England. The old man will stop, sigh, the girl will smile, the child will become silent when this big bell rings.

They are silent on the ship, listening. They love that the Russian sailor liked the sound of their bell.

Here the sailors, laughing, ask the sailor:

“Didn’t you recognize your fellow countryman in the bell again?”

And the sailor answered them:

The English captain was surprised how a Russian sailor could not only see his native land, but also hear it. He was surprised, but didn’t say anything about the bell, although he knew for certain that Russian craftsmen in Muscovy cast this bell for England and Russian blacksmiths forged the perfect language for it.

The ship's captain remained silent. And for whatever reason he kept silent, the fairy tale is silent about that. And I'll keep quiet.

And as for the large bell on the largest, Westminster, bell tower of old England, it is still Russian forged to this day english watch beats. Velvetly beats, with a Moscow accent.

Not everyone, of course, can hear his ringing to their hearts and ears, but now nothing can be done. Don't remove the bell!

And if you take it off, he will begin to proclaim the gospel even louder among people.

Let him hang as he hung, let him ring back the bells with the Moscow Kremlin brothers, and talk about blue sky, about still water,

about sunny days... About friendship.

Mikhail Prishvin. Spring of light

At night, with electricity, snowflakes were born out of nothing: the sky was starry and clear.

The powder formed on the asphalt not just like snow, but an asterisk upon an asterisk, without flattening one another.

It seemed that this rare powder came straight out of nowhere, and yet as I approached my home in Lavrushinsky Lane, the asphalt from it was gray.

My awakening on the sixth floor was joyful.

Moscow lay covered with star powder, and, like tigers along the mountain ridges, cats walked everywhere on the roofs. How many clear traces, how many spring romances: in the spring of light all the cats climb onto the roofs.

And even when I went down and drove along Gorky Street, the joy of the spring light did not leave me. During a light morning in the rays of the sun, there was that neutral environment when the very thought smells: you think about something, and that’s what smells.

Sparrow descended from the roof of the Mossovet and drowned up to his neck in star powder.

Before we arrived, he managed to take a good swim in the snow, and when he had to fly away because of us, his wings were scattered by the wind

There are so many stars around that a circle almost the size of a large cap has turned black on the asphalt.

-Have you seen it? - one boy said to three girls.

And the children, looking up at the roof of the Mossovet, began to wait for the second gathering of the cheerful sparrow.

The spring of light warms during the afternoons.

By midday the powder had melted, and my joy was dulled, but it did not disappear, no!

As soon as the puddles froze in the evening, the smell of the evening frost again brought me back to the spring of light.

It was getting dark, but the blue evening stars did not appear in Moscow: the whole sky remained blue and slowly turned blue.

Against this new blue background, lamps with multi-colored lampshades flashed here and there in houses; You will never see these lampshades at dusk in winter.

Near the half-frozen puddles of melted star powder, children's delighted screams could be heard everywhere, children's joy filled the entire air.

This is how children in Moscow begin spring, just as sparrows begin it in the village, then rooks, larks, black grouse in the forests, ducks on the rivers and waders in the swamps.

From the children's spring sounds in the city, as well as from the bird cries in the forests, my shabby clothes suddenly fell off with melancholy and flu.

A real tramp, at the first rays of spring, often throws his rags along the road...

The puddles quickly froze everywhere. I tried to poke one with my foot, and the glass shattered with a special sound: dr... dr... dr...

Mindlessly to myself, as is the case with poets, I began to repeat this sound, adding the appropriate vowels: dra, dra, dri, drian.

And suddenly out of this senseless rubbish emerged first my beloved goddess Driana (the soul of the tree, the forest), and then Driandia, the desired country to which I began my journey in the morning under the star powder.

I was so happy about this that I repeated out loud several times, testing for sonority, without paying attention to anyone around:

- Dryandia.

- What did he say? - one girl asked another behind me. - What did he say?

Then all the girls and boys from the other puddle rushed to catch up with me.

- Did you say something? - they asked me all at once.

“Yes,” I answered, “my words were: “Where is Malaya Bronnaya?”

What disappointment, what despondency my words produced: it turned out that we were standing right on this Malaya Bronnaya.

“It seems to me,” said one little girl with roguish eyes, “you said something completely different.”

“No,” I repeated, “I need Malaya Bronnaya, I’m going to my good friends at house number thirty-six.” Goodbye!

They remained in the circle, dissatisfied, and were probably now discussing this oddity among themselves: there was something like Driandia, but it turned out to be an ordinary Malaya Bronnaya!

Having moved a considerable distance away from them, I stopped at the lantern and shouted loudly to them:

- Dryandia!

Hearing this a second time, the children were convinced and rushed in with a unanimous cry:

- Driandia, Driandia!

- What is this? - they asked.

“The country of free Svans,” I answered.

- Who are they?

“These,” I began to tell calmly, “are not very tall people, but they are heavily armed.”

We entered under the black, old trees of Pioneer Ponds.

Large matte electric lanterns, like moons, appeared to us from behind the trees. The edges of the pond were covered with ice.

One girl tried to stand, the ice crackled.

- You'll go crazy! - I shouted.

- With your head? - she laughed. - How is it - with your head?

- With your head, with your head! - the guys repeated.

And, seduced by the opportunity to go headlong, they rushed onto the ice.

When everything ended well and no one went crazy, the children again came to me, as if they were an old friend, and asked me to tell more about the small but heavily armed people of Driandia.

“These people,” I said, “always stay in twos.” One is resting, and the other is carrying him on a sled, and therefore their time is not wasted. They help each other in everything.

- Why are they heavily armed?

“They must protect their homeland from enemies.

- Why are they on skids, do they have eternal winter?

- No, they always have, as we do now, neither summer nor winter, they always have spring of light: the ice crunches under their feet, sometimes it falls through, and then the poor Svans go headlong under the ice, others immediately save them. They don’t show blue stars in the evening: their sky is so blue and bright, and as soon as it’s evening, multi-colored light bulbs light up everywhere in the windows...

I told them the same thing that happens in Moscow in the spring of the world, as now, and none of them had any idea that my magical Driandia was right there in Moscow, and that so soon we would all go to war for this Driandia.

Irina Pivovarova. We went to the theater

We went to the theater.

We walked in pairs, and there were puddles, puddles, puddles everywhere because it had just rained.

And we jumped over puddles.

My new blue tights and my new red shoes were covered in black splashes.

And Lyuska’s tights and shoes too!

And Sima Korostyleva ran and jumped into the very middle of the puddle, and the entire hem of her new green dress turned black! Sima began to wring it out, and the dress became like a washcloth, all wrinkled and wet at the bottom. And Valka decided to help her and began to smooth out the dress with her hands, and this caused some gray stripes to form on Sima’s dress, and Sima was very upset.

But we told her:

And Sima stopped paying attention and began jumping over puddles again.

And our entire unit jumped - Pavlik, Valka, and Burakov. But, of course, Kolya Lykov jumped the best. His trousers were wet to the knees, his shoes were completely wet, but he did not lose heart.

And it was funny to be depressed over such trifles!

The whole street was wet and glistening from the sun.

Steam rose from the puddles.

Sparrows chattered on the branches.

Beautiful houses, all like new, just painted yellow, light green and pink, looked at us through clean spring windows. They joyfully showed us their black carved balconies, their white stucco decorations, their columns between the windows, their multi-colored tiles under the roofs, their cheerful dancing women in long robes sculpted above the entrances and serious sad men with small horns in their curly hair.

All the houses were so beautiful!

So old!

So different from each other!

And this was the Center. Center of Moscow. Garden Street. And we went to the puppet theater. We walked from the metro itself! On foot! And jumped over puddles! How I love Moscow! I'm even scared how much I love her! I even want to cry, how much I love her! My stomach clench when I look at these ancient houses, and how people are running and running somewhere, and how cars are rushing, and how the sun sparkles in the windows of tall houses, and cars screech, and sparrows scream in the trees.

And now all the puddles are behind us - eight large, ten medium and twenty-two small - and we are at the theater.

And then we were in the theater and watched the performance. An interesting performance. We watched for two hours, we were even tired. And on the way back, everyone was in a hurry to go home and didn’t want to walk, no matter how much I asked, so we got on the bus and rode in the bus all the way to the metro.

The theme of the Motherland is traditional for Russian literature; every artist turns to it in his work. But, of course, the interpretation of this topic is different every time. It is determined by the personality of the author, his poetics, and the era, which always leaves its mark on the artist’s work.

This sounds especially poignant in critical times for the country. Dramatic story Ancient Rus' brought to life such works full of patriotism as “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign”, “The Tale of the Destruction of the Russian Land”, “The Devastation of Ryazan by Batu”, “Zadonshchina” and many others. Separated by centuries, they are all dedicated to tragic events ancient Russian history, full of sorrow and at the same time pride for their land, for its courageous defenders. The poetics of these works is unique. To a large extent, it is determined by the influence of folklore, and in many ways by the pagan worldview of the author. Hence the abundance poetic images nature, a close connection with which is felt, for example, in “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign”, vivid metaphors, epithets, hyperboles, parallelisms. How to artistic expression all this will be comprehended in literature later, but for now we can say that for the unknown author of the great monument, this is a natural way of storytelling, which he is not aware of as a literary device.

The same can be seen in the “Tale of the Ruin of Ryazan by Batu”, written already in the thirteenth century, in which the influence is very strong folk songs, epics, legends. Admiring the courage of the warriors defending the Russian land from the “filthy”, the author writes: “These are winged people, they do not know death... riding on horses, they fight - one with a thousand, and two with ten thousand.”

The enlightened eighteenth century gives birth new literature. The idea of strengthening Russian statehood and sovereignty dominates poets as well. The theme of the Motherland in the works of V.K. Trediakovsky and M.V. Lomonosov sounds majestic and proud.

“It’s in vain to look at Russia through distant countries,” Trediakovsky glorifies its high nobility, pious faith, abundance and strength. His Fatherland for him is “the treasure of all good things.” These “Poems in Praise of Russia” are replete with Slavicisms:

All your people are Orthodox

And they are famous everywhere for their courage;

Children deserve such a mother,

Everywhere they are ready for you.

And suddenly: “Vivat Russia!” Another viva!” This Latinism is a trend of the new, Peter the Great era.

In Lomonosov's odes, the theme of the Motherland takes on an additional perspective. Glorifying Russia, “shining in the light,” the poet paints an image of the country in its real geographical outlines:

Look at the high mountains.

Look into your wide fields,

Where is the Volga, Dnieper, where the Ob flows...

Lomonosov's Russia is a “vast power”, covered with “everlasting snow” and deep forests, inspires poets, gives birth to “newtons of their own and quick in mind.”

A. S. Pushkin, who in general moved away from classicism in his work, in this topic is close to the same sovereign view of Russia. In “Memoirs in Tsarskoe Selo” an image of a mighty country is born, which was “crowned with glory” “under the scepter of a great wife.” The ideological closeness to Lomonosov is reinforced here at the linguistic level. The poet organically uses Slavicisms, giving the poem a sublime character:

Be comforted, mother of cities Russia,

Behold the death of the stranger.

Today they are weighed down on their arrogant heights.

The avenging right hand of the creator.

But at the same time, Pushkin brings to the theme of the Motherland and lyrical beginning, not typical of classicism. In his poetry, the Motherland is also a “corner of the earth” - Mikhailovskoye, and his grandfather’s possessions - Petrovskoye and the oak groves of Tsarskoye Selo.

The lyrical beginning is clearly felt in the poems about the Motherland by M. Yu. Lermontov. The nature of the Russian village, “plunging the thought into some kind of vague dream,” dispels mental anxieties lyrical hero.

Then the anxiety of my soul is humbled, Then the wrinkles on my brow disappear, And I can comprehend happiness on earth, And in heaven I see God!..

Lermontov’s love for the Motherland is irrational, it is “strange love,” as the poet himself admits (“Motherland”). It cannot be explained by reason.

But I love - why don’t I know?

Its steppes are coldly silent.

Its boundless forests sway.

Its river floods are like seas...

Later, F.I. Tyutchev will say aphoristically about his similar feeling for the Fatherland of Posts:

You can't understand Russia with your mind,

A common arshin cannot be measured...

But there are other colors in Lermontov’s attitude towards the Motherland: love for its boundless forests and burnt stubble is combined in him with hatred for the country of slaves, the country of masters (“Farewell, unwashed Russia”).

This motif of love-hate will be developed in the works of N. A. Nekrasov:

Who lives without sadness and anger

He does not love his homeland.

But, of course, this statement does not exhaust the poet’s feeling for Russia. It is much more multifaceted: it also contains love for its boundless distances, for its open space, which he calls healing.

All the rye is all around, like a living steppe.

No castles, no seas, no mountains...

Thank you, dear side,

For your healing space!

Nekrasov’s feelings for the Motherland contain pain from the awareness of its wretchedness and at the same time deep hope and faith in its future. So, in the poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'” there are the lines:

You're miserable too

You are also abundant

You are mighty

You are also powerless, Mother Rus'!

And there are also these:

In a moment of despondency, O Motherland!

My thoughts fly forward.

You are still destined to suffer a lot,

But you won't die, I know.

A similar feeling of love, bordering on hatred, is also revealed by A. A. Blok in his poems dedicated to Russia:

My Rus', my life, shall we suffer together?

Tsar, yes Siberia, yes Ermak, yes prison!

Eh, isn’t it time to separate and repent...

To a free heart what is your darkness for?

In another poem he exclaims: “Oh my, my wife!” Such inconsistency is characteristic not only of Blok. It clearly expressed the duality of consciousness of the Russian intellectual, thinker and poet of the early twentieth century.

In the works of poets such as Yesenin, familiar motifs of nineteenth-century poetry are heard, interpreted, of course, in a different historical context and different poetics. But just as sincere and deep is their feeling for the Motherland, suffering and proud, unhappy and great.

This is my homeland, my native land, my fatherland,

- and there is nothing hotter in life,

deeper and more sacred feelings,

than love for you...

A.N. Tolstoy

“The Tale of Igor’s Campaign” - the greatest patriotic poem of Ancient Rus' .

Illustrations for “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign” by V.A. Favorsky. From woodcuts.
The pinnacle of lyricism is recognized as “The Lament of Yaroslavna,” the wife of the captured Igor: “I will fly like a cuckoo along the Danube, I will wet my silk sleeve in the Kayala River, I will wipe the prince’s bloody wounds on his mighty body.” Yaroslavna turns with a plaintive lament to the forces of nature - the Wind, the Dnieper, the Sun, reproaching them for the misfortune that befell her husband and imploring them to help him.

Homeland in the life and work of N.M. Karamzin

“...We must nurture love for the fatherland and a feeling for the people... It seems to me that I see how people’s pride and love of fame are increasing in Russia with new generations!.. And those cold people who do not believe the strong influence of the graceful on the education of souls and laugh at the romantic patriotism, is it worthy of an answer? These words belong to N. Karamzin, and they appeared in the journal “Bulletin of Europe” founded by him. This is how the birth of Karamzin the writer happened, about whom Belinsky would later say: “Karamzin began new era Russian literature". The homeland occupied a special place in Karamzin’s life and work. Each writer revealed the theme of his homeland using the example of different images: his native land, familiar landscapes, and Karamzin used the example of the history of his country, and his main work is “History of the Russian State”

“The History of the Russian State” is an epic creation that tells the story of the life of a country that has passed through a difficult and glorious path. The undoubted hero of this work is the Russian national character, taken in development, formation, in all its endless originality, combining features that seem incompatible at first glance. Many people later wrote about Russia, but its true history was written before the work of Karamzin, translated into most important languages, the world has not yet seen. From 1804 to 1826, over 20 years that Karamzin devoted to the “History of the Russian State,” the writer decided for himself the question of whether he should write about his ancestors with the impartiality of a researcher studying ciliates: “I know, we need the impartiality of a historian: sorry, I don’t always could hide his love for the Fatherland..."

The article “On Love for the Fatherland and National Pride,” written in 1802, was the most complete expression of Karamzin’s views. It is the fruit of long thought, a confession of the philosophy of happiness. Dividing love for the fatherland into physical, moral and political, Karamzin eloquently shows their characteristics and properties. A person, Karamzin claims, loves the place of his birth and upbringing - this affection is common to everyone, “a matter of nature and should be called physical”
Nowadays, it is especially clear that without Karamzin, without his “History of the Russian State,” not only Zhukovsky, Ryleev’s “Dumas,” Odoevsky’s ballads, but also Dostoevsky, L.N. Tolstoy, A.N. Tolstoy would have been impossible.

A.S. Pushkin - historian, philosopher, politician, man and patriot.

Pushkin embodied world harmony in his poetic word, and although he, a passionate poet, had so much immediate life and curiosity about it that he could have given himself to life selflessly. And that is why Pushkin is the most precious thing that Russia has, the dearest and closest to each of us; and that is why, as one researcher of Russian literature noted, it is difficult for us to talk about him calmly, without delight.

Pushkin was more than a poet. He was a historian, philosopher, politician, a Man, and, of course, an ardent patriot of his homeland, representing the era.

The image of Peter I - the “lord of fate” - is integral to Russia.

Pushkin saw in the image of Peter I an exemplary ruler of the Russian state. He speaks of the glorious reign of Peter, calling him “the master of fate”, who raised “Russia on its hind legs” and opened a “window to Europe”.

The Motherland as an object of love, pride, poetic understanding of its fate in the works of M.Yu. Lermontov.

There, behind the joys comes reproach.

There is a man groaning from slavery and chains!

Friend! This is the land... my homeland.

In Lermontov’s lyrical works, the Motherland is an object of love, a poetic understanding of its fate and its future. For him, this concept has a broad, rich and multifaceted content. Lermontov's poems are almost always an internal, intense monologue, a sincere confession, questions asked to oneself and answers to them.

Already in Lermontov’s early works one can find his reflections on the future of Russia. One of these thoughts is the poem “Prediction”. The sixteen-year-old poet, who hated tyranny, political oppression and the Nicholas reaction, which came after the defeat of the revolutionary action of the best part of the Russian nobility, predicts the inevitable death of the autocracy: “... the crown of the kings will fall.”

Homeland is the theme of Lermontov’s lyrics, which developed throughout the poet’s entire work.

But I love - why, I don’t know
Its steppes are coldly silent,
Her boundless forests sway,
The floods of its rivers are like seas. \

Undoubtedly, Lermontov became a national poet. Some of his poems were set to music and became songs and romances, such as “I go out alone on the road...” In less than 27 years of his life, the poet created so much that he forever glorified Russian literature and continued the work of the great Russian poet Pushkin, becoming on par with him. Lermontov's view of Russia, his critical love for his homeland turned out to be close to the next generations of Russian writers, influenced the work of such poets as A. Blok, Nekrasov, and especially the work of Ivan Bunin.

Searching for an answer to the question “To be or not to be Russia?” in the works of I.A. Bunin.

It is difficult to imagine next to Bunin any of the writers of the 20th century who caused equally opposite assessments. The “eternal religious conscience” of Russia and the chronicler of the “memorable failures” of the revolution - these are the extreme poles between which there are a great many other judgments. According to the first of these points of view, Bunin only occasionally succumbed to the “deceptive existence”, the haze of “historical Russia”, and during periods of highest creative insights he “tuned all the strings of his soul” to the chorale “of God’s order and order, which was Russia.”

Homeland in the life and work of Igor Severyanin

“The days of party discord are bleak for us among brutal people”

It so happened that in 1918, during the civil war, the poet found himself in a zone occupied by Germany. He ends up in Estonia, which then, as we know, becomes independent. And from that time, almost until the beginning of the Great Patriotic War, that is, until his death, he lived in a foreign land. It is abroad, in separation from native land such writers as Kuprin, Bryusov, Balmont and many others created their works about Russia, and Igor Severyanin’s longing for his homeland also left its mark on the poet’s work.

Northerner creates a series of poems dedicated to Russian writers, in which he says how important their work is for Russian literature, for Russia. Here are poems about Gogol, Fet, Sologub, Gumilyov. Without false modesty, Igor Severyanin devotes his poems to himself. They are called “Igor Severyanin”. Let's not forget that back in 1918 he was called the “King of Poets.”

It is also worth noting that many of Severyanin’s poems contain irony. Irony for himself, for his time, for people and for everything that surrounds him. But there was never any anger or hatred in his poems towards those who did not understand him, who mocked his self-praise. The poet himself called himself an ironist, making it clear to the reader that this was his style, the style of the author hiding behind his hero with an ironic grin.

The image of Russia - a country of enormous power and energy - in the works of Alexander Blok.

Wide, multicolor, full of life and movement, the picture of his native land “in tear-stained and ancient beauty” is formed in Blok’s poems. Vast Russian distances, endless roads, deep rivers, scanty clay of washed-out cliffs and flaming rowan trees, violent blizzards and snowstorms, bloody sunsets; burning villages, mad troikas, gray huts, alarming cries of swans, factory chimneys and whistles, the fire of war and mass graves. This is what Russia was like for the Bloc.

Homeland in the life and work of Sergei Yesenin.

Native land! The fields are like saints,

Groves in icon rims,

I would like to get lost

In your hundred-ringing greens.

So in Yesenin’s songs about the homeland there is no -

no yes and they slip

thoughtful and sad notes,

like a light cloud of sadness on

cloudless - its blue sky

youthful lyrics.

The poet did not spare colors to make it brighter

convey wealth and beauty

native nature. Image

Yesenin's relationship with nature is complemented by another feature: love for all living things: animals, birds, domestic animals. In poetry they are endowed with almost human feelings.

Results of the evolution of the theme of the Motherland in the lyrics of Sergei Yesenin

Thus, born and growing from landscape miniatures and song stylizations, the theme of the Motherland absorbs Russian landscapes and songs, and poetic world Sergei Yesenin, these three concepts: Russia, nature and the “song word” - merge into one. Admiration for the beauty of the native land, a depiction of the hard life of the people, the dream of a “peasant paradise”, rejection of urban civilization and the desire to comprehend “Soviet Rus'”, a feeling of unity with every inhabitant of the planet and the “love for the native land” remaining in the heart - this is the evolution of the theme of the native land in the lyrics of Sergei Yesenin.

“The topic of Russia... I consciously devote my life to this topic...” - words from Blok’s famous letter, which were not just a declarative statement. They acquired a programmatic meaning and were confirmed by all the poet’s work and the life he lived.

This immortal theme, the theme of a deep feeling of love for the Motherland, hard-won faith in Russia, faith in Russia’s ability to change - while preserving its original nature - was inherited and renewed by the great writers XIX-XX centuries and has become one of the most important topics in Russian literature.

Mind Russia Not understand , Arshin general Not measure : U her special become - IN Russia Can only believe .

They love homeland Not behind That , What she great , A behind That , What its .

But I love you , homeland meek ! A behind What - unravel Not Can . Vesela yours joy short WITH loud song in the spring on meadow .

The most the best purpose There is protect yours fatherland .

Two feelings wonderful close us - IN them gains heart food : Love To to my native ashes , Love To fatherly coffins .

Russia - Sphinx . Rejoicing And grieving , AND pouring himself black blood , She looks , looks , looks V you , AND With hatred , And With love !..

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Municipal educational institution

"Secondary school No. 36"

ABSTRACT

on literature on the topic of:

THE IMAGE OF THE MOTHERLAND IN THE WORKS OF RUSSIAN CLASSICS

Completed by a student of grade 11 E

Bisikeshov R.R.

Teacher Kiseleva O.N.

Astrakhan 2005

Introduction 3
4

1.1 M.Yu. Lermontov 4
1.2 N.A. Nekrasov 7
1.3 Full name Tyutchev 8
1.4 A.A. Akhmatova 9
1.5 A.A. Block 12
1.6 V.A. Mayakovsky 14
1.7 S.E. Yesenin 15

Conclusion 19
Bibliography 20

Introduction

Homeland... Native places... They have some inexplicable power. In difficult days of our lives, when we have to make a difficult choice or take stock of the past stage life path, we return to the places where we spent our childhood and youth, where the first steps into independent adult life were taken.

Love for the Motherland, for its people, traditions, history, the desire to make one’s country even more beautiful is the source of the valiant labor of a worker, the amazing discoveries of a scientist, the wonderful works of a composer, artist, and poet. It has always been this way. And therefore, the theme of the Motherland sounds in many works of Russian classics and runs like a red line through all their work.

Homeland. Fatherland. Native land. Fatherland. Motherland. Motherland. Mother Earth. Native side. All these heartfelt words by no means exhaust the full range of feelings that we put into this concept, sacred to every person. It is difficult to name a writer or poet who would not devote the most sincere lines coming from the heart to the Motherland. This is one of the eternal themes in domestic and world literature. The enormous literary material related to the theme of the Motherland cannot, of course, be included in full in this essay, so I will be able to touch on the work of only some Russian classics.

1. The image of the motherland in the works of Russian classics

1.1 M.Yu. Lermontov

M.Yu. Lermontov loved his homeland high love. He loved its people, its nature, wished happiness to his country. According to Lermontov, to love the Motherland means to fight for its freedom, to hate those who hold home country in the chains of slavery. Love for the Motherland is the theme of such poems by Lermontov as “Complaints of a Turk”, “Borodin’s Field”, “Borodino”, “Two Giants”. But this theme is revealed with particular force and completeness in the poem “Motherland,” created by the poet a few months before his death.

Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov in his poem “Motherland” speaks of an unknown force calling to one’s native places:

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.

Here Lermontov contrasts his patriotism with official, official patriotism. He declares his blood connection with Russian, his native nature, with the Russian people, with the sorrows and joys of his life. Lermontov calls his love for the Motherland “strange” because he loves the people and nature in his country, but hates the “land of masters,” autocratic-serfdom, official Russia.

One of the best examples of Lermontov’s patriotic lyrics is the poem “Motherland”. Its theme is determined by the name itself: “Motherland”. This is no longer the Russia of the “blue uniforms,” but the country of the Russian people, the fatherland of the poet. The poet calls his love “strange”:

I love my fatherland, but with a strange love!

This love is not like the official patriotism of the ruling classes. It is composed of the poet’s ardent love for the Russian people and love for his native nature. The poem recreates magnificent pictures of nature: the cold silence of the steppes, “boundless swaying forests,” “sea-like” river floods. The native nature is majestic.

Next, the poet’s thought turns to the people: “I like to ride in a cart along a country road.” “The Country Road” leads us to the village, and a picture of the life of Russian people appears, a touching, sad image of the Russian village:

And, with a slow gaze piercing the shadow of the night,

Meet on the sides, sighing for an overnight stay,

Trembling lights of sorrowsbny villages.

The life of the common people is close and understandable to the poet; everything connected with the life of the Russian peasant is dear:

With joy unknown to many

I see a complete threshing floor

A hut covered with straw

Window with carved shutters.

The people appear before the eyes of the lyrical hero on weekdays and on holidays:

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.

The vocabulary of the poem, at first literary and bookish (“reason”, “glory bought with blood”), in the last part is replaced by simple colloquial speech(“jumping in a cart”, “smoke of stubble”, “talk of drunken peasants”). Russian nature, first presented in its stern grandeur, then reveals itself in touching image“four white birches.” Iambic hexameter and pentameter are replaced by iambic tetrameter in the poem. The rhyme is also varied - alternating, enveloping and paired rhyme.

The poem “Motherland” speaks of the turn of Lermontov’s work towards revolutionary-democratic poetry.

Patriotic lyrics occupy an important place in Lermontov's poetry.

In 1830, the poet wrote “Borodin’s Field”, on the same topic as the later “Borodino”. This poem is the first embodiment of the thoughts and feelings living in the soul of the patriotic poet. Created in 1837 by Lermontov, who had reached political maturity, “Borodino” became one of the poet’s favorite poems. The poem is written in the form of a conversation between a young soldier and a veteran - a participant in the War of 1812. Essentially, “Borodino” is the story of an ordinary soldier about the Battle of Borodino - only the first 7 lines belong to his young interlocutor. True patriotism Russian people, without posture, without boasting, are reflected in this poem. The mood of Russian soldiers before the battle is shown in four expressive lines:

The old people grumbled:

“What are we? for winter apartments?

Don't the commanders dare?

Aliens tear up their uniforms

About Russian bayonets?"

The image of the colonel is surrounded by an aura of high heroism.

In his mouth are words that were repeated so many times by Soviet soldiers in 1941:

"Guys! Isn't Moscow behind us?

We'll die near Moscow,

How our brothers died!”

Poets have always responded with pain to the dramatic events in the political life of Russia. People devoted to the Fatherland cannot live peacefully in a country where everything that is best, everything that is progressive is persecuted. “Where there is good, there is either enlightenment or a tyrant on guard.” Lermontov despairingly calls Russia “a country of slaves, a country of masters.”

The theme of heroic deeds in the fight against the enemies of the Motherland is also heard in M. Yu. Lermontov’s poem “Borodino”, dedicated to one of the glorious pages of the historical past of our country.

1.2 N.A. Nekrasov

A feeling of fiery love for the Motherland permeates all of Nekrasov’s work:

Not to the skies of a foreign Fatherland -

I composed songs for the Motherland! --

declared the poet in the poem “Silence.” The poet loved his homeland with deep and tender filial love, and this image runs through all of his work. "Motherland! I humbled myself in soul and returned to you with a loving heart”; "Motherland! I have never ridden across your plains with such a feeling”; “You are poor, you are abundant, you are powerful, you are powerless, Mother Rus'!” - the poet addressed his Motherland with these words throughout his work. In the works of Nekrasov plum, “love for the Motherland” was constantly combined with the words “anger” and “hatred.”

He who lives without sadness and anger does not love his Fatherland,” he wrote. Loving his homeland, Nekrasov never tired of hating the system of tsarist Russia and its ruling classes. He loved while hating, and this love-hate expresses the originality of the patriotism of Nekrasov - a faithful son of his Fatherland, a great national poet-fighter.

Amazing landscapes appear before us when we read the poems of Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov:

Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous

The air invigorates tired forces;

The ice is fragile on the icy river,

It lies like melting sugar.

Noting the hard work and talent of the people, poets show it hard life, trials that fall on his shoulders. They speak with hatred and indignation about those in power who are indifferent to the needs of the people. Thus, many of Nekrasov’s works are dedicated to the plight of the peasants. In the poem “Reflections at the Front Entrance,” the poet exclaims with pain and despair:

... Motherland!

Name me such an abode,

I've never seen such an angle

Where would your sower and guardian be?

Where would a Russian man not moan?

1.3 Full name Tyutchev

Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is a great singer of the beauty of the Russian region. In his poems, nature is alive, spiritual, capable of feeling and experiencing:

The sun is shining, the waters are sparkling,

Smile in everything, life in everything,

The trees tremble joyfully

Bathing in the blue sky.

The trees sing, the waters glisten,

The air is filled with love.

And the world, the blooming world of nature,

Intoxicated with the abundance of life.

Tyutchev, as a talented artist, discovered what a simple observer could not see. He hears “a languid, light noise of crimson leaves” and sees how “the azure of heaven laughs.”

1.4 A.A. Akhmatova

Usually the theme of the Motherland arises most acutely in literature during wars and revolutions, that is, when a person needs to commit moral choice. In Russian literature, this problem became most relevant at the beginning of the 20th century. The new ideology that the revolution brought with it was unacceptable to many people, both the old and new generations of the Russian intelligentsia.

A. A. Akhmatova did not accept the revolution from the very beginning and never changed her attitude towards it.

It is quite natural that the problem of emigration arises in her work. Many poets, writers, artists and musicians close to Akhmatova went abroad, leaving their homeland forever.

I'm not with those who abandoned the earth

To be torn to pieces by enemies.

I don't listen to their rude flattery,

I won’t give them my songs.

But I always feel sorry for the exile,

Like a prisoner, like a patient.

Your road is dark, wanderer,

Someone else's bread smells like wormwood...

(1922)

Akhmatova does not condemn those who left, but clearly defines her choice: for her, emigration is impossible.

I had a voice. He knew comfortingly

He said: "Come here,

Leave your land deaf and sinful,

Leave Russia forever...

...But indifferent and calm

I covered my ears with my hands,

So that with this speech unworthy

The mournful spirit was not defiled.

(1917)

The homeland in Akhmatova’s poems is Tsarskoe Selo, Slepnevo, Petersburg-Petrograd-Leningrad, the city with which her fate was so closely connected. In the poem "Petrograd, 1919" she writes:

And we forgot forever

Imprisoned in the capital of the wild,

Lakes, steppes, cities

And the dawns of the great homeland.

In a bloody circle day and night

A cruel languor fills...

Nobody wanted to help us

Because we stayed at home

Because, loving your city,

And not winged freedom,

We saved for ourselves

His palaces, fire and water...

For Akhmatova, Petersburg is a completely real city. But in some poems it can also be a symbol of Russia at a specific moment in time, when the example of one city shows the fate of an entire country:

Another time is approaching,

The wind of death is chilling my heart,

But our holy city

Peter will be an involuntary monument.

Akhmatova not only views events in Russia as political, but also gives them universal significance. And if in Blok’s poem “The Twelve” the revolution is a riot of the elements, of universal forces, then in Akhmatova it is God’s punishment. Let's remember the poem "Lot's Wife":

And the righteous man followed the messenger of God,

Huge and bright, on a black mountain.

But alarm spoke loudly to my wife:

It's not too late, you can still watch

To the red towers of our native Sodom,

To the square where she sang, to the yard where she spun,

On the empty windows of a tall house,

Where I gave birth to children for my dear husband...

(1924)

This is not just a biblical parable. Akhmatova compares the fate of her homeland with Sodom, as later with Paris in the poem “In the fortieth year” (“When an era is buried...”). This is not the death of St. Petersburg or Russia, this is the death of an era; and Russia is not the only state that has suffered such a fate. Everything is natural: everything has its end and its beginning. After all, any new era necessarily begins with the collapse of the old one. Perhaps that is why Akhmatova’s poems also contain bright notes, foreshadowing the birth of a new time.

...But with the curiosity of a foreigner,

Captivated by every novelty,

I watched the sled rushing,

And listened to my native language.

And wild freshness and strength

Happiness blew in my face,

It’s like a dear friend from forever

He went up to the porch with me.

(1929)

In the poem "Requiem" Akhmatova again embeds her experiences in the context of the era. The poem begins like this:

No, and not under an alien sky,

And not under the protection of alien wings -

I was then with my people,

Where my people, unfortunately, were.

(1961)

This was her final choice.

1.5 A.A. Block

Blok’s image of the Motherland is extremely complex, multifaceted and contradictory. The poet himself said that he devotes his entire life to this topic. Drunk, pious, looking mischievously from under a woman's headscarf, beggar - such is Blok's Russia. And that’s exactly how she is dear to him:

Yes, and so, my Russia,

You are dearer to me than all the lands, -

the poet admits in the poem “To sin shamelessly, endlessly...”.

The poet passionately loved his country, uniting its destiny with his own: “My Rus', my life, shall we suffer together?..”. In many of his poems about the Motherland, female images flash: “No, not an old face and not a lean one under a Moscow colored scarf...” (“New America”), “...patterned scarf up to the eyebrows...”, “.. .instant glance from under the scarf...”

The symbol of Russia in many of Blok’s poems comes down to the image of a simple Russian woman. By identifying these two images, the poet seemed to animate the very concept of “Russia,” bringing the so-called patriotic lyrics closer to love ones. In the poem “Autumn Day” he calls Russia his wife:

ABOUT, my poor country

What do you mean to your heart?

Oh my poor wife

Why are you crying bitterly?

Of all the Russian poets, only Blok has such an interpretation of the theme of love for the Fatherland. Fear, pain, melancholy and love to the point of madness - in every word, in every line.

Sometimes notes of the “supernatural” are added to this complex range of feelings. Thus, mystery, a complex interweaving of reality and mysticism shines through in the lines of what is, in my opinion, the most remarkable poem by Blok about the Motherland (“Rus”):

Rus' is surrounded by rivers

And surrounded by wilds

With swamps and cranes,

And with the dull gaze of the sorcerer...

...Where are the sorcerers and sorcerers

Cereals enchant the Pole,

A witches play with devils

In road snow columns.

Blok's Russia is unshakable and unchanging. But she also needs changes, which are mentioned in the poem “Kite” of 1916:

Centuries pass, war roars,

There is a rebellion, villages are burning,

A you are still the same, my country,

In tear-stained and ancient beauty--

How long should the mother push?

How long will the kite circle?

“The kite didn’t have long to circle.” A year after the poem was written, the revolution began. What awaits unfortunate Russia after it, what paths and roads will open before it? Blok didn’t know this for sure (although he foresaw a lot thanks to his brilliant intuition). Therefore, in his poem “The Twelve,” glorifying the spontaneous revolutionary storm that will overwhelm the poet, its heroes, a patrol of twelve people, do not see where they are going:

AND the blizzard throws dust in their eyes

Days and nights

All the way...

The old world to which Blok belonged was destroyed. The poet could not imagine what the new world would be like. The future turned out to be hidden in a veil of darkness and bloody haze. Poetry - great, true - is no longer needed by anyone; poetry cannot be heard because of the pounding of the footsteps of the guards on the pavement, because of the frequent shots and revolutionary songs.

1.6 V.A. Mayakovsky

IN lyrical collections There is not a single poem by Mayakovsky that would glorify pre-revolutionary Russia. He himself and all his poetry are directed towards the future. He loved contemporary Russia (more precisely, the Soviet Union) selflessly. At that time, life in the country was difficult, there was famine and devastation, and Mayakovsky, together with his country and his people, endured all the hardships and hardships:

Earth,

where is the air

like sweet fruit drink, throw it away

and you rush, wheels,-- but the earth

with whom

froze together forever

you can't stop loving... I

this land

I love.

Can

forget,

where and when he grew bellies and crops, but the earth,

with which

starving together - it’s impossible

never

forget.

The poet has visited abroad, seen a well-fed and luxurious life abroad, but his native land is dearer to him:

I would like to live

and die in Paris, if it weren’t for

such land-- Moscow.

Mayakovsky was incredibly proud that he lived in the only socialist country in the whole world. In his poems, he literally shouted: “Read, envy, I am a citizen of the Soviet Union!”

And even though this made some people “wrinkle their mouths with burns,” even though the young Soviet country still had many enemies, Mayakovsky sacredly and sincerely believed that all difficulties would be overcome, devastation, hunger, wars would disappear forever, and a bright communist future would come. All his poems about the Motherland are imbued with this faith and genuine optimism. The poet’s dreams were not destined to come true, but still this does not make his work any less interesting to study and read.

In lyrical works, Russia appears as a dear and painfully familiar fatherland, fickle, seething, sobbing through loud laughter, all directed towards the future and ready at any moment to forget about the difficult past, having understood everything and forgiven everyone.

1.7 S.E. Yesenin

“The theme of the Motherland, Russia, is the main one in all my poems...” - Yesenin often mentioned. Yes, it was precisely his ardent love for Russia, for that corner of the globe where he was born, that was the force that inspired him to create new works.

Face to face

You can't see the face.

Big things can be seen from a distance...

- this is how one can characterize in the words of the poet himself his gaze turned to Russia from “beautiful distance.” Creating the cycle “Persian Motifs,” Yesenin, having never been to Persia, gives a wonderful image of the Motherland. Even being in a fertile land, he cannot forget that

The moon is a hundred times bigger there,

No matter how beautiful Shiraz is,

It is no better than the Ryazan expanses,

Because I'm from the north, or what?

Sharing with Russia the tragic turns of her fate, he often turns to her as a loved one, seeking sympathy and answers to bitter, insoluble questions.

Ah, homeland!

How funny I have become.

A dry blush flies onto the sunken cheeks.

The language of my fellow citizens has become like...atjoi,

I'm like a foreigner in my own country.

This is how he perceives revolutionary events, this is how he sees himself in the new Russia. During the years of the revolution, he was entirely on the side of October, but he accepted everything in his own way, “with a peasant bias.” Through the mouths of the peasants, Yesenin expresses his attitude towards the actions of the new masters of Russia:

Yesterday the icons were thrown off the shelf,

The commissioner removed the cross from the church...

But, regretting “the passing Rus',” Yesenin does not want to lag behind the “coming Rus'”:

But I'm still happy.

In a host of storms

I had a unique experience.

The whirlwind has dressed up my destiny

In golden bloom.

With all his love for patriarchal Russia, Yesenin is offended by its backwardness and wretchedness, he exclaims in his hearts:

Field Russia! Enough

Dragging the plow across the fields!

It hurts to see your poverty

And birches and poplars.

But no matter what adversity tormented Russia, its beauty still remained unchanged, thanks to its marvelous nature. The charming simplicity of Yesenin’s paintings cannot but captivate readers. Already in one “Blue Fog. Snowy expanse, subtle lemon moonlight,” you can fall in love with the poet’s Russia. Every leaf, every blade of grass lives and breathes in Yesenin’s poems, and behind them is the breath of their native land. Yesenin humanizes nature, even his maple tree looks like a person:

And, like a drunken watchman, stepping out onto the road

He drowned in a snowdrift and froze his leg.

Behind the apparent simplicity of the images there is great skill, and it is the master’s word that conveys to the reader a feeling of deep love and devotion to his native land.

But Rus' is unthinkable without a sense of respect and understanding of the complex nature of the Russian people. Sergei Yesenin, experiencing a deep feeling of love for the Motherland, could not help but bow to his people, their strength, power and endurance, a people who managed to survive both famine and devastation.

Ah, my fields, dear furrows,

You are good in your sadness!

I love these frail huts

Waiting for gray-haired mothers.

I will fall to the birch bark little shoes,

Peace be with you, rake, scythe and plow!

Characterizing his lyrics, Yesenin said: “My lyrics are alive with one great love, love for my homeland. The feeling of homeland is fundamental in my work.”

And indeed, every line of Yesenin’s poems is imbued with ardent love for the homeland, and for him the homeland is inseparable from Russian nature and the countryside. This fusion of the homeland, Russian landscape, village and personal fate of the poet is the originality of S. Yesenin’s lyrics.

Conclusion

The theme of the Motherland is undoubtedly the leading one in the work of Russian classical poets. Whatever they talk about, the image of the Motherland is invisibly present in many of their works. We feel anxiety and excitement for the fate of Russia, admiration for its beauty, and a sincere desire to see the country great and free.

We feel ardent love for the Motherland and pride in its beauty in the works of the classics. It is impossible to love your Motherland without understanding and loving your people, their traditions, without experiencing their joys and hardships with them.

Lermontov, Pushkin, Nekrasov want to see Russia happy, and therefore free. They dream of seeing people working for the good of their country. It is in the people that there is that mighty and glorious force that is capable of breaking the shackles of oppression. N. A. Nekrasov passionately believed in this:

The army is rising - innumerable!

The strength in her will be indestructible!

Russian classical poets see their purpose in honest service to the Fatherland, to their people, experiencing their troubles with them, awakening in them the best, brightest feelings. Poets believe in a happy future for Russia, believe that their descendants will see the country liberated, because there are huge potential opportunities to break the foundations that have developed over centuries.

The scope of the essay does not allow us to continue the review of the work of Russian writers and poets who dedicated their most intimate lines to the Motherland.

I would like to finish the essay with the memorable lines of F.I. Tyutchev:

You can't understand Russia with your mind,

The general arshin cannot be measured:

She's going to be special...

You can only believe in Russia.

Bibliography

1. V. K. Pertsov. Mayakovsky. Life and art. M., 1976.

2. A.I.Mikhailov. Mayakovsky. ZhZL. M.: Young Guard, 1988.

3. Akhmatova A. Memories of A. Blok. M., 1976.

4. A. Blok. Favorites. M., 1989.

5. A. Blok. Letters to my wife. M., 1978.

6. Dobin E.S. Poetry of A. Akhmatova. L., 1968

7. Zhirmunsky V.M. The work of Anna Akhmatova. L., 1973

8. F.I.Tyutchev. Selected lyrics. M., 1986

9. A. Grigoriev. Aesthetics and criticism. M., 1980

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Municipal educational institution

secondary school No. 94

Project work on literary reading

Collection of works by students

about the Motherland

Completed by students

4 in class, school No. 94

Head Vitalieva M.S., primary school teacher

2009 – 2010 academic year

A word about the native land…………………………………………………………… pp. 3 - 4

Semenov A.

Kamalin A.

Alekseev A.

Maslova T.

AbaimovA.

A war passed across the earth…………………………………………… pp. 5 - 7

Semenov A.

Kazakov A.

Trutnev A.

Volodina A.

Volkova S.

About goodness and beauty…………………………………………………….. pp. 8 - 15

Trutnev A. “Magic decoration”

Trying to write “And I dreamed that we were like in a fairy tale...”

Alekseev A. Trutneva.

Martynets E. Kuzmin A.

Tremasova A. Abaimova A.

Kazakov A. Maslova T.

Spirina Yu. Kantorin D.

Timerov M. Pichuzhkin I.

About the cruel attitude of people towards nature

Abaimova A.

Tremasova A.

Maslova T.

Gubanova V.

Kazakov A.

Kuzmin A.

Essay based on the painting “Rye” by I.I. Shishkin

Martynets E.

Spirina Yu.

Pichuzhkin I.

Kamalin A.

Vrubel V.

Kantorin D.

Abaimova A.

Applications (Student Works)

A word about the native land

“Mama” (excerpt from the book “My Motherland” by Yu. Yakovlev)

Task No. 1:

How do you imagine your homeland?

Remember and tell us what first discoveries your mother helped you make as a child?

Semyonov Artyom

Russia is my homeland. This country occupies a vast territory and is located in different time zones. For example, in Nizhny Novgorod it is fifteen o’clock, and in Kamchatka it is midnight. The capital of Russia is Moscow.

Our country is rich in fields, forests and rivers. A large number of natural resources are extracted from the depths of the earth. The great rivers deserve special attention due to their beauty and diversity of fauna. The Volga River is called Mother, as it is the wet nurse.

Russia is a multinational country. Russians, Jews, Georgians, Tajiks, Armenians live in it...

“My native country is wide. There are many forests, fields and rivers in it. I don’t know any other country where people can breathe so freely.” These lines from the song say it all.

I want there to be no war in our country and peace to reign. Russia is the most beautiful and extraordinary country in the world.

Kamalin Sasha

My homeland is where my home is, where my loved ones and relatives were born and raised. My homeland is a big family at the same table with grandma’s pies. My homeland is always with me and no one can take it away from me.

Alekseev Alyosha

My homeland is a friendly family: mom, dad, grandmothers Lyuda and Alya, grandfathers Kolya and Zhenya, aunt Natasha and cousin Nikita. I love them very much and enjoy spending a lot of time with them.

And my homeland is my yard and my friends. We played together kindergarten, we play even now, when I started going to school.

My little homeland is located in beautiful Nizhny Novgorod, where I love to walk in the parks and in the Kremlin.

Maslova Tanya

Every person has his own homeland. Russia is my homeland. I know that it is large, multinational, peaceful, hospitable. People live, study and work in it different nations. I imagine her bright and beautiful. Let every person have such a homeland!

Abaimova Nastya

My mother helped me make my first discoveries as a child:

The first fireworks show fear and admiration;

The first date with the sea is a delight;

First flight on an airplane - “Hurray!”;

The first steps on skates – the pain of falling;

The first acquaintance with a computer is a joy;

The first acquaintance and ride on a camel is a surprise;

The first lesson at school, the first teacher - discovery, kindness...

A war has passed through the earth

Semyonov Artyom

Great Patriotic War began at dawn on June 22, 1941, when Germany attacked the Soviet Union. Powerful German armies moved in three directions: to Leningrad, to Moscow, to Ukraine and the Caucasus. The defenders of the Brest Fortress were the first to take the fascist blow and heroically defended themselves.

Large enemy forces were sent to Leningrad, but they were unable to break through the defenses. Then German troops closed a ring around the city. On September 8, 1941, the siege of Leningrad began, which lasted 950 days. A huge number of people died from hunger and cold.

The Germans also failed to capture Moscow, thanks to the command of Zhukov and the courage of the Muscovites.

In the summer of 1942, the battles for Stalingrad began, which lasted 200 days. Thousands of heroes fought to the death for Stalingrad. A bottle of flammable mixture exploded in the hands of sailor Mikhail Panivakh, he turned into a torch and threw himself under a fascist tank, blowing it up. After the war, a monument was erected to the brave sailor.

In July 1943 there was the Battle of Kursk with the largest tank battle. German armored divisions were destroyed. German troops were no longer able to carry out a single attack.

In 1944, the Soviet Union was liberated from the enemy. Heavy fighting took place in the capital of Germany, Berlin. On May 8, 1945, Germany surrendered. May 9 was declared Victory Day in our country.

Kazakov Sasha

In my grandmother's photo album for a long time the postcard is kept. It depicts a young soldier Pyotr Sergeevich Dernov. He was born in 1925.

1941 The war has begun. And here is Peter - private, machine gunner, Hero Soviet Union. He covered the enemy machine gun with his body, ensuring the unit completed its combat mission. We don't know when he died, but if it happened at the end of the war. He was only twenty years old.

My grandmother’s maiden name is Dernova. Her grandfather, Vasily Ivanovich Dernov, returned from the war as an invalid; in a battle his fingers were torn off by a grenade.

Many relatives named Dernov left the village of Yakovtsevo for the front. But one of my great-grandfathers returned.

After the war, he worked for a long time as chairman of his native state farm. In addition, he was a good stove maker. In almost every house, people were warmed by a stove built by the hands of my great-grandfather. How could I in difficult times post-war years he helped people.

Trutnev Alyosha

My great-grandfather Alexander Mikhailovich Kuzmichev was a participant in the war. This year, in honor of the 65th anniversary of the Victory, he was awarded an anniversary medal

During the war, my great-grandfather was a teenager, so he could not participate in hostilities. He really wanted to help the military. During the first years of the war, he transported the wounded from the front line to the rear on horseback. Towards the end of the war, he began working as a fireman on a steam locomotive. In order to get this job, he had to cheat and increase his age. So until the end of the war, he worked on a steam locomotive that transported the wounded.

I am proud of my great-grandfather, because even as a teenager he contributed to the victory over the Nazis. He is a hero for me!

Volodina Nastya

My great-grandfather Lyalin Nikolai Romanovich was born in 1919. He fought in two wars and was wounded twice.

He fought for the first time in the Finnish War in 1939. He was wounded in the leg and sent home for treatment. Became chairman of the state farm. And in 1941 he volunteered to fight the Nazis. Great-grandfather Nikolai defended Moscow, was a senior machine gunner, and was shell-shocked. For a whole year after the injury, he could not speak or hear. My great-grandfather was a strong and brave soldier. He died in 1990.

Volkova Sveta

Volkova Evgenia Ivanovna, my grandmother, was a rear worker. She worked on a collective farm. Together with other soldiers, she plowed, mowed, and carried peat. There was also work in the forest. Women felled wood, sawed with a hand saw big trees. Together with other soldiers and children, the grandmother worked in the field: they reaped bread, collected ears of corn, weeded and harvested potatoes. Cakes were baked from potatoes. Such flatbreads saved many from starvation.

My grandmother never saw a real fight. She only heard the roar of plane bombing. But that was also very scary. It was very difficult for people in the rear. And yet they survived and helped Soviet soldiers win that terrible war.

Mokhova Dasha

During the war, life was not easy in the rear. All the men left to defend their homeland. Old people, women and children remained in the rear. All the hard work fell on their shoulders. In the cities, people worked in factories that provided the front with weapons, equipment, and equipment. They worked day and night.

I want to talk about my great-grandmother. She lived in the village of Nikolaevka, 200 kilometers from Nizhny Novgorod. In the villages, in the villages at that time there was no gas or electricity. People burned kerosene stoves and cooked food in the oven. People worked not for money, but for workdays. Life was very hard, there was hunger and cold. So let there be peace on earth!

Maslova Tanya

My grandparents told me how difficult the war years were.

The Germans bombed the city. People hid in bomb shelters from the bombs. Bomb shelters were even built in the basement under the church. German prisoners were taken to build houses.

My great-grandfather Pyotr Ivanovich Gubanov worked at the Gorky Automobile Plant. He

assembled Churchill and Matilda tanks. For Stakhanov’s work, his photograph was placed on the “Honor Board”.

Another great-grandfather, Fyodor Osipovich Pestov, was drafted into the Soviet Army in 1942. He took part in hostilities and died defending his homeland.

About goodness and beauty.

Trutnev Alyosha "Magic Decoration"

A poplar tree grows near my entrance. One frosty evening I went out for a walk and was surprised. The poplar all sparkled in the moonlight. All the poplar branches were covered with frost and sparkled like sparklers. I laughed cheerfully. It was the frost that decorated the tree for the New Year.

I. A. Bunin “Dense green spruce forest near the road...”

Task No. 2: try to continue the poem that begins with the words:

“And I dreamed that we were like in a fairy tale...”

Alekseev Alyosha

Dressing animals in different masks,

Spinning in the whirlwind of the carnival.

Well, by morning everything calmed down.

Martynets Lisa

And I dreamed that we were like in a fairy tale.

All around is white and white.

The sun was shining nearby,

The snow was shining on the spruce branches,

Frost played on the windows and doors,

There were pines and spruces, dressed in snowstorms.

Tremasova Nastya

And I dreamed that we, like in a fairy tale,

And I dreamed that it was as if we were in the forest.

Here we see a white birch tree,

Here we see a red fox.

Here is a bunny galloping along the edge of the forest,

And the wolf fell silent behind the green tree,

But, unfortunately, the dream melted and disappeared.

I quickly pick up a pencil,

I draw that birch tree, spruce, maple trees.

Kazakov Sasha

And I dreamed that we were like in a fairy tale,

Crystal castle on the mountain

And we roll our sleigh

Through winter forest in fluffy silver.

The path led out of the forest

And the castle beckons: “Come quickly!”

There's a blond princess in that castle

In the moonlight he is waiting for us at the door.

And with us is the cheerful, young, stately prince,
He hurries us: “Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

And moonlight pours from fairy doors.

And the crystal chime is heard in the castle,

And the heart rushes upward,

After all, the prince is in love with her.

But unfortunately this is just a dream...

Spirina Julia

We are flying on a fairy horse.

I'm dancing in a mask at the ball,

How easy everything comes to me.

Here is Cinderella, the Nutcracker, the Goblin

They dance in circles for a long time.

And in the morning the alarm clock will ring -

The fairy-tale people will disappear.

Timerov Maxim

And I dreamed that we were like in a fairy tale

Flying in the clouds

And nearby birds circle in a flock,

Below there is grass, forests, fields.

The whole forest is singing, the cricket is chirping,

Dew sparkles in silver.

Night life ends by morning

With the rays of the sun on the foliage.

Trutnev Alyosha

And I dreamed that we were like in a fairy tale

We walk through the forest in spring.

The bears are still sleeping with their eyes closed,

Do not disturb the sweet peace.

In the forest everything is quiet, snowy, white,

Mishkin's den is covered with snow,

But it’s spring, a warm, bright day!

The moral of the story is:

Stop sleeping - spring has come!

Kuzmin Tolya

And I dreamed that we were like in a fairy tale

We are rushing into the heights in a sleigh.

The stars sparkle, the colors are brighter,

In the abyss of the sky I am drowning.

I will part the clouds with my hand -

I see a clearing in front of me:

Chamomiles, lilies of the valley, tulips

I'll take it with me for my dear mother

And I’ll definitely give it to you in the morning!

So I woke up, took the album and paints,

I drew that wonderful bouquet,

Today is International Women's Day!

There is no better gift for my mother!

Abaimova Nastya

And I dreamed that we were like in a fairy tale...

Here is a forest of magical beauty.

Forest in silver... Covered with pine and spruce...

Snowflakes swirl in a winter dance.

But a mighty and beautiful deer runs,

He's scared of the dog...

Runs quickly deep into the forest,

Winding the trail, and taking away beauty from death...

Maslova Tanya

And I dreamed that we were like in a fairy tale

Among the white, white clouds,

But you just have to open my eyes,

How we are again among the houses.

I know we will return there

And let's learn to fly again.

Let's just hold hands

And we will dream again...

There is sun, breeze, valleys,

And underneath you there is vanity.

There are even mountain peaks

Fragile, like the beauty in the world.

Kantorin Dima

One night I had a magical dream - not a dream, but just a fairy tale!

appeared before me magical forest, and next to it there was a clearing on which wildflowers were spread out in a multi-colored carpet: Ivan da Marya, St. John's wort, daisies, bells... In the distance I heard the gurgling of a stream. It shimmered from sun rays different heavenly shades. Goldfish splashed in the stream, and wonderful butterflies circled above it. It was a vivid, unforgettable dream!

Pichuzhkin Vanya

And I dreamed that we, like in a fairy tale,

We live in our home country.

There is a dense forest, fields and steppes,

Seas, lakes, mountains, rivers,

There's mom, dad, me, friends -

All this is my homeland.

N.A. Nekrasov. Excerpt from the poem “Sasha”

Task number 3: write a story that talks about the cruelty of people

To nature.

Abaimova Nastya

The forest is standing. Silence.

You can just hear the birds singing merrily. A woodpecker knocks on a tree. Animals: a hare, a squirrel, a fox running merrily through the forest.

Suddenly, in the silence of the forest, the sound of an ax was heard. Frightened birds and animals hid in holes and hollows.

Unkind people came to the forest and disturbed the silence of nature. People cut down the forest with axes and saws.

The cruelty has disturbed the peace of the forest and the natural world.

Tremasova Nastya

We live in a big city. Around us are big houses, streets, cars.

The snow melts, the ground opens up, and bottles, cans, paper and a lot of different garbage appear, which people throw right on the street. They don’t think that water carries all this rubbish into the river, in which children then bathe, from which drinking water is taken, the water on which we live. If every person throws a piece of paper, a bottle, or a can on the street, the streets will drown in dirt and turn into a landfill. Trees and bushes will die, birds will fly away, rivers will dry up and turn into dirty ravines.

Maslova Tanya

Some people don't appreciate the beauty of nature. When cutting down forests, they do not think about the fact that animals, birds, and insects live here. And they also destroy Fresh air. After all, stone houses or factories are usually built on the site of cleared forests. Their waste goes into rivers, which also contain living beings. After the roads are built, cars start driving here, emitting exhaust gases. By destroying nature, a person makes things worse for himself. For example, in the forests there will be no mushrooms, berries and medicinal herbs useful for humans, and there will be no fish in the rivers. It will be impossible to live in this place. Therefore, we need to protect nature and appreciate its beauty.

Gubanova Varya

One Saturday evening we went to the forest. The weather was great. But in the forest we saw broken bottles, cans, broken bushes... We wanted the beauty of nature not to be destroyed, so we removed all the garbage.

There are people who spoil nature, and there are those who take care of it.

We need to protect nature!

Kazakov Sasha

Man is nature's worst enemy. Everything in nature is created so that there is harmony. And only man sometimes behaves worse than the beast: he cuts down forests, litters water bodies, takes household garbage into the forest, kills wild animals, ruins bird nests.

For the sake of their own profit, people pick and sell flowers that are listed in the Red Book. Ring and seal cubs are killed for their skins. Children break trees and branches, swing on them, and adults pass by indifferently, not thinking about the fact that nature can take revenge on humanity.

Kuzmin Tolya

People are obliged to protect nature. There are a lot of poachers who illegally cut down trees. Waste from factories is discharged into rivers and lakes. Due to the carelessness of people, many forests are burned down. Animals die along with forests. They make a lot of places with slot machines in parks. There are a lot of cars on the streets and they pollute the air.

People, take care of nature!

After all, we must take care of her gifts!

Task No. 4: write an essay based on the painting “Rye” by I.I. Shishkin.

Martynets Lisa

I really liked I.I. Shishkin’s painting “Rye”. Looking at her, I admire the beauty of Russian nature.

With gusts of wind, thick, ripe rye sways like a rough sea. Rye is bread, and bread is wealth! In the middle of the field stretches a winding road stretching into the distance.

On both sides of the field there are mighty pine trees, like giants. They, like tired travelers, rest and enjoy the lovely smells of nature.

The sky is light blue in color and the cumulus clouds are about to shed fresh drops of rain.

Surely, if I were there, I would hear the wonderful sounds of Russian nature: the voices of birds, the rustling of trees, a light wind, and of course, the rustling of rye, which is trying to tell about something.

Spirina Julia

The painting by I.I. Shishkin depicts an endless field of rye, beautiful and thick, like a rippling sea. The artist shows the wealth of our Russian land, its beauty and fertility.

The picture shows a road stretching into the distance. Among the fields grow mighty pines, tall as giants. Their branches are spreading, the greenery is dense and dark. The end of summer is near.

The painter also showed the beauty of the sky. It takes up most of the picture. This creates a feeling of spaciousness. Cumulus clouds carrying rain are visible in the sky.

Pichuzhkin Vanya

In the foreground of the picture we see thick and ripe rye. This is a gift from the earth! Its golden color captivates the eye. And the slight swaying resembles the swell of the sea. A winding road is visible in the middle of the field. She goes into the distance towards the mighty trees. These trees look like giants who guard the rye.

In the distance, silvery clouds are visible in the aquamarine sky. It will be raining!

The picture amazes with its beauty and naturalness.

Kamalin Sasha

I see the sky in this picture. Silvery clouds float across it. The trees stand as mighty as giants. Their branches sway with gusts of strong wind.

The entire field is sown with rye. Its ears are ripe and golden. The road winds through the rye all the way to the horizon. Where does it lead?..

I liked it piece of art. After all, it depicts trees, the sky, rye and the road, which have been familiar to me since childhood. I have seen such landscapes more than once in the village with my grandparents. This is a picture of my homeland!

Vrubel Vika

Summer. Hot sunny day. Golden rye sways in the wind and resembles a yellow sea. A wide country road deepens into a sea of rye and drowns in it.

A huge pine tree stands in the middle of a field. She looks like an old grandmother whose whole family came to visit. The pines that stand nearby are her family.

A bright blue sky shines above the yellow sea of rye and beautiful pine trees. Cumulus clouds carrying rain appeared in the distance.

When I look at this picture, I have pleasant memories of the village. There is a similar field nearby. It is beautiful in its own way in every summer month.

Kantorin Dima

I want to talk about I.I. Shishkin’s painting “Rye”. In the foreground of the picture is an endless field of ripe golden rye. The wind sways it and it spills into the sun like a roiling sea.

The field is divided by a wide winding endless road stretching into the distance.

In the middle of a field of rye, pine trees stand like mighty giants. They spread out their thick dark branches, as if they were protecting the field from enemies.

And over the field stretched the azure sky, like a boundless sea.

The picture made an unforgettable impression on me. It is filled with the beauty and purity of its native spaces. I want to be there and breathe in the aromas of ripe rye and mighty pine trees.

Abaimova Nastya

A picture of summer... It emanates warmth, calm and the approach of autumn...

White fluffy clouds float across the blue endless sky. The bright colors of summer make your soul happy.

The golden field of rye stretches wide: spikelet to spikelet... A breeze will blow, the rye field will sway, as if the spikelets are whispering and keeping secrets known only to them.

The mighty crowns of pine trees, as if on guard, rise above the field and protect the peace of the friendly army of spikelets.

The artist lovingly conveys the beauty of his native land through the language of colors.

Arguments for the exam essay. In a bloody circle day and night

Evgeny Permyak. The Tale of the Great Bell

Mikhail Prishvin. Spring of light

Irina Pivovarova. We went to the theater

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Introduction

1. The image of the motherland in the works of Russian classics

1.1 M.Yu. Lermontov

Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov in his poem “Motherland” speaks of an unknown force calling to one’s native places:

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.

I love my fatherland, but with a strange love!

Next, the poet’s thought turns to the people: “I like to ride in a cart along a country road.” “The Country Road” leads us to the village, and a picture of the life of Russian people appears, a touching, sad image of the Russian village:

And, with a slow gaze piercing the shadow of the night,

Meet on the sides, sighing for an overnight stay,

Trembling lights of sorrowsbny villages.

The life of the common people is close and understandable to the poet; everything connected with the life of the Russian peasant is dear:

With joy unknown to many

I see a complete threshing floor

A hut covered with straw

Window with carved shutters.

The people appear before the eyes of the lyrical hero on weekdays and on holidays:

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.

The poem “Motherland” speaks of the turn of Lermontov’s work towards revolutionary-democratic poetry.

Patriotic lyrics occupy an important place in Lermontov's poetry.

The old people grumbled:

“What are we? for winter apartments?

Don't the commanders dare?

Aliens tear up their uniforms

About Russian bayonets?"

The image of the colonel is surrounded by an aura of high heroism.

In his mouth are words that were repeated so many times by Soviet soldiers in 1941:

"Guys! Isn't Moscow behind us?

We'll die near Moscow,

How our brothers died!”

The theme of heroic deeds in the fight against the enemies of the Motherland is also heard in M. Yu. Lermontov’s poem “Borodino”, dedicated to one of the glorious pages of the historical past of our country.

1.2 N.A. Nekrasov

A feeling of fiery love for the Motherland permeates all of Nekrasov’s work:

Not to the skies of a foreign Fatherland -

I composed songs for the Motherland! --

Amazing landscapes appear before us when we read the poems of Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov:

Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous

The air invigorates tired forces;

The ice is fragile on the icy river,

It lies like melting sugar.

... Motherland!

Name me such an abode,

I've never seen such an angle

Where would your sower and guardian be?

Where would a Russian man not moan?

1.3 Full name Tyutchev

Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is a great singer of the beauty of the Russian region. In his poems, nature is alive, spiritual, capable of feeling and experiencing:

The sun is shining, the waters are sparkling,

Smile in everything, life in everything,

The trees tremble joyfully

Bathing in the blue sky.

The trees sing, the waters glisten,

The air is filled with love.

And the world, the blooming world of nature,

Intoxicated with the abundance of life.

Tyutchev, as a talented artist, discovered what a simple observer could not see. He hears “a languid, light noise of crimson leaves” and sees how “the azure of heaven laughs.”

1.4 A.A. Akhmatova

A. A. Akhmatova did not accept the revolution from the very beginning and never changed her attitude towards it.

It is quite natural that the problem of emigration arises in her work. Many poets, writers, artists and musicians close to Akhmatova went abroad, leaving their homeland forever.

I'm not with those who abandoned the earth

To be torn to pieces by enemies.

I don't listen to their rude flattery,

I won’t give them my songs.

But I always feel sorry for the exile,

Like a prisoner, like a patient.

Your road is dark, wanderer,

Someone else's bread smells like wormwood...

(1922)

Akhmatova does not condemn those who left, but clearly defines her choice: for her, emigration is impossible.

I had a voice. He knew comfortingly