Poems about autumn: b. l

No other season of the year is represented as widely and vividly in Pushkin’s works as autumn.

Pushkin repeated more than once that autumn is his favorite season. In the fall, he wrote best and most of all, he was struck by “inspiration,” a special state, “a blissful state of mind, when dreams are clearly depicted before you, and you find living, unexpected words to embody your visions, when poems easily fall under your pen, and sonorous rhymes run towards harmonious thought” (“Egyptian Nights”).

Why is autumn so dear to the poet?

Pushkin in his poem “Autumn” speaks about his attitude towards this time of year:

The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But I love her, dear reader...

In this poem, with wonderful descriptions of autumn nature, the poet wants to infect the reader with his special love for this time of year, and in the last lines of this unfinished passage he shows with extraordinary conviction and poetry how inspiration is born in his soul, how his poetic creations appear:

It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness.
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant threats of gray winter...
...And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the poems will flow freely.

(“Autumn”, 1833)

The poet knows how to find poetic features in the withering of autumn nature: the yellowing foliage of the trees turns crimson and gold in his eyes. This is a loving perception of it by a person who really loves and knows how to notice the poetic features of autumn. It is not without reason that the French writer Prosper Merimee noted that “poetry blossoms in Pushkin from the most sober prose.”

We find many descriptions of autumn nature in the novel “Eugene Onegin”. The passage “The sky was already breathing in autumn,” familiar from childhood, introduces us to late autumn in the village. In this passage there is a traveler racing at full speed on a horse, afraid of a wolf, and a shepherd working during the summer harvest, and a village girl singing at a spinning wheel, and boys skating on a frozen river.

The sky was already breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less often,
The day was getting shorter
Mysterious forest canopy
With a sad noise she stripped herself,
Fog lay over the fields,
Noisy caravan of geese
Stretched to the south: approaching
Quite a boring time;
It was already November outside the yard.

(Chapter IV, stanza XL)

Another passage from the famous novel is imbued with a different mood. It also talks about autumn, but there is no direct, simple depiction of pictures of nature and images of people closely related to the life of nature. In this passage, nature itself is poetically humanized, allegorically presented in the image of a living creature.

...Golden autumn has come,
Nature is tremulous, pale,
Like a sacrifice, luxuriously decorated...

(Chapter VII, stanza XXIX)

Indeed, in the fall A.S. Pushkin experienced an extraordinary surge of strength. The Boldino autumn of 1830 was marked by an extraordinary rise and scope of the poet’s creative genius. In the history of all world literature, it is impossible to give another example when in three months a writer would create such a number of beautiful works. In this famous “Boldino autumn”, Pushkin completed chapters VIII and IX of the novel “Eugene Onegin”, wrote “Belkin’s Tales”, four “little tragedies” (“The Miserly Knight”, “Mozart and Salieri”, “The Stone Guest”, “The Feast of time of plague"), "The History of the Village of Goryukhino", "The Tale of the Priest and His Worker Balda" about 30 poems (including such as "Demons", "Elegy", "Prank", "My Genealogy"), several critical articles and notes. The works of one “Boldino autumn” could immortalize the name of the poet.

Pushkin lived in Boldin that autumn for about three months. Here he summarized the thoughts and plans of previous years and outlined new themes, especially in prose.

The poet would visit Boldin two more times (in 1833 and 1834), also in the fall. And these visits left a noticeable mark on his work. But the famous “Boldino autumn” of 1830 remained unique in the poet’s creative life.

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!...
Alexander Pushkin

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!

And distant gray winter threats.

Autumn morning
Alexander Pushkin

There was a noise; field pipe
My solitude has been announced,
And with the image of a mistress draga
The last dream has flown away.
The shadow of the night has already rolled down from the sky.
The dawn has risen, the pale day is shining -
And all around me there is desolation...
She's gone... I was off the coast,
Where my dear went on a clear evening;
On the shore, in the green meadows
I didn't find any barely visible traces,
Left by her beautiful foot.
Wandering thoughtfully in the depths of the forests,
I pronounced the name of the incomparable;
I called her - and a solitary voice
Empty valleys called her into the distance.
He came to the stream, attracted by dreams;
Its streams flowed slowly,
The unforgettable image did not tremble in them.
She's gone!.. Until sweet spring
I said goodbye to bliss and to my soul.
Already autumn's cold hand
The heads of birch and linden trees are bare,
She rustles in the deserted oak groves;
There a yellow leaf spins day and night,
There is fog on the chilled waves,
And an instant wind whistle is heard.
Fields, hills, familiar oak forests!
Keepers of sacred silence!
Witnesses of my melancholy, fun!
You are forgotten... until sweet spring!

The sky was already breathing in autumn...
Alexander Pushkin
The sky was already breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less often,
The day was getting shorter
Mysterious forest canopy
With a sad noise she stripped herself,
Fog lay over the fields,
Noisy caravan of geese
Stretched to the south: approaching
Quite a boring time;
It was already November outside the yard.

Autumn
Alexander Pushkin

October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.
The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
To the departing fields with my desire,
And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.

Now is my time: I don’t like spring;
The thaw is boring to me; stench, dirt - in the spring I am sick;
The blood is fermenting; feelings and mind are constrained by melancholy.
I'm happier in the harsh winter
I love her snow; in the presence of the moon
How easy the running of a sleigh with a friend is fast and free,
When under the sable, warm and fresh,
She shakes your hand, glowing and trembling!

How fun it is to put sharp iron on your feet,
Slide along the mirror of standing, smooth rivers!
And the brilliant worries of the winter holidays?..
But you also need to know honor; six months of snow and snow,
After all, this is finally true for the inhabitant of the den,
The bear will get bored. You can't take a whole century
We'll ride in a sleigh with the young Armids
Or sour at the stoves behind double glass.

Oh, summer is red! I would love you
If only it weren't for the heat, the dust, the mosquitoes, and the flies.
You, ruining all your spiritual abilities,
You torture us; like the fields we suffer from drought;
Just to get something to drink and refresh yourself -
We have no other thought, and it’s a pity for the old woman’s winter,
And, having seen her off with pancakes and wine,
We are celebrating her funeral with ice cream and ice.

How to explain this? I like her,
Like you probably are a consumptive maiden
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bows down without a murmur, without anger.
A smile is visible on faded lips;
She does not hear the gaping of the grave abyss;
There is still a crimson color playing on the face.
She is still alive today, gone tomorrow.

And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I feel love again for the habits of life:
One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger comes;
The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,
Desires are boiling - I’m happy, young again,
I'm full of life again - that's my body
(Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaicism).

They lead the horse to me; in the open expanse,
Waving his mane, he carries the rider,
And loudly under his shining hoof
The frozen valley rings and the ice cracks.
But the short day goes out, and in the forgotten fireplace
The fire is burning again - then the bright light is pouring,
It smolders slowly - and I read in front of it
Or I harbor long thoughts in my soul.

And I forget the world - and in sweet silence
I'm sweetly lulled by my imagination,
And poetry awakens in me:
The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement,
It trembles and sounds and searches, as in a dream,
To finally pour out with free manifestation -
And then an invisible swarm of guests comes towards me,
Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.

And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the poems will flow freely.
So the motionless ship slumbers in the motionless moisture,
But chu! - the sailors suddenly rush and crawl
Up, down - and the sails are inflated, the winds are full;
The mass has moved and is cutting through the waves.

The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But she is sweet to me, dear reader,
Quiet beauty, shining humbly.
So unloved child in the family
It attracts me to itself. To tell you frankly,
Of the annual times, I am glad only for her,
There is a lot of good in her; a lover is not vain,
I found something in her like a wayward dream.

“That year the autumn weather...”

That year the weather was autumn
I stood in the yard for a long time,
Winter was waiting, nature was waiting.
Snow only fell in January...
(Excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin, chapter 5, stanzas I and II)

"Golden autumn has come"

Golden autumn has arrived.
Nature is tremulous, pale,
Like a sacrifice, luxuriously decorated...
Here is the north, the clouds are catching up,
He breathed, howled - and there she was,
Winter sorceress is coming..
(Excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin”, chapter 7, stanzas XXIX and XXX)

Pushkin's poems about autumn are accurate and especially beautiful. The great poet loved autumn more than other seasons of the year; he liked to create in the fall most of all.

"Autumn"
excerpt

my neighbor is in a hurry
To the departing fields with my desire,
And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.

In his poems about autumn, A.S. Pushkin seems to want to infect the grateful reader with his special love for autumn, for its golden, crimson tones.

“The sky was already breathing in autumn”

... The sky was already breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less often,
The day was getting shorter
Mysterious forest canopy
With a sad noise she stripped herself,
Fog lay over the fields,
Noisy caravan of geese
Stretched to the south: approaching
Quite a boring time;
It was already November outside the yard.
(Excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin” chapter 4, stanzas XL-XLII)

Without asking anyone, autumn came to visit us again. She put coral beads on the rowan tree, touched it with her magic wand, and updated the outfit on the birch, maple, oak... The leaves swirled in a festive carnival, and the fields were completely empty.
And yet, all of this has its own, unique charm...

“That year the autumn weather...”

Autumn very quickly gives way to winter. It would seem like just yesterday, the sun was gentle and warm, and autumn gave us a whole mountain of gifts: a bunch of mushrooms, berries, rye, wheat, cabbage... And now the clearings, meadows and forests are completely deserted. And it seems that on earth there are only cold winds, fogs and darkness...

"Golden autumn has come"

But I was delighted with the rich decoration of the autumn beauty. I invite you to a poetic autumn evening, to plunge into the familiar rhythms and rhymes of the Russian genius.

Poems by A.S. Pushkin about autumn

Pushkin's poems about autumn for children and adults are unique pictures of nature and a riot of feelings and colors. Every second resident of the post-Soviet space in the first cold days of autumn remembers the words “The sky was already breathing in autumn...”. And we will begin with this wonderful excerpt from the poem about Eugene Onegin:

* * *

The masterful artist A.S. Pushkin paints his picture of autumn with generous strokes. And every line is truth, and every line is art...

Autumn of Pushkin

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

How to explain this? I like her,
Like you probably are a consumptive maiden
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bows down without a murmur, without anger.
A smile is visible on faded lips;
She does not hear the gaping of the grave abyss;
The color of his face is still purple.
She is still alive today, gone tomorrow.

VII

VIII

IX

X

And I forget the world - and in sweet silence
I'm sweetly lulled to sleep by my imagination,
And poetry awakens in me:
The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement,
It trembles and sounds and searches, as in a dream,
To finally pour out with free manifestation -
And then an invisible swarm of guests comes towards me,
Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.

XI

XII

Floating. Where should we go?
. . . . . . . . . . . .

Autumn morning

* * *

Tidier than fashionable parquet
The river shines, covered in ice.
Boys are a joyful people
Skates cut the ice noisily;
The goose is heavy on red paws,
Having decided to sail across the bosom of the waters,
Steps carefully onto the ice,
Slips and falls; funny
The first snow flashes and curls,
Stars falling on the shore.

Pushkin wrote beautiful poems about autumn, putting into them all the power of the beauty of nature, which he carefully embraced with words...

Golden autumn has come

* * *

The forest drops its crimson robe,
Frost will silver the withered field,
The day will appear as if involuntarily
And it will disappear beyond the edge of the surrounding mountains.
Burn, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, are a friend of the autumn cold,
Pour a gratifying hangover into my chest,
A momentary oblivion of bitter torment.

At the end of the literary meeting, I invite you to listen to poems about autumn by A.S. Pushkin in this video:

We invite you to watch a fascinating video on our video channel "Workshop on the Rainbow"

Olga Ganina
Musical lounge for children of the preparatory group and parents “Autumn time... the charm of the eyes”

Target:

1 Learn to listen attentively poetry music, convey the mood using musical sounds and colors.

2 Expand the understanding of the poetry of A. S. Pushkin, music P. I. Tchaikovsky, about paintings autumn landscapes.

Good evening, my dear friends! Today we will meet with amazing poems "the sun of Russian poetry" A. S. Pushkin, and with music the great Russian composer P. I. Tchaikovsky. And we will begin, of course, with the poems of our favorite poet, poems that have long been familiar and unfamiliar to us.

I really want you to listen today to those poems by Pushkin about different seasons of the year, which have already been heard in our lessons. And I want you to listen closely music verses of works still unfamiliar to us, we would remember them and love them.

For each season, Alexander Sergeevich found such words, drew such images that forever sunk into the memory and soul of readers. It's easy to forget them impossible: “Under the blue skies with magnificent carpets, glistening in the sun, the snow lies...”, or “With a clear smile, nature greets the morning of the year through a dream”, "I died autumn chill, the road is freezing...", and more, more...

Each time of year corresponds to a certain mood, which can be conveyed using musical sounds.

And with each in the fall I bloom again;

The Russian cold is good for my health;

The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart...

Pushkin repeated more than once, both in prose and in verse, that autumn– his favorite time of year. in autumn he wrote best and most of all, it came to him "inspiration", special condition.

And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,

And light rhymes run towards them,

And fingers ask for pen, pen for paper,

A minute - and the poems will flow freely.

Please listen to excerpts from Alexander Sergeevich’s poems about autumn. I tried to take poems that you have not yet encountered or are little familiar with.

1. The red summer is withering;

Clear days are flying away;

A stormy fog is creeping in

Nights in the slumbering shadow;

The grassy fields are empty;

The playful stream is cold;

The curly forest has turned grey;

The vault of heaven turned pale.

2. ...It has arrived golden autumn.

Nature is tremulous, pale,

How the victim is lavishly decorated...

3. Already autumn's cold hand

The heads of birch and linden trees are bare,

She rustles in the empty oak groves,

A dead leaf swirls there day and night,

There is fog on the yellowed fields,

And an instant wind whistle is heard.

4. Days of late autumn people usually scold,

But she is sweet to me, dear reader,

Quiet beauty, shining humbly.

Of the annual times, I am glad only for her.

The poet writes about only one season, about autumn. And what different pictures! Each month has its own colors. This is the beginning autumn, and gold autumn, and later. Autumn days. It seems that the poet wants to infect the reader with his special love for autumn.

And again we turn to you music.

"Seasons" P.I. Tchaikovsky.

Remember the name of the composer whose portrait you see on the slide.

Children - P.I. Tchaikovsky.

That's right, guys. Pyotr Ilyich internally felt the world of nature, heard it music, enjoyed her silence. Autumn filled his soul with quiet and joyful sensations. As you can see, not only A.S. Pushkin loved this time of year, but also Tchaikovsky, with his magical sounds, took us into the world autumn moods. Guys, let's remember which works of A. S. Pushkin inspired Tchaikovsky. What works of the poet did he write for? music?

Now you will hear the play « Autumn Song» . I won't say which of the three autumn months associated with this name, you decide for yourself. In poems about autumn you saw her very much different: both beautiful, and sad, and magical. Listen to the character music and tell, which musical images, as well as the mood, gives birth music by Tchaikovsky(sounds « Autumn Song» Tchaikovsky).

1. Nature was waiting for winter.

Snow only fell in January

On the third night. Waking up early

Tatiana saw through the window

In the morning the yard turned white,

Curtains, roofs and fences,

There are light patterns on the glass,

Trees in winter silver,

Forty merry ones in the yard

And softly carpeted mountains

Winter is a brilliant carpet.

Everything is bright, everything is white all around.

2. Here is the north, the clouds are catching up,

He breathed, howled - and here she is

The sorceress winter is coming.

She came and fell apart; shreds

Hanged on the branches of oak trees;

Lay down in wavy carpets

Among the fields, around the hills;

Brega with a still river

She leveled it with a plump veil;

Frost flashed. And we are glad

To the pranks of Mother Winter.

3. Sad forest and withered valley,

The day will come and it will be dark,

And, like a belated traveler,

A storm is knocking on our window...

4. What a night! Frost is bitter,

There is not a single cloud in the sky;

Like an embroidered canopy blue vault

Replete with frequent stars.

Pushkin's poetry captivates the reader. You can read again and again and become more and more immersed in the beauty and harmony of Pushkin’s verse.

On the three

(based on music by Tchaikovsky"Seasons")

Early in the morning the troika gallops, the bells ring,

And all around is white and clean, snow sparks are flying.

A little man sits in a sheepskin coat, urges horses,

A gentleman with a lush beard rides noisily from guests.

“Have fun, Petrusha!” the master shouted. “But look!”

There, near the forest, from the slope, you won’t end up in a ravine!”

The whip flew over Petrusha, he whistled as hard as he could,

And the daredevils rushed off, the snow turning behind the sleigh.

The headwind stings your cheeks, your nose hurts in the cold,

The Russian soul burns from a dashing ride in a troika.

Here comes the forest! The slender ones stand like a wall of marvelous pine trees.

Everything is covered in snow, and the shady forest is enveloped in winter freshness.

The troika under Petrusha's whip continues to run fast,

The bells send their silver laughter throughout the area.

What’s not fabulous about birch trees and their round dances around?

A hare with long ears gallops at full speed.

A squirrel jumps along the branches, fluffing its red tail.

These winter pictures are just begging to be put on canvas.

The sun breaks its ray between the snow-covered branches,

This means that the trio will soon be greeted by the beauty and vastness of the fields.

“Hush, Petka, don’t blaspheme! The winds sing a song to the fields,

There the earth sleeps under a blanket of snow, keep it cozy.”

You can’t measure the breadth of space, you can’t measure the depth of heaven,

Whoever knows this with his soul will not leave these places.

Ahead the road winds along snow-covered fields,

The sun sends its silver rays from the horizon.

The fresh air gives you vigor, you can’t stop the rush of feelings,

The troika gallops along the road, everything has been given to her.

The village appeared, it was swept away in the snowstorm.

“Have fun, Petrusha! They are waiting for us at home for the pie!”

Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky born 25.04 1840 The great Russian comrade was very fond of his native nature. He could walk for hours through forests and fields. These walks gave Pyotr Ilyich great pleasure. He admired everything he saw around him myself: and mighty trees, and small white lilies of the valley, and blue sky, and bright butterflies.

IN autumn days Pyotr Ilyich wandered through the forest, along the rustling carpet of fallen yellow leaves and looked for porcini mushrooms under the birch and spruce trees. He liked it cold autumn time when a frequent light rain drizzles for a long time, and the wind howls angrily in the chimney. He expressed the mood and feelings inspired by pictures of nature in his music.

There are two autumn. One is joyful, lushly decorated, rich in harvest, and the other, invisible in itself, in the rags of falling leaves, sad, with the quiet cry of fine rain, in a word, that Cinderella, which in Russia we call late in autumn.

Now let's enjoy the pictures autumn, so different and beautiful! (on the picture screen autumn, sounds music P. I. Tchaikovsky "Seasons").

Dear friends! I know that and music and poetry that were heard today will remain in your memory for a long time. And so, I ask you when you come home, draw this beautiful, this different autumn, and the guys and I will listen to stories about these drawings during class, okay?

Everyone - Agreed!

The concert is over

The music suddenly stopped.

But is it?

It seems to be sounding now

And it will be for a long, long time

Still sound for each of us.