Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
Excerpts from the novel “Eugene Onegin”
“The autumn weather that year...”
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
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.
“Here is the north, the clouds are catching up...”
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.
“The dawn rises in the cold darkness...”
Dawn rises in the cold darkness;
In the fields the noise of work fell silent;
With his hungry wolf
A wolf comes out onto the road;
Smelling him, the road horse
Snores - and the traveler is cautious
Rushes up the mountain at full speed;
At dawn the shepherd
He no longer drives the cows out of the barn,
And at midday in a circle
His horn does not call them...
“Driven by the spring rays...”
Driven by spring rays,
There is already snow from the surrounding mountains
Escaped through muddy streams
To the flooded meadows.
Nature's clear smile
Through a dream he greets the morning of the year;
The skies are shining blue.
More transparent forests
It's like they're turning green.
Bee for field tribute
Flies from a wax cell.
The valleys are dry and colorful;
The herds rustle and the nightingale
Already singing in the silence of the night.
“Winter!.. Peasant, triumphant...”
Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant,
On the firewood he renews the path;
His horse smells the snow,
Trotting along somehow;
Fluffy reins exploding,
The daring carriage flies;
The coachman sits on the beam
In a sheepskin coat and a red sash.
Here is a yard boy running,
Having planted a bug in the sled,
Transforming himself into a horse;
The naughty man has already frozen his finger:
It's both painful and funny to him,
And his mother threatens him through the window...
“How often in sorrowful separation...”
How often in sorrowful separation,
In my wandering destiny,
Moscow, I was thinking about you!
Moscow... so much in this sound
For the Russian heart it has merged!
How much resonated with him!Here, surrounded by his oak grove,
Petrovsky Castle. He's gloomy
He is proud of his recent glory.
Napoleon waited in vain
Intoxicated with the last happiness,
Moscow kneeling
With the keys of the old Kremlin:
No, my Moscow did not go
To him with a guilty head.
Not a holiday, not a receiving gift,
She was preparing a fire
To the impatient hero.
From now on, immersed in thought,
He looked at the menacing flame.
“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.
“Neater than fashionable parquet…”
Neater 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 legs,
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.
CHAPTER FOUR
But our northern summer,
Caricature of southern winters,
It will flash and not: this is known,
Although we don’t want to admit it.
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.The dawn rises in the cold darkness;
In the fields the noise of work fell silent;
With his hungry wolf, a wolf comes out onto the road;
Smelling him, the road horse
Snores - and the traveler is cautious
Rushes up the mountain at full speed;
At dawn the shepherd
He no longer drives the cows out of the barn,
And at midday in a circle
His horn does not call them;
A maiden singing in a hut
Spinning, and winter friend nights
A splinter crackles in front of her.And now the frost is crackling
CHAPTER FIVE
And they shine silver among the fields...
(The reader is already waiting for the rhyme of the rose;
Here, take it quickly!)
Tidier than fashionable parquet
The river shines, covered in ice.
Boys are a joyful people
Skates cut the ice noisily;
A heavy goose on red legs,
Having decided to sail across the bosom of the waters,
Steps carefully onto the ice,
Slips and falls; funny
The first snow is flickering and curling,
Stars falling on the shore.It's autumn weather this year
I stood in the yard for a long time,
Winter was waiting, nature was waiting,
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.Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant,
On the firewood he renews the path;
His horse smells the snow,
Trotting along somehow,
Fluffy reins exploding,
The daring carriage flies;
The coachman sits on the beam
In a sheepskin coat and a red sash.
Here is a yard boy running,
Having planted a bug in the sled,
Transforming himself into a horse;
The naughty man has already frozen his finger:
It's both painful and funny to him,
And his mother threatens him through the window...CHAPTER SEVEN
Driven by spring rays,
There is already snow from the surrounding mountains
Escaped through muddy streams
To the flooded meadows.
Nature's clear smile
Through a dream he greets the morning of the year;
The skies are shining blue.
Still transparent, the forests seem to turn green with fluff.
A bee for a field tribute flies from a wax cell.
The valleys are dry and colorful;
The herds rustle and the nightingale
Already singing in the silence of the night.How sad your appearance makes me,
Spring, spring! it's time for love!
What languid excitement
In my soul, in my blood!
With what heavy tenderness
I enjoy the breeze
Spring blowing in my face
In the lap of rural silence!
Or is pleasure alien to me,
And everything that pleases lives,
Everything that rejoices and shines,
Causes boredom and languor
My soul has been dead for a long time,
And everything seems dark to her?Or, not happy about the return
Dead leaves in autumn,
We remember the bitter loss
Listening to the new noise of the forests;
Or with nature alive
We bring together the confused thought
We are the fading of our years,
Which cannot be reborn?
Perhaps it comes to our minds
In the midst of a poetic dream
Another, old spring
And it makes our hearts tremble
Dream of the far side
About a wonderful night, about the moon...
Knowledge & Skills
Learn the novel "Eugene Onegin" by Pushkin by heart.
For what:
1. Memory training, which is lately began to fail quite often;
2. Diversify, increase vocabulary, speech patterns. Put it into practice;
3. I like poems;
4. So that somehow in a conversation you can later say: “yes, yes, I read it, I remember it by heart... everything”;
5. Perhaps unknown positive reasons will be revealed during the study.
The task is quite ambitious, considering that I had never learned any poetry by heart before, except for the school curriculum.
I will teach in Moscow traffic jams in the morning and evening on weekdays in the car. On average, 30 minutes of “silent” standing in the morning and evening.
The work consists of 8 chapters, 393 stanzas, more than 5000 lines. That is, an average of 50 stanzas per chapter. Taking into account repetitions of what I have memorized, business trips, vacations, etc., I plan to learn one and a half stanzas per weekday a year. That is, time to memorize complete work 1 year
Goal Accomplishment Criteria
1. Knowledge of the entire text of the novel "Eugene Onegin" by heart.
2. Reading out loud by heart throughout the day, chapter by chapter.
In this article I publish excerpts from the novel by A.S. Pushkin "Eugene Onegin" for learning by heart in 9th grade.
1. Tatiana’s letter to Onegin (girls teach)
I am writing to you - what more?
What more can I say?
Now I know it's in your will
Punish me with contempt.
But you, to my unfortunate fate
Keeping at least a drop of pity,
You won't leave me.
At first I wanted to remain silent;
Believe me: my shame
You would never know
If only I had hope
At least rarely, at least once a week
To see you in our village,
Just to hear your speeches,
Say your word, and then
Think about everything, think about one thing
And day and night until we meet again.
But they say you are unsociable;
In the wilderness, in the village, everything is boring for you,
And we. We don’t shine with anything,
Even though you are welcome in a simple-minded way.
Why did you visit us?
In the wilderness of a forgotten village
I would never have known you
I wouldn't know bitter torment.
Souls of inexperienced excitement
Having come to terms with time (who knows?),
I would find a friend after my heart,
If only I had a faithful wife
And a virtuous mother.
Another. No, no one in the world
I wouldn't give my heart!
That is destined in the highest council.
That is the will of heaven: I am yours;
My whole life was a pledge
The faithful's meeting with you;
I know you were sent to me by God,
Until the grave you are my keeper.
You appeared in my dreams,
Invisible, you were already dear to me,
Your wonderful gaze tormented me,
Your voice was heard in my soul
For a long time. no, it was not a dream!
You barely walked in, I instantly recognized
Everything was stupefied, on fire
And in my thoughts I said: here he is!
Isn't it true? I heard you:
You spoke to me in silence
When I helped the poor
Or she delighted me with prayer
The longing of a worried soul?
And at this very moment
Isn't it you, sweet vision,
Flashed in the transparent darkness,
Quietly leaning against the headboard?
Isn’t it you, with joy and love,
Did you whisper words of hope to me?
Who are you, my guardian angel,
Or the insidious tempter:
Resolve my doubts.
Maybe it's all empty
Deception of an inexperienced soul!
And something completely different is destined.
But so be it! my destiny
From now on I give you
I shed tears before you,
I beg your protection.
Imagine: I'm here alone,
Nobody understands me
My mind is exhausted
And I must die in silence.
I'm waiting for you: with one glance
Revive the hopes of your heart,
Or break the heavy dream,
Alas, a well-deserved reproach!
I'm cumming! It's scary to read.
I freeze with shame and fear.
But your honor is my guarantee,
And I boldly entrust myself to her.
2. Letter from Onegin to Tatiana(boys teach)
I foresee everything: you will be insulted
An explanation for the sad mystery.
What bitter contempt
Your proud look will portray!
What do I want? for what purpose
Will I open my soul to you?
What evil fun
Perhaps I’m giving a reason!
Once I met you by chance,
Noticing a spark of tenderness in you,
I didn't dare believe her:
I didn’t give in to my dear habit;
Your hateful freedom
I didn't want to lose.
Another thing separated us.
Lenskaya fell an unfortunate victim.
From everything that is dear to the heart,
Then I tore my heart out;
Stranger to everyone, not bound by anything,
I thought: freedom and peace
Substitute for happiness. My God!
How wrong I was, how I was punished!
No, I see you every minute
Follow you everywhere
A smile of the mouth, a movement of the eyes
To catch with loving eyes,
Listen to you for a long time, understand
Your soul is all your perfection,
To freeze in agony before you,
Fade and fade away. what bliss!
And I am deprived of this: for you
I wander everywhere at random;
The day is dear to me, the hour is dear to me:
And I spend it in vain boredom
Days counted down by fate.
And they are so painful.
I know: my life has already been measured;
But so that my life may last,
I have to be sure in the morning
That I will see you this afternoon.
I'm afraid: in my humble prayer
Your stern gaze will see
The undertakings of despicable cunning -
And I hear your angry reproach.
If only you knew how terrible
To yearn for love,
Blaze - and mind all the time
To subdue the excitement in the blood;
I want to hug your knees,
And, bursting into tears, at your feet
Pour out prayers, confessions, penalties,
Everything, everything I could express.
Meanwhile, with feigned coldness
Arm both speech and gaze,
Have a calm conversation
Look at you with a cheerful look.
But so be it: I’m on my own
I can no longer resist;
Everything is decided: I am in your will,
And I surrender to my fate.
3. Fragments about nature(all students learn 1 fragment out of two)
Fragment No. 1
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.
Dawn rises in the cold darkness;
In the fields the noise of work fell silent;
With his hungry wolf
A wolf comes out onto the road;
Smelling him, the road horse
Snores - and the traveler is cautious
Rushes up the mountain at full speed;
At dawn the shepherd
He no longer drives the cows out of the barn,
And at midday in a circle
His horn does not call them;
A maiden singing in a hut
Spins, and, friend of winter nights,
A splinter crackles in front of her.
And now the frost is crackling
And they turn silver among the fields.
(The reader is already waiting for the rhyme of the rose;
Here, take it quickly!)
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 legs,
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.
Fragment No. 2
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
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.
Winter. The peasant, triumphant,
On the firewood he renews the path;
His horse smells the snow,
Trotting along somehow;
Fluffy reins exploding,
The daring carriage flies;
The coachman sits on the beam
In a sheepskin coat and a red sash.
Here is a yard boy running,
Having planted a bug in the sled,
Transforming himself into a horse;
The naughty man has already frozen his finger:
It's both painful and funny to him,
And his mother threatens him through the window.
Driven by spring rays,
There is already snow from the surrounding mountains
Escaped through muddy streams
To the flooded meadows.
Nature's clear smile
Through a dream he greets the morning of the year;
The skies are shining blue.
Still transparent, forests
It's like they're turning green.
Bee for field tribute
Flies from a wax cell.
The valleys are dry and colorful;
The herds rustle and the nightingale
Already singing in the silence of the night.
The winter sorceress 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;
The frost has flashed, and we are glad
To the pranks of Mother Winter.
A. S. Pushkin “Winter Morning”
Frost and sun; wonderful day!
You are still dozing, dear friend -
It's time, beauty, wake up:
Open your closed eyes
Towards northern Aurora,
Be the star of the north!
In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,
There was darkness in the cloudy sky;
The moon is like a pale spot
Through the dark clouds it turned yellow,
And you sat sad -
And now... look out the window:
Under blue skies
Magnificent carpets,
Glistening in the sun, the snow lies;
The transparent forest alone turns black,
And the spruce turns green through the frost,
And the river glitters under the ice.
The whole room has an amber shine
Illuminated. Cheerful crackling
The flooded stove crackles.
It's nice to think by the bed.
But you know: shouldn’t I tell you to get into the sleigh?
Ban the brown filly?
Sliding on the morning snow,
Dear friend, let's indulge in running
impatient horse
And we'll visit the empty fields,
The forests, recently so dense,
And the shore, dear to me.
A. S. Pushkin “Excerpts from the poem “Eugene Onegin”” Nature was waiting for winter. ,
Winter!.. Peasant, triumphant
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
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.
Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant,
On the firewood he renews the path;
His horse smells the snow,
Trotting along somehow;
Fluffy reins exploding,
The daring carriage flies;
The coachman sits on the beam
In a sheepskin coat and a red sash.
Here is a yard boy running,
Having planted a bug in the sled,
Transforming himself into a horse;
The naughty man has already frozen his finger:
It's both painful and funny to him,
And his mother threatens him through the window...
A. S. Pushkin “Winter Road”
Through wavy fogs
The moon creeps in
To the sad meadows
She sheds a sad light.
On the winter, boring road
Three greyhounds are running,
Single bell
It rattles tiresomely.
Something sounds familiar
IN long songs coachman:
That reckless revelry
That's heartbreak...
No fire, no black house...
Wilderness and snow... Towards me
Only miles are striped
They come across one.
Bored, sad... Tomorrow, Nina,
Tomorrow, returning to my dear,
I'll forget myself by the fireplace,
I'll take a look without looking at it.
The hour hand sounds loud
He will make his measuring circle,
And, removing the annoying ones,
Midnight will not separate us.
It’s sad, Nina: my path is boring,
My driver fell silent from his doze,
The bell is monotonous,
The moon's face is clouded.
A. S. Pushkin “Winter. What should we do in the village? I meet"
Winter. What should we do in the village? I'm meeting
The servant bringing me in the morning cup of tea,
Questions: is it warm? Has the snowstorm subsided?
Is there powder or not? and is it possible to have a bed?
Leave for the saddle, or better before lunch
Messing around with your neighbor's old magazines?
Powder. We get up and immediately get on the horse,
And trot across the field at first light of day;
Arapniks in hands, dogs following us;
We look at the pale snow with diligent eyes;
We circle, we scour, and sometimes it’s late,
Having poisoned two birds with one stone, we are home.
What fun! Here is the evening: the 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 my thoughts are far away... I close the book;
I take a pen and sit; I forcibly pull out
The dormant muse has incoherent words.
The sound doesn’t match the sound... I’m losing all rights
Above the rhyme, above my strange servant:
The verse drags on sluggishly, cold and foggy.
Tired, I stop arguing with the lyre,
I go to the living room; I hear a conversation there
About the close elections, about the sugar factory;
The hostess frowns in the semblance of weather,
The steel knitting needles move nimbly,
Or the king is guessing about the red one.
Yearning! So day after day he goes into solitude!
But if in the evening in a sad village,
When I sit in the corner playing checkers,
Will come from afar in a wagon or cart
Unexpected family: old lady, two girls
(Two blond, two slender sisters) -
How the deaf side comes to life!
How life, oh my God, becomes full!
First, indirectly attentive gazes,
Then a few words, then conversations,
And there is friendly laughter and songs in the evening,
And the waltzes are playful, and the whispers at the table,
And languid glances, and windy speeches,
There are slow meetings on the narrow staircase;
And the maiden goes out onto the porch at dusk:
The neck, chest are exposed, and the blizzard is in her face!
But the storms of the north are not harmful to the Russian rose.
How hot the kiss burns in the cold!
Like a Russian maiden fresh in the dust of snow!