“Erase random features - and you will see: the world is beautiful. Erase random features and you will see: the world is beautiful. How beautiful this world is.
Erase random features - /And you will see: the world is beautiful
From the poem (prologue) “Retribution” (1911) by the poet Alexander Alexandrovich Blok (1880-1921):
Let your view be firm and clear.
Erase random features -
And you will see: the world is beautiful.
Know where the light is, and you will understand where the darkness is.
Encyclopedic Dictionary of winged words and expressions. - M.: “Locked-Press”. Vadim Serov. 2003.
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Life is without beginning and end.
Opportunity awaits us all.
Above us is the inevitable darkness,
Or the clarity of God's face.
But you, artist, firmly believe
To the beginnings and ends. You know
Where heaven and hell guard us.
Given to you by dispassionate measure
Measure everything you see.
Let your view be firm and clear.
Erase random features -
And you will see: the world is beautiful.
Know where the light is, and you will understand where the darkness is.
Let everything pass slowly,
What is sacred in the world, what is sinful in it,
Through the heat of the soul, through the coolness of the mind.
So Siegfried rules the sword over the forge:
It will turn into red coal,
It will quickly plunge into the water -
And it hisses and turns black
The beloved is entrusted with a blade...
The blow - it shines, Notung is faithful,
And Mime, the hypocritical dwarf,
He falls at his feet in confusion!
Who will forge the sword? - Who knew no fear.
And I'm helpless and weak,
Like everyone else, like you, just a smart slave,
Made from clay and dust, -
And the world is scary for me.
The hero no longer strikes freely, -
His hand is in the hand of the people,
There is a pillar of fire above the world,
And in every heart, in every thought -
Your own arbitrariness and your own law...
There is a dragon over all of Europe,
Opening his mouth, he languishes with thirst...
Who will strike him?..
We do not know: above our camp,
As of old, the distance is shrouded in fog,
And it smells like burning. There is a fire there.
But the song - everything will remain a song,
There's always someone in the crowd singing.
Here is his head on a platter
The dancer gives it to the king;
There he is on the black scaffold
Lays down his head;
Here - the name is branded with shame
His poems... And I sing, -
But the final judgment is not yours,
It’s not for you to shut my mouth!..
Let the dark church be empty,
Let the shepherd sleep; I'll see you until mass
I'll cross the dewy boundary,
I turn the rusty key in the lock
And in the scarlet vestibule from dawn
I will serve my mass.
You, who struck Dennitsa,
Bless you on your journey here!
Allow me at least a small page
Turn from the book of life.
Give it to me slowly and undeceitfully
Tell before Your face
About what we hide within ourselves,
About what is alive in this world,
About how anger brews in hearts,
And with anger - youth and freedom,
How the spirit of the people breathes in everyone.
Sons are reflected in fathers:
A short snippet of the kind -
Two or three links - and it’s already clear
Testaments of dark antiquity:
A new breed has matured -
Coal turns into diamond.
He, under the hardworking pickaxe,
Rising from the depths slowly,
Will appear - for show to the world!
So hit, don’t know rest,
Let the vein of life be deep:
Diamond burns from afar -
Fractions, my angry iambic, stones!
First chapter
Nineteenth century, iron,
Truly a cruel age!
By you into the darkness of the night, starless
Careless abandoned man!
On the night of speculative concepts,
Materialistic small matters,
Powerless complaints and curses
Bloodless souls and weak bodies!
With you came the plague to replace
Neurosis, boredom, spleen,
The age of smashing foreheads against the wall
Economic doctrines,
Congresses, banks, federations,
Table matches, red words,
The age of stocks, annuities and bonds,
And ineffective minds,
And half talents
(It’s fairer - in half!),
The century is not of salons, but of living rooms,
Not Recamier, but I’ll just give...
The Age of Bourgeois Wealth
(Invisibly growing evil!).
Under the sign of equality and brotherhood
Dark things were brewing here...
And the man? - He lived without will:
Not him - cars, cities,
"Life" is so bloodless and painless
I tortured my spirit like never before...
But the one who moved, driving
Puppets of all countries, -
He knew what he was doing, sending
Humanistic fog:
There, in the gray and rotten fog,
The flesh withered and the spirit went out,
And the angel himself of sacred warfare,
It seemed to fly away from us:
There - blood feuds are settled
Diplomatic mind
There - new guns are in the way
Come face to face with the enemy
There - instead of courage - impudence,
And instead of feats - “psychosis”,
And the bosses are always quarreling,
And a long cumbersome train
The team is dragging along,
Headquarters, quartermasters, cursing dirt,
Bugler's horn - Roland's horn
And I replaced the helmet with a cap...
That century was cursed a lot
And they will not stop cursing.
And how can he get rid of his sadness?
He lay down softly, but slept hard...
Twentieth century... Even more homeless,
Even worse than life is darkness
(Even blacker and bigger
Shadow of Lucifer's wing).
Fires smoky sunset
(Prophecies about our day)
Comet menacing and tailed
A terrible ghost on high,
The Merciless End of Messina
(Elemental forces cannot be overcome)
And the tireless roar of the car,
Forging destruction day and night,
The terrible consciousness of deception
All previous small thoughts and beliefs,
And the first takeoff of the airplane
Into the desert of unknown spheres...
And disgust from life,
And mad love for her,
And passion and hatred for the fatherland...
And black, earthly blood
Promises us, swelling our veins,
All destroying boundaries,
Unheard of changes
Unprecedented riots...
What about man? - Behind the roar of steel,
On fire, in gunpowder smoke,
What fiery distances
Have you opened yourself to your eyes?
What is the incessant grinding of cars talking about?
Why - the propeller howls, cuts
The fog is cold - and empty?
Now follow me, my reader,
To the sick capital of the north,
To a remote Finnish coast!
It's already autumn seventy-eighth
The old century is holding out.
Work is in progress in Europe,
And here - still in the swamp
The dull dawn looks...
But in mid-September
That year, look how much sun there is!
Where do people go in the morning?
And all the way to the outpost
Cheers are pouring out like peas,
Both Zabalkansky and Sennaya
Swarming with police, crowds,
Screaming, stampeding, swearing...
Beyond the city limits,
Where the golden head glows
Novodevichy Convent,
Fences, slaughterhouses and wasteland
In front of the Moscow outpost, -
A wall of people, a darkness of carriages,
Cabins, droshky and carriages,
Sultans, shakos and helmets,
Queen, court and high society!
And before the touched queen,
In the autumn sun dust,
Troops pass in a line
From the borders of a foreign land...
They are walking as if from a parade.
Or left no trace
Recent camp near Constantinople,
Foreign language and cities?
Behind them are the snowy Balkans,
Three Plevna, Shipka and Dubnyak,
Unhealed wounds
And a cunning and formidable enemy...
There are the Pavlovians, there are the grenadiers
They walk along the dusty pavement;
Their faces are stern, their chests gray,
Georgy shines here and there,
Their battalions are sparse,
But the survivors of the battle
Now under torn banners
They bowed their heads...
The end of a difficult journey
Unforgettable days!
They came home
They are among their people!
How will their native people greet them?
Today - oblivion of the past,
Today - heavy visions
Wars - let the wind blow them away!
And at the hour of solemn return
They forgot about everything:
Forgotten the life and death of a soldier
Under enemy fire,
Nights, for many - without dawn,
Cold, silent firmament,
Lying in wait somewhere -
And the approaching death
Illness, fatigue, pain and hunger,
The whistle of bullets, the melancholy howl of a cannonball,
The frozen lodgements are cold,
The unwarming fire of the fire,
And even - the burden of eternal strife
Among the staff and combatants,
And (maybe more bitter than all others)
They forgot the quartermasters of the intrigue...
Or maybe they haven't forgotten? -
Trays of bread and salt await them,
Speeches will be spoken to them,
There are flowers and cigarettes on them
They fly from the windows of all houses...
Yes, their difficult work is sacred!
Look: every soldier
There is a bouquet of flowers on the bayonet!
For battalion commanders -
Flowers on saddles, saddlecloths,
In the buttonholes of faded uniforms,
On the horse's bangs and in the hands...
They go, they go... It's almost sunset
They will come to the barracks: who will change
There is lint and cotton wool on the wounds,
Who - to fly for the evening, to captivate
Beauties, flaunting crosses,
Drop careless words,
Lazily moving his mustache
Before the humiliated "stunt"
Playing with a new lanyard
On a scarlet ribbon, like children...
Or, in fact, these people
So interesting and smart?
Why are they exalted?
So high, why believe in them?
In the eyes of any officer
The visions of war are worth it.
On their previously ordinary faces
The borrowed lights are on.
Someone else's life has its own pages
Turned it over to them. They
All are baptized by fire and deed;
Their speeches say one thing:
Like a White General on white
On horseback, among enemy grenades,
He stood like a ghost, unharmed,
Joking calmly over the fire;
Like a red pillar of fire and smoke
Soared over Mountain Dubnyak;
About how the regimental banner
The murdered man did not let him leave his hands;
Like a cannon on mountain paths
The colonel helped to drag;
Like a royal horse, snoring, he stumbled
Before the crippled bayonet,
The king looked and turned away,
And shaded his eyes with a handkerchief...
Yes, they know pain and hunger
On par with a common soldier...
The one who has been in the war
Sometimes the cold penetrates -
It’s fatal all the same
Which prepares
A series of world events
Only the one thing that doesn't interfere...
Everything will be reflected in such
A half-mad mockery...
And the authorities are in a hurry
All those who have ceased to be a pawn,
Turn it into a tour, or into horses...
But for us, reader, it is not appropriate
There is no way to count horses and a tour,
You and I are now stuck together
Into the crowd of gawking onlookers,
This is our rejoicing
Made me forget yesterday...
Our eyes are full of light,
Hurray is ringing in our ears!
And many, having forgotten themselves too much,
They're gathering dust with civilian feet,
Like street urchins
Near the marching soldiers,
And this rush of feelings is instant
Here - in St. Petersburg September!
Look: the head of the family is venerable
Sits astride a lantern!
His wife has been calling him for a long time,
Full of vain rage
And, so that you can hear, the umbrella pokes,
Wherever there is a trace, she is for him.
But he doesn't feel that either
And despite the general laughter,
He sits and doesn’t blow his own breath,
Kanalya, he sees better than anyone!..
Gone... There's only an echo moaning in my ears,
And that’s all - you can’t disperse the crowd;
The water carrier has already passed with a barrel,
Leaving the wet path,
And Vanka, rounding the curbstone,
He's yelling at the lady
Already on this occasion
Running to help the people
(The policeman blows whistles)...
The crews followed
The dawn played in the barracks -
And even the father of the family
Obediently he climbed from the lantern,
But, leaving, everyone is waiting for something...
Yes, today, on the day of their return,
All life in the capital is like infantry,
Rattling on the pavement stones,
He walks and walks in an absurd formation,
Gorgeous and noisy...
One thing will pass and another will come,
Take a closer look - she's not the same anymore
And the one that flashed, there is no return,
You are in it - like in the old days...
Slowed down the pale ray of sunset
In a high, by chance, window.
You might have noticed in that window
Behind the frame are pale features,
You might notice some sign
Which you don't know
But you pass and you don’t look,
You meet and you don’t recognize
You follow others into the darkness,
You will follow the crowd.
Go, passerby, without attention,
Lazyly tugging at your mustache,
Let the oncoming person and building -
Like everyone else - for you.
You're busy with all sorts of things,
Of course you don't know
What's behind these walls?
And your hidden fate may...
(But if you spread your mind,
Forgetting his wife and samovar,
You would open your mouth in fear
And I would sit right on the sidewalk!)
It's getting dark. The curtains came down.
The room is packed with people
And behind closed doors
Silent conversations are going on
And this restrained speech
Full of care and sadness.
The fire hasn't been lit yet
And they are in no hurry to light it up.
Faces drown in the evening darkness,
Look closely and you will see row one
Of obscure shadows, a string
Some women and men.
The meeting is not eloquent,
And every guest who comes through the door
With a persistent gaze silently
Looks around like an animal.
Here someone burst into flames with a cigarette:
Among others, a woman sits:
The big baby forehead is not hidden
Simple and modest hairstyle,
Wide white collar
And the dress is black - it’s simple,
Thin, short,
Blue-eyed childish face,
But, as if having found something in the distance,
Looks carefully, point blank,
And this sweet, gentle gaze
Burns with courage and sadness...
They are waiting for someone... The bell rings.
Slowly opening the doors,
A new guest enters the door:
I am confident in my movements
And stately; masculine appearance;
Dressed just like a foreigner
Exquisite; glitters in hand
High cylinder gloss;
Barely noticeably darkened
The look of the brown eyes is stern and meek;
Napoleonic beard
The mouth is restless and framed;
Big-headed, dark-haired -
Handsome and ugly together:
Anxious, twitched mouth
Melancholy grimace.
And the crowd of those gathered fell silent...
Two words, two handshakes -
And a guest to a child in a black dress
He walks past the others...
He looks long and lovingly,
And shakes your hand tightly more than once,
And says: “Congratulations to you
Congratulations on your escape, Sonya... Sofya Lvovna!
Again - to the death struggle!
And suddenly - for no apparent reason -
On this strange white forehead
Two wrinkles lay deep...
The dawn has gone out. And men
Pour rum and wine into the bowl,
And the flame is a blue light
It started running under the full bowl.
Daggers are placed in a cross above her.
The flames are spreading - and suddenly,
Running up over the burner, it began to tremble
In the eyes of those crowded around...
Fire, fighting the crowd of darkness,
It cast a lilac-blue light,
An ancient song of the Haidamaks
The consonant chant began to sound,
It's like a wedding, housewarming,
As if there is no thunderstorm waiting for everyone, -
Such childish fun
The stern eyes lit up...
One thing has passed, another is coming,
A motley row of paintings passes by.
Don't slow down, artist: double
You will pay for one moment
Sensitive delay
And if at this moment you
Inspiration threatens to leave, -
Blame yourself!
You are the only one who needs
Let your attention be there.
In those days under the St. Petersburg sky
A noble family lives.
Nobles are all related to each other,
And centuries have taught them
Face another circle
Always a little condescending.
But power was quietly slipping away
From their graceful white hands,
And signed up as liberals
The most honorable of the king's servants,
And everything is in natural disgust
Between the will of the royal and the people
They were in pain
Often from both wills.
All this may seem
Funny and outdated to us,
But, really, only a boor can
To mock Russian life.
She is always between two fires.
Not everyone can become a hero
And the people are the best - we won’t hide it -
We are often powerless in front of her,
So unexpectedly harsh
And full of eternal changes;
Like a spring river, she
Suddenly ready to move,
Pile ice floes on ice floes
And destroy on your way
Guilty as well as innocent,
And non-officials as officials...
This was the case with my family:
The old days were still breathing in her
And it prevented me from living in a new way,
Rewarding with silence
And belated nobility
(It’s not like it’s of little use at all,
How to think now
When in any family the door
Open wide to the winter blizzard,
And not the slightest effort
You shouldn't cheat on your spouse
Like a husband who has lost his shame).
And nihilism here was harmless,
And the spirit of natural sciences
(Throwing the authorities into fear)
It was like religion here.
“Family is nonsense, family is a whim,” -
They loved to say angrily here,
But deep down in my soul it’s still the same
"Princess Marya Aleksevna..."
Living memory of antiquity
Had to be friends with disbelief -
And all the hours were full
Some new "dual faith"
And this circle was enchanted:
Your words and habits,
There are always quotation marks over everything that is foreign,
And sometimes even fear;
Meanwhile, life changed all around,
And everything around began to shake,
And the wind blew in something new
To a hospitable old house:
That's a nihilist in a blouse
He will come and brazenly ask for vodka,
To disturb the peace of the family
(Seeing my civic duty)
And then the guest is a very official one
He won't run in coolly at all.
With "Narodnaya Volya" in hands -
Consult in a hurry,
What is the cause of all the troubles?
What to do before the "anniversary"?
How to reason with young people
Raising a fuss again? -
Everyone knows that in this house
And they will caress and understand,
And noble soft light
Everything will be illuminated and illuminated...
The life of the elders is drawing to a close.
(Well, no matter how much you regret the afternoon,
You won't stop me from the fields
The creeping smoke is bluish).
Head of the family - forties
Years comrade; he is still
Among the advanced people,
Keeps civil shrines,
He is from Nikolaev times
Stands guard over enlightenment
But in the everyday life of the new movement
He got a little lost...
Turgenev's serenity
Akin to him; still quite
He understands wine
He knows how to appreciate tenderness in food;
Language French and Paris
He is probably closer to his own
(Like all of Europe: look -
And the German dreams of Paris)
And - an ardent Westerner in everything -
At heart he is an old Russian gentleman,
And the beliefs are French
There is a lot he can’t put up with;
He's at Borel's dinners
He grumbles no worse than Shchedrin:
That means the trout are undercooked,
Otherwise, their ears are not greasy.
This is the law of iron fate:
Unexpected, like a flower over the abyss,
Family center and comfort...
Growing up in the family is unprime
Three daughters: the eldest is languishing
And she waits for her husband above the kipsack,
Second - you are always not too lazy to study,
The smaller one jumps and sings,
Her temperament is lively and passionate
Teasing girlfriends at school
And a bright red braid
Frightening the boss...
Now that they've grown up, they take them on visits,
They are taken to the ball in a carriage;
Someone is already walking near the windows,
The smaller one sent a note
Some playful cadet -
And the ardor of the first tears is so sweet,
And the eldest - decorous and bashful -
Suddenly he offered his hand
Curly perfect small;
She is being prepared for the wedding...
“Look, he doesn’t love his daughter much,”
The father grumbles and frowns, -
Look, he's not from our circle..."
And his mother secretly agrees with him,
But jealousy of the daughter from each other
They try to hide...
The mother hurries the wedding dress,
The dowry is hastily sewn,
And for the ritual (sad ritual)
Friends and relatives are called...
The groom is the enemy of all rituals
(When “the people suffer like this”).
The bride has exactly the same views:
She will go hand in hand with him,
To throw a beautiful ray together,
"A ray of light into the kingdom of darkness"
(And I just don’t agree to get married
Without flair dorange and veil).
Here - with the thought of a civil marriage,
With a brow darker than September,
Uncombed, in an awkward tailcoat
He's standing at the altar,
When getting married “on principle”, -
This newly minted groom.
The priest is old, liberal,
With a trembling hand he baptizes them,
He, as a groom, is incomprehensible
Spoken words
And the bride has a head
Spinning; pink spots
Burning on her cheeks
And tears melt in my eyes...
An awkward moment will pass -
They return to the family
And life, with the help of comfort,
He will return to his track;
They are early in life; not soon yet
Healthy hunched shoulders;
Not soon from childish disputes
With friends at night
He will come out, honest, on straw
In dreams the deceased groom...
In a hospitable, kind home
There will be a room for them,
And the destruction of the way of life
It probably doesn't suit him:
The family will just be happy
To him, as a new tenant,
Everything will cost a little:
Of course, younger by nature
Populist and hard to get
Teasing your married sister
The second is to blush and intercede,
Reasoning and teaching my sister,
And the older one is languidly forgotten,
Leaning at her husband's shoulder;
The husband is arguing in vain at this time,
Having a conversation with your father
About socialism, about the commune,
About the fact that someone is a “scoundrel”
From now on it should be called
For making a denunciation...
And will forever be resolved
"Damned and sore question..."
No, the spring ice is crushing, it won’t wash away
Their lives are a fast river:
She'll leave you alone
Both the young man and the old man -
Watch how the ice will rush,
And how the ice will break,
And they will both dream
That “the people are calling them forward...”
But these children's chimeras
Finally, they won't interfere
Somehow to acquire manners
(Father is not averse to this)
Shirt for shirtfront
Change, enter the service,
Give birth to a boy
To love your lawful wife,
And, without standing at a “glorious” post,
Do your duty well
And be a good official,
Without bribes, seeing the point in service...
Yes, this is life - early to death;
They look like guys:
Until the mother screams, they play pranks;
They are “not my novel”:
All they have to do is study and chat,
May you delight yourself with dreams,
But they will never understand
Those with doomed eyes:
Different to become, different blood -
Another (pathetic) love...
This is how life went on in the family. Rocked
Their waves. Spring River
Rushed - dark and wide,
And the ice floes hung menacingly,
And suddenly, after hesitating, they went around
This old boat...
But soon the foggy hour struck -
And to our friendly family
A strange stranger appeared.
Get up, go out into the meadow in the morning:
A hawk circles in the pale sky,
Drawing a smooth circle after a circle,
Looking for where it's worse
The nest is hidden in the bushes...
Suddenly - birds chirping and movement...
He listens... one more moment -
Flies on straight wings...
An alarming cry from neighboring nests,
The sad squeak of the last chicks,
Gentle fluff flies in the wind -
He claws the poor victim...
And again, flapping his huge wing,
He took off - to draw a circle after a circle,
Unfed eye and homeless
Explore the deserted meadow...
Whenever you look, it’s circling, circling...
Mother Russia, like a bird, grieves
About children; but - her fate,
To be tormented by hawks.
At the evenings with Anna Vrevskaya
Was society's choice color.
Sick and sad Dostoevsky
I went here in my later years
Brighten up the burden of a harsh life,
Gain information and strength
For "Diary". (At this time he
He was friends with Pobedonostsev).
With outstretched hand in inspiration
Polonsky read poetry here.
Some ex-minister humbly
Here I confessed my sins.
And the rector of the university
Beketov, a botanist, was here,
And many professors
And the servants of the brush and pen,
And also the servants of the royal power,
And her enemies are partly
Well, in a word, you can meet here
A mixture of different states.
In this salon there is no hiding,
Under the hostess's charm,
Slavophile and liberal
Shaked hands with each other
(As, however, has long been the custom
Here, in Orthodox Russia:
Everyone, thank God, shakes hands).
And everyone - not so much by talking,
With such liveliness and gaze, -
Mistress in a few minutes
I was able to attract people to me amazingly.
She really had a reputation
Charmingly beautiful,
And together - she was kind.
Who was connected with Anna Pavlovna -
Everyone will remember her well
(For now I have to remain silent
The language of writers about that).
Accommodated a lot of young people
Her public salon:
Others are similar in beliefs,
He is simply in love with her,
Another - with a conspiracy case...
And everyone needed her
Everyone came to her, and boldly
She took part
In all matters without exception,
As in dangerous enterprises...
To her also from my family
All three took their daughters.
Among the elderly and dignified,
Among the green and innocent -
In the salon Vrevskoy felt like one of his own
One young scientist.
A relaxed guest, a familiar one -
He was on first name terms with many.
His features are marked
The printing is not quite ordinary.
Once (he passed the living room)
Dostoevsky noticed him.
“Who is this handsome man?” he asked
Quietly, leaning towards Vrevskaya: -
Looks like Byron." - Word
Everything winged was picked up,
And everything has a new face
They paid attention.
This time the light was merciful,
Usually - so stubborn;
“Handsome, smart,” the ladies repeated,
The men winced: “poet”...
But if men frown,
They must be jealous...
And the feelings of the fair half
Nobody, the devil himself, will understand...
And the ladies were delighted:
“He is Byron, which means he is a demon...” - Well?
He really looked like a proud lord
Faces with arrogant expression
And something that I want to call
A heavy flame of sadness.
(In general, they noticed something strange about him -
And everyone wanted to notice).
Perhaps it was not, unfortunately,
There is only this will in him... He
One kind of secret passion,
Must have been compared to a lord:
Descendant of later generations,
In which lived a rebellious ardor
Inhuman aspirations, -
He looked like Byron
Like a brother hurts his brother
Healthy sometimes looks like:
That same reddish glow,
And the expression of power is the same,
And the same rush towards the abyss.
But - the spirit is secretly bewitched
The tired cold of illness,
And the effective flame went out,
And the will of frantic effort
Weighed down by consciousness.
So
The predator's cloudy vision rotates,
The sick spread their wings.
“How interesting, how smart,” -
Repeats after the general choir
The youngest daughter. And gives in
Father. And he was invited to their house
Our new Byron.
And he accepts the invitation.
Accepted into the family as if they were one of their own,
Handsome young man. At the beginning
In an old house above the Neva
He was welcomed like a guest,
But soon the old people were attracted
His noble warehouse is ancient,
The custom is polite and decorous:
Although free and wide
There was a new lord in his views,
But he was polite
And kissed the ladies' hands
He doesn't have the slightest contempt.
His brilliant mind
Contradictions were forgiven
The darkness of these contradictions
Out of kindness they didn’t notice
They were eclipsed by the brilliance of talent,
There is some kind of burning in the eyes...
(Do you hear the sound of broken wings? -
The predator strains his eyesight...)
With his people back then
The smile of youth brought us together,
Back in those early years
It was easy to play and...
He himself did not know his darkness...
He easily dined in the house
And often everyone in the evenings
Lively and fiery conversation
Captivated. (Even though he was a lawyer,
But a poetic example
Didn’t disdain: Constant was friends
In it with Pushkin, and Stein with Flaubert).
Freedom, right, ideal -
Everything was no joke to him,
He was just secretly terrified:
He, while claiming, denied
And he affirmed, denying.
(Everything would be for the mind to wander in extremes,
And the middle is golden
Everything didn’t work out for him!)
He hates - love
Sometimes I tried to surround
As if the corpse wanted to pour
Alive, playing with blood...
“Talent,” everyone around said,
But without being proud (without giving in),
He suddenly became strangely dark...
The soul is sick, but young,
Fearing myself (she's right)
I was looking for consolation: alien
All the words became her...
(Oh, verbal dust! What needs
In you? - You can hardly console
You will hardly resolve the torment!) -
And to the obedient piano
Hands laid down powerfully,
Picking sounds like flowers
Crazy, daring and bold,
Like flaps of women's rags
From a body ready to surrender...
A strand fell on my forehead...
He shook in a secret trembling...
(Everything, everything - like at the hour when on the bed
Desire intertwined two...)
And there - behind the musical storm -
Suddenly appeared (as it did then)
Some image - sad, distant,
Incomprehensible never...
And the wings are white in azure,
And unearthly silence...
But this quiet string
Drowning in a musical storm...
What happened? - Everything that should be:
Handshakes, conversations,
Downcast gazes...
The future is separated
Barely noticeable line
From the present... He became
In the family. He's beautiful
He charmed the youngest daughter.
And the kingdom (without owning the kingdom)
He promised her. And to him
She believed, turning pale...
And her home is in prison
He turned (although not at all
This house did not resemble a prison...).
But it became alien, empty, wild
Everything previously sweet is all around -
Under this strange charm
Speeches promising new things,
Beneath this demonic glow
Eyes piercing with flame...
He is life, he is happiness, he is the element,
She found a hero in him, -
And the whole family, and all the relatives
They are disgusting and interfere with her in everything,
And all her excitement multiplies...
She doesn't know herself
Why can’t he flirt?
She's almost gone crazy...
And he? -
He hesitates; he doesn't know himself
Why is he hesitating, for what?
And it doesn’t seduce at all
His army demonism...
No, my hero is quite subtle
And perspicacious not to know
How the poor child suffers,
What happiness can you give to a child?
Now - in his sole power...
No, no... but they froze in my chest
Hitherto fiery passions,
And someone whispers: wait...
That is a cold mind, a cruel mind
Entered into unexpected rights...
That is the torment of a lonely life
The head predicted...
“No, he doesn’t love, he plays,”
She repeats, cursing fate, -
Why does it torment and frighten
He's defenseless, me...
He doesn't rush to explain
It's like he's waiting for something..."
(Look: this is how a predator accumulates power:
Now he will flap his sick wing,
It will descend silently onto the meadow
And he will drink living blood
Already out of horror - insane,
A trembling victim...) - Here is love
That vampiric age
Which turned me into cripples
Worthy of the title of man!
Be thrice damned, miserable age!
Another groom at this place
I would have shaken off the dust from my feet long ago,
But my hero was too honest
And he couldn’t deceive her:
He was not proud of his strange disposition,
And it was given to him to know
What a demon and Don Juan
It was funny to behave in that age...
He knew a lot - to his grief,
Known for good reason as an "eccentric"
In that friendly human choir,
which we often call
(Among themselves) - a flock of sheep...
But - "the voice of the people is God's voice"
And we need to remember this more often,
At least, for example, now:
If only he were a little stupider
(Is it his fault, however?) -
Perhaps the best way
She could choose for herself
And maybe with such a tender
Tying a noble girl
Its fate is cold and rebellious, -
My hero was completely wrong...
But everything went inevitably
In my own way. The leaf is already rustling,
Spinning. And unstoppable
The soul of the house was growing old.
Negotiations on the Balkans
The diplomats have already led
The troops came and went to bed,
The Neva is shrouded in fog,
And the civilians went
And the civilians started asking questions:
Arrests, searches, denunciations
And there are countless assassination attempts...
And a real book rat
My Byron stood in the midst of this darkness;
He has a brilliant dissertation
Won excellent praise
And he accepted the department in Warsaw...
Getting ready to give lectures,
Tangled up in civil law
With a soul that has begun to get tired, -
He modestly offered her his hand,
Tied her to my destiny
And he took her with him into the distance,
Already harboring boredom in my heart, -
So that his wife can go with him to the star
Shared book works...
Two years have passed. There was an explosion
From the Catherine Canal,
Covering Russia with a cloud.
Everything foreshadowed from afar,
That the fateful hour will happen,
That such a card will appear...
And this century hour of the day -
The last one is called the first of March.
There is sadness in the family. Abolished
It's like there's a big part of it:
The youngest daughter amused everyone,
But she left the family
But life is both confusing and difficult:
Then there is smoke over Russia...
Father, turning gray, looks into the smoke...
Yearning! Little news from my daughter...
Suddenly she comes back...
What with her? How thin the figure is transparent!
Thin, exhausted, pale...
And there is a child in his arms.
Chapter two
In those years, distant, deaf,
Sleep and darkness reigned in our hearts:
Pobedonostsev over Russia
Spread out the owl's wings,
And there was neither day nor night
But only the shadow of huge wings;
He outlined a wondrous circle
Russia, looking into her eyes
With the glassy gaze of a sorcerer;
Under the clever talk of a wonderful fairy tale
It’s not difficult for a beauty to fall asleep, -
And she became foggy
Having fallen asleep hopes, thoughts, passions...
But also under the yoke of dark spells
Lanita painted her tan:
And the wizard is in power
She seemed full of strength
Which with an iron hand
Trapped in a useless knot...
The sorcerer burned incense with one hand,
And a stream of blue and curly
Dewy incense was smoking... But -
He placed his other bony hand
Living souls are shelved.
In those immemorial years
Petersburg was even more formidable,
At least not heavier, not grayer
Water rolled under the fortress
The boundless Neva...
The bayonet was shining, the chimes were crying,
And the same ladies and dandies
We flew here to the islands,
And also the horse with a barely audible laugh
He answered the horse towards him,
And a black mustache, mixing with the fur,
Tickled my eyes and lips...
I remember, so did I,
I flew with you, forgetting the whole world,
But... really, there’s no point in that,
My friend, there is little happiness in this...
Eastern terrible dawn
In those years I was still a little red...
The St. Petersburg rabble stared
Obsequious to the king...
The people were really crowding
The medaled coachman at the door
The heavy horses were hot,
Policemen on the panel
They drove the audience... "Hurray"
Someone loud turns him on,
And the king - huge, watery -
Traveling from the yard with his family...
It's spring, but the sun is shining stupidly,
There are seven whole weeks until Easter,
And cold drops from the roofs
Already behind my collar stupidly
Slides down, chilling your back...
Wherever you turn, it's all wind...
“How sickening it is to live in this world” -
You mumble, avoiding a puddle;
The dog pokes under your feet,
The detective's galoshes shine,
A sour stench is wafting from the yards,
And the “prince” yells: “Robe, robe!”
And meeting the face of a passerby,
I wouldn't give a damn in his face
If only I had the same desires
I didn't read it in his eyes...
But before the May nights
The whole city fell asleep
And the horizon expanded;
A huge month behind us
The face was mysteriously flushed
Before the dawn of the endless...
Oh, my elusive city,
Why did you arise above the abyss?..
Do you remember: coming out at night white
Where the sphinx looks into the sea,
And on hewn granite
Bowing my heavy head,
You could hear: in the distance, in the distance,
As if from the sea, the sound is alarming,
Impossible for God's firmament
And unusual for the earth...
You saw the whole distance like an angel
On the fortress spire; and so -
(Dream or reality): a wonderful fleet,
Widely deployed flanks,
Suddenly blocked the Neva...
And the Sovereign Founder Himself
Stands on the lead frigate...
This is what many people dreamed about...
What kind of dreams do you have, Russia?
What storms are destined?..
But these times are deaf
Not everyone, of course, has dreams...
Yes, and there were no people
On the square at this wonderful moment
(One lover belated
He hurried, turning up his collar...)
But in the scarlet streams behind the feed
The coming day was already shining,
And dormant pennants
The morning wind was already playing,
Spread out endlessly
It's already a bloody dawn,
Threatening Arthur and Tsushima,
Threatening the Ninth of January...
Chapter Three
Father lies in Rose Alley
No longer arguing with fatigue,
And my son's train is rushing into the cold
From the shores of our native sea...
Gendarmes, rails, lanterns,
Jargon and age-old sidelocks, -
And now - in the rays of a sick dawn
Backyards of Polish Russia...
Here is everything that was, everything that is,
Inflated by a vengeful chimera;
Copernicus himself cherishes revenge,
Bending over an empty sphere...
"Revenge! Revenge!" - in cold cast iron
Rings like an echo over Warsaw:
That's Pan Frost on an evil horse
The bloody spur rattles...
Here's the thaw: it will sparkle more vividly
The edge of the sky is lazy yellow,
And the ladies' eyes draw bolder
Your circle is affectionate and flattering...
But everything that is in the sky, on earth,
Still full of sadness...
Just a rail to Europe in the wet darkness
Shines with honest steel.
The station is spit-stained; Houses,
Insidiously devoted to blizzards;
The bridge over the Vistula is like a prison;
Father, struck down by an evil illness, -
More and more the darling of fate;
To him and in this meager world
Dreams of something wonderful;
He wants to see bread in the stone,
The sign of immortality is on the deathbed,
Behind the dim light of a lantern
He imagines the dawn
Yours, God who has forgotten Poland! -
What is he doing here with his youth?
What does he greedily ask the wind for? -
Forgotten leaf of autumn days
Yes, the wind carries dry dust!
And the night goes on, bringing frost,
Fatigue, sleepy desires...
How disgusting the names of the streets are!
Here, finally, is “Rose Alley”!.. -
A unique moment:
The hospital is immersed in sleep, -
But in the frame of a bright window
Standing, turning to someone,
Father... and son, barely breathing,
He looks, not trusting his eyes...
As if in a vague dream the soul
He was frozen by the young one,
And the evil thought cannot be driven away:
"He's still alive!.. In a strange Warsaw
Talk to him about law
Criticize lawyers with him!..”
But everything is a matter of one minute:
The son quickly looks for the gate
(The hospital is already locked)
He takes the call boldly
And he enters... The staircase creaks...
Tired, dirty from the road
He runs up the steps
Without pity and without anxiety...
The candle flickers... Mister
Blocked his way
And, peering, he says sternly:
"Are you the professor's son?" - "Yes son..."
Then (with a friendly face):
"Please. He died at five. There..."
The father in the coffin was dry and straight.
The nose was straight, but became an eagle.
This crumpled bed was pitiful,
And in a room, alien and cramped,
The dead man gathered for the review
Calm, yellow, wordless...
"He'll have a nice rest now" -
The son thought with a calm look
Looking through the open door...
(Someone is always with him
I looked where the flames of the candles were,
Under the influence of the careless
Leaning, it illuminates alarmingly
Yellow face, shoes, narrow shoulders, -
And, straightening up, he weakly draws
Other shadows on the wall...
And the night stands, stands in the window...)
And the son thinks: “Where is the holiday of Death?
Father's face is so strangely quiet...
Where are the ulcers of thoughts, the wrinkles of torment,
Passion, despair and boredom?
Or did death sweep them away without a trace?" -
But everyone is tired. Deceased
Today he can sleep alone.
Relatives left. Only son
Bent over a corpse... Like a robber,
He wants to carefully remove
Ring from a numb hand...
(It is difficult for an inexperienced person to boldly
For the dead, straighten your fingers).
And only by kneeling
Above the dead man's chest,
He saw what shadows
Lay down along this face...
When from unruly fingers
The ring slid into the hard coffin,
The son baptized his father's forehead,
Having read the mark of wanderers on it,
Driven around the world by fate...
I straightened my hands, my image, my candles,
Looked at the thrown shoulders
And he left, saying: “God be with you.”
Yes, the son loved his father then
For the first time - and maybe for the last,
Through the boredom of funeral services, masses,
Through the vulgarity of life without end...
The father did not lie very strictly:
A crumpled tuft of hair stuck out;
Wider and wider with secret anxiety
The eye opened, the nose bent;
The smile was pathetic and crooked
Loose lips...
But decay is beauty
Inexplicably won...
It seemed in this beauty
He forgot his long grievances
And smiled at the bustle
Someone else's military memorial service...
And the mob tried as best they could:
Speeches were spoken over the coffin;
The lady put away the flowers
His raised shoulders;
Then he lay down on the edges of the coffin
Lead with an undeniable stripe
(So that, having been resurrected, he could not get up).
Then, with unfeigned sadness,
Away from the government porch
They dragged the coffin, crushing each other...
The snowless blizzard screamed.
An evil day gave way to an evil night.
Through unfamiliar squares
From the city to an empty field
Everyone was following the coffin...
The cemetery was called: "Will".
Yes! We hear the song of freedom,
When the gravedigger hits with a shovel
On lumps of yellowish clay;
When the prison door opens;
When we cheat on our wives,
And the wives are for us; when, having learned
About violating someone's rights,
We threaten ministers and laws
From locked apartments;
When is interest on capital
Freed from the ideal;
When... - There was peace in the cemetery.
And it really smelled like something free:
The boredom of funerals is over,
Here is the joyful hubbub of crows
Merged with the roar of the bells...
No matter how empty the hearts are,
Everyone knew: this life was burned out...
And even the sun looked
To my poor father's grave.
The son also looked, trying to find
At least there's something in the yellow hole...
But everything flashed, blurring,
Blinding your eyes, constricting your chest...
Three days are like three hard years!
He felt his blood run cold...
Human vulgarity? Ile - weather?
Or - filial love? -
Father from the first years of consciousness
Left a child in my soul
Heavy memories -
He never knew his father.
They met only by chance
Living in different cities,
So alien in all ways
(Perhaps, except for the most secret ones).
His father visited him as a guest,
Bent over, with red circles
Around the eyes. Behind the limp words
Anger often stirred...
Inspired melancholy and evil thoughts
His cynical, heavy mind,
The fog of filial thoughts is dirty.
(And the thoughts are stupid, young...)
And only a kind, flattering gaze,
Sometimes I fell furtively
On my son, a strange riddle
Breaking into a boring conversation...
The son remembers: in the nursery, on the sofa
The father sits, smoking and getting angry;
And he, madly getting wild,
Spinning before his father in the fog...
Suddenly (angry, stupid child!) -
It's as if a demon is pushing him,
And he rushes headlong into his father
A pin near the elbow...
Confused, pale with pain,
He screamed wildly...
This scream
With sudden brightness appeared
Here, above the grave, on “Wola”, -
And the son woke up... Blizzard whistle;
Crowd; the gravedigger levels the hill;
A brown leaf rustles and beats...
And the woman sobs bitterly
Unstoppable and bright...
Nobody knows her. Chelo
Covered with a mourning veil.
What's there? Heavenly beauty
Does it shine? Or - there
The face of an ugly old woman
And the tears roll lazily
On sunken cheeks?
And isn't she in the hospital then?
Did you guard the coffin with your son?..
So, without opening her face, she left...
Alien people are crowding around...
And I’m sorry for my father, I’m incredibly sorry:
He also received from childhood
Flaubert's strange inheritance -
Education sentimentale.
From funeral services and masses
The son is delivered; but to my father's house
He's coming. We'll go there
Let's take a last look at him
For the life of the father (so that the mouth
Poets were not praised in the world!).
The son comes in. Cloudy, empty
Damp, dark apartment...
Got used to being considered an eccentric
Fathers - they had the right to do so:
There was a stamp on everything
His melancholy disposition;
He was a professor and dean;
He had scientific merits;
Went to a cheap restaurant
To eat - and did not keep servants;
Running sideways down the street
Hastily, like a hungry dog,
Worthless in a fur coat
With a frayed collar;
And they saw him sitting
On a pile of blackened sleepers;
Here he often rested,
Staring blankly
Into the past... He "nullified"
Everything we strictly value in life:
Haven't refreshed myself in years
His wretched den;
On furniture, on piles of books
The dust lay in gray layers;
He's used to sitting here in a fur coat
And I haven’t lit the stove for years;
He took care of everything and carried it in a heap:
Papers, scraps of fabric,
Leaves, bread crusts, feathers,
Cigarette boxes
A pile of unwashed laundry,
Portraits, letters from ladies and relatives
And even what is in their
I won’t tell you poems...
And finally - poor light
Warsaw fell on icon cases
And on agendas and reports
"Spiritual and moral conversations..."
So, settling a sad account with life,
Having despised the ardor of youth,
This Faust, once radical,
“I got better”, grew weaker... and forgot everything;
After all, life no longer burned - it smoked,
And they became monotonous in it
Words: "freedom" and "Jew"
Only music woke me up
A heavy dream:
The grumbling ones stopped talking;
Trash turned into beauty;
The hunched shoulders straightened;
The piano sang with unexpected force,
Waking up unheard sounds:
Curses of passion and boredom,
Shame, grief, light sadness...
And finally - evil consumption
By his own will he acquired,
And he ended up in a bad hospital
This modern Harpagon...
This is how my father lived: a miser, forgotten
People, and God, and ourselves,
Or a homeless and downtrodden dog
In a brutal city crush.
And he himself... He knew other moments
Unforgettable power!
No wonder in boredom, stench and passion
His soul is some kind of genius
The sad one flew in sometimes;
And Schumann was awakened by sounds
His angry hands
He knew the cold behind him...
And maybe in dark legends
His blind soul, in the darkness -
The memory of the huge eyes was kept
And wings broken in the mountains...
In whom this memory dimly glimmers,
He is strange and does not resemble people:
All his life - already a poet
The sacred trembling embraces
He is deaf and blind and dumb,
A certain god rests in it,
The Demon is ravaging him,
Over whom Vrubel was exhausted...
His insights are deep
But they are drowned out by the darkness of the night,
And in dreams cold and cruel
He sees "Woe from Wit".
The country is under the burden of grievances,
Under the yoke of brazen violence -
Like an angel, he lowers his wings,
Like a woman, she loses her shame.
The people's genius is silent,
And he doesn’t give a voice,
Unable to throw off the yoke of laziness,
Lost people in the fields.
And only about my son, a renegade,
The mother cries madly all night,
May the father send a curse to the enemy
(After all, the old have nothing to lose!..).
And the son - he betrayed his fatherland!
He greedily drinks wine with the enemy,
And the wind breaks through the window,
Appealing to conscience and to life...
Isn’t it also you, Warsaw,
The capital of proud Poles,
The crowd forced me to doze
Military Russian vulgars?
Life lies silently underground,
The magnates' palaces are silent...
Only Pan Frost to all ends
Fiercely prowling the expanse!
Will fly furiously above you
His gray head
Or folding sleeves
They will rise up in a storm over the houses,
Or the horse neighs - and the ringing of strings
The telegraph wire will answer,
Or Pan will raise an enraged occasion,
And the cast iron will clearly repeat
Beats of a frozen hoof
Along the empty pavement...
And again, bowing my head,
Pan is silent, killed by melancholy...
And, traveling on an evil horse,
The bloody spur rattles...
Revenge! Revenge! - So echoes over Warsaw
Rings in cold cast iron!
Cafes and bars are still bright,
Trades the body "New World",
Shameless sidewalks swarm,
But in the alleys there is no life,
There is darkness and howling blizzards...
Now the sky took pity - and the snow
Running drowns out the crackling life,
Brings its own charm...
It curls, creeps, rustles,
It is quiet, eternal and ancient...
My dear and innocent hero,
He'll ruin you too
While aimless and sad,
Having barely buried my father,
You wander, you wander endlessly
In the crowd of sick and lustful...
There are no more feelings or thoughts,
There is no radiance in empty eyes,
As if the heart is wandering
Aged ten years...
Here the lantern casts a timid light...
Like a woman from around the corner
Someone is creeping up flatteringly...
Here - she flattered, crawled up,
And I hastily squeezed my heart
Inexpressible melancholy
Like a heavy hand
She bent her down and pinned her to the ground...
And he’s not going alone,
And definitely with someone new...
It leads quickly downhill
His "Krakowskie Przedmieście";
Here is Vistula - snow storm hell...
Looking for protection behind houses,
Teeth chattering from the cold,
He turned back again...
Again above the sphere Copernicus
Deep in thought under the snow...
(And next to you is a friend or rival -
There is melancholy...) To the right he
I turned it a little uphill...
For a moment the blinded gaze slid
According to the Orthodox cathedral.
(Some very important thief,
Having built it, I didn’t finish it...)
My hero quickly doubled his pace,
But soon I was exhausted again -
He was already starting to tremble
Invincible small trembling
(Everything in it is painfully intertwined:
Longing, fatigue and frost...)
Already hours off-road
He wandered through the snow
No sleep, no rest, no goal...
The evil screech of the blizzard subsides,
And a dream falls on Warsaw...
Where else to go? No urine
Wander around the city all night. -
Now there is no one to help!
Now he is in the very heart of the night!
Oh, your gaze is black, the nights are dark,
And the heart of stone is deaf,
Without regret and without hearing,
Like those blind houses!..
Only snow flutters - eternal, white,
In winter, he will snow the square,
And the dead will cover the body,
In the spring it will run in streams...
But in the thoughts of my hero
It's almost incoherent nonsense...
Coming... (A trail winds through the snow
One, but there were two of them...)
There is some kind of vague ringing in my ears...
Suddenly - an endless fence
Probably a Saxon garden...
He quietly leaned against her.
When you're driven and downtrodden
People, care, or melancholy;
When under the gravestone
Everything that captivated you is sleeping;
When through the urban desert,
Desperate and sick
You're coming home
And frost weighs down my eyelashes,
Then - stop for a moment
Listen to the silence of the night:
You will perceive another life by hearing,
Which during the day you did not comprehend;
You'll look at it in a new way
The distance of snowy streets, the smoke of a fire,
Night quietly waiting for the morning
Over the white bushy garden,
And the sky is a book between books;
You will find your soul empty
Again the image of the mother is bowed,
And in this incomparable moment -
Patterns on lantern glass,
Frost that freezes the blood
Your cold love -
Everything will flare up in a grateful heart,
Then you will bless everything,
Realizing that life is immeasurably more,
Than quantum satis 1
Brand of will,
And the world is beautiful, as always.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Name of educational institution:
GAPOU SO "Tolyatti Industrial Pedagogical College"
Sovina Irina Nikolaevna, teacher
Podrezova Elena Antonovna, teacher
Disciplines:
Ecological foundations of environmental management
Russian language and culture of speech
Lesson topic:
“Erase random features - and you will see: the world is beautiful”
2nd year
Lesson duration:90 minutes
Target: summarize and systematize students’ knowledge about environmental protection in the process of conducting an integrated lesson in the disciplines: “Ecological foundations of environmental management”, “Russian language and speech culture”.
Tasks:
1. Repeat and generalize students’ knowledge about the impact of human economic activity on the state of the environment.
2. Introduce students to the world of Russian poetry; show how poetic works, depicting nature in various nuances, carry a huge charge of life-affirming power.
3. Develop the creative potential of students.
4. Contribute to the formation of civic position and aesthetic education of students.
Lesson type. Lesson of generalization and systematization of knowledge.
Type of lesson. Integrated lesson - literary-ecological living room.
Interdisciplinary connections. Russian language and speech culture, literature, geography, ecological foundations of nature management.
Equipment. Interactive whiteboard, slides, paintings by Russian artists20th century; photographs of nature in the Samara region;exhibition of posters “Earth, we love you!”; exhibition of books about nature; student presentations. Musical arrangement: P.I. Tchaikovsky "Seasons"; Mozart "Requiem"; D. Shostakovich “Symphony No. 7, part 3”, “Symphony No. 15, finale”. Poster with text:
“If a person wants to live on this Earth, then he will have to show wisdom in choosing between those innovations that he is able to control and those that he is not able to control.”
George Dryfus
Epigraph : Every person who is friends with nature is happy. A tree without roots does not grow - it dries and dies. Nature is our roots, the beginning of our life. M. Yukhma
During the classes.
Organizing time. (Checking the group’s readiness for the lesson).
Generalization and systematization of concepts, assimilation of a knowledge system and their application.
Statement of ultrasound .
Slide 1. Teacher 1. Today we are conducting an integrated lesson on repetition and generalization of knowledge in the disciplines: “Ecological foundations of environmental management” and “Russian language and speech culture.” Our lesson is dedicated to “Earth Day” - an international environmental event, which, since 1970, has been held every spring on April 22. Its goal is important and noble: to preserve wildlife, to preserve the Earth. Dear students and guests, we invite you to the literary and ecological living room “Erase random features - and you will see: the world is beautiful.”
Slide 2. Teacher 2. In the middle of the 20th century, we first saw our planet from space. This had perhaps a greater impact on thinking than the revolution that Copernicus carried out in the 16th century, turning over the self-consciousness of mankind with the discovery that the Earth is not the center of the Universe.
Slide 3. From space we see a small, fragile ball, dominated not by the creations of human hands, but by the structures of clouds, oceans, vegetation and soils. “The Earth is not a massive giant, but rather a fragile Christmas ball.” (J. Darrius)
To be or not to be for humanity, will our planet remain green and blooming or will it turn into a lifeless desert? - that is the question.
The lesson will focus on the main sources of biosphere pollution.. This topic is especially relevant today, because... Environmental pollution is increasing and the environmental situation is becoming complex and unstable in many regions of the world, including in the city of Togliatti.
Teacher 1. Today we will talk not only about how cruelly people sometimes treat nature, but we will also open the world of beauty, see the beauty of our native land, turn to those sources that will help us love our land, strive to take care of it, decorate and protect it. Our world is beautiful and harmonious. It is diverse and unique. And I want our descendants to see him this way.
Part 1. “Beauty Earth!.. Earth-nurse! Worker-Earth" (A. Zhemchuzhnikov)
Teacher 1. Listen closelyinto the voices of poets, who lived two hundred and even a hundred years ago. Communication with nature evoked in them thoughts of eternity. “Now,” they thought, not without sadness, “here I die, and these fields, the forest, and this river, and this sky will remain without me forever and will not even notice that I am no longer with them...”What Mother Nature, our beautiful Earth, did the poets see?
Students reciting poems about nature (Appendix 1A).
Teacher 1. Remember works of art whose titles contain elements of nature?. ( The winner is the one who names the work last). (K. Paustovsky “Meshcherskaya Side”, A. Chekhov “The Cherry Orchard”, “Kashtanka”, M. Sholokhov “Quiet Don”, Prishvin “Pantry of the Sun”, I. Bunin “Antonov Apples”, I. Turgenev “Mumu”, L Leonov "Russian Forest").
S. A. Yesenin was a great lover of nature. Nature in his poems feels human, and man feels like a tree, grass, etc. Nature is not just living, but the human soul itself. Let's remember the lines from Yesenin's poems about nature.
Lovely birch thickets.
You, the earth, and you, the plains of sand.
2. The golden grove dissuaded...
3. The sparrow reads the psalter,
The black capercaillie is calling for the all-night vigil...
4. I am forever for fog and dew
I fell in love with the birch tree,
And her golden braids,
And her canvas sundress.
5. And animals, like our smaller brothers,
Never hit me on the head.
6. Each verse of mine heals the soul of the beast.
Teacher 1. It is estimated that Yesenin’s poems contain over 30 names of birds, more than 20 tree species, about 20 types of flowers, and almost all domestic animals. Your heart aches with pain when you read his poems about animals:
Animals, animals, come to me,
Cry out your anger into the cup of my hands...
He, indeed, addressed them as his “little brothers.” Listen to S. Yesenin’s poem “The Fox”:
She hobbled on a crushed leg,
At the hole it curled up into a ring.
A thin line separated the blood
A dense face in the snow.
Question: What feelings do S. Yesenin’s poems evoke in you? How does he do this? What means does the poet use for this? (Feelings of love for one’s native nature and native land, pity and desire to help animals. Artistic means: epithets, metaphors, metonymy, etc.)
Yes, it is very difficult to hear about such an attitude towards “our smaller brothers,” so let’s love and appreciate our land, as K. Paustovsky did.
Listen to how he wrote about Russian nature in his work “The Meshchera Side”: “The more you get to know it, the more, almost to the point of pain in your heart, you begin to love this extraordinary land. And if I have to defend my country, then somewhere in the depths of my soul I will know that I am also defending this piece of land, which taught me to see and understand beauty, no matter how inconspicuous in appearance it may be - this thoughtful forest land, the love for which will not be forgotten, just as first love is not forgotten.”
Just like the Meshchera region for Paustovsky, the place where we live is sacred to us. This is our native Tolyatti, which stands on the banks of Mother Volga. How many wonderful people live in our city! For example, the poet Semyon Krasnov. Listen to his poems:
Unpretentious river speech
In slow motion
But the shores cannot be protected
In their age-old saying...
Slide 5-15. Teacher 1 . The pearl of the Volga is the ancient Zhiguli Mountains. The unique forms of relief, the peculiar microclimate, the amazing beauty of the mountains, the unique flora and fauna have earned the Zhiguli car worldwide fame. A nature reserve was created in Zhiguli. For the extraordinary beauty of the corners of nature on the banks of the Volga, the territory is called ... (“Volga Switzerland "). Every poet describes the beauty of the place where he was born. We also have our own poets in our region. Do you know them? Can you name them now? (Lydia Artikulova, Vitaly Sivyakov, Boris Skotnevsky ).
Let's listen to the poems of Tolyatti poets. (Appendix 1B).
Music by P.I. Tchaikovsky "Seasons. October"
Part 2. “Each century asks: what will happen to nature in the future!” (A. Koltsov)
Slide 16-18. Teacher 2. According to Barry Commeron, the first law of ecology is: “Everything is connected to everything.” What will happen to the Earth's biosphere if the Sun's rays cannot reach the surface of the planet? After all, it is the sun’s rays that determine the main features of the mechanism of the biosphere, and it is not for nothing that poets have always glorified Yarilo - The Sun is a “joyful source of life”!
There was no summer in Europe in 1815. It seemed that the predictions of the Apostle Matthew began to come true: “The sun will darken, and the moon will not give its light...” A gloomy veil covered the sky, the air temperature dropped by 1-2 degrees. This Samboro volcano ejected about 100 cubic meters into the atmosphere. km of dust that floated for about two years. The power of the dust emission exceeded the consequences of the atomic explosion in Hiroshima by 70 thousand times...
Video sequence: slides about the volcanic eruption, K. Bryulov’s painting “The Last Day of Pompeii”.
Soundtrack: Mozart "Requiem". G. Verdi "Requiem"
Student .
I had a dream... not everything in it was a dream,
The bright sun went out - and the stars
Wandered without a goal, without rays
In eternal space; icy land
She rushed blindly in the moonless air.
The hour of morning came and went -
But he did not bring the day with him...
(J. Byron)
Teacher 2. The name of Carl Sagan, a prominent astrophysicist and professor at Cornell University, became known in the early 80s in connection with the concept of “nuclear winter” that he put forward.
Question: What kind of theory is this?
Answer. Student presentation “World after nuclear war” (Appendix 2)
Question: Do the calculations of our scientists coincide with the data of American scientists?
Answer:
The conclusions of American scientists convince us that the climatic impacts of even a nuclear conflict that is not the strongest in terms of modern capabilities leave no chance of survival for anyone on the planet. As a result of even the “mildest” nuclear war scenario, the death of the Earth’s ecosystem and humans as part of it is inevitable. People suddenly realized that the consequences of a nuclear war would be worse than they had imagined. Climate disaster will affect everyone. And if some die from explosions, radiation or fires, others will die from cold or hunger.
Question: Will nuclear explosions lead to the destruction of the ozone layer?
Answer :
During a nuclear explosion that occurs on the surface of the Earth, a huge hot ball is formed, which rises high up. It leads to the destruction of oxygen molecules and the formation of nitrogen oxides. They are the destroyers of the ozone layer.
Question: There is an opinion that a nuclear war occurring in the summer will be largely devoid of the severe consequences of the “nuclear winter” that you mentioned. It is believed that the weather will not be colder than usual in autumn. How scientifically valid is the conclusion that a nuclear war in the summer is not so scary?
Answer:
Scientists believe it's not just a matter of lowering temperatures. As we have already said, this is a sharp decrease in the ozone layer, which entails an increase in ultraviolet radiation. As a result, millions of people would develop skin cancer and cataracts. Then climate change, radiation, etc.
Teacher 2. Thus, unlike the direct factors of nuclear destruction, climatic factors are global in nature. “Nuclear winter” and “nuclear night”, lack of food, fresh water, poisoning of the atmosphere with toxic gases will affect the entire planet equally. In this war there cannot be not only winners and losers, but even neutrals. Moreover, even a relatively small conflict can be fatal.
Part 3. “In bad weather I imagine a book about the earth and its beauty” (B. Pasternak)
Teacher 1. The second half of the 20th century brought a disturbing change to the world order that had developed over centuries: “a short human life may now turn out to be longer than nature, which has existed unchanged for thousands of years.” And the modern writer S. Zalygin, alone with nature, thinks: “Ten years will pass - and what will be left of this field? From the forest and river? What buildings will be built here, roads and pipelines laid, power lines raised? And will the sky itself remain here as it is today, or will it be filled with smoke, blocked by something?.. What kind of desolation will come here?” But for now the beautiful words “about the earth and its beauty” still sound.
Students reading poems about the beauty of nature. (Appendix 3)
Sound track: D. Shostakovich. Symphony No. 7, part 3; Symphony No. 15, finale.
Teacher 1. But the greatest artists embodied their worldview and perception of nature in artistic images of unprecedented power and thereby forever imprinted on the cultural consciousness of mankind.
Music is playing P.I. Tchaikovsky "Seasons", April. Slide show 19-28
1st teacher's comment. The paintings of landscape artists, in addition to aesthetic pleasure and a large amount of information about the beauty in nature itself, seem to warn about the irreparable damage that a person can cause to nature by accident or for the sake of his practical goals.
2nd comment from the teacher. Landscape painting, revealing the beauty of the surrounding world, contributes not only to the education of aesthetic feelings, but also develops in people an awareness of responsibility for preserving nature, which is part of the most important problem of our time - environmental protection.
Part 4. “...Never ask for whom the bell tolls: it tolls for you” (John Donne)
Slides 28-30. Teacher 2. Humanity is entering a new era of existence - an era that requires a radical restructuring of basic value scales, new principles of morality and ethics, new ways of resolving contradictions... In other words, “we are entering an era when people, in order to survive, have to start thinking differently.” different than before." (N. Moiseev)
People first realized that humanity and nature as a whole could perish biologically along with the destruction of all life at the end of the Second World War, when on August 6, 1945, the first atomic bombs were dropped on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Sound series: V. Artemov. “Requiem”, part 6, K. Guretsky. "Hiroshima".
Teacher 2. I wonder what the people involved in the creation of the atomic bomb and the first targeted bombing were thinking? Maybe about the happiness of humanity, and not about its real death? And then one of them went crazy... (Student's story about bomber pilot Joseph Connor ).
According to scientists, human civilization is on the verge of destruction, and everything possible and impossible must be done to prevent environmental degradation. More and more people in the world are aware of the danger threatening the planet and understand the importance of uniting the efforts of humanity in an effort to preserve peace and preserve the environment.
Reading a poem by R. Rozhdestvensky. (Appendix 4A)
Slides 31-36
Teacher 1. Our health depends on the state of the environment. It is not for nothing that most people place health among the most important values in life. There is a saying: “Health is the privilege of the wise.” How do you understand the word “wisdom”? In S.I. Ozhegov’s dictionary, “wisdom” is defined as “deep intelligence based on life experience.”
In addition, wisdom is the ability to rise above one’s current, momentary interests for the sake of more distant interests, which in the long term extend beyond the boundaries of individual life.
Questions:
1. Can we say that this is a fairly complete definition?
2. Can a smart person not be wise, and a wise person not be smart?
3. What common opposite do wisdom and intelligence have?(Stupidity).
4. What does it mean to be healthy?
According to the World Health Organization, “health is a state of physical, mental and social well-being,” and not just the absence of disease or infirmity. So, there is physical, mental and moral health. Expand the meaning of each of these concepts (in groups) and explain how this type of health manifests itself.
1st group – physical health.
Group 2 – mental health.
3rd group – moral health.
Sample answers in Appendix 4B
Question:
4. Health is more valuable than anything.
Thus,Our health depends on the health of the environment.
Teacher 2. According to the results of the latest population census, 716 thousand people live in Tolyatti, i.e. in 10 years the city's population increased by only 4,000 people. One of the reasons for low population growth is high mortality, including due to the deteriorating environmental situation in the city. In February, as part of the week of general education disciplines, we held a presentation competition “Environmental problems of Tolyatti”. As it turns out, you care about what country we live in, what air we breathe, and what will be left to our descendants; you are concerned about the future of the planet, Russia and our city. Today you showed your civic position by taking part in the “Earth, We Love You” poster competition. (Defense - participants give a brief description of their work).
Teacher 2 . What work is being done in Togliatti to solve environmental problems?
Demonstration of student presentations.
Part 5. Quiz - auction
Teacher 1. The great storyteller Hans Christian Andersen said: “To live, you need sun, freedom and a small flower.” Flowers open up the opportunity for a person to experience beauty and feel the fullness of life. Being close to flowers and contemplating their unique beauty softens the soul and reveals the best facets of human character.
“Waltz of the Flowers” by P.I. Tchaikovsky .
Flowers are joy, love, an eternal source of inspiration, a high mood of thoughts, feelings and just a good mood.
Quiz game (for the correct answer - a flower).
1. Name evergreen plants that bloom with white, pink and red wax-like flowers. These flowers form the title of the novel by the French writer A. Dumas. (Camellia. “Lady with Camellias”)
2. Which novel mentions a flower in the title?tulip and who is its author?
(A. Dumas “Black Tulip”).
3. The painting by the famous Russian artist K. Bryulov, which depicted a flower, received 1st prize in Italy. What is the name of this flower?(Narcissus).
4. They bloomed a long time ago
Chrysanthemums in the garden.
But love still lives on
In my heart is big.
They've bloomed a long time ago
Chrysanthemums in the garden.
Teacher 2. Competition of proverbs and sayings.
What is the new ecological and environmental meaning of folk proverbs and sayings?
Turnips and peas are not near the roads. (Contamination of agricultural products with heavy metals (cadmium, lead) near the highway );
Until the thunder strikes, the man will not cross himself. (Negative consequences of human influence on the environment and delayed awareness and understanding of these consequences by people in general );
A fly in the ointment spoils a barrel of honey. (Discharge of small volumes of highly toxic waste into rivers; oil entering the oceans and seas as a result of oil tanker accidents );
What we have, we don’t keep; when we lose it, we cry. (Wasteful use of natural resources and the environment in general );
3. Conclusion.
Teacher 1. At the beginning of the lesson, each of you received 2 balls - black and white. A black ball means that a person supports a pessimistic point of view of human development, and a white ball means an optimistic one. Now we will vote again. The results will show how public opinion has changed.
Teacher 2. We appeal to each of you: take care of this fragile world of nature, be kind to it, do everything lovingly.
Help everything that makes the earth red,
Let spring sound in the hearts of people,
Don't walk the earth unnoticed
Don't let the world become crippled!
4. Summing up.
Teacher 1. Self-esteem. On each student’s desk there is a triangle (score “3”), a square (score 4), and a circle (score “5”). Raise the grade (figure) that you think you earned today. And now we will find out whether your assessment coincided with the assessment of your friends and teacher.
Love and protect nature. And she will return your care to you. You will feel this through the achieved harmony of your inner world with the outer world.
5. Assignment for independent work. Write an essay on the topic “Ecology and Peace.”
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Vvedenskaya L. A., Cherkasova M. N. Russian language and speech culture. – Rostov-n/D: Phoenix, 2010.
In the world of literature: Textbook. for 10th grade / Under. total ed. A.G. Kutuzova. M. Bustard, 2011.
Konstantinov V.M. Ecological foundations of environmental management. - M.; Academy, NMC SPO, 2012.
Kozachek A.V. Ecological foundations of environmental management. - M.: Phoenix, 2010.
Suravegina I.T., V.M. Senkevich Ecology and peace: A manual for teachers. – M.: New School, 2011.
Yablokov A.V., Ostroumov S.A. Living standards of living nature. – M.: Nauka, 2012.
Websites:www. rusedu. ru, www. openclass. ru.
Annex 1A
1st reader: I bless you, forests,
Valleys, fields, mountains, waters,
I bless freedom
And blue skies!
And I bless my staff,
And this poor sum
And the steppe from edge to edge,
And the light of the sun, and the darkness of the night,
And a lonely path
Which way, beggar, am I going,
And in the field every blade of grass,
And every star in the sky!
Oh, if I could mix my whole life,
To merge my whole soul with you,
I am your enemies, friends and brothers,
And conclude all nature!
(A.K. Tolstoy)
2nd reader: Already a hot ball of the sun
The earth rolled off its head,
And peaceful evening fire
The sea wave swallowed me up.
The bright stars have already risen
And gravitating over us
The vault of heaven has been lifted
With your wet heads.
The river of air is fuller
Flows between heaven and earth,
The chest breathes easier and more freely,
Freed from the heat.
And a sweet thrill, like a stream,
Nature ran through my veins,
How hot are her legs?
Key waters have touched...
(F. Tyutchev)
3rd reader: Don't kill pigeons!
Their plumage is snow-white;
Their cooing is so tender
Sounds in the darkness of earthly sorrows...
Where everything is either dim or rebellious.
Don't kill pigeons!
Don't pick cornflowers!
Don't be greedy and jealous;
The fields will give you their grain,
And there's enough room for coffins.
We do not live by bread alone -
Don't pick cornflowers!
Don't renounce beauty!
She is immortal without smoking.
Why does she need the glory of chants?
And your hymns and flowers?
But without her a genius is powerless -
Don't renounce beauty.
(M. Lokhvitskaya)
Appendix 1B
Lydia Artikulova
Bare crowns of autumn trees,
Reflected in the sky, they stand without breathing,
So beautiful with their latest revelation,
It’s like someone’s soul open to the world.
The day is wide open
Winter is on the doorstep,
He enters into me with light, is frank and pure.
But, sad and quiet, a leaf falls to the ground.
And suddenly anxiety will touch your heart.
Suddenly you realize how small it is - your day is passing...
And from one thought
It will become chilly and painful.
It’s in moments like these that it comes involuntarily
Revelation into nature and into the souls of people.
VITALY SIVIAKOV.
Ballad of the Brook
The stream screams that it is no one's.
Don't trust the stream.
Although he is woven from speeches
Messenger of death.
Not without reason.
And glorifies with its essence
Winters of death.
We won't reverse the cycle
Sad funeral feast.
Now the stream is the other way around
Messenger of life.
And in its transience
Showing courage
Brought a dried up stream
Living moisture.
Hiding the streams underground,
Silenced once.
He incarnated into springs
And saved me from thirst.
Boris Skotnevsky
Native silence and dear hum.
And the wind never blows by
Souls. And the smell of field and water.
And tenderness - from a blade of grass to a star.
And memory, dissolved in space -
Native happiness is not dearer than grief...
And the boy who turned into me
Wandering somewhere at the end of the day.
Appendix 2
1. World after nuclear war . Carl Sagan was inspired to work on this topic by his flight as part of the American astronauts to Mars in 1971. The Americans hoped to see the surface of Mars, but instead they saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. It soon became clear that the entire planet was covered with a dense curtain of small stones and dust, raised above its surface by the hurricane winds that were raging on Mars at that time. The Americans were surprised to find that the dust-filled atmosphere was much warmer than it should be according to calculations. On the other hand, the surface of Mars turned out to be colder than expected. In the end, American astronauts came to the conclusion that the reason for the strange temperature paradoxes lay in the dust, which absorbed the sun's rays, heated itself, but did not allow it to reach the surface of the planet. That's why the surface of Mars was so dark and cold. Only 3 months later, when the dust had settled, the astronauts saw Mars in all its glory. The darkening and cooling were temporary and caused by certain factors. It was then that they found out that individual volcanic disasters could also lead to what they saw on Mars. And only much later did they come to the conclusion that a nuclear war could have similar consequences, but on an incomparably larger scale. Atomic explosions will lead to massive fires that will raise huge amounts of smoke, soot, ash, and other combustion products into the air, which will obscure the Sun. As a result of this, a sharp drop in temperature will occur on Earth - there will be"nuclear winter".
2. Having become familiar with the “Sagan scenario,” Soviet scientists went further: they looked at the mathematical model to see how events would develop if the “basic scenario” came to life? This model is specifically designed to be used for mathematical experiments like “What if...”
It turned out that the two main factors influencing climate dynamics will be:
Cloudiness of the atmosphere and a complete restructuring of atmospheric circulation due to the huge temperature difference between different regions. Under normal conditions, the air basins over the Northern and Southern Hemispheres form two isolated “climate cells”, separated by the equatorial zone.
After the formation of a nuclear cloud over the Northern Hemisphere, a powerful air flow is formed, covering both hemispheres.
As a result of these processes, despite the enormous heat release during fires, already in the middle of the first month after the conflict, the temperature in the Northern Hemisphere will drop by 15-20 degrees, and in some areas much more. The black cloud will then begin to penetrate into the Southern Hemisphere, where after some time the temperature will almost equalize the temperature of the Northern Hemisphere. At the same time, the upper layers of the smoky atmosphere heat up much more than before the explosions, and the lower layers of the atmosphere warm up much more slowly. The absence of vertical convection will sharply slow down dust deposition. This process will intensify the almost complete lack of precipitation. However, although there will be no precipitation in the interior regions of the continents, approximately six months after the conflict, powerful floods of continental proportions are very likely: at an altitude of 6-8 kilometers, the temperature will rise to several tens of degrees above zero, and rapid melting of glaciers will begin. The ocean, unlike the land and the atmosphere above it, will cool by only a few degrees, since its heat capacity is too high. And the difference between land and ocean temperatures will lead to hurricanes of unprecedented strength.
3. During the development of this theory, another aspect emerged. The idea of shelters to protect against nuclear war turned out to be completely wrong. They are simply useless. No one will be able to sit on the sidelines or hide in a bunker. This theory also proved the concept of the first strike to be unfounded.
Appendix 3
Student 1. Before spring there are days like this:
The meadow rests under the dense snow,
The dry and cheerful trees are rustling,
And the warm wind is gentle and elastic.
And the body marvels at its lightness,
And you won’t recognize your home,
And the song that I was tired of before,
Like new, you eat with excitement.
(A. Akhmatova)
Student 2. I bring this greenery to my lips -
This sticky oath of sheets,
This oath-breaking land:
Mother of snowdrops, maples, oaks.
Look how I grow stronger and go blind,
Submitting to humble roots;
And isn't it too great?
From the thunderous park to the eyes?
And the frogs are like balls of mercury,
And the twigs become branches
And milky steam.
(O. Mandelstam)
Student 3. August - asters
August - stars
August - grapes
Grapes and rowan
Rusty - August!
Full-bodied, supportive
With your imperial apple,
You play like a child, August.
Like a palm, you stroke your heart
In its imperial name:
August! - heart!
The month of late kisses
Late roses and late lightning!
Showers of stars -
August! - Month
Showers of stars!
(M. Tsvetaeva)
Appendix 4A
Student . Shredding the ice
We change the flow of rivers,
We insist that there is a lot to do.
But we will still come to ask for forgiveness
By these rivers, dunes and swamps,
At the most gigantic sunrise,
In the smallest fry...
I don’t want to think about it yet,
Now we have no time for that yet.
Airfields, piers and platforms,
Forests without birds and rivers without water...
Less and less of the surrounding nature,
More and more - the environment.
(R. Rozhdestvensky)
Appendix 4B
Sample answers
1st group. Physical health is the natural state of the body, stable functioning of all organs, good immunity, manifested in the absence of diseases and injuries.
2nd group. Mental health depends on the state of the brain, on the development of thinking, memory, attention, on the degree of development of volitional qualities; manifests itself in emotional stability and the ability to control oneself.
3rd group.
Moral health depends on a person’s moral principles, on their compliance with moral standards, and is manifested in a conscious attitude to work, in cultural behavior, and in the active rejection of vices.
Question: Can a physically and mentally healthy person be a moral monster? In what cases does this happen?(If he neglects moral standards). Let us recall folk proverbs and sayings dedicated to a healthy lifestyle.
1. If you ruin your health, you can’t buy new ones.
2. A healthy mind in a healthy body.
3. Smoking is harmful to health.
4. Health is more valuable than anything.
5. Take care of your dress again and your health from a young age.
6. If you are healthy, you will get everything.
These illustrations caught my attention - many different associations, thoughts...
In general, see for yourself!
Erase random features - And you will see: the world is beautiful.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
In the heart of one who passionately strives for beauty, it shines brighter than in the eyes of the one who contemplates it.
Gibran Kahlil Gibran
No outer beauty can be complete unless it is enlivened by inner beauty. The beauty of the soul spreads like a mysterious light over bodily beauty.
Victor Marie Hugo
Beauty, true happiness and true heroism do not need big words.
Wilhelm Raabe
In character, in manners, in style, in everything, the most beautiful thing is simplicity.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The cup of life is beautiful! What stupidity it is to be indignant at her just because you see her bottom.
Jules Renan
Beauty cannot be known, it must be felt or created.
Johann Wolfgang Goethe
Live in harmony!
We live to be happy
So that you don’t regret spending the day.
Our life is like a thin thread,
But I want to do everything in time.
While the thread still holds a little,
At least fate makes itself known.
Fortunately, we are looking for the right path,
And I just want to say...
Live in harmony
Live in love.
Through the eyes of lovers
Look at the world. Live in harmony
With an open soul.
Let life be like a melody
It will be foldable.
Life is full of unsolved mysteries,
But there are keys to everyone's secrets.
Heaven decides everything for us
And they give their news about this.
Even the poor sometimes
Happier than the one who is rich.
Open the doors wide open in your soul
And then you will see the result.
Michael Whelan is one of the world's most renowned fantasy and science fiction artists. He spends most of his time working on his own paintings, but has also painted over 350 covers for books by Stephen King, Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, and albums by bands and artists such as Sepultura and Meat Loaf.
Almost every major US publishing house is Michael's client. As well as National Geographic and Roadrunner records. He has received more awards and honors in his field than anyone else. For example, he has 15 Hugo Awards (the Oscars of science fiction), and a Superhugo Award for the best artist of the last 50 years. In addition to paintings in the science fiction, fantasy and horror genres, Michael produced calendars, posters, sculptures, and licensed T-shirts.
The amazing colors of his works, their composition, as well as the author’s desire to bring his words to life - this is why fans from all over the world love Michael so much. “I have been fascinated by fantasy images since childhood,” says the artist, “and all my work, be it paintings, illustrations or anything else, comes down to one goal - to create a “sense of miracle.” My illustrations reflect my vision of books, to with whom I made them. But in my paintings the themes are more personal. The best words to describe my work are “figurative realism.”
In his paintings, Michael touches on many topics - the fight against hopelessness, religion, metaphysics, and much more. And this weight is shown in the amazing worlds of fantasy and science fiction.
More galleries of his work are available on Michael's website:
