Hello. Today I want to discuss a poem with you. I already have a lot of questions.
A familiar child at school was asked to learn a poem about a cloud.
So, Mikhail Yurich Lermontov, the poem "Cliff".
A golden cloud spent the night
On the chest of a giant cliff;
She left early in the morning,
Playing merrily across the azure;
But stayed wet footprint in a wrinkle
Old cliff. Alone
He stands deep in thought
And he weeps softly in the desert.
The verse was memorized together (my mother was at work, and I was a pseudo-nanny).
Read, repeat, read, repeat.
-Katya, - the child asked me, - what is this poem about?
Then I thought about it and added:
-Listen, why do women in the cinema, if they spent the night with a man, quietly run away in the morning without saying goodbye?
And then I realized: the child understood the poem in exactly the same way as I did.
The damn cloud spent the night with the peasant, and in the morning, in the azure, freshly fucked, quietly dumped. And at the old cliff in the "wrinkle" there is a wet trace. Standing, thinking, crying.
I have a few questions. I'm generally inquisitive.
For example, the first: why is it taught in the sixth grade?
This is an adult poem. Naturally.
Second, what is it really about?
In general, if you look at it this way, for Lermontov the clouds are an eternal association with women. No, this is understandable, after all, he is a man, moreover, he wrote, being in the prime of life. But I now feel some resentment towards the clouds, or rather, towards women, which is right through.
For example, here's more:
Heavenly clouds, eternal wanderers!
Steppe azure, pearl chain
You rush as if like me, exiles
From the sweet north to the south.
Who is driving you: is it fate's decision?
Is envy secret? is malice open?
Or is crime burdening you?
Or poisonous slander of friends?
No, you are bored with barren fields...
Alien to you are passions and alien to suffering;
Forever cold, forever free
You have no homeland, you have no exile.
Pay attention to the last paragraph.
After all, it clearly reads there: all women are bitches.
They offended the women of Lermontov, oh, how they offended.
And teach the children the poems of the unfortunate peasant and do not understand where the cliff came from in the desert, why he is crying there, and where the cloud galloped off in the morning ...
________
© Ekaterina Bezymyannaya
Reading the verse "Cliff" by Lermontov Mikhail Yuryevich is offered to schoolchildren in the 6th grade. After reading it to children in a literature lesson, teachers give them the opportunity to interpret the work in their own way. It's interesting what the guys will see in it. So, some may assume that the cloud is a young windy girl with whom an elderly man is in love, that is, a cliff. Others may put forward some other version of what the poet wanted to say in his work. At home, the verse is asked to be taught completely. Since it is small in volume, this task does not seem too difficult for schoolchildren. Sometimes children are also invited to draw an illustration for the poem. Creative tasks usually always to the liking of children.
The text of Lermontov's poem "The Cliff" was written in 1941. Published - in 1943 in the journal "Domestic Notes". In the work, Mikhail Yuryevich tells a short story about a golden cloud and a giant cliff. He writes that the former spent the night on the latter, and then flew away from him into the azure. Utes was sorry that his guest had left him so quickly. He felt very alone. At the end of the poem, Mikhail Yuryevich writes that the cliff, thinking deeply about something, is quietly crying in the desert. The cloud in the verse is opposed to the cliff. She is young and cheerful in him, and he is old and gloomy. Although the verse consists of only 2 quatrains, this does not make it worse than the rest. With the help of them, Mikhail Yuryevich was able to clearly convey his worldview. According to many literary critics, in this poem the poet compares himself with a giant cliff. Although Lermontov was then only 26 years old, in his heart he felt very old and lonely.
Interesting and important stuff on the topic: "but there was a wet mark in the wrinkle" with full description and accessible language.
A golden cloud spent the night
On the chest of a giant cliff;
She left early in the morning,
Playing merrily across the azure;
But there was a wet mark in the wrinkle
Old cliff. Alone
He stands deep in thought
And he weeps softly in the desert.
Analysis of the poem "Cliff" by Lermontov
Lermontov's poem "The Cliff" presents two images opposed to each other: an old cliff and a cloud, they are also comparable according to the following criteria: youth - old age, carelessness - doom, joy-sadness. If the epithet “old” is used for the cliff, then the “clouds” name speaks for itself, the diminutive suffix “k” creates the image of a young, carefree cloud, moreover, it is very similar to a child. The temporal space of the poem is ambiguous. On the one hand - the action is happening rapidly - the cloud spent the night - sped off - the cliff was left alone. If you look more broadly, then the time is quite long. So, the cloud “spent the night on the chest of the giant cliff”, it turns out that the giant cliff is not just a place of residence, but a reliable breadwinner who raised his ward, who gave her his care and attention. But youth is fleeting. Old age comes unnoticed. Thanks to the assonance of the sound “o”, we hear the howling and crying of a lonely hermit ... (lonely, he, deep, quietly). Running away, the cloud leaves a “wet mark in the wrinkle”, like life-giving moisture to facilitate the life of the faithful, wise friend. Unfortunately, this moisture will quickly evaporate, leaving no trace of memories of youth, joy, and only tears will remain - "and he is crying softly in the desert."
In the first stanza, word order predominates, which also helps us to visually follow the cloud imperceptibly. Notice how it changes structural organization lines in the second stanza. The author uses inversion, especially highlighting the words “lonely”, “thinking”, “quietly”. And we ourselves, together with the cliffs, look with a farewell glance after the fleeing cloud of youth. Crying is quiet, because he does not want to seem weak, helpless, direct. The author's sympathy for the "experiences" of the cliff is obvious, it is not by chance that the poem is called "cliff", and not "cloud". And if the image of a cloud is represented by a colorful palette (gold, azure), then we will not find a single more or less bright color when describing a cliff. Something else is more important here - the author avoids everything feigned, superficial, and focuses on deep inner experiences.
Silhouette
I have your silhouette
I love its sad color;
It hangs on my chest
And he is gloomy, like a heart in her.
There is no life and fire in the eyes,
But he is always near me;
He is your shadow, but I love
Like a shadow of bliss, your shadow.
"No, it's not you that I love so passionately"
No, I don't love you so passionately,
Not for me the beauty of your brilliance:
I love you past suffering
And my lost youth.
Sometimes when I look at you
Looking into your eyes for a long time:
Mysterious I'm busy talking
But I'm not talking to you with my heart.
I'm talking to a friend early days;
In your features I look for other features;
In the mouth of the living, the mouth has long been mute,
In the eyes of the fire of extinguished eyes.
Here you can add longer, but easy-to-remember works by Lermontov:
And boring and sad
And boring and sad, and there is no one to give a hand
Per minute mental hardship…
Desires!.. what good is it in vain and eternally to desire?..
And the years pass - all the best years!
To love ... but whom? .. for a while - it's not worth the trouble,
And it is impossible to love forever.
Do you look into yourself? - there is no trace of the past:
And joy, and torment, and everything there is insignificant ...
What are passions? - after all, sooner or later their sweet affliction
Will disappear at the word of reason;
And life, as you look around with cold attention -
Such an empty and stupid joke...
"When the yellowing field worries"
When the yellowing field worries,
And the fresh forest rustles at the sound of the breeze,
And the crimson plum hides in the garden
Under the shade of a sweet green leaf;
When sprayed with fragrant dew,
Ruddy evening or morning at the golden hour,
From under the bush I silver lily of the valley
He nods his head amiably;
A familiar child at school was asked to learn a poem about a cloud.
So, Mikhail Yurich Lermontov, the poem "Cliff".
A golden cloud spent the night
On the chest of a giant cliff;
She left early in the morning,
Playing merrily across the azure;
But there was a wet mark in the wrinkle
Old cliff. Alone
He stands deep in thought
And he weeps softly in the desert.
The verse was memorized together (my mother was at work, and I was a pseudo-nanny).
Read, repeat, read, repeat.
-Katya, - the child asked me, - what is this poem about?
And then I realized: the child understood the poem in exactly the same way as I did.
The damn cloud spent the night with the peasant, and in the morning, in the azure, freshly fucked, quietly dumped. And at the old cliff in the "wrinkle" there is a wet trace. Standing, thinking, crying.
I have a few questions. I'm generally inquisitive.
For example, the first: why is it taught in the sixth grade?
This is an adult poem. Naturally.
Second, what is it really about?
In general, if you look at it this way, for Lermontov the clouds are an eternal association with women. No, this is understandable, after all, he is a man, moreover, he wrote, being in the prime of life. But I now feel some resentment towards the clouds, or rather, towards women, which is right through.
For example, here's more:
Heavenly clouds, eternal wanderers!
Steppe azure, pearl chain
You rush as if like me, exiles
From the sweet north to the south.
Who is driving you: is it fate's decision?
Is envy secret? is malice open?
Or is crime burdening you?
Or poisonous slander of friends?
No, you are bored with barren fields...
Alien to you are passions and alien to suffering;
Forever cold, forever free
You have no homeland, you have no exile.
Pay attention to the last paragraph.
After all, it clearly reads there: all women are bitches.
They offended the women of Lermontov, oh, how they offended.
And teach the children the poems of the unfortunate peasant and do not understand where the cliff came from in the desert, why he is crying there, and where the cloud galloped off in the morning ...
