Published: 23.01.2016
Winter in the verses of Russian poets is thoughtful and beckons with splendor, as if the queen herself
the kingdom of the winter and the mistress of snowstorms and blizzards, fetters and beckons with her beauty
and majesty. Nature hid and sleeps, hiding under a snow-white veil,
while winter unleashed the forces of wind and frost, shackling all natural
the world into icy fetters, as if, lines of winter poems, bewitched by beauty and enchanted
of Russian poetry.
A. S. Pushkin. “Here is the north, catching up the clouds ...”
Here is the north, catching up the clouds,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
The magical winter is coming.
Came, crumbled; shreds
Hung on the branches of oaks;
She lay down with wavy carpets
Among the fields, around the hills;
A shore with a motionless river
Leveled with a plump veil;
Frost flashed. And we are glad
I'll tell mother winter's leprosy.
(excerpt from the novel Eugene Onegin)
A. A. Fet. "Mum! Look out the window"
Mum! look out the window
Know that yesterday it was not for nothing that the cat
Washed the nose
There is no dirt, the whole yard is dressed,
Brightened, whitened -
Apparently it's cold.
Not scratchy, light blue
Frost is hung on the branches -
Just look at you!
Like someone with a beef
Fresh, white, plump cotton
Removed all bushes.
Now there will be no dispute:
For the sled, and uphill
Have fun running!
Really, mom? You won't refuse
And you might say to yourself:
"Well, hurry up for a walk!"
A. N. Apukhtin. "Rose white, fluffy"
White riza, fluffy
Fir trees sparkle lightly;
Shiny silver fabric
Ice-clad glass:
Side of the woods far away
All covered with snow
And looks from the heavens high
Round moon..
A. S. Pushkin. Winter road
Through the wavy mists
The moon is creeping
To sad glades
She pours a sad light.
On the winter road, boring
Troika greyhound runs
Single bell
Tiring noise.
Something is heard native
In the coachman's long songs:
That revelry is remote,
That heartache...
No fire, no black hut...
Wilderness and snow... Meet me
Only miles striped
Come across alone.
Bored, sad... Tomorrow, Nina,
Tomorrow, returning to my dear,
I'll forget by the fireplace
I look without looking.
Sounding hour hand
He will make his measured circle,
And, removing the boring ones,
Midnight won't separate us.
It's sad, Nina: my path is boring,
Dremlya fell silent my coachman,
The bell is monotonous
Foggy moon face.
A. A. Blok "Dilapidated hut"
dilapidated hut
All covered in snow.
old grandmother
Looks out the window.
For the naughty grandchildren
Knee-deep snow.
Cheerful for the kids
Fast sled run...
running, laughing,
Making a snow house
In the snow house
Razor game…
Fingers get cold
It's time to go home!
Drink tea tomorrow
Looking out the window -
But the house has melted,
It's spring outside!
N. A. Nekrasov "A Man with a Marigold" (from "Peasant Children")
Once upon a time in the cold winter time
I came out of the forest; there was severe frost.
I look, it rises slowly uphill
Horse carrying firewood.
And marching importantly, in serenity,
A man is leading a horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin coat,
In big mittens ... and himself with a fingernail!
"Hey, boy!" - Get past yourself! -
“You are painfully formidable, as I can see!
Where are the firewood from? - From the forest, of course;
Father, you hear, cuts, and I take.
(The woodcutter's ax was heard in the forest.) -
“What, does your father have a big family?”
The family is big, yes two people
All the men, something: my father and I ... -
“So there it is! And what's your name?"
"And what year are you?" - The sixth passed ...
Well, dead! - shouted the little one in a bass voice,
He jerked by the bridle and walked faster.
The sun shone on this picture
The baby was so hilariously small
It's like it was all cardboard.
It's like I was in a children's theater!
But the boy was a living, real boy,
And firewood, and brushwood, and a piebald horse,
And the snow, lying to the windows of the village,
And the cold fire of the winter sun -
Everything, everything was real Russian,
With the stigma of an unsociable, deadly winter.
What is so painfully sweet to the Russian soul,
What Russian thoughts inspire in the minds,
Those honest thoughts that have no will,
To whom there is no death - do not push,
In which there is so much anger and pain,
In which there is so much love!
N. A. Nekrasov "Moroz the Governor" (from "Moroz, Red Nose")
It is not the wind that rages over the forest,
Streams did not run from the mountains,
Frost-voivode patrol
Bypasses his possessions.
Looks - good blizzards
Forest paths brought
And are there any cracks, cracks,
Is there any bare ground anywhere?
Are the tops of the pines fluffy,
Is the pattern on oak trees beautiful?
And are the ice floes tightly bound
In great and small waters?
Walks - walks through the trees,
Cracking on frozen water
And the bright sun plays
In his shaggy beard.
The road is everywhere to the sorcerer,
Chu! comes closer, gray-haired.
And suddenly he was over her,
Above her head!
Climbing on a large pine tree,
Hits the branches with a club
And I delete myself,
Boastful song sings:
"Look, young lady, bolder,
What a governor Frost!
You probably have a stronger guy
And it turned out better?
Blizzards, snow and fog
Always submissive to frost
I'll go to the sea-okiyany -
I will build palaces of ice.
I think - the rivers are big
For a long time I will hide under oppression,
I will build bridges of ice
Which the people will not build.
Where fast, noisy waters
Recently flowed freely -
Pedestrians passed today
The convoys with the goods have passed.
I love in deep graves
Row the dead in frost,
And freeze the blood in your veins,
And the brain freezes in the head.
On the mountain unkind thief,
At the fear of the rider and the horse,
I love in the evening
Start a chatter in the forest.
Babenki, singing to the goblin,
They run home quickly.
And drunk, and horseback, and foot
It's even more fun to fool around.
I'll whiten my face without chalk,
And the nose is on fire
And I'll freeze my beard like that
To the reins - even cut with an ax!
I'm rich, I don't count the treasury
And everything does not lack good;
I take away my kingdom
In diamonds, pearls, silver.
Come into my kingdom with me
And be you queen in it!
We will reign gloriously in winter,
And in the summer we will fall asleep deeply.
Come in! I'll take a nap, I'll warm
I will take the palace blue ... "
And became the governor over her
Swing an ice mace.
S. D. Drozhzhin "Snow flies and sparkles ..."
Snow flies and sparkles
In the golden light of the day.
Like fluff
All valleys and fields...
Everything in nature freezes:
And the fields, and the dark forest.
Snow flies and sparkles
Silently falling from the sky.
S. A. Yesenin "Birch"
White birch
under my window
covered with snow,
Exactly silver.
On fluffy branches
snow border
Brushes blossomed
White fringe.
And there is a birch
In sleepy silence
And the snowflakes are burning
In golden fire
A dawn, lazy
Walking around,
sprinkles branches
New silver.
S. A. Yesenin. powder
I'm going. Quiet. Ringing is heard
Under the hoof in the snow.
Only gray crows
Made a noise in the meadow.
Bewitched by the invisible
The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep.
Like a white scarf
The pine has tied.
Bent over like an old lady
Leaned on a stick
And under the very crown
The woodpecker hammers at the bitch.
The horse gallops, there is a lot of space.
Snow falls and spreads a shawl.
Endless road
Runs off into the distance.
Boris Pasternak. "It's snowing"
It's snowing, it's snowing.
To the white stars in the blizzard
Stretching geranium flowers
For the window frame.
It's snowing and everything is in turmoil
Everything takes flight,
black stairs steps,
Crossroad turn.
It's snowing, it's snowing
As if not flakes are falling,
And in the patched coat
The sky descends to the ground.
Sergey Yesenin. "I'm on the first snow"
I wander through the first snow,
In the heart are lilies of the valley of flashing forces.
Evening blue candle star
He lit up my road.
I don't know, is it light or darkness?
In more often the wind sings or a rooster?
Maybe instead of winter in the fields
The swans sat on the meadow.
You are good, O white surface!
A light frost warms my blood!
So I want to press to the body
Bare breasts of birches.
Oh forest, dense dregs!
About the fun of the snow-covered fields! ...
So I want to close my hands
Over the tree hips of willows.
1917
Ivan Bunin. "Blizzard"
At night in the fields, to the tunes of a snowstorm,
Dozing, swaying, birch and spruce ...
The moon shines between the clouds above the field, -
A pale shadow runs and melts...
It seems to me at night: between white birches
Frost wanders in the misty radiance.
At night in a hut, to the tunes of a snowstorm,
The creak of the cradle quietly spreads ...
For a month the light in the darkness is silvering -
In the frozen glass on the benches flows ...
It seems to me at night: between the boughs of birches
Frost looks into the silent huts.
Dead field, steppe road!
Blizzard sweeps you at night,
Your villages are sleeping under the songs of a blizzard,
Lonely fir trees slumber in the snow...
It seems to me at night: do not steppe around -
Frost wanders on a deaf graveyard ...
1887–1895
K. Balmont. "The fields are covered with a motionless veil."
The fields are covered with a motionless veil.
Fluffy white snow.
As if the world had said goodbye to Spring forever,
With its flowers and leaves.
Bound ringing key. He is a prisoner of Winter.
One snowstorm sings, sobbing.
But the Sun loves a circle. It keeps Spring.
Young will return again.
So far she went to wander in foreign lands,
For the world to experience dreams.
So that he sees in a dream that he lies in the snow,
And he listens to the blizzard like singing.
Here comes the postal troika
(Russian folk song)
Here comes the postal troika
Along Mother Volga in winter,
The coachman, sadly singing,
Shakes his wild head.
What were you thinking, kid? -
The seat asked kindly. -
What a twist on the heart
Tell me, who upset you?
"Ah, gentleman, gentleman, good gentleman,
It's almost a year since I love
And the infidel-headman, Tatar
He scolds me, but I endure.
Oh sir, sir, soon Christmas time,
And she won't be mine anymore
The rich chose, but the hateful -
She will not see happy days ...
The coachman fell silent and a belt whip
With annoyance, he plugged it into his belt.
Family, stop! Restless! -
He said he sighed sadly. -
For me, the horses will be sad,
Having parted, greyhounds, with me,
And I can't run anymore
On the Mother Volga in winter!
S. Yesenin. "Winter sings - calls out."
Winter sings - calls out ...
Shaggy forest cradles
The call of a pine forest.
Around with deep longing
Sailing to a distant land
Gray clouds.
And in the yard a snowstorm
Spreads like a silk carpet,
But it's painfully cold.
Sparrows are playful
Like orphan children
Huddled at the window.
Little birds are chilled,
Hungry, tired
And they huddle tighter.
A blizzard with a furious roar
Knocks on the shutters hung
And getting more and more angry.
And gentle birds doze
Under these whirlwinds of snow
At the frozen window.
And they dream of a beautiful
In the smiles of the sun is clear
Spring beauty.
E. Baratynsky "Where is the sweet whisper"
Where is the sweet whisper
my forests?
murmuring streams,
Meadow flowers?
The trees are bare;
Winter carpet
Covered the hills
Meadows and valleys.
Under the ice
With your bark
The stream is numb;
Everything is numb
Only the evil wind
Raging, howling
And the sky covers
Gray haze.
Why, yearning
I'm watching through the window
Blizzards fly?
To the darling of happiness
Blood from bad weather
It gives.
crackling fire
In my oven;
His rays
And flying dust
I'm having fun
Careless look.
I dream in silence
Before the live
His game
And I forget
I am the storm.
V.Ya. Bryusov. "Winter"
The embodiment of dreams
Life with a dream is a game
This world of charms
This world of silver!
See more poems about winter in the forum thread here:
WINTER IN THE EYES OF CLASSIC POETS
Here is the north, catching up the clouds ...
(from the novel "Eugene Onegin")
Here is the north, catching up the clouds,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
The magic winter is coming
Came, crumbled into shreds
Hanging on the branches of oaks,
She lay down with wavy carpets
Among the fields around the hills.
A shore with a motionless river
Leveled with a plump veil;
Frost flashed, and we are glad
Leprosy mother winter.
(A. Pushkin)
Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant...
(from the novel "Eugene Onegin")
Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant,
On firewood, updates the path;
His horse, smelling snow,
Trotting somehow;
Reins fluffy exploding,
A remote wagon flies;
The coachman sits on the irradiation
In a sheepskin coat, in a red sash.
Here is a yard boy running,
Planting a bug in a sled,
Transforming himself into a horse;
The scoundrel already froze his finger:
It hurts and it's funny
And his mother threatens him through the window.
(A. Pushkin)
Winter morning
Frost and sun; wonderful day!
You are still dozing, my lovely friend
–
It's time, beauty, wake up:
Open eyes closed by bliss
Towards the northern Aurora,
Be the star of the north!
Evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,
In the cloudy sky, a haze hovered;
The moon is like a pale spot
Turned yellow through the gloomy clouds,
And you sat sad –
And now ... look out the window:
Under blue skies
splendid carpets,
Shining in the sun, the snow lies;
The transparent forest alone turns black,
And the spruce turns green through the frost,
And the river under the ice glitters.
The whole room amber gleam
Enlightened. Cheerful crackling
The fired oven crackles.
It's nice to think by the couch.
But you know: do not order to the sled
Ban the brown filly?
Gliding through the morning snow
Dear friend, let's run
impatient horse
And visit the empty fields
The forests, recently so dense,
And the shore, dear to me.
(A. Pushkin)
Winter road
Through the wavy mists
The moon is creeping
To sad glades
She pours a sad light.
On the winter road, boring
Troika greyhound runs
Single bell
Tiring noise.
Something is heard native
In the coachman's long songs:
That revelry is remote,
That heartache...
No fire, no black hut...
Wilderness and snow... Meet me
Only miles striped
Come across alone.
Bored, sad... Tomorrow, Nina,
Tomorrow, returning to my dear,
I'll forget by the fireplace
I look without looking.
Sounding hour hand
He will make his measured circle,
And, removing the boring ones,
Midnight won't separate us.
It's sad, Nina: my path is boring,
Dremlya fell silent my coachman,
The bell is monotonous
Foggy moon face.
(A. Pushkin)
winter meeting
Hello winter guest!
Please have mercy on us
Sing the songs of the north
Through forests and steppes.
We have a space -
Walk anywhere;
Build bridges across rivers
And lay out the carpets.
We can't get used to it,
Let your frost crackle:
Our Russian blood
Burning in the cold!
(I. Nikitin)
Winter night in the village
fun shines
Moon over the village;
White snow sparkles
Blue light.
moon beams
God's temple is doused;
Cross under the clouds
Like a candle burning.
Empty, lonely
Sleepy village;
Blizzards deep
Huts skidded.
Silence is mute
In the empty streets
And no barking is heard
Watchdogs...
(I. Nikitin)
hello mother winter
Hello, in a white sundress
From silver brocade!
Diamonds burn on you
Like bright rays.
You are a life-giving smile
Fresh beauty of the face
You awaken to new feelings
Sleepy hearts!
Hello Russian girl,
Coloring soul.
white winch,
Hello Mother Winter!
(P. Vyazemsky)
wonderful picture
wonderful picture,
How are you related to me?
white plain,
Full moon,
the light of the heavens above,
And shining snow
And distant sleigh
Lonely run.
(A. Fet)
Mum! look out the window...
Mum! look out the window –
Know that yesterday it was not for nothing that the cat
Washed the nose
There is no dirt, the whole yard is dressed,
Brightened, whitened
–
Apparently it's cold.
Not scratchy, light blue
Frost is hung on the branches –
Just look at you!
Like someone with a beef
Fresh, white, plump cotton
Removed all bushes.
Now there will be no dispute:
For the sled and uphill
Have fun running!
Really, mom? You won't refuse
And you might say to yourself:
"Well, hurry up for a walk!"
(A. Fet)
The creak of footsteps along the white streets
The creak of footsteps along the white streets,
Lights away;
On the icy walls
Crystals sparkle.
From eyelashes hung in the eyes
silver fluff,
Silence of the cold night
Takes the spirit.
The wind sleeps and everything goes numb
Just to sleep;
The clear air itself is shy
Breathe in the cold.
(A. Fet)
Enchanted Winter...
Enchantress Winter
Bewitched, the forest stands,
And under the snowy fringe,
Motionless, dumb
He shines with a wonderful life.
And he stands, bewitched,
Not dead and not alive -
Magically enchanted by sleep
All entangled, all bound
Light chain downy...
Is the winter sun mosque
On him his ray oblique -
Nothing trembles in it
He will flare up and shine
Dazzling beauty.
(F. Tyutchev)
Where is the sweet whisper...
Where is the sweet whisper
my forests?
murmuring streams,
Meadow flowers?
The trees are bare;
Winter carpet
Covered the hills
Meadows and valleys.
Under the ice
With your bark
The stream is numb;
Everything is numb
Only the evil wind
Raging, howling
And the sky covers
Gray haze.
Why, yearning
I'm watching through the window
Blizzards fly?
To the darling of happiness
Blood from bad weather
It gives.
crackling fire
In my oven;
His rays
And flying dust
I'm having fun
Careless look.
I dream in silence
Before the live
His game
And I forget
I am the storm.
(E. Baratynsky)
snowball
Snow flutters, spins,
It's white outside.
And the puddles turned
In cold glass
Where the finches sang in summer
Today - look! -
Like pink apples
On the branches of snowmen.
The snow is cut by skis,
Like chalk, creaky and dry,
And the red cat catches
Cheerful white flies.
(N. Nekrasov)
Winter sings...
Winter sings - calls out,
Shaggy forest cradles
The call of a pine forest.
Around with deep longing
Sailing to a distant land
Gray clouds.
And in the yard a snowstorm
Spreads like a silk carpet,
But it's painfully cold.
Sparrows are playful
Like orphan children
Huddled at the window.
Chilled little birds
Hungry, tired
And they huddle tighter.
A blizzard with a furious roar
Knocks on the shutters hung
And getting more and more angry.
And gentle birds doze
Under these whirlwinds of snow
At the frozen window.
And they dream of a beautiful
In the smiles of the sun is clear
Spring beauty.
(S. Yesenin)
White birch
White birch
under my window
covered with snow,
Exactly silver.
On fluffy branches
snow border
Brushes blossomed
White fringe.
And there is a birch
In sleepy silence
And the snowflakes are burning
In golden fire
A dawn, lazy
Walking around,
Sprinkles branches
New silver.
(S. Yesenin)
powder
I'm going. Quiet. Calls are heard.
Under the hoof in the snow
Only gray crows
Made a noise in the meadow.
Bewitched by the invisible
The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep,
Like a white scarf
The pine has tied up.
Bent over like an old lady
Leaned on a stick
And above the crown
The woodpecker hammers at the bitch.
The horse is galloping, there is a lot of space,
Snow falls and spreads a shawl.
Endless road
Runs off into the distance.
(S. Yesenin)
Winter has come
White snow, fluffy in the air is spinning
And quietly falls to the ground, lays down.
And in the morning the field turned white with snow,
Like a veil all dressed him.
A dark forest that covered itself with a wonderful hat
And fell asleep under it soundly, soundly ...
God's days are short, the sun shines little,
Here comes the frost –
and winter has come.
A peasant worker pulled out a sledge,
Children build snow mountains.
For a long time the peasant has been waiting for winter and cold,
And he covered the hut with straw from the outside.
So that the wind does not penetrate into the hut through the cracks,
Blizzards and blizzards would not inflate snow.
He is now calm - everything around is covered,
And he is not afraid of the evil frost, angry.
(I. Surikov)
Silver winter
Here comes the winter
silver,
Covered with white snow
the field is clean.
Happy ice skating with kids
everything is rolling
At night in the snowy lights
crumbling...
Writes a pattern in the windows
ice needle
And knocking on our yard
with a fresh tree.
(R. Kudasheva)
Winter
So recently to us in the window
The sun shone every day
And now the time has come -
A blizzard took a walk in the field.
They fled with a ringing song,
She covered everything like a diaper,
Fluffed with snow fluff,
It became empty everywhere, deaf.
The river does not ring with a wave
Under the clothes of ice.
The forest is quiet, looks sad,
Birds are not heard troublesome.
(I. Kupala)
First snow
Smell of winter cold
In fields and forests.
Lit up with bright purple
Heaven before sunset.
The storm blew through the night,
And with the dawn on the village,
To the ponds, to the deserted garden
The first snow fell.
And today over the wide
white tablecloth fields
We said goodbye to the belated
A string of geese.
(I. Bunin)
First snow
Silver, lights and sparkles, -
A whole world of silver!
Birches burn in pearls,
Black and naked yesterday.
This is –
the area of someone's dreams,
This is
–
ghosts and dreams!
All items of old prose
Illuminated by magic.
Crews, pedestrians,
White smoke on the sky.
The life of people and the life of nature
Full of new and holy things.
The embodiment of dreams
Life with a dream is a game
This world of charms
This world of silver!
(V. Bryusov)
Snowflake
Light fluffy,
snowflake white,
What a pure
How brave!
Dear stormy
Easy to carry
Not in the sky azure,
Asking for the ground.
Azure miraculous
She left
Myself into the unknown
The country has fallen.
In the rays of shining
Slides, skillful,
Among the melting flakes
Preserved white.
Under the blowing wind
Trembling, uplifting,
On him, cherishing,
Light swings.
his swing
She is comforted
With his blizzards
Spinning wildly.
But here it ends
The road is long
touches the earth,
Crystal star.
lies fluffy,
Snowflake is bold.
What a pure
What a white!
(K. Balmont)
in winter
Snowflakes,
gray fluff
Fly and fly!
Both courtyard and garden
Whiter than sour cream
hanging under the roof
Transparent ice...
Lawns, bushes and paths are smoking,
Behind the garden dairy countries
They pass through.
shaggy clouds
furrowed their forehead,
And the wind is prickly
Rakes a snowdrift –
Throwing snowballs...
Over a plump fence
Jumping
And white pattern
Brings shaggy windows and door
And howls like a beast!
The crows froze
Bushes like a rake...
Biting frost
–
And the birch branches
Like white sabers...
Now to the right, then to the left
I spin like a top.
Hey Snow Maiden!
Take it, rise it on a through airship
And in a flock of snowflakes, dash for the woods!
(Sasha Black)
Snow everywhere
Everywhere snow, in the snow at home
–
Winter brought him.
Hurry up to us
She brought us snowmen.
From dawn to dawn
Glory to the winter bullfinches.
Santa Claus, like a little one,
Dancing at the rubble.
And I can too
So dance in the snow.
(A. Brodsky)
Snow
Snow
–
and everything was forgotten.
What a soul was full!
My heart suddenly beat faster.
It was like I was drinking wine.
Down the narrow street
A clean breeze rushes
The beauty of ancient Russian
The town has been updated.
Snow flies on the Sophia Cathedral.
For children, but they can not be counted.
Snow is flying all over Russia,
Like good news.
Snow is flying –
look and listen!
So, simple and clever,
Life sometimes heals the soul...
Well, okay! And good.
(N. Rubtsov)
Snowflake
Spinning lightly and clumsily,
The snowflake sat on the glass.
It was snowing thick and white at night
–
The room is light from the snow.
A little powdery fluff flying,
And the winter sun rises.
Like every day, fuller and better,
A fuller and better new year...
(A. Tvardovsky)
Put your hand under the snowfall...
Put your hand under the snowfall
Under sparks, under crystals.
They boil instantly
Like fusible metals.
They melt, flow
Along the lines of the hand.
And the lines of the hand will become
River bends.
Other lines of the hand
Will run like borders
And I will see towns
Roads and capitals.
My hand is like a mainland –
It is solid, original.
And someone is great on it
And someone is sad.
And someone goes home
And someone is coming to visit.
And someone, as always in winter,
Snow collects in handfuls.
How spacious and wide you are,
Mirok on five.
I'm probably a god for you
And you obey me.
I protect your people
I keep your luck.
And the small world of my hand
I hide in a mitten.
(D. Samoilov)
Learn from them – at the oak, at the birch...
Learn from them –
at the oak, at the birch.
Around winter. Tough time!
In vain, tears froze on them,
And cracked, shrinking, the bark.
All the angrier blizzard and every minute
Angrily tears the last sheets.
And a fierce cold grabs the heart,
They stand, are silent, be silent and you!
But believe in spring. Genius will rush her
Breathing warmth and life again.
For clear days, for new revelations
A grieving soul will be ill.
(A. Fet)
Sergey Yesenin
I'm going. Quiet. Calls are heard.
Under the hoof in the snow
Only gray crows
Made a noise in the meadow.
Bewitched by the invisible
The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep,
Like a white scarf
The pine has tied up.
Bent over like an old lady
Leaned on a stick
And above the crown
The woodpecker hammers at the bitch.
The horse is galloping, there is a lot of space,
Snow falls and spreads a shawl.
Endless road
Runs off into the distance.
White verses
Sergei Mikhalkov
The snow is spinning
Snow falls -
Snow! Snow! Snow!
Happy snow beast and bird
And, of course, the man!
Happy gray titmouse:
Birds freeze in the cold
Snow fell - frost fell!
The cat washes its nose with snow.
Puppy on a black back
White snowflakes are melting.
The sidewalks are covered
Everything around is white-white:
Snow-snow-snowfall!
Enough business for shovels,
For shovels and scrapers,
For big trucks.
The snow is spinning
Snow falls -
Snow! Snow! Snow!
Happy snow beast and bird
And, of course, the man!
Only a janitor, only a janitor
Says: - I am this Tuesday
I will never forget!
Snowfall is a problem for us!
All day the scraper scrapes,
The broom sweeps all day long.
A hundred sweats have left me
And the circle is white again!
Snow! Snow! Snow!
Winter magic is coming...
Alexander Pushkin
The magic winter is coming
Came, crumbled into shreds
Hanging on the branches of oaks,
She lay down with wavy carpets
Among the fields around the hills.
A shore with a motionless river
Leveled with a plump veil;
Frost flashed, and we are glad
Leprosy mother winter.
Winter night
Boris Pasternak
Do not correct the day with the efforts of the luminaries,
Do not raise the shadows of baptismal bedspreads.
It's winter on earth, and the smoke of the lights is powerless
Straighten the houses that have fallen flat.
Bulbs of lanterns and donuts of roofs, and black
By white in the snow - the jamb of the mansion:
This is a manor house, and I am a tutor in it.
I'm alone - I sent the student to sleep.
Nobody is waiting. But - tightly curtain.
The pavement is in mounds, the porch is swept up.
Memory, don't worry! Grow with me! Believe!
And assure me that I am one with you.
Are you talking about her again? But I'm not excited about that.
Who opened the dates for her, who put her on the trail?
That blow is the source of everything. Before the rest
By her grace, I don't care now.
Pavement in the mounds. Between snow ruins
Frozen bottles of naked black ice floes.
Bulbs of lanterns. and on the pipe, like an owl,
Sunk in feathers, unsociable smoke.
December morning
Fedor Tyutchev
In the sky a month - and night
Yet the shadow did not move,
Reigns itself, not realizing
That the day has already started, -
What though lazy and timid
Beam after beam
And the sky is still all over
At night it shines with triumph.
But two or three moments won't pass,
The night will evaporate over the earth,
And in full splendor of manifestations
Suddenly, the daytime world will embrace us ...
Winter road
A.S. Pushkin
Through the wavy mists
The moon is creeping
To sad glades
She pours a sad light.
On the winter road, boring
Troika greyhound runs
Single bell
Tiring noise.
Something is heard native
In the coachman's long songs:
That revelry is remote,
That heartache....
No fire, no black hut,
Wilderness and snow .... To meet me
Only miles striped
Come across alone...
Bored, sad ..... tomorrow, Nina,
Returning to my dear tomorrow,
I'll forget by the fireplace
I look without looking.
Sounding hour hand
He will make his measured circle,
And, removing the boring ones,
Midnight won't separate us.
It's sad, Nina: my path is boring,
Dremlya fell silent my coachman,
The bell is monotonous
Foggy moon face.
Winter night
Boris Pasternak
Melo, melo all over the earth
To all limits.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
Like a swarm of midges in summer
Flying into the flame
Flakes flew from the yard
to the window frame.
Snowstorm sculpted on glass
Circles and arrows.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
On the illuminated ceiling
The shadows lay
Crossed arms, crossed legs,
Crossing fates.
And two shoes fell
With a knock on the floor.
And wax with tears from the night light
Drip on the dress.
And everything was lost in the snow haze
Gray and white.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
The candle blew from the corner,
And the heat of temptation
Raised like an angel two wings
Crosswise.
Melo all month in February,
And every now and then
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
dilapidated hut
Alexander Blok
dilapidated hut
All covered in snow.
old grandmother
Looks out the window.
For the naughty grandchildren
Knee-deep snow.
Cheerful for the kids
Fast sled running...
running, laughing,
Making a snow house
ringing loudly
Voices all around...
In the snow house
Rough game...
Fingers get cold
It's time to go home!
Drink tea tomorrow
Looking out the window -
But the house has melted,
It's spring outside!
Sergey Yesenin
White birch
under my window
covered with snow,
Exactly silver.
On fluffy branches
snow border
Brushes blossomed
White fringe.
And there is a birch
In sleepy silence
And the snowflakes are burning
In golden fire
A dawn, lazy
Walking around,
Sprinkles branches
New silver.
Wonderful picture...
Athanasius Fet
wonderful picture,
How are you related to me?
white plain,
Full moon,
the light of the heavens above,
And shining snow
And distant sleigh
Lonely run.
Winter
Sergey Yesenin
Autumn has flown away
And winter came.
As on wings, flew
She is suddenly invisible.
Here the frost crackled
And they forged all the ponds.
And the boys screamed
Thanks to her for her hard work.
Here come the patterns
On glasses of wondrous beauty.
Everyone fixed their eyes
Looking at it. From high
Snow falls, flashes, curls,
Lies down with a veil.
Here the sun flashes in the clouds,
And the frost on the snow sparkles.
Where is the sweet whisper...
Evgeny Baratynsky
Where is the sweet whisper
my forests?
murmuring streams,
Meadow flowers?
The trees are bare;
Carpet winters
Covered the hills
Meadows and valleys.
Under the ice
With your bark
The stream is numb;
Everything is numb
Only the evil wind
Raging, howling
And the sky covers
Gray haze.
Why, yearning
I'm watching through the window
Blizzards fly?
To the darling of happiness
Blood from bad weather
It gives.
crackling fire
In my oven;
His rays
And flying dust
I'm having fun
Careless look.
I dream in silence
Before the live
His game
And I forget
I am the storm.
Poetry 12/11/2016
Dear readers, today I invite you to a winter fairy tale. Let's be filled with mood together with the poets who sang of winter in verse. Poetry is always a reflection of our soul.
Winter in Russia is a special time of the year. Summer is everywhere, you will not be surprised by it, although both it and the spring-autumn periods everywhere have their own differences. But it is the Russian winter, like no other weather season, that shows the power of the country, the people, highlights the hidden shades of our being. Today, together with you, I again leaf through the pages of poetry collections of different years. It is poems about winter that will be the topic of this review.
Does love have a short age in winter?
I propose to start this review with a musical "screen saver". There are a great many songs, romances, opera arias glorifying our winter. Each of you has your favorite tunes, cherished verse lines from a series of poems about winter, framed by music.
Here I will remind only two song plots embodying the eternal theme of love in completely different ways. These are “Winter Love” by Arno Babadzhanyan to the verses by Robert Rozhdestvensky and “Winter Night” to the verses by Boris Pasternak, from the New Year's movie hit “Irony of Fate”. What unites them is a deeply lyrical approach and that quiet sadness that is often evoked by all of us on long winter evenings.
winter love
Too cold outside
In vain love came in December.
Snow falls softly on the ground.
Snow - on the streets, snow - in the forests
And in your words. And in the eyes.
Love in winter has a short age.
Snow falls softly on the ground.
Here you say goodbye to me
I hear a voice of ice.
Love in winter has a short age.
Snow falls softly on the ground.
Winter vows are cold,
I'll be waiting for spring for a long time...
Love in winter has a short age.
Snow falls softly on the ground.
Love in winter has a short age.
Snow falls softly on the ground.
Winter night
Melo, melo all over the earth
To all limits.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
Like a swarm of midges in summer
Flying into the flame
Flakes flew from the yard
to the window frame.
Snowstorm sculpted on glass
Circles and arrows.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
On the illuminated ceiling
The shadows lay
Crossed arms, crossed legs,
Crossing fates.
And two shoes fell
With a knock on the floor
And wax with tears from the night light
Drip on the dress.
And everything was lost in the snowy haze,
Gray and white.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
The candle blew from the corner,
And the heat of temptation
Raised like an angel two wings
Crosswise.
Melo all month in February,
And every now and then
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
Boris Pasternak.
Alla Pugacheva performs this heartfelt song to the classic poems about winter in the film. From her director Eldar Ryazanov sought chamber sound. And now I propose to listen to the same "Winter Night" in the original powerful performance of Nikolai Noskov. Everything is brilliant: poetry, music, performance.
Red bullfinches on white birches
The classics of the Russian poetic genre did not pass by the splendor of winter beauties. Here, speaking about poems about the winter of Russian poets, I will not separate the authors of the pre-revolutionary and Soviet periods: it is easy to see that they admired the nature of their native land equally enthusiastically.
It is difficult to convey in words the subtle ligature of frosty patterns on the glass, the softness of the snow cover on the sleeping branches of trees, the melody of the creak of skids or the mystery of the rustle of falling snowflakes. But they tried, and, most surprisingly, they succeeded, moreover, they all did it in their own way, but with the same talent, precision and subtlety.
Birch
White birch under my window
Covered with snow, like silver.
On fluffy branches with a snowy border
Tassels of white fringe blossomed.
And there is a birch in sleepy silence,
And snowflakes burn in golden fire.
And the dawn, lazily going around,
Sprinkle the branches with new silver.
Sergey Yesenin.
Bullfinches
Run out quickly
Look at the snowmen.
Arrived, arrived
The flock was met by blizzards!
A Frost-Red Nose
He brought them rowanberries.
well treated,
Well sweetened.
Late winter evening
Bright scarlet bunches.
Alexander Prokofiev.
Where is the sweet whisper
my forests?
murmuring streams,
Meadow flowers?
The trees are bare;
Winter carpet
Covered the hills
Meadows and valleys.
Under the ice
With your bark
The stream is numb;
Everything is numb
Only the evil wind
Raging, howling
And the sky covers
Gray haze.
Evgeny Baratynsky.
I want the first snowflakes, tender
It is not for nothing that in poems about the winter of Russian poets there are so often rhymes or consonances of the concepts of “snowy” and “gentle”. This is not plagiarism, but a kind of intuitive feeling of the relationship of concepts, which comes to everyone in their own way. Snow, especially the first, covering the blackness of the earth, the flaws of our roads, giving a feeling of unearthly, transcendent peace. It really fascinates, you can watch the falling snowflakes without stopping, forgetting about the fuss around. And what harmony in them, what perfection of form!
Snowflake
Light fluffy,
snowflake white,
What a pure
How brave!
Dear stormy
Easy to carry
Not in the sky azure,
Asking for the ground.
Azure miraculous
She left
Myself into the unknown
The country has fallen.
In the rays of shining
Slides, skillful,
Among the melting flakes
Preserved white.
Under the blowing wind
Trembling, uplifting,
On him, cherishing,
Light swings.
his swing
She is comforted
With his blizzards
Spinning wildly.
But here it ends
The road is long
touches the earth,
Crystal star.
lies fluffy,
Snowflake is bold.
What a pure
What a white!
Konstantin Balmont.
God, I want snow so much...
Flakes flying from heaven
So that the earth is dressed as a bride
And the fog over the city disappeared ...
I want the first snowflakes, tender,
So that people, forgetting things -
They looked up at the snowy gift.
To say out loud: "Winter has come!"
I want to hear the children laugh
With admiration, touching the snow ...
Evenings in winter are kinder and quieter,
And the veil of frozen rivers shines...
I want winter, so that in this world
Everything became a little whiter.
Let the snowflakes fly around the world
Bringing joy into people's hearts...
God, I want snow so much...
Flakes flying from heaven
So that in winter the human soul is warmed
Waiting for happiness and miracles ...
Irina Samarina.
First snow
Smell of winter cold
In fields and forests.
Lit up with bright purple
Heaven before sunset.
The storm blew through the night,
And with the dawn on the village,
To the ponds, to the deserted garden
The first snow fell.
And today over the wide
white tablecloth fields
We said goodbye to the belated
A string of geese.
Ivan Bunin.
And it just snowed...
And the gloomy day seemed to become brighter.
And as if in a dream
I'm walking along a snow-covered alley.
And in the world - witchcraft!
Passers-by are fascinated by the snow…
Snowflake celebration
Little by little, tenderness is sprinkled ...
And in a white mess
Winter spins me in a magical waltz ...
Trees in silver
They bowed in astonished curtsy.
And as if on earth
There is no other color left.
From white - warmer ...
And black ...... as if it seemed ... ..
Natalya Radolina.
Not just classics, but tender romantics
When we start talking about Pushkin's vision of winter. The first thing that comes to mind is: “A storm covers the sky with darkness ...” Or no less popular, sitting “in a subcrust”: “Frost and sun; wonderful day!” Probably, this is the merit of the school, - it is firmly embedded in the memory. But the same Pushkin also has much less well-known lines, just as expressive, for example, these poems about winter, short and beautiful.
What a night! Frost crackling,
Not a single cloud in the sky;
Like a sewn canopy, a blue vault
It is full of frequent stars.
Everything is dark in the houses. At the gate
Locks with heavy locks.
Everywhere people rest;
The noise and the shout of the merchant subsided;
Only the yard guard barks
Yes, the ringing chain rattles.
And all of Moscow sleeps peacefully...
Just as one-sided, but rather, we simply know little of the poetry of Nikolai Rubtsov. Of course, his mystical prediction: “I will die in Epiphany frosts, I will die when birch trees crack…” - could not help but remain in the memory of people in the history of literature. Moreover, it came true with perfect accuracy. But the same Rubtsov also has such heartfelt poems about winter, filled with a sense of light, light. They are like a musical subtext of the running of an elegant, swift troika:
Ah, who doesn't love the first snow
Slightly humming in the wind!
Dozhinki are celebrating in the village,
And snowflakes fly on the accordion.
And covered in glowing snow
Elk freezes on the run
On a distant shore.
Why are you holding the whip in the palm of your hand?
Horses gallop easily in harness,
And along the roads between the fields,
Like flocks of white doves
Snow is flying up from under the sleigh...
Ah, who doesn't love the first snow
In the frozen beds of quiet rivers,
In the fields, in the villages and in the forest,
Slightly humming in the wind!
But the names of Tyutchev, Fet, Bunin are not accidentally strongly and absolutely correctly associated with true soulful lyrics. These are masters of the word, true connoisseurs of Russian literature, which is why they so vividly succeeded in verses about winter and any other seasons. They sincerely loved these wide expanses and always, in any circumstances, remained singers of their native nature.
Enchantress Winter
Bewitched, the forest stands,
And under the snowy fringe,
Motionless, dumb
He shines with a wonderful life.
And he stands, bewitched,
Not dead and not alive -
Magically enchanted by sleep
All entangled, all bound
Light downy chain…
Is the winter sun mosque
On him his ray oblique -
Nothing trembles in it
He will flare up and shine
Dazzling beauty.
Fedor Tyutchev.
wonderful picture,
How are you related to me?
white plain,
Full moon,
the light of the heavens above,
And shining snow
And distant sleigh
Lonely run.
The creak of footsteps along the white streets, the lights in the distance;
Crystals gleam on the icy walls.
Silver fluff hung from the eyelashes in the eyes,
The silence of the cold night occupies the spirit.
The wind sleeps, and everything goes numb, just to fall asleep;
The clear air itself is shy to die in the cold.
Afanasy Fet.
On New Year's Eve, dreams smell like this ...
The culmination of winter, its pole, is, of course, the New Year. How we wait for him, with what hopes he comes to every home! This is the time when we all fall into childhood for a short time, we really want to believe in miracles. So, with this faith we bring the miracle a little closer. These days we are invariably kinder, becoming more humane. Yes, probably more sentimental, but we can afford it on rare fabulous New Year's days. And poems about winter, short and beautiful, dedicated to this beloved spiritual holiday, will remind us of these bright moments all year long.
What bliss that the snows sparkle
that the cold got stronger, and it drizzled in the morning,
that foil sparkles wildly and gently
on every corner and in the shop window.
While serpentine, tinsel, rigmarole
rise above the boredom of other possessions,
the tedium of New Year's Eve
endure and endure - what a wondrous fate!
What luck that the shadows lay down
around the fir trees and firs blooming everywhere,
and the evergreen news of love
inspired to the soul and added to the miracle.
Where did tenderness and spruce come from,
where they hid before and how they agreed!
Like children waiting at the cherished doors,
I forgot to wait, and the doors opened.
What a blessing it is to decide
where a glass ball will glow more beautifully,
and only love, only spruce dress up
and contemplate this unspeakable world...
Bella Akhmadulina.
Frosty tangerine peel,
Resinous pine branch,
Frozen raspberries
Dreams smell like this on New Year's Eve.
This is how dreams smell when on the Christmas trees
The garlands haven't lit up yet.
This is how dreams smell when in the evening
There are untouched candles ...
Tatyana Snezhina.
According to New Year's Eve...
And let's according to the New Year's law -
We leave everything unnecessary behind our backs:
Bad phone calls
Last weekend alone...
Unexpected troubles and losses,
All the diseases that came on the sly ...
And we will open the doors in the New Year, with a smile.
Light in the soul from the New Year's snowball ...
We will take with us a package of brilliant ideas,
A bag of joy, trunks of kindness.
And friends - so dear and real ...
Don't forget to bring your dreams.
Let's break into the New Year with a white stripe,
Covering the negative with pure snow,
To appreciate people with spiritual beauty ...
The courtyard of the inner world is so beautiful.
We will forget New Year's recipes.
Forget the holiday outfit...
Only with sincerity will you contribute -
In the New Year, where we make plans at random ...
And on the Christmas tree the garland is blinking so
Like hope that burns in the hearts of people.
And let's believe that - it does not happen ...
And the year of good news will begin!
Irina Samarina.
Winter without a mask and without makeup
Having waited for the first innocent snow, we are already starting to slowly prepare for the New Year celebrations. And when the fireworks die down, champagne is drunk, all the other rituals of the night of magic are performed, we are already thinking about spring. Sometimes we rejoice in the invigorating frost, the blinding sun, and sometimes we leaf through the calendar, count the days until the first spring days, wonder whether the arrival of the drop will be quick or protracted.
These poems about winter are completely different in plot, mood, subtext. Because you and I are also individuals, we see the world in a slightly special way, and this only adds to its charm.
Winter without a mask and without makeup
White - white, weak, not harmonious,
But the lurking vision
But even the silent one is heard.
She is full of forebodings
Appropriate except in youth,
She needs art
In its unsettling, wild strangeness.
It's all about him! All surroundings
Brushes, and strings, and rhythm requires.
Everything stirs the imagination
Hurries, wanders, raves, tries ...
And we, crowding right there,
Reassessing the case
The eve of winter, the eve of the cold,
The height of seasonal art.
Pavel Antokolsky.
Winter
White snow, fluffy in the air is spinning
And quietly falls to the ground, lays down.
And in the morning the field turned white with snow,
Like a veil all dressed him.
A dark forest that covered itself with a wonderful hat
And fell asleep under it soundly, soundly ...
God's days are short, the sun shines little,
Here come the frosts - and winter has come.
A peasant worker pulled out a sledge,
Children build snow mountains.
For a long time the peasant has been waiting for winter and cold,
And he covered the hut with straw from the outside.
So that the wind does not penetrate into the hut through the cracks,
Blizzards and blizzards would not inflate snow.
He is now calm - everything around is covered,
And he is not afraid of the evil frost, angry.
Ivan Surikov.
Wet snow flakes fly all day long...
And what do they want from us in the crazy world?
And what do we ourselves want from the world?
And where are we flying through thick flakes?
Where are they waiting for us and where are they waving to us from?
Snow flakes fly over the path, over the river.
Where is the limit? Where is peace, silence and comfort?
Flakes of wet snow scurry and scurry.
Larissa Miller.
Will there be spring?
twirled, twirled
Blizzard winter dial.
Perform bagatelles
We are on an icy pipe.
The pine-spruces have become flirtatious,
They put on ball gowns.
The whistlers fell silent ...
In a snow-white cradle
The river is drooping. Only in the font
At Epiphany - "carousels" ...
Vyuzhit again ... Barely
I believe in the arrival of a drop ...
Lyubov Mironova.
Winter music
Music winter snowflake flute
ringing with watercolor silver
And lie down sad in a snowdrift,
playing with the wind, not in a hurry.
Waiting for another to wait in vain,
in the royal sparks a dashing bell.
In the top three going to the remote
white verse will fly to the edge.
Through the forest limit and in the fresh hoarfrost
shakes the twig by accident.
Smiling, the guest will shudder with hair,
the gray wolf sings happy.
Music winter snowflake flute
ringing with watercolor silver.
Royal fluff in the forest turns white,
he orders to write with a holy sail.
Evgeny Borisovsky.
Again, nature has become generous,
Mother Nature herself:
What a glorious weather
What a snowy winter.
Boots and skis are ready,
Matches and food in the pocket
Not in reserve - but to survive
When trouble strikes.
I'm in a hurry. Satisfied with ski grease,
Path to the snow
There, where the winter fairy tale blows.
And I say hello to the fairy tale.
The lights of a distant village
Still burning, but the light dawns,
A little more, a little more, a moment more -
And dawn breaks.
A tit has shaded in the forest,
Magpie, with news light,
The fox crackled in bulk,
But she was far away.
There behind the high mountains
Where the distance is transparent and boom,
Winter with howling winds
The frosty sound of a pine forest.
Naked on a roll
Already, fairly, shallow,
The restless stream murmurs,
Leading a silver chant.
And the promised side
I wander under the vault of gray skies,
Where is the woodpecker with a drum shot
The numb wakes the forest.
Do not cover with an inquisitive glance
The expanse of swamped fields,
Where are the miracles, where is the fairy tale nearby
With a radiant flock of bullfinches.
To the land of snowy paradise
They carry hemmed pimas.
And pours, playing with sounds,
Live music in winter...
Victor Kukhtin.
An invitation to a winter fairy tale...
As in a ghostly white, captivating dream
The moon is silver in the night sky,
And white-white birches doze,
Wrapped in snow, immersed in dreams.
And unearthly silence surrounds me,
Does this really happen?
And the snow is silver under the moonbeam -
What will be, what was - I do not care.
I don't know, I don't remember, I live in the moment,
And the fairy tale stands before me in reality.
And it seems: take a timid step,
And marvelous dreams will dispel the horn.
The wind will touch them with a swift run,
And wonderful castles will fall in snow.
And I hid, almost not breathing -
Oh, winter fairy tale, how good you are!
Anatoly Tsepin.
Flowers under the snow
The flowers in the garden have not yet bloomed,
And time drives white blizzards
Bright dreams go under the snow,
Nature goes to sleep until April...
... Well, it’s clear that nature intended it that way,
Flowers need to rest too.
Flowers under the snow will stand a little,
Spring will come and they will bloom again.
Nadezhda Lykova.
Traces
I love,
when over the city -
snow,
circling uncertainly
no one.
inanimate,
shaggy,
slow snow
dresses in ermine
Muscovites.
In an ermine coat
a student is coming.
in stoats
the guard is dressed up…
I love looking at white ripples.
Lanterns float above the street -
are burning.
Like filled with flames
zeros,
at home
lights are on.
The fluffy snow is falling
and I run after him.
The snow is entangled in the tangle of bushes.
On the snow,
on a very quiet
snow -
exclamation points
traces!
Robert Christmas.
And here is another touching poem about winter.
Your name on the white snow...
Your name on the white snow
reflection of crystal happiness ...
Weightless snowflakes fly like an angel's fluff from a wing ...
In every letter of the sun, the rays of the vast sky are a communion ...
And the fairy tale-winter is infinitely pure and bright...
Your name on the white snow
the whisper of birds in the play of dawn ...
The lacy breath of dreams in the chime of Christmas days…
A thin piece of ice on the tongue ... a sweet berry of ripe summer ...
A little tear trembling with happiness... my belated song...
Your name on the white snow
like a postscript of unfulfilled letters...
Like a hope for a fairy-tale light... like a golden dawn of heaven...
Sparks of stars are scattered like pearl-silver beads...
And the gift of the gods sparkles - your name is my prayer ...
………
You know... the angels took care of your name for so long, so that when we met, it became the only one in my life...
Marina Yesenina
And in conclusion, I want to present you one small, short poem about winter from Anna Voronina. She wrote this poem under the impression of the winter issue of the magazine last year. Anya is a regular contributor to the magazine. Such warm, pleasant lines ...
Soul of winter
Ginger-pine aroma
With a spicy note of mandarin.
Cotton candy outfit
Painted in mother-of-pearl sunset.
Weave star cape
Covered her shoulders. Candles are dancing
Letting go of the shadows
Decorating the brow of nature.
Longer step time,
And there is a place for idle laziness,
In sleepy bliss.
Anna Voronina.
Dear readers, our new winter issue of the Aromas of Happiness magazine will be released very soon. If you don't know about it, go to the subscription page and read reviews about the magazine. And subscribe so you don't miss it.
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I thank the readers of my blog Viktor Bessonov and Lyubov Mironova for their help in selecting winter poems for this article. Together we collected what is very expensive, although, of course, there are very, very many such verses.
Dear readers, the New Year is just around the corner, and winter will delight us for a long time with the silver sheen of ice floes, the uniqueness of Lego snowflakes, and the serenades of snowstorms. And new poems, songs, everything that warms the soul even in the coldest frosts.
New Year's resolutions from me to you.
And if you want to continue the winter mood, I invite you to read my articles on the blog and listen to mood music, have fun with your children and grandchildren.
New Year's games and competitions for children Poems about the Christmas tree
"And the evening will be white-white
With threads of starry rivers
Where he draws with white chalk
Snow on the sidewalks...
Each season is reflected in Russian poetry. But still winter - in a special position. She is sung in many works of Russian poets in. Why is it in Russian literature, poetry, and painting that much attention is paid to this fabulous season? The answer lies in the peculiarities of the national character. In Russian literature, winter is a season associated with holidays and recreation. All household affairs are completed and you can safely indulge in all sorts of harmless entertainment. This is horseback riding through a snowy forest, and playing snowballs, and walking in the garden, where trees sleep peacefully, covered with a snow-white blanket. In no other literature of the world the image of winter-winter is presented in such a multifaceted way. It was the Russian poets who most accurately and vividly managed to convey the feelings that cover any person at the sight of falling snow flakes, bizarre patterns on window glass or huge icicles shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow in the cold winter sun.
Many wonderful poems dedicated to winter have been written in Russian literature. Snow-white landscapes, prettier nature inspired a considerable number of poets and writers. I. Bunin “Snowstorm”, “Dense green spruce forest near the road”, K. Balmont “First Winter”, “Snowflake”, S. Yesenin “Winter sings - calls out ...”, A. Tvardovsky “Circling easily and clumsily ...”, B. Pasternak devoted a whole cycle of poems to winter. And yet, of all the works created by Russian masters of the pen, we can single out, in our opinion, top five . P. Vyazemsky in a poem "First snow" describes winter in such radiant, bright colors that any other season pales in front of her:
The peaks of heaven are burning with azure light;
The valleys twitched like a shiny tablecloth,
And the fields are dotted with bright beads.
On the holiday of winter, the earth flaunts ...
Dressing up in snow-white outfits, the nature around is transformed, as if being cleansed of autumn mud. The winter season in Russian poetry is a period of contemplation, spiritual purification and rethinking of values. About this touching lines of another great Russian poet Fyodor Tyutchev:
Enchantress Winter
Bewitched, the forest stands -
And under the snowy fringe,
Motionless, dumb
He shines with a wonderful life.
At Sergei Yesenin there are also wonderful lines about winter, but he associates it with loneliness and the desire to find peace:
Winter sings - calls out,
Shaggy forest cradles
The call of a pine forest.
Around with deep longing
Sailing to a distant land
Gray clouds.
And here is a brilliant poet Boris Pasternak and the lines of his poem, which later became a famous song. The poet contrasts the coldness of winter streets with the warmth of human relationships, saying that even in such a harsh time one can be truly happy, regardless of the vagaries of the weather:
No one will be in the house
Except twilight. One
Winter day in a through opening
Not drawn curtains.
Only white wet clods
Fast flywheel.
Only rooftops, snow and apart
Roofs and snow - no one.
And, of course, Alexander Pushkin. The poet refers to winter as a living creature with a sharp disposition:
A storm covers the sky with mist,
Whirlwinds of snow twisting;
The way she is a beast, she will howl,
He will cry like a child...
A. Blok, V. Bryusov, E. Baratynsky, I. Surikov, N. Ogarev ... Each of the listed artists of the Russian word saw something special, his own in the winter nature. So from these numerous descriptions a vivid image was formedbeauties - winters.
