Old women are falling from the sky. Masha Rupasova

It seems to me that children's poetry is much closer to our origins. It's like an ancient howl around a fire, still pre-verbal muttering, buzzing, rhythms, to which our ancestors swayed in a cave. The child mentally "winds" around this rhythm. At this age, poetry is very important.

They say,
they say
Many years ago
Falling from the sky
old ladies!
It was an old lady.

landed
Light,
Only an asterisk
In the hand.
Only an asterisk and a gingerbread
Only roses on a scarf<…>.

"They say". "Old women fell from the sky" (2015).

Masha Rupasova lives in Canada, she is a former beauty blogger, the author of two poetic children's books (“Old women fell from the sky” and “Everything in the garden!”) And a foster mother little boy. As a child, she loved Mine Reed, Astrid Lindgren, Alexandra Brushtein, and adults read poetry. With his son Max, he likes to read Kharms.

‒ When Max was little, children's poems annoyed me a lot. It seemed to sound different and not at all about what I want to tell him. That's probably why I started writing myself. And Kharms was as close as possible to the desired intonation. We bought up all Kharms, including a wonderful edition with illustrations by Igor Oleinikov. Slowly we began to collect a good poetry library. And finally, I found poets that I like: Mikhail Yasnov, Marina Boroditskaya, Nastya Orlova, Yulia Simbirskaya, Dasha Gerasimova. We also read the classics, starting with Pushkin and ending with Mikhalkov and Marshak, but Kharms is the main thing.

Masha writes children's poems not only for the little ones. She also thinks of adults who will find in her books empathy for the hard work of being parents. And Masha is not afraid to talk to readers about difficult things.

Our old cat
lost
Appetite.
Mom seems to
What a cat
This night
Will fly away.
very old cats
Not afraid of heights
And fly
Above the sky,
Fluffing out your tails.
The sun warms their sides
pours milk,
And cats have feathers -
Golden clouds.
Good for cats in the sky.
Good for cats in the sky.
Our cat, wait a minute
And stay another half day.
Look,
Look,
Look at me.

"It's time for the cat."

Masha Rupasova's poems are light, melodic, flowing like a river. The influence of her favorite adult poets is noticeable. And the humor in them is childish, punning, similar to childish babble through laughter: “- What are you cooking, Crow? - I'm Cooking Macarrons, To make a Wonderful Nest out of them later!

I often laugh at

In 2015, the debut collection of poems by Masha Rupasova “Old Women Fell From the Sky” was called by many, not without reason, a discovery. This gave the aspiring poetess faith in own forces and served additional incentive to creativity.“I can’t express how happy I am to become a children’s poet, - Masha confesses.- Everything that I was punished for in my childhood, everything that was mocked without malice or maliciously, now turned out to be necessary and in demand. It turns out that I have always been a children's poet, only before they scolded me for it - do not be distracted, do not invent, do not talk nonsense, stop composing God knows what - and now they praise me for the same thing and invite me to give an interview.

Most of the poems that we publish will be included in the new, already third in a row, poetry collection by Masha Rupasova, which is being prepared for publication by the AST publishing house.

FISH GENTLE

I loved
sturgeon
And was
His sister.
And I myself was
Young
Flounder.

you see
us
we could
In the shop
fresh fish:

Catfish live there now,
And recently
lived
We.

We were friends
Didn't grieve
They circled behind their glass,
But
One old woman
And her friend
They decided to buy us
To
Boil soup.

We said:
- Well, I do not,
We
not dinner
no lunch!
waved
fins,
pretended
clouds

And to the sky
Bul-boo-boo -
We
sailed away
From grannies.

lions

Like on the streets of Moscow
On the good streets
The stone lions slumber
They squint at cars.

And when people are tired
Locks with a clang of the door,
Jump off pedestals
White marble animals.

And jumping - wow! -
They rush to Yauza happy,
And the most beautiful
Their shining manes.

lions bathe,
run,
Raise their faces to the sky
Freeze on the run
And the river them further
Dreaming.

LUNNY TRAM

Red-yellow-striped
Rode across the sky
Tram.
The nosed one rested in it,
slutty
Loaf.

He glowed
Good-naturedly:
Every lunar holiday
He is in an airless space
Worked with Luna.

And the moon
I put on a cape
Quiet
touched
gate
And entered someone's garden,
Full of singing cicadas.

In someone's sleepy
Tired,
The moon went to someone's garden,
Where the peonies sway
getting heavier
From sleep.

LOVE

spider
Spiders
She said:
- Bye bye everyone!
none of you
No heart
And I won't give up a paw.

many of you
I'm alone,
Like the moon on a thread -
I
on the poplar
rocking
And in love with him.

Nothing is sorry for you
My poplar!
Take a look:
I am for you
Tied a shawl
From autumn
threads,
From thin
Love:
Want -
catch midges,
Want -
wallow in sorrow
Yes tea me
Call.

EVENING ELEPHANT

At the elephant-elephant-elephant
Freeze side
Northern most,
The most
stubborn
Since this side
Very much
in love
Into the lonely
moon.
And the elephant has to -
Instead of sleeping in a night blanket -
hanging over
On the balcony
Toy
elephantine
part,
What aspires
Luckily.

In slippers
put on shoes
And loves the moon.

And moon-moon-moon,
Like a pearl is pale
Ignoring the county
Looks
only
on an elephant.

So they freeze
Tet-a-tet
In snow white
darkness,
So they look -
Very tender,
So they breathe in the void.

WE ARE WITH YOU

We cast shadows
We live in such
Big -
Very sunny -
System
And we eat
Noodles.

Our ponies
trim pom pony,
Know smart words
And in a pot
On the balcony
turns green
Tryn grass.

We are walking
Museums
And we eat our food
And trustingly stare
To the North Star.

Our ponies
trim pom pony,
They carry important tails.
Our songs on the balcony
And lengthy
And simple.

From the book that Masha is working on now: "... This is for very little ones - a book about kissel banks and the people inhabiting them."

LULLABY FOR PASTILE

Mama-pastila sang:

Outside the window - winter is white.
Sugar falls from heaven
Will turn white
old forest,
Will turn white
Old fox...
Gray cat -
Kitty Kitty -
Will turn white in the morning.

sleep
Pastila baby.
You are white in winter.
Do you hear
sleepy bleating
White sheep?
Soon dreams will come in a crowd,
And warm us with you
stone oven,
Sleep!

HARVEST

golden pretzels
Pulled up the belts
Yes smashed
vegetable garden
At the dairy by the river.

planted
Into the ground
crumbs
From potato cake!
And in the morning -
One-two -
Tops have risen!

Yes, big - look -
Who wants to chest!

And in the evening
pretzels,
Not small, not big
Three buckets of sweet potatoes
Dug out by the river.

And for the whole baptized world
They threw a feast
Feast!
The guests drank, the guests ate
For thirty-three weeks.

MEETING WITH HALVA

Once in the steering wheel-shuttle
Sailed
Drying on the river.

Past the island of Buyana,
Past the sweet weeds
Past the sleeping pies
Between the kissel banks.

Suddenly, unexpectedly
unexpectedly
From weeds, from weeds
seemed
Head!
And disappeared -
Live-two.

Poppy drying
Ears pricked up:

This someone's head
Absolutely
Wrong!
Why did she disappear
Showing us barely?

Sweet sugar weed
strange feeling
Obuyan,
These are the words he said:
- This is a wild halva!

Afternoon
She sits in the bushes
Like a robber and bandit.
And I don't want to be friends with anyone
Only in a pipe
Dudit.

DRYING WITH A SECRET

Drying, darling,
Who is your girlfriend?

I won't say
I will not say,
Who do I play with?

Maybe -
It -
Mint candy?

No no!
I will not say!
I won't say
Who am I friends with?

Maybe it's pasta
What was your guest?

No no!
I will not say,
I won't say anything
Break up, break up
I'm out of here!

Drying refused
Be a poem!
Drying
Turned out
In the lake with jam!
There she is
dives,
Waiting for his girlfriend:
white,
crispy,
Fresh beetroot.

WELL, OKAY

It knows
old and young:
Lived on a hill
Marmalade -
In a marmalade bowl
Not far from the river.

One morning
Early in the morning
He
Catil
Home
bagel,
After all, there was
He needs
Round wife.

He rolled her, rolled ...
And accidentally released!
And the bagel past -
Wow!
And from the cliff into the river -
Plop!

Well, okay, marmalade! -
Pulled up the groom
Pants.
- Well, okay, marmalade,
Let's get by
Without a wife.

Poems are published
with the kind permission of the author

Maria Rupasova. Old women fell from the sky
Artist: Yulia Somina
AST, 2015
http://www.labirint.ru/books/494495/?p=11352
🔥 Additional 20% discount

Mom is at home? Mom is not.
Mom went online.

Mom searches on the Internet,
How are things in the world.

He drinks coffee, leads with his eyes:
What is going on in the world?

Mom, I'll tell you!
In the world I happen!

Having accidentally discovered such a poem, I wanted to get to know the author closer, wider and more thoroughly. Therefore, the collection of poems by Masha Rupasova “Old women fell from the sky” from the AST publishing house from the Manyunya and Others series is read with great pleasure by the whole family: first, mother for herself, quietly giggling, then for general public(daughters and dads) with expression.

In my opinion, this book, marked as 6+, can be easily read to children from birth - all poems are very simple in rhythm and accessible in terms of subject matter. The most mischievous grandmothers (“They say, they say: / many years ago / old women fell from the sky! / It was an old woman’s fall”), an enterprising crow with a “nest” of spaghetti (“It is shaped like a trough, / only there is a roof on top! / If you’re too lazy to rummage through the garbage, / you can eat this roof”), thunder in green boots, freshly brewed soup, Tolik’s table (“We bought a table in the kitchen. / This table was called Tolik. / Tolik was a strange table: / sometimes he took it and went, / and wandered around the country / with our porridge on his back") - these funny characters want to quote endlessly!

The book is made absolutely impeccably: in hardcover, with a cover covered with a sensory mesh, the format is slightly smaller than A4, 64 coated pages, due to which the book does not become heavier, as with offset, but is qualitatively compact and convenient. Yulia Somina's illustrations at first seemed strange to me, as if drawn by a small child, but then I realized that this is the "highlight" of the execution of this book, adding to it even more mischief and childish naivety.

Like many reviewers of Labyrinth, I did not quite like the comparison of these poems with Agnia Barto, because let the classics remain intact, but modern children's authors have a place to be, but in a different “qualification category”, because these poems are different.

We liked almost all the poems from the collection, and for a long time I thought how to complete the review? I suggest you enjoy the wonderful "Kulichiki" that each of us sculpted in childhood:

gull - gull - unusual -
The shore is deserted - long, long.
There, little people are making cakes.
Narrow shoulders, smart faces.
- How do we leave the Easter cakes, mom?
- At night, the ocean will come to the shore
And take the Easter cakes into the depths,
To please the fish alone.
The fish is huge silent fish,
He will say: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Irina Gazizova, especially for Favorite children's books: new and old #ldk_reviews #ldk_ast

This article was automatically added from the community

Series Manyunya and others AST, 2015

Machine poems are wonderful! they are rhythmic, catchy and fun!
Be sure to read this book to your children!

Masha Rupasova lives in Vancouver. By her own admission, she began to write poems for children when she became a mother: “It is interesting that motherhood not only makes you older and more serious, but also returns you to your roots, to the distant 80s, to such warm, bright, when you are still alive , and parents have not yet divorced, and the worst thing in the world is a broken knee. For me, motherhood turned out to be a portal to the best sunny memories - about the village, about the endless summer, about my grandmother, about the river, near which four generations of our family grew up.
On the advice of her husband, Masha began to write down what she had written, and then post it on Facebook. https://m.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001377663057, where her work quickly won the hearts of numerous readers.
The collection of poems "Old Women Fell From the Sky", Masha's first book, was awarded the "Manuscript of the Year" award in the "Best Children's Book" nomination.
from Facebook: Masha Rupasova
I had my doubts about the second book. (Crying again; everyone is bored.) It turned out to be childishly foolish and cheerful - as, in fact, it was intended, but for some reason this causeless fun irritated.
Then I added sadness to the book, and immediately fell in love with it, and with a pure heart I sent it to the editor-in-chief. I've added these four. Nothing, right, if the children are afraid and mourn a little? Not all the same laugh them.

SCARY

This is a closet.
And in it - a coat,
And in a coat - absolutely nobody.
And don't move
Two
Sleeves.
Sleeve it
Are empty
The gate is full
void,
And also -
At the gate
Rebuff button.
And nobody, nobody, nobody
Not sitting
Inside
Coat.

CREATURE

Kiss the creature!
You will love it.
He has four paws
head and nothing.
Hold the baby!
We won't be allowed
And you seem to
Too
Restless soul.
Why
And
From what
Did someone drop a creature?
Do not be afraid and stroke.
you will love
His.

IT'S TIME FOR THE CAT
Our old cat
lost
Appetite.
Mom seems to
What a cat
This night
Will fly away.
very old cats
Not afraid of heights
And fly
Above the sky,
Fluffing out your tails.
The sun warms their sides
pours milk,
And cats have feathers -
Golden clouds.
Good for cats in the sky.
Good for cats in the sky.
Our cat, wait a minute
And stay another half day.
Look,
Look,
Look at me.

I am a cat lady, a poem about a cat turned out to be very touching

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- Masha, do you remember the books you loved as a child?

‒ My reading experience began in the 80s and my favorites were probably the traditional for a Soviet child “The Road Goes Away” by Alexandra Brushtein, “Dinka” by Oseeva, “Vasek Trubachev and His Comrades”. She loved Seton-Thompson, Fenimore Cooper, Mine Reed. Liked Darrell, James Harriot. I was and still am a big fan of Astrid Lindgren, especially Pippi Longstocking and Carlson. I took the book about Carlson with me when I moved to Canada, although we had colossal weight restrictions. In addition to Carlson, Brushtein's book also flew with me.

- What about poetry?

‒ For some reason, I mostly read poems by adults. She loved Pushkin very much, at the age of eleven she learned all of Onegin and Poltava for her own pleasure. I do not remember that children's poems made an impression on me.

- Do you read poetry with your son?

‒ Yes, Max and I read quite a lot of poetry. We started with Kharms.

- From Kharms?

‒ When Max was little, children's poems annoyed me a lot. It seemed to sound different and not at all about what I want to tell him. That's probably why I started writing myself. And Kharms was as close as possible to the desired intonation. We bought up all Kharms, including a wonderful edition with illustrations by Igor Oleinikov. Slowly we began to collect a good poetry library. And finally, I found poets that I like: Mikhail Yasnov, Marina Boroditskaya, Nastya Orlova, Yulia Simbirskaya, Dasha Gerasimova. We also read the classics, starting with Pushkin and ending with Mikhalkov and Marshak, but Kharms is the main thing.

- What did you want to talk about with your son with the help of poetry?

“Now I understand that I wanted to talk about myself. But for some reason little has been written about me. The soul did not even accept lullabies. So I started with lullabies, jokes. Then, by chance, she began to write poetry. I wanted to tell him all the same things that mothers say to children, but in my own words.

- Your words came to many other families.

- I think because these are universal things: I love you, I accept you with all your snot and scandals ( laughs). I wrote the first lullaby - about rooks - when we had not yet taken Maxim from the orphanage, but I already knew for sure that it would be him. He still refers to this lullaby in moments of spiritual adversity. Apparently, this is a lullaby of a big turning point in his life, a song of calm.

- A very beautiful story.

"Yes, it sounds like a beautiful story, but then it looked so natural!" Well, you take a child - many adopt. You mumble something - all mothers come up with some kind of songs. And in the end, it turned into a new occupation, a matter of life, from which I now will not refuse for any price. It's a huge pleasure!

- This first lullaby hasn't been released yet, has it?

- No, not published. I just can’t decide on this, it’s very intimate and somehow too warm. It's between mother and child. Even my husband couldn't hear the whole thing.

- Some of your poems, according to my feelings, were written to support my mother. How did they help you?

‒ Motherhood is not easy for me. I need a lot of free time and solitude, which is impossible with a child. If you push him to the nanny, instead of loneliness you get a feeling of guilt, and free time becomes very unproductive. It's an endless battle with yourself. It turns out to take a break from this battle if you look at the situation from the outside: here you are, a soaring mother, you think that your child will always be three years old, he will always yell, spit and refuse everything, there will be nothing to talk about with him. But if you manage to see the comedy, and most importantly the transience of what is happening, it becomes easier. When you make a story or an anecdote out of your life, it is easier to survive the crisis of three, four, five years. I don’t know if poems will help in adolescence, but so far they help.

Perhaps they help also because mothers understand that they are not alone in this nightmare ( laughs). Not only cars endlessly roll over them, not only their child roars, buzzes and squeaks, imitating some kind of combine. In fact, this is a common story, we are all in the same boat.

To whom are your poems addressed - children or adults? And is it important to distinguish this when it comes to young children?

‒ I read any poetry to Max, including modern poetry from “thick” magazines. Therefore, I am not sure that it is necessary to distinguish for whom the poems are written. Of course, it’s not bad to read illustrated books with recognizable plots and simple images. But I like this "shaming" in the evening at the crib, when I read to the child Tsvetkov, Kvadratov, Gandlevsky. Of course, he does not understand what these verses are about, but I think he catches something subtle.

- Do you discuss incomprehensible moments with him?

‒ It's hard to talk to him right now. He is a reckless child. He can ask a question, but is quickly distracted. I think we are now in a period of accumulation of poetic capital. He remembers a lot. One day I told him, “Maxon, I miss my grandmother so much. What should I do?" And he says: "Bake pies." Then I realized that he was quoting my rhyme: “This grandmother is bored and baking pancakes.” And he invited me, as in this rhyme, to launch pies into heaven.

- What is poetic capital for?

‒ To become human. This is emotional nutrition, something that the child will join from an adult state and live by this. It will have an extra edge. Even if he doesn't read at all. He will have something magical inside. Like a secret.

- Can prose do it?

‒ I do not think that prose in early age can have such an impact on a child as poetry.

- Why?

- Probably, it is the poetic arrogance in me that speaks ( laughs). It seems to me that children's poetry is much closer to our origins. It's like an ancient howl around a fire, still pre-verbal muttering, buzzing, rhythms, to which our ancestors swayed in a cave. The child mentally "winds" around this rhythm. At this age, poetry is very important.

I know that you are very attentive to decoration your books. What is important to you in illustration?

‒ My poetic career has just begun, and for now, as a beginner, it is important for me that the illustration does not compete with the text. And it wasn't too abstract. I'm not sure that my poems are simple enough to complement them with abstractions. While I think that the artist and I should be a team that works for me and my text ( laughs). With Yulia Somina, who illustrated my first book ("Old women fell from the sky" - approx. ed.), and Agata Harutyunyan (author of illustrations for the collection "Everything in the garden!" - approx. ed.) we found if not mutual language, then one that suits me. Although in the third book, which we are now preparing ("Walked around the city of the Moon" - approx. ed.), the illustrations are already more abstract. When I saw a trial drawing, not very substantive and not clearly reflecting the poem, I agreed. I liked the style.

Masha, you are not afraid to be sad in poetry for little ones. I know that you even have plans to collect your “sad and angry”, as you call them, poems in one book. Why is this important to you? After all, it is believed that poems for kids should be fun?

- Probably, the “legalization” of sadness and anger happened because I saw how it works on the example of a living child. Of course, it is unpleasant to experience the sadness of a child, and especially unpleasant when he is nasty, angry and says that he does not love anyone and will leave us altogether. But if you let these feelings flow, take some time to accept them, they will go away quickly and without a trace. The same is true in poetry. For example, my poem about a cat that is dying ("It's time for a cat" - approx. ed.) - an occasion to discuss this sadness. I'm not afraid negative feelings neither in himself, nor in his child, nor in poetry. I think it's very therapeutic.

But I still doubt whether it is possible to write, for example, about quarrels of parents, although I would like to touch on this topic. I wrote a couple of poems about it, but put it aside for now.

- So, for you, there are topics that are better to avoid?

‒ I would not mind if Maxim read such verses. But I'm not sure if other parents will agree to bring this topic up. Imagine a mother reading to a seven-year-old child: “Mom and dad are quarreling, a quarrel in the heart pricks.” The child will perceive this as normal, this is a reflection of his feelings - he is scared and he hopes that mom and dad will reconcile. But I'm afraid to hurt my mother. I don't want anyone to feel guilty about the fight.
- It turns out that poems for kids should take into account the perception of both - both an adult and a child? “Mom definitely needs to be taken into account. I should probably come up with a positive ending, but I can't yet. My husband and I practically do not quarrel, so it is difficult for me to develop this topic.

- That is, you respond to difficult life situations with poems?

‒ Yes, the poems are based on either a situation or an emotion associated with a situation. The poem “I loved the sturgeon and was his sister” I came up with when Max and I stood in the grocery store and stared at the live fish in the aquarium. I felt terribly sorry for the sturgeons, I felt like their relative. Probably everyone writes like that. You just take stuff from everywhere.

- You have been living in Canada for three years. How do you feel at the crossroads of cultures? Has it affected your poetry?

- So far it hasn't had any effect. About something Canadian, about the ocean, I wrote one poem - "Kulichiki". Everything else is exclusively Russian experience. I have the feeling that after moving to Canada, my connection with Russia began to grow stronger. The "umbilical cord" has become larger and pulsates more and more. So while I do my best to sabotage growing into Canadian culture ( laughs).

In the collection "Old Women Fell From the Sky" you "explore" the theme of old age. Your poems help me to accept the aging of loved ones. And you?

‒ For me, this is also an attempt to accept the aging of loved ones, to come to terms with what has already happened. Both my grandmothers are dead. One of them, whom I loved very much and with whom my childhood was connected, left hard for several years. She had dementia, it traumatized our family terribly. Probably, poetry and a book of prose about old women, which I am currently writing in collaboration with my friend, are an attempt to get rid of this experience. But I'm not sure if the attempt will be successful. Probably, it is easier to come to terms with death than with such a gradual departure and such a terrible change that this disease brings.

But I'm not only sad about it. In grandmothers, I'm interested in transformation ordinary person in "magical". At some point, a woman suddenly becomes a magician for her grandson. Even if she was not a magician for her child, she has a great chance with her grandson. I see how my mother gets along with Maxim, and I understand that she becomes a magical grandmother for him. But how it happens and why, I don't know. I'm not sure that this transformation is reflected in my children's poems. For now, I console myself with the fact that old women fall from the sky, but maybe I will find out the answer to this question when my co-author and I finish writing an adult book about our grandmothers. So the "research" does not stop for a second.

Interviewed by Daria Dotsuk
Photo by Daria Dotsuk