Poems by A.S. Pushkin about winter - an excellent tool to look at the snowy and cold weather with different eyes, to see in it the beauty that gray everyday life and dirty streets hide from us. After all, it was not in vain that they said that nature does not have bad weather.
Painting by Viktor Grigoryevich Tsyplakov “Frost and Sun”
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
Harness a 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.
Painting by Alexei Savrasov "Courtyard. Winter"
WINTER EVENING
A storm covers the sky with mist,
Whirlwinds of snow twisting;
Like a beast, she will howl
It will cry like a child
That on a dilapidated roof
Suddenly the straw will rustle,
Like a belated traveler
There will be a knock on our window.
Our ramshackle shack
And sad and dark.
What are you, my old lady,
Silent at the window?
Or howling storms
You, my friend, are tired
Or slumber under the buzz
Your spindle?
Let's drink, good friend
My poor youth
Let's drink from grief; where is the mug?
The heart will be happy.
Sing me a song like a titmouse
She lived quietly across the sea;
Sing me a song like a damsel
She followed the water in the morning.
A storm covers the sky with mist,
Whirlwinds of snow twisting;
Like a beast, she will howl
It will cry like a child.
Let's drink, good friend
My poor youth
Let's drink from grief: where is the mug?
The heart will be happy.
Painting by Alexei Savrasov "Winter Road"
Here is the north, catching up the clouds ...
Here is the north, catching up the clouds,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
The magic winter is coming
Came, crumbled; 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.
Painting by Gustave Courbet "Outskirts of the village in winter"
WINTER!... THE PEASANT IS CELEBRATING... (Excerpt from the poem "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.
Painting by Isaac Brodsky "Winter"
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...
Painting by Nikolai Krymov "Winter Evening"
THE AUTUMN WEATHER THAT YEAR
That year the autumn weather
She stood outside for a long time.
Winter was waiting, nature was waiting,
Snow fell only in January,
On the third night. Waking up early
Tatyana saw in the window
Whitewashed yard in the morning,
Curtains, roofs and fences,
Light patterns on glass
Trees in winter silver
Forty merry in the yard
And softly padded mountains
Winters are a brilliant carpet.
Everything is bright, everything shines around.
With surprisingly touching simplicity, A.S. Pushkin tells us about the Russian winter. Winter is a time of invigorating cold weather and crumbly snow, bitter frosts and wavy fogs, endless winter roads and frequent stars.
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.
When we read about the inevitable snow, about how the sorceress winter transforms everything around, it seems that we physically feel this snow, and the way a yard boy rides a dog on a small sled, and the good sounds of winter nature.
***
Here is the wind, 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.
All four seasons are represented in Pushkin's poems, but winter is especially good! In winter, it is especially light because underfoot is not black earth, but white dazzling snow. Whatever epithets Pushkin did not reward the snow mass: “puffy veil”, “wavy carpets”, “magnificent carpets” ...
***
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 ...
***
Beautiful and sunny images of a wonderful winter morning are woven in these poetic lines with a love theme. An excellent combination of lyrical expressions, such as “eyes closed with bliss”, “northern Aurora” with ordinary, real ones - “a flooded stove cracks”, “forbid the brown filly”. In this case, there is no violation of the integrity of the composition of the verse, but, on the contrary, elements of unpredictability are added.
"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.
***
"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.
***
"Winter evening"
A storm covers the sky with mist,
Whirlwinds of snow twisting;
The way the beast she howls
It will cry like a child
That on a dilapidated roof
Suddenly the straw will rustle,
Like a belated traveler
He will knock on our window.
***
"Tier than fashionable parquet"
Neater than fashionable parquet,
The river shines, dressed in ice.
Boys joyful people
Skates cut the ice loudly;
On red paws a goose is heavy,
Having thought to swim in the bosom of the waters,
Steps carefully on the ice
Slides and falls; cheerful
Flickering, winding the first snow,
Stars falling on the shore.
***
The dawn rises in a cold haze;
On the fields, the noise of work ceased;
With her hungry wolf
A wolf comes out on the road;
Feeling him, road horse
Snoring - and a cautious traveler
Rushing uphill at full speed;
Shepherd at dawn
Doesn't drive the cows out of the barn,
And at midday in a circle
They are not called by his horn;
Singing in the hut, maiden
Spins, and, winter friend of nights,
A splinter crackles in front of her.
Winter Sorceress Alexander Pushkin
The magic winter is coming
Came, crumbled; 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.
Analysis of Pushkin's poem "Sorceress-Winter"
An excerpt on a landscape theme, placed in the middle of the seventh chapter of "Eugene Onegin", is considered as a separate work and often appears in the school curriculum as such. The fragment dates from 1827-29, the general period of work on the chapter.
The theme of the transforming power of winter frosts first appears in Pushkin's novel in the fifth chapter. The narrator, who had previously complained about the boredom of the “monotonous nudity” of the rural landscape, admires the January morning together with his beloved heroine. Watching the changes from the window, Tatyana is fascinated by the bright picture: the yard has turned white, the trees are covered with silver, the snowdrifts are like mountains, softly covered with a “brilliant carpet”.
In the analyzed text, the motif of a miraculous transformation develops, embodied in the personified image of winter, a powerful and domineering sorceress. The mysterious appearance of the sorceress has been prepared by a faithful retinue: cold winds are howling, clouds are gathering. To create a suitable background, similar to theatrical scenery, was entrusted to the personified image of the north.
Winter the sorceress knows no barriers that can interfere with her solemn procession. The decisive nature of natural metamorphosis is reflected by the verbal opposition "goes" - "came".
To depict the active nature of the image of winter, the author draws on a complex of homogeneous predicates expressed by verbs. It includes five examples concentrated within seven lines of poetry. The subject of allegory is the invariable attribute of the coming season - snowdrifts. They are not called directly, but are likened to tufts, shroud, carpets. The last of the metaphors was used by Pushkin in the passage discussed above. Picturesque epithets correspond to poetic images, indicating the abundance, lightness and softness of the snow cover.
The landscape sketch ends with the verb metaphor “flashed”: in frosty weather, the snow shines, filling the snow-white picture with sparkling light.
In the final part, the assessment of the mysterious actions of the sorceress is complemented by new shades of meaning. Now they are likened to pranks, funny pranks that cause universal delight. To emphasize the unanimous reaction of people, the poet refers to the lyrical "we". Miniature scenes presented in different parts of the novel serve as illustrations of joyful winter amusements: skating, updating the sledge track, a child playing with a mongrel.
The magic winter is coming
Came, crumbled; 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. S. 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. S. Pushkin “Excerpts from the poem “Eugene Onegin”” Winter was waiting, nature was waiting. ,
Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant
That year the autumn weather
Stood in the yard for a long time
Winter was waiting, nature was waiting.
Snow fell only in January
On the third night. Waking up early
Tatyana saw through the window
Whitewashed yard in the morning,
Curtains, roofs and fences,
Light patterns on glass
Trees in winter silver
Forty merry in the yard
And softly padded mountains
Winters are a brilliant carpet.
Everything is bright, everything is white around.
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. 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. S. Pushkin “Winter. What should we do in the village? I meet"
Winter. What should we do in the village? I meet
The servant who brings me a cup of tea in the morning,
Questions: is it warm? has the blizzard subsided?
Is there powder or not? and is it possible to have a bed
Leave for a saddle, or better before dinner
Messing around with your neighbor's old magazines?
Powder. We get up, and immediately on the horse,
And trot across the field in the first light of day;
Arapniki in hands, dogs following us;
We look at the pale snow with diligent eyes;
We circle, we roam, and at times too late,
Having etched two birds with one stone, we are home.
How much fun! Here is the evening: a blizzard howls;
The candle burns darkly; embarrassed, the heart aches;
Drop by drop, I slowly swallow the poison of boredom.
I want to read; eyes glide over the letters,
And thoughts are far away... I close the book;
I take a pen, I sit; forcibly pull out
The dormant muse has incoherent words.
No sound goes to the sound ... I lose all rights
Over the rhyme, over my strange servant:
The verse drags on languidly, cold and foggy.
Tired, with a lyre, I stop the argument,
I go to the living room; I hear a conversation
About close elections, about a sugar factory;
The hostess frowns in the likeness of the weather,
With steel knitting needles nimbly moving,
Ile about the red is guessing the king.
Yearning! So day after day goes into solitude!
But if in the evening in a sad village,
When I sit in a corner at checkers,
He will come from afar in a wagon or wagon
An unexpected family: an old woman, two girls
(Two blond, two slender sisters), -
How the deaf side revives!
How life, oh my God, becomes full!
First indirectly attentive glances,
Then a few words, then conversations,
And there is friendly laughter, and songs in the evening,
And frisky waltzes, and whispers at the table,
And languid eyes, and windy speeches,
On the narrow stairs slow meetings;
And the maiden comes out on the porch at dusk:
Open neck, chest, and a blizzard in her face!
But the storms of the north are not harmful to the Russian rose.
How hot the kiss burns in the cold!
How fresh is a Russian maiden in the dust of snow!
