Sergey Yesenin - Fields are compressed, groves are bare: Verse. V. Independent work
Sergei Yesenin's poem "The fields are compressed, the groves are naked" is dedicated, like many of his other works, to the nature of the Central Russian strip. It was written in 1917 and belongs to the early work of the poet. At this time, Sergei Yesenin was already living in Moscow, and seeing the cold concrete, stone houses and bright lights of the big city, he returned with his thoughts to the “exploded roads” of his native village of Konstantinovo, yearned for the village huts and groves, the quiet light of the evening sunset.
The poem creates a vivid image of late autumn, when the foliage has already flown around, the fields are compressed, the harvest is harvested, a damp cold fog descends over the river. But nature does not look dull, dreary and lifeless - it just fell into a dream, hid, froze in anticipation of the renewal that would come along with winter. Just a little more, and the first pure snow will cover the fields, branches of trees, frost forges the village river, and with a creak on the first snow, the village sleigh “pulled by a colt” will go. The poet himself is waiting for the “gray winter” as a joyful renewal of nature, which is always a source for him. vitality, creative inspiration, feelings and thoughts.
The fields are compressed, the groves are bare,
Fog and damp from the water.
Wheel behind the blue mountains
The sun went down quietly.
The blasted road is slumbering.
She dreamed today
What is very, very little
It remains to wait for the gray winter.
Oh, and I myself am often ringing
I saw yesterday in the fog:
Red month foal
Harnessed to our sleigh.
Analysis of the poem "The fields are compressed, the groves are naked" Yesenin
Yesenin, in his youth, moved from the village of Konstantinovo to Moscow. In the early years, he found time to go to his native places, but gradually gained fame and became more and more immersed in city life. Unable to escape to the village, the poet constantly experienced homesickness, which he associated with the Russian landscape. All Yesenin's poems dedicated to nature are based on memories of his native village. One of them is "The fields are compressed, the groves are bare ..." (1917).
The poet considered beautiful any time of the year and knew how to find evidence of this in nature. He describes late autumn. Pictures of fading nature are full of quiet sadness, but at the same time filled with a kind of beauty. The author uses a figurative metaphor, comparing the setting sun with a rolling wheel.
Yesenin also uses his favorite technique - the personification of nature. He inspires all the world. Even an ordinary village road is endowed with the qualities of a living being. He notes that the road is “exploded”, since it has recently been often used for harvesting and for preparations for the winter. The economic chores of the peasantry have passed, the road can rest until the start of a new agricultural cycle. Therefore, she slumbers and sees her special dreams. In dreams, the road seems to be winter, which is about to come. The whole land will be covered with a thick layer of snow and will have the opportunity for a long-awaited rest.
In the last stanza he appears lyrical hero. In his rich imagination, he witnessed the merging of the natural and human worlds. Being in a mysterious magical atmosphere (“in a thicket of ringing ... in a fog”), he saw how “the moon was harnessed to ... a sleigh like a foal.”
City life could not change Yesenin's peasant outlook. He continued to treat the environment with great love. In all natural phenomena, the poet saw a deep inner meaning. He does not use traditional poetic comparisons. His images are directly related to peasant life(the sun is a wheel, the month is a foal). Yesenin considers man an integral part of nature. Therefore, the poet idealizes the rural way of life. In his opinion, only by following the laws of nature, a person will be able to preserve the purity of his soul.
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Goals:
- to acquaint students with the poem by S. A. Yesenin “The fields are compressed, the groves are bare” and distinctive features creativity of Sergei Yesenin, to teach children to feel and understand the figurative language of the poem;
- develop literary abilities, culture of speech, speech skills, poetic taste of students, accumulate the aesthetic experience of listening to works of fine literature, enrich the cognitive experience of the child and Creative skills students;
- to instill love for the native nature on the example of the work of S. Yesenin, to receive aesthetic pleasure from reading a poem.
Equipment: projector, portrait of the poet, cards for vocabulary work, music fragments, presentation, leaves for student self-assessment.
During the classes
I. Organizational moment.(emotional mood)
– Hello guys! Literary reading, like no other lesson, makes it possible to understand each other and get aesthetic pleasure from the lesson. I hope for fruitful work. AT good luck!
- Put your hands on each other's shoulders.
- Lower your head.
- Close your eyes.
« Good morning!" - the birds sang.
Good people got out of bed.
Hiding all the darkness in the corners
The sun is up and going to work.
- Imagine that you are the rays of the sun, open your fingers, we reach for it.
- You feel how warmly ran through your hands-rays. You are calm, easy, comfortable, joyful from the fact that we are together.
- Open your eyes.
- Let's smile at each other.
– You see, the class has become even brighter from your sincere smiles.
“That’s how we kindly start our lesson.
II. Introductory conversation.
- Guys, you feel how cozy and warm it is in our class from your smiles and good mood. But, it is worth looking out the window, as we will immediately see that there is already little heat and light in nature, one day is not like another, because in nature everything is constantly changing. And to find out what season will be discussed today in the lesson, guess the riddle:
“The fields are empty, the earth is getting wet, the rain is pouring, when does that happen?” (in autumn)
- Guys, look around, autumn has come to our class and left gifts for you - leaves that have fallen from the trees.
What do we know about this season? (Student answers)
– Compose cinquain with this word.
- Afraid of a new word? Do not be afraid. Now together we will choose the most accurate, bright words for this time of year. This is how authors work with their works. Out of a thousand words, they choose one - the most accurate.
Autumn.
Rainy, cloudy.
Decorates, everything fades, makes me sad.
Autumn adorned the whole earth with a motley carpet.
The beauty.
- Autumn is a wonderful time of the year that does not leave people indifferent to its beauty. Many writers and poets dedicated their works to him, listen:
– Fedor Ivanovich Tyutchev wrote about autumn:
"There are in the autumn of the original
A short but wonderful time -
The whole day stands as if crystal,
And radiant evenings.
- And for Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin – This
"It's a sad time! Eye charm!
“Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful motley wall
It stands above the bright glade, ”wrote Ivan Alekseevich Bunin.
What have I just read? (Poems)
– Name features poems? (Rhythm and rhyme)
- What kind artistic techniques do authors use to write poems? (Personifications, comparisons, metaphor, epithets)
- These techniques will help us understand the figurative language of the poem we will be working on today. This is a poem by a wonderful Russian poet, whose melodious, charming lines resonate in the heart of each of us.
- And to find out his name, cross out extra letters and you can read the words that are hidden here, find out his name:
SAPSERGEIKUESENINF: Sergei Yesenin
– Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin was born 114 years ago, on October 3, 1895, in the ancient village of Konstantinov, which stretches along the right bank of the Oka, not far from Ryazan. The talent of Sergei Yesenin was in his spiritual openness, sincerity, charm. Nature combined in one person with an amazing gift to hear the music of the time, to feel the beauty of the world, to live, “excited by heart and verse,” as the poet said about himself.
(Listening to a fragment of a song to the words of S. Yesenin “The golden grove dissuaded”).
- Read the epigraph to the lesson:
Oh you, Russia, my meek homeland,
Only for you I save love. (S. Yesenin)
What are these lines about? (About the poet's love for the motherland)
- Through his poetry, Yesenin was able to tell us about his boundless love for native land. Because he grew up among Russian plowmen who know the value of every spikelet in the field, every blade of grass in the meadow. Love for the native land is unthinkable without love for nature, without mercy for people, sympathy for all living things. “To joy, to pain” the native Russian expanses are close to the poet, to which there is neither end nor edge - trees, flowers, grasses, rivers, dawns - he opens the “living soul” in everything.
III. Work on the topic of the lesson.
1. Definition of the topic and purpose of the lesson.
– Determine the topic of the lesson. (Poems by Sergei Yesenin)
What season do you think the poem is about? (About autumn)
– The topic of our lesson is "S. Yesenin, poem "The fields are compressed, the groves are bare."
What are the goals for the lesson? (To get acquainted with a new poem, learn to read it expressively and enjoy it; understand the figurative language of the work, develop poetic taste, receive aesthetic pleasure from reading a poem).
What will we try to understand by reading the poem? (While working on a poem, we must prove that S. Yesenin experienced a deep, aching love for his native land.)
What did the poet feel when he wrote this poem? (Sad with nature)
Answer the question before reading.
2. Independent reading poems.
- Read the poem on your own in a low voice to present the full picture, feel the beauty of Yesenin's poem, marking incomprehensible words with a pencil.
3. Vocabulary work.
- fields - cultivated field, arable land, crops
- blasted road - dig, dig a ditch, ditch, so that there is no passage
- dreamed - think, imagine something that is not in the present
Rearrange the cards to match the word and its meaning.
4. Work on the content.
1 stanza
- Read only the first stanza - the first 4 lines.
What time of year does the poet describe? (Autumn)
- What autumn does Yesenin write about? Early, golden or late?
- How do you understand the expression "groves of the naked"?
- Why does Yesenin have a “quiet sun”? (It shines a little, it does not warm like in summer)
Find the epithet in the first stanza. (Mountain blue, quiet sun)
- What is the pace of reading in the 1st stanza? (Slow)
- What is the tone? (singing, sad)
2 stanza
- Read the second stanza.
What does the poet write about in this part? (On the road)
Why did he write about the road? What is a road? (This is the way)
– What sounds help to understand what this road is? (Vzr)
– Yes, indeed, the poet perceives the road as alive. What words say about it? (The road is dormant, she dreamed)
- What is this trick? (personification)
What other words are personified? (Winter is gray)
Why does the road dream of winter? (Remove all dirt)
- Why did the poet use “absolutely completely” 2 times? What did you want to say? (Winter will soon come, which will cover the earth with its white fluffy veil, which will adorn the earth in its own way)
- What pace will we follow? (Slow)
How loudly should we read this stanza? (Quiet)
3 stanza
- Read the 3rd stanza.
- Whose mood can be felt, understood in this stanza? Why? (Author)
What words evoke this mood? (Ah, more often ringing)
What sounds help convey the mood of the stanza? (Sv, n, r, f, b, d)
(And suddenly, in the midst of this peace, sleep, waiting for winter, a new mood appears)
- When do we say - "Ah"? (When we're surprised)
He himself was surprised and we are surprised with him.
Let's all be surprised together! - chorus
- What image did Yesenin see in the fog? (The red moon was harnessed to our sleigh as a foal)
- Can we see a “red foal” in a gray, damp autumn?
- How do you imagine that?
- This is the talent of Yesenin - to see unusual images in the simplest things.
- voiced thicket - a metaphor
- red month - an epithet
- harnessed by a foal - personification
IV. Fizkultminutka.
- And before, guys, how we will work out the expressiveness of reading a poem, we need to rest, gain strength. Stand up please.
Carefully the wind came out of the gate, (raise your hands up, lower)
Knocked on the window, (knock fists on the desk)
Ran on the roof, (finger fingering on the desk)
He gently shook the branches of bird cherry (wave his hands to the right, to the left)
He scolded the sparrows of his acquaintances for something (shake his finger)
And, proudly spreading young wings, (wave your hands)
Flew somewhere mixed with dust.
- Guys! Didn't the melodiousness and melodiousness of this poem seem familiar to you? Yes, guys, this is a poem by S. Yesenin.
v. Independent work.
– And we will work on the poem in groups. Listen to the task:
– Write the score for expressive reading by stanzas.
- You need to prepare your part in such a way that you get a holistic image of autumn.
Pupils answer at the blackboard one by one from each team - they read the poem expressively.
– And now we will read it all together, in unison.
- Thanks guys. We got aesthetic pleasure listening to you.
VI. Summary of the lesson.
- Did Sergei Yesenin convey through this poem his love for native land, native land?
Did this poem touch the strings of your soul?
That was the purpose of our lesson.
– The melodiousness, musicality of this poem, sincere love for the native land touched the soul of the composer L. Nakariakova, who wrote music to Yesenin's words.
(Listening to the song "Fields are compressed, groves are bare ...")
VIII. Self-assessment of their activities.
- Guys, if you were interested in the lesson and the poem resonated in your heart, raise the yellow leaves as a symbol of autumn. Come out to me.
- Come all.
- And now, with the fall of our high spirits, we will finish our lesson.
- Thank you for your work.
Competition Chest "Golden Grove Dissuaded"
The motto of the competition: “Open the chests, take out our poems. We clean, wash, correct and send to the competition!
Autumn is a wonderful bright season. Golden colors of foliage, rustling of leaves, plaintive cries of birds leaving their homes, rains and fogs, as well as harvest time. All great poets loved the autumn season. The red beauty is devoted to many poems. Probably, there is not a single poet who would not write a poem about autumn. Come on, and we will delve into the chests and find our favorite poems about autumn ...
The theme of our competition: "Golden grove dissuaded."
Lines from a poem, our beloved and respected author, the great Russian poet Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin (1895 - 1925), was born on September 21 (October 3) in the village. Konstantinovo, Ryazan province.
1. Rules for accepting poems for the competition:
1.1 Only previously published works on the site - Poetry.ru are accepted for the competition. I specify, no later than January 1, 2017 from four to 36 lines. From one author - 1 work. There is no out-of-competition branch of poetry.
1.2 Participation in the competition is paid - 100 points, you can get more, sponsorship for the adherent login is welcome! ;
1.4 Poems are not accepted: containing parodies, banter genre, political and religious orientation, inciting ethnic hatred, insults with the mention of the names of the authors of the site, as well as magic, witchcraft, vulgarity and "strawberry".
Profanity and abusive language are prohibited.
Poems from new clones are not accepted. Authors (clones) must have at least 2 years of experience at Poetry.ru and at least 15-20 published poems.
The presenter reserves the right to reject verses with ambiguous content, as well as verses that do not correspond to competition task, low artistic or technical level.
1.5 Poems of any format are accepted: white verses, free verse, except for short verses Eastern poetry- haiku, tanka, haiga, etc., for this, special contests are provided on the site. Poems are accepted only in Russian.
2. Applications for the competition are accepted until 12.00 Moscow time. October 19, 2018, or until a set of 25-30 poems.
The winners will receive awards:
1st place - 1000 verse points
2nd place - 800 verse points
3rd place - 600 verse points
A separate Sympathy Prize from Chamomile - 500 points.
To lift your spirits and boost creativity:
* * *
The golden grove dissuaded
Birch, cheerful language,
And the cranes, sadly flying,
No more regrets for anyone.
Whom to pity? After all, every wanderer in the world -
Pass, enter and leave the house again.
Hemp dreams about all the departed
With a wide moon over the blue pond.
I stand alone among the naked plain,
And the cranes are carried by the wind into the distance,
I'm full of thoughts about a cheerful youth,
But I don't regret anything in the past.
I do not regret the years wasted in vain,
Do not feel sorry for the soul of a lilac flower.
In the garden, a fire of red rowan is burning,
But he cannot warm anyone.
Rowan brushes will not burn,
Grass will not disappear from yellowness,
Like a tree sheds its leaves,
So I drop sad words.
And if time, sweeping by the wind,
Rake them all into one unnecessary lump ...
Say so ... that the grove is golden
She answered in a sweet way.
* * *
The fields are compressed, the groves are bare,
Fog and damp from the water.
Wheel behind the blue mountains
The sun went down quietly.
The blasted road is slumbering.
She dreamed today
What is very, very little
It remains to wait for the gray winter.
Oh, and I myself am often ringing
I saw yesterday in the fog:
Red month foal
Harnessed to our sleigh.
* * *
Golden foliage swirled
In the pinkish water of the pond
Like a light flock of butterflies
With fading flies to the star.
I'm in love with this evening
The yellowing dol is close to the heart.
Youth-wind up to the shoulders
Headed on a birch hem.
And in the soul and in the valley coolness,
Blue dusk like a flock of sheep
Behind the gate of the silent garden
The bell will ring and freeze.
I've never been thrifty
So did not listen to rational flesh,
It would be nice, like willow branches,
To tip over into the pink waters.
It would be nice, on a haystack smiling,
Muzzle of the month to chew hay ...
Where are you, where are you, my quiet joy,
Loving everything, wanting nothing?
Picture from the internet.
Grandma's tales
AT winter evening backyard
rollicking crowd
On snowdrifts, on hillocks
We're going, we're going home.
The sleds are disgusting,
And we sit in two rows
Listen to grandmother's tales
About Ivan the Fool.
And we sit, barely breathing.
The time is running towards midnight.
Let's pretend we don't hear
If mom calls to sleep.
All stories. Time for bed...
But how can you sleep now?
And again we roared,
We start to get on.
Grandma will say timidly:
“Why sit until dawn?”
Well, what do we care -
Speak to speak.
Sunrise
Red dawn lit up
In the dark blue sky
The band appeared clear
In its golden brilliance.
The rays of the sun are high
Reflected light in the sky.
And scattered far
From them new in response.
Rays of bright gold
Light up the ground all of a sudden.
The skies are already blue
Spread around.
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.
Night (“Quietly the river slumbers...”)
Quietly the river slumbers.
The dark forest does not make noise.
The nightingale does not sing
And the jerk does not scream.
Night. Silence around.
The stream just gurgles.
With its brilliance the moon
Everything around is silver.
Silver river.
Silver stream.
silver grass
Irrigated steppes.
Night. Silence around.
Everything in nature sleeps.
With its brilliance the moon
Everything around is silver.
Evening is like soot...
Evening is like soot
It pours out the window.
white yarn
Weaving cloth.
The extinguisher is dancing,
Jumping shadow.
Knocking on the windows
Old wattle.
Sticking to the window
Black path.
baby girl
Baika mother.
The unsteady growls
Sleepy troparion:
"Sleep, my fish,
Sleep, don't goof."
Winter
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 white veil.
Here the sun flashes in the clouds,
And the frost on the snow sparkles.
The road thought about the red evening,
Bushes of mountain ash are more foggy than depth.
Hut-old woman jaw threshold
Chews the odorous crumb of silence.
Autumn cold gently and meekly
Creeps in the darkness to the oat yard;
Through the blue glass yellow-haired boy
He shines his eyes on the checkbox game.
Embracing the pipe, sparkles along the tale
Green ash from the pink oven.
There is no one, and the thin-lipped wind
About someone whispers, who disappeared into the night.
Someone's heels no longer crush the groves
Cracked leaf and gold grass.
A lingering sigh, diving with a skinny ringing,
Kisses the beak of a fluffy owl.
I'll tell you it's not flat,
In it, all the words are important:
Marina Ivanovskaya
You must call me.
Frame me easily
I am a small portrait.
Now I'm learning to read
And soon I'm six years old.
My eyes are brown
And the cheeks are not bad.
My pen is not famous
Sometimes I write wrong
But most like
I have to eat shikolat.
Sergei Yesenin "What is it?"
Enchanted into this forest,
By fluffs of silver
Me with a loaded rifle
I went hunting yesterday.
The path is clean and smooth
I passed, did not inherit ...
Who was sneaking around here?
Who fell and walked here?
I'll come and take a closer look:
The fragile snow is all broken.
Someone strange was running around here.
If only I knew the secret
enchanted words,
I would know by chance
Who walks around here at night.
Because of the tree would be high
I looked at the circle
Who is a deep trace distant
Leaves in the snow?
Beloved edge! Dreaming of the heart...
Beloved edge! Dreaming of the heart
Stacks of the sun in the waters of the womb.
I would like to get lost
In the greens of your bells.
Along the boundary line
Reseda and riza porridge.
And call the rosary
Willows, meek nuns.
The swamp smokes with a cloud,
Burn in the heavenly yoke.
With a quiet secret for someone
I kept my thoughts in my heart.
I meet everything, I accept everything,
Glad and happy to take out the soul.
I came to this earth
To leave her soon.
Sergey Yesenin. "Night"
Tired day turned to night
The noisy wave subsided
The sun went out, and over the world
The moon floats thoughtfully.
The quiet valley listens
The murmur of a peaceful stream.
And the dark forest, leaning, slumbers
To the sound of the nightingale's song.
Listening to songs, with the shores,
Caressing, the river whispers.
And quietly heard above her
The cheerful rustle of the reeds.
The fields are compressed, the groves are bare...
The fields are compressed, the groves are bare,
Fog and damp from the water.
Wheel behind the blue mountains
The sun went down quietly.
The blasted road is slumbering.
She dreamed today
What is very, very little
It remains to wait for the gray winter.
Oh, and I myself am often ringing
I saw yesterday in the fog:
Red month foal
Harnessed to our sleigh.
It's evening. Dew…
It's evening. Dew
Shines on nettles.
I'm standing by the road
Leaning against the willow.
Big light from the moon
Right on our roof.
Somewhere the song of a nightingale
In the distance I hear.
Good and warm
Like in the winter by the stove.
And birches stand
Like big candles.
And far beyond the river
Apparently, behind the edge,
Sleepy watchman knocks
Dead beater.
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.
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 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.
Good morning!
Golden stars dozed off,
The mirror of the backwater trembled,
Light shines on the river backwaters
And blushes the grid of the sky.
Sleepy birches smiled,
Tousled silk braids.
Rustling green earrings,
And silver dews are burning.
The wattle fence has an overgrown nettle
Dressed in bright mother-of-pearl
And, swaying, he whispers playfully:
"Good morning!"
bird cherry
Fragrant bird cherry
Bloomed with spring
And golden branches
What curls, curled.
Honey dew all around
Slips down the bark
Spicy greens underneath
Shines in silver.
And next to the thawed patch,
In the grass, between the roots,
Runs, flows small
Silver stream.
Fragrant bird cherry,
Hanging out, standing
And the green is golden
Burning in the sun.
Brook with a thundering wave
All branches are covered
And insinuatingly under the steep
She sings songs.
Aunt Motya in a pink hood
Aunt Motya
In a pink hood
Uncle Vadya
In festive attire
Cousin Zina
In a rubber raincoat
In pajamas,
On my son Mishka
New pants -
Do the walk
Down our alley...
And suddenly a phenomenon
To everyone's surprise:
Flushed with heat
Young painters -
Tit and Vasya -
The house is being painted.
Carve up the walls
Under pink...
Mishka screams:
See how!
This is clever -
Instead of a brush, a syringe! -
And Papa Misha:
Quietly wonder!
Is it hard to guess
What is mechanization?
Soon they'll even learn
Douche portraits and landscapes!
