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Berestov V.D.
Here is a maple leaf on a branch.
It looks like new now!
All ruddy, golden.
Where are you, leaf? Wait!
Autumn
Novitskaya G.M.
I walk, I'm sad alone:
Autumn is around.
Yellow leaf in the river
summer is gone.
I throw him a circle
your last wreath.
Only summer can not be saved
if the day is autumn.
Levitan. gold autumn
Beam in stained glass
Smolnikov I.F.
At first the wind rustled like an aspen.
Then a ridge of clouds passed over the forest.
Then the rain stopped. And the moose trail
Filled with heavenly water.
On the best of the forest paths,
Snorting and wrinkling his nose,
hedgehog
Cautious hedgehog
He carried four drops on the needles.
Autumn
Tokmakova I.P.
Empty birdhouse -
The birds have flown
Leaves on the trees
It also doesn't fit.
All day today
Everything is flying, flying...
Apparently, also in Africa
They want to fly.
Autumn
Alexander Pushkin
(excerpt from the poem "Eugene Onegin")
October has already come - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has died - the road freezes through.
The murmuring stream still runs behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
In the departing fields with his hunt,
And they suffer winter from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes the sleeping oak forests.
Boring picture!
Alexey Pleshcheev
Boring picture!
Clouds without end
The rain is pouring down
Puddles on the porch...
stunted rowan
Wet under the window
Looks village
Gray spot.
What are you visiting early
Autumn, come to us?
Still asks the heart
Light and warmth!
autumn song
Alexey Pleshcheev
The summer has passed
Autumn has come.
In fields and groves
Empty and dull.
The birds have flown
The days got shorter
The sun is not visible
Dark, dark nights.
Autumn
Alexey Pleshcheev
Autumn has come
dried flowers,
And look sad
Bare bushes.
Wither and turn yellow
Grass in the meadows
Only turns green
Winter in the fields.
A cloud covers the sky
The sun doesn't shine
The wind howls in the field
The rain is drizzling..
Noisy water
fast stream,
The birds have flown away
To warm climes.
leaf fall
Ivan Bunin
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful, colorful wall
It stands over a bright meadow.
Birches with yellow carving
Shine in blue azure,
Like towers, Christmas trees darken,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Clearances in the sky, that windows.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
During the summer it dried up from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
He enters his motley tower ...
Dry stalks of corn in the fields...
Ivan Bunin
Dry stalks of corn in the fields,
Wheel tracks and faded haulm.
In the cold sea - pale jellyfish
And red underwater grass.
Fields and autumn. Sea and naked
Rock breaks. Here is the night and here we go
To the dark shore At sea - lethargy
In all its great mystery.
"Do you see water?" - "I see only mercury
Foggy brilliance ... "Neither heaven nor earth.
Only starlight hangs below us - in a muddy
Bottomless phosphorus dust.
Uncompressed strip
Nikolai Nekrasov
Late fall. The rooks flew away
The forest is bare, the fields are empty,
Only one strip is not compressed ...
She makes a sad thought.
It seems that the ears whisper to each other:
"It's boring for us to listen to the autumn blizzard,
It's boring to bend down to the ground,
Fat grains bathed in dust!
We are being ruined by villages every night
Every flying gluttonous bird,
The hare tramples us, and the storm beats us...
Where is our plowman? what else is waiting for?
Or are we born worse than others?
Or unfriendly blossomed-eared?
Not! we are no worse than others - and for a long time
Grain has been poured and ripened in us.
Not for the same he plowed and sowed
So that the autumn wind will dispel us? .. "
The wind brings them a sad answer:
- Your plowman has no urine.
He knew why he plowed and sowed,
Yes, he started the work beyond his strength.
Poor poor fellow - does not eat or drink,
The worm sucks his sick heart,
The hands that brought these furrows,
They dried up to a chip, hung like whips.
Like on a plow, leaning on your hand,
The plowman thoughtfully walked in a lane.
Poems about other seasons:
Bug
Agniya Barto
We didn't see the beetle
And the winter frames were closed,
And he's alive, he's still alive
Buzzing in the window
Spreading my wings...
And I call my mother for help:
-There's a live beetle!
Let's open the frame!
Sparrow
V. Stepanov
Autumn looked into the garden -
The birds have flown away.
Outside the window rustling in the morning
Yellow blizzards.
Under the feet of the first ice
Crumbles, breaks.
The sparrow in the garden will sigh
And sing -
He is shy.
Autumn
Konstantin Balmont
Cowberry ripens
The days got colder
And from the bird's cry
My heart became sadder.
Flocks of birds fly away
Away, beyond the blue sea.
All the trees are shining
In multi-colored attire.
The sun laughs less
There is no incense in flowers.
Autumn will wake up soon
And cry awake.
Autumn
Apollo Maykov
Covers a golden leaf
Wet ground in the forest...
I boldly trample with my foot
Spring forest beauty.
Cheeks burn with cold;
I like to run in the forest,
Hear the branches crack
Rake the leaves with your feet!
I have no former pleasures here!
The forest has taken a secret from itself:
The last nut is plucked
Tied the last flower;
Moss is not raised, not blown up
A pile of curly mushrooms;
Doesn't hang around the stump
Purple lingonberry brushes;
Long on the leaves, lies
The nights are frosty, and through the forest
Looks cold somehow
Clear skies...
Leaves rustle under foot;
Death spreads its harvest...
Only I have a cheerful soul
And like crazy, I sing!
I know, not without reason among the mosses
I tore an early snowdrop;
Down to autumn colors
Every flower I have met.
What the soul told them
What did they say to her?
I remember, breathing happiness,
In winter nights and days!
Leaves rustle underfoot...
Death spreads its harvest!
Only I am cheerful in soul -
And like crazy, I sing!
Autumn leaves are circling in the wind
Apollo Maykov
Autumn leaves circling in the wind
Autumn leaves cry out in alarm:
"Everything perishes, everything perishes! You are black and naked,
O dear forest, your end has come!"
The royal forest does not hear the alarm.
Under the dark azure of harsh skies
He was swaddled by mighty dreams,
And the strength for a new spring ripens in him.
autumn feeling
Nikolai Ogarev
You have already arrived, the sky is foggy,
You crumbled into a fine rain
You breathed cold, damp
In my sad land.
All the little birds flew away somewhere;
Only a crow, on a bare bough
Sitting, plaintively croaks, croaks -
And brings sadness to the heart.
How sad and cold!
How tight, poor thing, in the chest!
And he would be all in the distance, like a swallow,
I would like to go to a warm land ...
Do not be you, sad heart,
In these bright and warm lands,
You will be destroyed under gray clouds
And buried in cold snow.
November
Alexander Tvardovsky
The tree became more noticeable in the forest,
It is tidy and empty.
And naked as a panicle
Clogged with mud by the countryside,
Blown with hoar frost,
Trembling, whistling vine bush.
autumn
Athanasius Fet
When the through web
Spreads the threads of clear days
And under the villager's window
The distant Annunciation is more audible,
We are not sad, afraid again
Breath of near winter,
And the voice of the summer lived
We understand more clearly.
gold autumn
Boris Pasternak
Autumn. Fairy tale,
All open for review.
clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes
Like in an art exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden hoop gold -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
The face of a birch - under the veil
Wedding and transparent.
buried earth
Under foliage in ditches, pits.
In the yellow maples of the wing,
As if in gilded frames.
Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.
Where you can not step into the ravine,
So that everyone does not know:
So raging that not a step
A tree leaf underfoot.
Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echoes at the steep slope
And dawn cherry glue
Freezes in the form of a clot.
Autumn. ancient corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
Flips through the cold.
fall leaf lesson
And in pairs, in pairs after her,
For my dear teacher
Solemnly we leave the village.
And in the puddles from the lawns there was a lot of foliage!
"Look! On the dark Christmas trees in the undergrowth
Maple stars burn like pendants.
Bend over for the prettiest leaf
Veins of crimson on gold.
Remember everything, how the earth falls asleep,
And the wind covers it with leaves."
And in the maple grove lighter and lighter.
All new leaves fly off the branches.
We play and rush under the leaf fall
With a sad, thoughtful woman nearby.
Autumn seamstress
Tatyana Gusarova
So that the little earth winters without hassle,
Autumn sews a patchwork quilt for her.
The leaf is neatly sewn to the leaf,
The stitch adjusts with a pine needle.
Leaves to choose from - any will come in handy.
Here, next to the crimson lilac lies down.
Although very golden to the taste of the seamstress,
Will fit and brown, and even spotted.
The thread of the web fastens them carefully.
More beautiful than this, you will not find pictures.
Autumn
Minukhina K. (a poem by a schoolgirl of 8 years old)
Autumn - red-haired girl
Sews thinly thin outfits:
Red, burgundy, yellow sheets -
These are patches.
Offers you a thematic selection autumn poems. Autumn is one of the four seasons, which is very often associated with sadness in poetry, because summer warmth leaves and the winter cold is approaching, blue sky becomes gray, and all people are immersed in their thoughts and reflections, thus creating masterpieces of poetry - autumn poems about golden autumn.
Autumn poems about golden autumn
sad time! Oh charm!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the magnificent nature of wilting,
Forests clad in crimson and gold,
In their canopy of the wind noise and fresh breath,
And the heavens are covered with mist,
And a rare ray of sun, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
(Alexander Pushkin)
Autumn has come
dried flowers,
And look sad
Bare bushes.
Wither and turn yellow
Grass in the meadows
Only turns green
Winter in the fields.
A cloud covers the sky
The sun doesn't shine
The wind howls in the field
The rain is drizzling..
Noisy water
fast stream,
The birds have flown away
To warm climes.
(Alexey Pleshcheev)
Already the sky was breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less
The day was getting shorter
Forests mysterious canopy
She stripped naked with a sad noise.
Fog fell on the fields
Noisy geese caravan
Stretched to the south: approaching
Pretty boring time;
November was already at the yard.
(A. S. Pushkin)
Autumn looked into the garden -
The birds have flown away.
Outside the window rustling in the morning
Yellow blizzards.
Under the feet of the first ice
Crumbles, breaks.
The sparrow in the garden will sigh
And sing -
He is shy.
(V. Stepanov)
LEAF FALL
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful, colorful wall
It stands over a bright meadow.
Birches with yellow carving
Shine in blue azure,
Like towers, Christmas trees darken,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Clearances in the sky, that windows.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
During the summer it dried up from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
He enters his motley tower ...
(Ivan Bunin)
How good were sometimes spring bliss -
And the soft freshness of green grasses,
And leaves fragrant young shoots
On the branches of the quivering awakened oak forests,
And the day is a luxurious and warm radiance,
And bright colors gentle blend!
But you are closer to the heart, autumn tides,
When a tired forest on the soil of a compressed field
With a whisper, it blows away the old sheets,
And the sun later from the desert height,
The despondency of the bright is fulfilled, looks ...
So peaceful memory silently illuminates
And past happiness and past dreams.
(Nikolai Ogarev)
Cowberry ripens
The days got colder
And from the bird's cry
My heart became sadder.
Flocks of birds fly away
Away, beyond the blue sea.
All the trees are shining
In multi-colored attire.
The sun laughs less
There is no incense in flowers.
Autumn will wake up soon
And cry awake.
(Konstantin Balmont)
AUTUMN SONG
The summer has passed
Autumn has come.
In fields and groves
Empty and dull.
The birds have flown
The days got shorter
The sun is not visible
Dark, dark nights.
(Alexey Pleshcheev)
When the through web
Spreads the threads of clear days
And under the villager's window
The distant Annunciation is more audible,
We are not sad, afraid again
Breath of near winter,
And the voice of the summer lived
We understand more clearly.
(Afanasy Fet)
The tree became more noticeable in the forest,
It is tidy and empty.
And naked as a panicle
Clogged with mud by the countryside,
Blown with hoar frost,
Trembling, whistling vine bush.
(Alexander Tvardovsky)
Autumn leaves are circling in the wind
Autumn leaves cry out in alarm:
"Everything perishes, everything perishes! You are black and naked,
O dear forest, your end has come!"
The royal forest does not hear the alarm.
Under the dark azure of harsh skies
He was swaddled by mighty dreams,
And the strength for a new spring ripens in him.
(Apollon Maikov)
When the through web
Spreads the threads of clear days
And under the villager's window
The distant Annunciation is more audible,
We are not sad, afraid again
Breath of near winter,
And the voice of the summer lived
We understand more clearly.
(Afanasy Fet)
GOLD AUTUMN
Autumn. Fairy tale,
All open for review.
clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes
Like in an art exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden hoop gold -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
Birch face - under the veil
Wedding and transparent.
buried earth
Under foliage in ditches, pits.
In the yellow maples of the wing,
As if in gilded frames.
Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.
Where you can not step into the ravine,
So that everyone does not know:
So raging that not a step
A tree leaf underfoot.
Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echoes at the steep slope
And dawn cherry glue
Freezes in the form of a clot.
Autumn. ancient corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
Flips through the cold.
(Boris Pasternak)
The fields are compressed, the groves are bare,
Fog and damp from the water.
Wheel behind the blue mountains
The sun went down quietly.
The blasted road is slumbering.
She dreamed today
What is very, very little
It remains to wait for the gray winter ...
"
ON THE. Nekrasov ""
A.A. Fet ""
A.S. Pushkin ""
A.N. Block. " "
I.A. Bunin ""
K.D. Balmont. " "
A.S. Pushkin. "Autumn"
(excerpt)
October has already come - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has died - the road freezes through.
The murmuring stream still runs behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
In the departing fields with his hunt,
And they suffer winter from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes the sleeping oak forests.
A.N. Maikov. "Autumn leaves are circling in the wind..."
Autumn leaves are circling in the wind
Autumn leaves cry out in alarm:
“Everything is dying, everything is dying! You are black and naked
O our dear forest, your end has come!
The royal forest does not hear the alarm.
Under the dark azure of harsh skies
He was swaddled by mighty dreams,
And the strength for a new spring ripens in him.
F.I. Tyutchev "There are originally in autumn ..."
Is in the autumn of the original
Short but wonderful time -
The whole day stands as if crystal,
And radiant evenings ...
The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard,
But far from the first winter storms
And pure and warm azure pours
On the resting field…
A.N. Pleshcheev. "Autumn Song"
The summer has passed
Autumn has come.
In fields and groves
Empty and dull.
The birds have flown
The days got shorter
The sun is not visible
Dark, dark nights.
A.N. Pleshcheev. "Autumn"
Autumn has come
dried flowers,
And look sad
Bare bushes.
Wither and turn yellow
Grass in the meadows
Only turns green
Winter in the fields.
A cloud covers the sky
The sun doesn't shine
The wind howls in the field
The rain is pouring…
Noisy water
fast stream,
The birds have flown away
To warm climes.
M.A. Voloshin. "Autumn"
rye paint,
The air is clean;
Curls in a dance
Red leaf, -
It's autumn
Further, please,
hums of pines,
Vetok whistle.
The wind tends
row of willows,
The leaves are driving
And whirl
Whirlwind rati,
And on the slope
tumbleweed
The field is rushing.
The waters are muddy
Gomit gam,
Roaring, spinning
Here and there -
over the highlands,
plateaus,
Lukomoryam
And the seas.
Wrap the dust
Through the fields
Whirlwinds whirred
Ashes;
someone's hands
strained,
Like bows,
poplars.
In the sea will spin -
Veer gets up
The water will pull
will buzz
Tearing to pieces
boat tackle,
Breathe in the mouth
Foamy waters.
Up, into the scarlet
Sun disk -
Millions
Scarlet spray!
Comb waving,
ebb jet,
horse mane,
Foam squeal...
A.N. Maikov. "Autumn"
Covers a golden leaf
Wet ground in the forest...
I boldly trample with my foot
Spring forest beauty.
Cheeks burn with cold;
I like to run in the forest,
Hear the branches crack
Rake the leaves with your feet!
I have no former pleasures here!
The forest has taken a secret from itself:
The last nut is plucked
Tied the last flower;
Moss is not raised, not blown up
A pile of curly mushrooms;
Doesn't hang around the stump
Purple lingonberry brushes;
Long on the leaves, lies
The nights are frosty, and through the forest
Looks cold somehow
Clear skies...
Leaves rustle under foot;
Death spreads its harvest...
Only I have a cheerful soul
And like crazy, I sing!
I know, not without reason among the mosses
I tore an early snowdrop;
Down to autumn colors
Every flower I have met.
What the soul told them
What they said to her - I remember, breathing with happiness,
In winter nights and days!
Leaves rustle underfoot...
Death spreads its harvest!
Only I am cheerful in soul - And, like a madman, I sing!
A.S. Pushkin "A sad time! Eye charm!
Sad time! Oh charm!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the magnificent nature of wilting,
Forests clad in crimson and gold,
In their canopy of the wind noise and fresh breath,
And the heavens are covered with mist,
And a rare ray of sun, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
A.N. Pleshcheev. "Boring Picture"
Boring picture!
Clouds without end
The rain is pouring down
Puddles on the porch…
stunted rowan
Wet under the window
Looks village
Gray spot.
What are you visiting early
Autumn, come to us?
Still asks the heart
Light and warmth!
ON THE. Nekrasov. "Before the Rain"
A mournful wind drives
I flock clouds to the edge of heaven,
Broken spruce groans,
The dark forest whispers dully.
On the stream, pockmarked and motley,
A leaf flies after a leaf,
And a stream dry and sharp
The cold is coming.
Twilight falls on everything;
Flying from all sides,
Whirling in the air with a cry
A flock of jackdaws and crows.
Above the roadway
The top is lowered, the front is closed;
And "went!" - standing up with a whip,
The gendarme shouts to the driver...
I.A. Bunin. "Leaf fall"
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful, colorful wall
It stands over a bright meadow.
Birches with yellow carving
Shine in blue azure,
Like towers, Christmas trees darken,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Clearances in the sky, that windows.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
During the summer it dried up from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
He enters his motley tower ...
ON THE. Nekrasov "Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous…”
Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous
Air tired forces invigorates;
The ice is fragile on the icy river
As if melting sugar lies;
Near the forest, as in a soft bed,
You can sleep - peace and space! -
The leaves have not faded yet,
Yellow and fresh lie like a carpet...
A.A. Fet "Swallows are gone ..."
The swallows are gone
And yesterday dawn
All the rooks flew
Yes, how the network flickered
Over that mountain.
In the evening everyone sleeps
It's dark outside.
The leaf falls dry
At night the wind is angry
Yes, knock on the window.
It would be better if snow and blizzard
Happy to meet you!
As if in fear
Shouting out to the south
The cranes are flying.
You will leave - willy-nilly
It's hard - even cry!
Looking across the field
Tumbleweed
Jumps like a ball.
A.S. Pushkin "Already the sky was breathing in autumn ..."
Already the sky was breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less
The day was getting shorter
Forests mysterious canopy
She stripped naked with a sad noise.
Fog fell on the fields
Noisy geese caravan
Stretched to the south: approaching
Pretty boring time;
November was already at the yard.
A.N. Block. "Bunny"
little bunny
On a damp valley
Before the eyes were amused
White flowers...
burst into tears in autumn
thin blades,
Paws are advancing
On yellow leaves.
Gloomy, rainy
Autumn has come,
Removed all the cabbage
Nothing to steal.
The poor bunny is jumping
Near the wet pines
Scary in the paws of the wolf
Gray to get ...
Thinking about summer
presses his ears,
Squinting at the sky -
Can't see the sky...
Just to be warmer
Just to dry...
Very unpleasant
Walk on water!
I.A. Bunin "It's raining, cold, like ice ..."
It's raining, cold as ice,
Leaves are spinning across the fields,
And geese in a long caravan
They fly over the forest.
But the days go by. And now the smoke
Rise like pillars at dawn,
The forests are scarlet, motionless,
Earth in frosty silver
And in ermine shugai,
Wash your pale face,
Meeting the last day in the forest,
Autumn comes out on the porch.
The yard is empty and cold. At the gate
Among two dried aspens,
She can see the blue of the valleys
And the expanse of the desert swamp,
Road to the Far South:
There from winter storms and blizzards,
From the winter cold and blizzard
The birds have long since departed;
There and Autumn in the Morning
He will direct his lonely path
And forever in an empty forest
The open tower will leave its own.
K.D. Balmont. "Autumn"
Cowberry ripens
The days got colder
And from the bird's cry
My heart became sadder.
Flocks of birds fly away
Away, beyond the blue sea.
All the trees are shining
In multi-colored attire.
The sun laughs less
There is no incense in flowers.
Autumn will wake up soon
And cry awake.
There is probably no such person in Russia who from childhood did not remember at least the first four lines of one of the most famous poems about autumn:
1 Autumn has come,
2 dried flowers,
3 And they look sad
4 bare bushes.
5 Fading and turning yellow
6 Grass in the meadows,
7 Only turns green
8 Winter in the fields.
9 A cloud covers the sky,
10 The sun does not shine,
11 The wind howls in the field,
12 It's raining.
13 Noisy water
14 fast stream,
15 The birds have flown away
16 To warmer climes.
And in many anthologies, since the 1960s. (Chrestomathy for older children preschool age: For reading, storytelling and children's amateur performances / Comp. R.I. Zhukovskaya, L.A. Penevskaya. M.: Education, 1968. S. 133; Reader for children of senior preschool age / Comp. R.I. Zhukovskaya, L.A. Penevskaya. 2nd ed., revised and enlarged. M.: Education, 1972. S. 135; Seasons. Reader for the little ones / Compiled by B.G. Sviridov. Rostov n/D, 2000, p. 10), and Alexei Nikolaevich Pleshcheev is named as the author of this work on various Internet resources. The problem, however, lies in the fact that this poem is not in any of the collected works of A.N. It is not included in the composition of Pleshcheev's prose and dramatic works, as well as among translations.
Therefore, the tasks arose, firstly, to find the real author, secondly, to determine who, when and under what circumstances attributed this text to Pleshcheev, and, finally, thirdly, how the transmission of false authorship was carried out in time.
You need to start with how the search ended: for the first time this poem, entitled "Autumn", was published in the book: Our dear. Russian and Church Slavonic primer and collection of articles for exercises in Russian and Church Slavonic reading, with samples for writing, material for independent writing exercises and drawings in the text. [First year of study]” (St. Petersburg, 1885, p. 44). The author and compiler of the textbook was the inspector of the Moscow educational district Alexei Grigorievich Baranov (1844 - 1911).
The book - from the point of view of authorship - was compiled by Baranov from texts of three types: a) indicating the authorship or source from which the text was reprinted; b) with three asterixes instead of the author's surname (these are texts unknown authors, obviously, existed in oral transmission); c) texts whose authors are not named at all. By tradition, the latter category includes those texts that were composed by the compilers of textbooks - for example, A.A. Radonezhsky, the author of numerous books “for initial reading”, published in the 1870s, specifically mentioned this in a special note to the table of contents. Baranov does not have such a reservation, but, apparently, he, like K.D. Ushinsky in his classic books, composed a number of prose passages and even poems himself. In any case, review de visu of a number of earlier educational anthologies, collections, anthologies and magazines of the text “Autumn has come. The flowers dried up" did not reveal, and with enough a high degree probability, it can be argued that the author of the text is A.G. Baranov, for what reason the poem "Autumn" in the textbook compiled by him appeared for the first time. As a result, the story is repeated with R.A. Kudasheva’s poem “Yolka” (1903), the author of which was unknown until 1941.
Incidentally, a look at children's magazines showed that poetic production similar to the "autumn" theme and simplified style in the 1880s. existed: Baranov only supported the tradition, acting as an imitator. For example, the peasant poet Spiridon Drozhzhin owns the poem “In Autumn” (Toy. 1881. No. 42. 25 Oct. S. 1420): “Howls, howls / The wind is colder, / Fades, fades / The beauty of the fields. // The clouds parted / In the depths of the sky, / The dense darkened / And the green forest ... // Seen in sheaves / Full threshing floor, / Splashes under the flails / Ripe grain ... // The sun does not rise early / In the morning it rises, / Dimly from the fog / Beam on pours the earth // And soon lies down; / So that, having finished work, / Could calm down / Baptized people are with him. The size is the same - X3 ZHMZHM.
A certain V. Lvov wrote a long poem “Autumn in the Village” (Toy. 1880. No. 38. 5 Oct. S. 1188 - 1192), from which I will give a small fragment: forest; // The leaves have crumbled, / They lie in heaps, / And the trees are bare / They look gloomily. // The nightingale does not sing / Late at times, / And rushed off across the sea / A free swarm of birds. // Boring / Compressed fields have been emptied, / And plowed under the winter / Loose land. // The sun shines dimly / Through the fog in the morning, / The nights have become dark, / The evenings are long. // Often the rain is intrusive / It pours like a bucket, / It blew cold / And it's time to drown.
In addition to the general imitation of the cited production, one cannot fail to notice the connections of Baranov’s poem with Pushkin in verses 1 (“October has already come ...”) and 9 (“A storm covers the sky with darkness ...”), with Pleshcheev in verses 6 - 7 (“The grass is turning green ...”) and with Apollon Grigoriev in verse 11 ("The evening is sultry, the wind howls"). This kind of unreflected rapprochement and similarity is characteristic of the texts of dilettantes who have a lot of poetry on their lips. As for the emotional coloring of the text, one can suspect the neurotic state of the author, who focuses only on the sad sides autumn changes, metaphorically associated with death: bushes, flowers, grass, hidden by a cloud and the "dead" sky, hidden and also "dead" sun, flying birds. Signs of seasonal change are forced into the poem and treated almost like a catastrophe; perhaps they express the inner state of the author, in any case, there is a large field for interpretation, associated, for example, with traumas of childhood.
There are other texts in Baranov's book that he himself composed for the textbook, for example, the prose “The Orphan's Prayer” and “Admission to School”: “Summer has passed. Autumn has come. The field work is over. It's time for the guys to study, ”etc. In addition to "Autumn" Baranov composed a poem "Winter" - written by the dull Y4 ZHMZHM and, again, a sad variation on the theme “ winter morning» Pushkin:
The cold winter has come
Fluffy snow flies from heaven;
The river was frozen with frost;
The dark forest looks sad.
Grass is no longer green
Meadows, valleys and hills...
Wherever you look: everywhere it turns white,
Everywhere glitters the cover of winter.
Baranov's poem "Autumn" was also included in subsequent editions of "Our Dear". In parallel, Baranov included "Autumn" in the educational manual "Russian primer with material for initial reading, memorization and written exercises", the first edition of which was published in 1887.
As for the texts of unknown authors, which are included in "Our Dear" (1885 and subsequent editions), each of them can be independently searched, similar to that carried out in relation to Baranov's "Autumn". These, for example, include poems by unknown authors “Literacy” (“A letter from a grandson / Received by Fedot: / His grandson is far away / Lives in the city”) and “On the eve of the holiday” (“The sun is setting / And the day is getting dark; / It fell from the mountain / There is a shadow on the village”). It is possible that Baranov reproduced works from those textbooks that he himself studied in childhood (1850s). By the way, the alteration of "Literacy" was included in the book of prison lyrics "Russian Villons" (Moscow, 2001; compilers and authors of the preface A.G. Bronnikov and V.A. Mayer).
A few words must be said about Baranov himself. At the request of S.A. Vengerov for the "Critical Biographical Dictionary of Russian Writers and Scientists" (St. Petersburg, 1897 - 1904. T. VI. S. 392 - 397), Baranov wrote an autobiography, from which it follows that he was a man of great determination . He came from a serf family: his parents were serfs of S.P. Fonvizin, the owner of the village of Spassky, Klinsky district, Moscow province, and he was the very “yard boy” mentioned by Pushkin. When, in 1851, Fonvizin's daughter, Natalya Sergeevna, arrived in Spasskoye, saw the boy, she wished to take him to her Moscow house, and at the age of 7, Alexei was forcibly separated from his mother (who, by the way, was the nurse of Natalya Sergeevna and, so Thus, Natalya Sergeevna and Alexei were dairy sister and brother) and sent to Moscow to the master's house. An interesting detail noted by Baranov in his autobiography: “As soon as winter path, I was sent with carts to Moscow, where N.S. Rzhevskaya lived. Perhaps that is why the transition of autumn into winter, reflected in two of Baranov's poems, was fixed in his mind as a symbol of the trauma caused by the forced separation from his mother and home. It should also not be forgotten that M.N. Pokrovsky called the 1880s - and "Autumn" was written in 1885 - the era of a new serfdom for the peasants, citing a lot of concrete evidence (Pokrovsky M.N. Russian history in the most concise essay Moscow, 1934, part 1 – 2, pp. 153 – 154).
FROM early years Alexey strove for learning, and in 1855 Natalya Sergeevna assigned a serf boy, whom she clearly favored, to a parish school, and in 1858 to the 2nd grade of a gymnasium (at that time D.S. Rzhevsky, husband Natalya Sergeevna), and for the legality of his stay in the gymnasium, she freed him from serfdom, not much ahead of the course of history (“later known figures A.M. Unkovsky and A.A. Golovachev signed on the dismissal certificate as witnesses”). In 1864, Alexei Baranov graduated from the gymnasium with a gold medal and entered the Moscow University in the mathematical department of the Faculty of Physics and Mathematics. In 1868 he graduated from the university with a candidate's degree, after which he devoted himself entirely to teaching. By the way, while still a student, he taught in the families of the Dyakov sisters: Princess Alexandra Alekseevna Obolenskaya and Maria Alekseevna Sukhotina. “I remember these families, Baranov noted in his autobiography, only with a feeling of the deepest gratitude for the beneficial influence they had on my moral development.” Baranov's connections with people of the literary circle could not be identified.
In 1875 - 1885. Baranov served as the director of the teacher's seminary in Torzhok, and in 1885 he became an inspector of the Moscow educational district. It was in Torzhok that the textbook “Our Dear” was prepared, which included a poem that became so famous much later. Explaining the need to prepare new manuals for teaching reading, Baranov emphasized that the existing textbooks did not fully meet the needs. This also applied to Ushinsky's books "Native Word" and " Child's world":" the first of them was intended by the author for home schooling of children in intelligent families, and the second - for students of secondary educational institutions.
From one of the editions of “Our Dear”, the text of the poem “Autumn” (with reference to Baranov’s book) was reprinted in the “Book for Reading in Public Schools in the North-Western Territory of Russia with a Russian and Church Slavonic primer and material for independent written exercises. The first year of study ”(Vilna, 1896. P. 41 - 42), compiled by N.F. Odintsov and V.S. Bogoyavlensky. They also placed the text in the “First Book” prepared by them for reading in parochial schools and literacy schools. Year of the 1st education ”(St. Petersburg, 1899. P. 40), published by the school council at the Holy Synod. Everywhere the text of the poem about autumn was printed as anonymous, neither the authorship of Baranov, nor - even more so - the authorship of Pleshcheev, was noted.
It is important to note the reissue of 1899 only because the author of the musical album “Children's Fun: A Collection of Songs for School-Age Children” (M., 1902. Part 1. S. 7) took verses for children's songs from it, composer I.S. Khodorovsky . It was he who first attributed the authorship of the text to A.N. Pleshcheev, and just after 1902, a tradition arose to publish the text of the poem “Autumn” as belonging to A.N. Pleshcheev.
It can be assumed why Khodorovsky made this mistake: in the “First Reading Book” prepared by Odintsov and Bogoyavlensky, from which Khodorovsky took poetic lyrics for songs (he emphasized this at the beginning of the album), two poems were printed on page 40: - firstly, the anonymous "Autumn" (with reference in the table of contents to Baranov's "Our Dear" as the primary source), and, secondly, A.N. Pleshcheev's poem "Autumn" is actually a work written by Pleshcheev, and, in the table of contents opposite the The page contains the name of the poet. Most likely, having inattentively read the table of contents of the book, the composer decided that Pleshcheev was the author of both poetic texts printed on page 40.
The same mistake (on their own or with the help of I.S. Khodorovsky) was made by Fedor Pavlovich Borisov and Nikolai Ivanovich Lavrov. Since 1906, with annual reprints, the book “The New Folk School. The first book after the primer for class reading in elementary schools and at home, compiled by a “circle of teachers edited by F. Borisov and N. Lavrov,” in which Pleshcheev was invariably named as the author. After that, for more than 100 years, the author of “Autumn has come. The flowers have dried up" was Pleshcheev. Naturally, reprinting a poem by a famous poet is much more respectable than an anonymous text.
However, in 1914 two editions appeared in which the poem "Autumn" was published as anonymous: firstly, this is the reader "The Living Word", compiled by a group of teachers from Moscow city schools, edited by A.A. Soldin, and, secondly, secondly, an album of children's songs to the music of C.A. Cui (op. 97, edition of the magazine "Firefly"; in the Russian Journal Fund of the Russian National Library, the album is attached to the annual set of the magazine).
AT Soviet time the poem was first reprinted in the textbook for preschool teachers and kindergarten teachers "The Living Word to a Preschooler" (M., 1945). Here Pleshcheev was again named the author of the text. The editor of the book was Associate Professor E.A. Flerina, the compilers in addition to her were also M.K. Bogolyubskaya and A.L.Tabenkina.
By the way, it can be assumed that after the release of the anthology, the fallacy of attribution became clear, therefore, in two subsequent editions (Reader on children's literature: Tutorial for preschool pedagogical schools / Compiled by M.K. Bogolyubskaya, A.L. Tabenkina. M., 1948; Artistic word for a preschooler: A manual for kindergarten teachers. 2nd edition, revised / Compiled by M.K. Bogolyubskaya, A.L. Tabenkina, E.A. Flerina. Edited by Corr. APN of the RSFSR E.A. Flerina. M., 1952) this poem does not exist at all.
Evgenia Alexandrovna Flyorina (1889 - 1952) remained in the history of literature as a persecutor of children's poems by Chukovsky and Marshak, which she called "defective literature". “The tendency to amuse a child, tomfoolery, anecdote, sensation and tricks even in serious, socio-political topics - this is nothing more than distrust of the topic and distrust of the child, with whom they do not want to talk seriously about serious things” (Flerina E One must speak seriously with a child // Literaturnaya Gazeta, 1929. December 30, No. 37, p. Another merit of Flerina is the erroneous attribution of the authorship of the text about the coming autumn to Pleshcheev, which had consequences (entering the history of literature with two major mistakes is also a success). In fact, there is nothing surprising in the attribution: pedagogical activity Flerina began in 1909, and just during this period the “New Folk School” was published, compiled by a “circle of teachers edited by F. Borisov and N. Lavrov”, where Pleshcheev was called the author of the poem.
It was with the support of the reading book of 1945, edited by Flerina, that, for example, a translation of the poem into Belarusian appeared, indicating the authorship of Pleshcheev (Twelve months: Schoolboy Calendar. 1947. Listapad<ноябрь>. Minsk. 1947<Без пагинации, оборот листа за 11 ноября>), and in 1962 - a solid reader "Our book: A collection for reading in kindergarten”(compilers N. Karpinskaya and P. Dymshits. M., 1962. S. 188), where Pleshcheev was also named the author (since there were no public denials of Pleshcheev’s authorship, noted in the reader of 1945, there was). Moreover, in 1962 and 1964 In two editions, the "Kindergarten Education Program" was issued, approved by the Ministry of Education of the RSFSR, in which this poem was attributed to Pleshcheev and recommended for memorization. It is noteworthy, however, that this poem has not been published in any of the Soviet school textbooks since the 1930s. But in parallel with the school one, a preschool subculture developed, and after entering the compulsory kindergarten program in 1962, no one had any doubts about the authorship of the text “Autumn has come”. The poem itself, memorized back in kindergarten, eventually became so popular that it entered school folklore in obscene alterations - a fate that befell only the most famous and beloved: “Autumn has come, / There are no more sheets, / And they look sad / Damn bushes. // I'll go outside, / I'll put x.y in a puddle - / Let it crush the tractor, / I don't need it anyway ”(Russian school folklore: From“ challenges ” Queen of Spades to family stories / Compiled by A.F. Belousov. M., 1998. S. 449). By the way, here the traumatic-neurotic overtones of the original are accurately captured and translated into modern language psychoanalysis.
The plot will not be complete without considering one more poem, which is also posted on the Internet and falsely attributed to Pleshcheev. It's called "Autumn Song":
The summer has passed
Autumn has come.
In fields and groves
Empty and dull.
The birds have flown
The days got shorter
The sun is not visible
Dark, dark nights.
This text has nothing to do with A.N. Pleshcheev, for the first time the second stanza appeared in the “Primer” by Alexandra Vladimirovna Yankovskaya (b. 1883) and Elizaveta Georgievna Carlsen, released in Moscow in 1937 (there are also in subsequent editions). The author of the text was not listed in the Primer. With a slight change in the last verse, the second stanza was reprinted in the magazine " preschool education"(1938. No. 11. P. 71) as an appendix to the article by L. Zavodova "Correction of speech defects in children." It is possible that the second stanza was composed by one of the authors of the Primer or reproduced from childhood memories, and the first stanza with the iconic line “Autumn has come” and the old rhyme “it has come - sadly” arose later as “ folk art". The result was a derivative of the poem by A.G. Baranov.
Poems about autumn by A.N. Pleshcheev are especially dear to our hearts. What are you, autumn, in a hurry to come so early? The heart still asks for warmth and light. Birdies! We are sorry for your sonorous songs. Don't fly to warmer climes, wait!
"Autumn Song"
The summer has passed
Autumn has come.
In fields and groves
Empty and dull.
The birds have flown
The days got shorter
The sun is not visible
Dark, dark nights.
Alexei Nikolaevich Pleshcheev, a descendant of an old Russian noble family, was born on November 22, 1825 in Kostroma. He spent his childhood in Nizhny Novgorod where the father brought the two-year-old boy. In 1838, the young Pleshcheev went to St. Petersburg, where he entered the University.
"Children and Bird"
"Bird! We are sorry for your ringing songs!
Don’t fly away from us… Wait!”
"Lovely little ones! From your side
Colds and rains drive me.
Out in the trees, on the roof of the gazebo
How many friends are waiting for me!
Tomorrow you will still sleep, children,
And we're all heading south.
There is no cold now, no rain,
The wind does not tear the leaves from the branches,
The sun doesn't hide in the clouds...
“Soon, birdie, will you return to us?”
"I am with a stock of new songs
I will return to you when from the fields
The snow will come down when in the ravine
Bubbling, shining, stream-
And start under the spring sun
All nature come alive...
I'll be back when, little ones,
You will be reading!”
Leaving the University, Pleshcheev devotes himself literary activity, first as a poet, and then as a prose writer. His first poems and stories were published in the Notes of the Fatherland in 1847 and 1848.
"Autumn"
Autumn has come
dried flowers,
And look sad
Bare bushes.
Wither and turn yellow
Grass in the meadows
Only turns green
Winter in the fields.
A cloud covers the sky
The sun doesn't shine
The wind howls in the field
The rain is drizzling..
Noisy water
fast stream,
The birds have flown away
To warm climes.
Many hardships befell the Russian poet Pleshcheev. Need, constantly pursuing him, undermined his health.
His meek muse never lied, and this was her great merit. Pleshcheev was not looking for popularity. She herself went to him. From his personality emanated warmth, truthfulness. How was it not to love his poetry? The sounds of his songs came straight from the heart.
"Autumn"
I recognize you, the time is dull:
These short, pale days
Long nights, rainy, dark,
And destruction everywhere you look.
Faded leaves fall from the tree,
In the field, turning yellow, the bushes drooped;
Endless clouds float across the sky...
Autumn is boring! .. Yes, it's you!
I recognize you, the time is dull,
Time of heavy and bitter worries:
The heart that once loved so passionately
Presses the deadening doubt oppression;
Extinguish in it quietly one after another
Youth proud holy dreams,
And gray hair breaks through ...
Boring old age!.. Yes, it's you!
"A boring picture..."
Boring picture!
Clouds without end
The rain is pouring down
Puddles on the porch…
stunted rowan
Wet under the window
Looks village
Gray spot.
What are you visiting early
Autumn, come to us?
Still asks the heart
Light and warmth!
1860
