Why doesn’t my mind then enter into my slumber?
Derzhavin.
October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off
Latest sheets from its naked branches;
The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.
The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
To the departing fields with my desire,
And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.
Now is my time: I don’t like spring;
The thaw is boring to me; stench, dirt - in the spring I am sick;
The blood is fermenting; feelings and mind are constrained by melancholy.
I'm happier in the harsh winter
I love her snow; in the presence of the moon
How easy the running of a sleigh with a friend is fast and free,
When under the sable, warm and fresh,
She shakes your hand, glowing and trembling!
How fun it is to put sharp iron on your feet,
Slide along the mirror of standing, smooth rivers!
A winter holidays brilliant alarms?..
But you also need to know honor; six months of snow and snow,
After all, this is finally true for the inhabitant of the den,
The bear will get bored. You can't take a whole century
We'll ride in a sleigh with the young Armids
Or sour at the stoves behind double glass.
Oh, summer is red! I would love you
If only it weren't for the heat, the dust, the mosquitoes, and the flies.
You, ruining all your spiritual abilities,
You torture us; like the fields we suffer from drought;
Just to get something to drink and refresh yourself -
We have no other thought, and it’s a pity for the old woman’s winter,
And, having seen her off with pancakes and wine,
We are celebrating her funeral with ice cream and ice.
The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But she’s sweet to me, dear reader,
Quiet beauty, shining humbly.
So unloved child in the family
It attracts me to itself. To tell you frankly,
Of the annual times, I am glad only for her,
There is a lot of good in her; a lover is not vain,
I found something in her like a wayward dream.
How to explain this? I like her,
Like you probably are a consumptive maiden
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bows down without a murmur, without anger.
A smile is visible on faded lips;
She does not hear the gaping of the grave abyss;
There is still a crimson color playing on the face.
She is still alive today, gone tomorrow.
It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant threats of gray winter.
And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I feel love again for the habits of life:
One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger comes;
The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,
Desires are boiling - I’m happy, young again,
I'm full of life again - that's my body
(Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaicism).
They lead the horse to me; in the open expanse,
Waving his mane, he carries the rider,
And loudly under his shining hoof
The frozen valley rings and the ice cracks.
But the short day goes out, and in the forgotten fireplace
The fire is burning again - then the bright light is pouring,
It smolders slowly - and I read in front of it
Or I harbor long thoughts in my soul.
And I forget the world - and in sweet silence
I'm sweetly lulled by my imagination,
And poetry awakens in me:
The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement,
It trembles and sounds and searches, as in a dream,
To finally pour out with free manifestation -
And then an invisible swarm of guests comes towards me,
Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.
And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the poems will flow freely.
So the ship slumbers motionless in the motionless moisture,
But choo! - the sailors suddenly rush and crawl
Up, down - and the sails are inflated, the winds are full;
The mass has moved and is cutting through the waves.
The famous poem “Autumn” (in another version “October has already arrived...”) is known to everyone in our country. Perhaps not by heart, but a couple of lines are a must. Or at least some phrases, especially those that have become catchphrases. Well, at least this one: “Sad time! The charm of the eyes! Who else could say that? Of course, Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin! Autumn time- the charm of the eyes... Look how subtly noted... What could inspire a person, even if he is very gifted, to write such a touching work? Just autumn? Or something more?
Family estate
In the autumn of 1833, he came to Boldino, a village located near Nizhny Novgorod. a famous person, author of the most famous works to this day, Russian genius, literary reformer - A. S. Pushkin. Autumn time, the charm of the eyes... He loves this place, he idolizes the season, which gives him not only inspiration, but also physical strength. The estate visited famous poet, - generic.
"Autumn"
The work “Autumn” is considered unfinished, consisting of 11 complete eight-line lines and a beginning twelfth. In poetry, he describes his worldview during his stay in Boldino. Silence, the opportunity to forget, even to renounce the world, in order to give free rein to thoughts and dreams... Only work - boiling, selfless, all-consuming...
This is exactly how the inspired Autumn time felt - the charm of the eyes - captured the author, forcing bright colors words to draw every moment of fading surrounding nature. The poet describes the life and way of life of the district estates, and his own pastime.
He also talks about his attitude to the seasons, arguing in detail this or that point of view. The author refers these enthusiastic words not only to autumn, but also to winter with its amusements and beauties. Pushkin shares his feelings with readers in a simple form.
Autumn time, the charm of the eyes, so unloved by many, but which has won his heart, makes him feel the need to justify himself to others, proving and explaining his enthusiastic attitude, which is so strikingly different from the opinion of most other people.
First visit to Boldino
First time in Nizhny Novgorod region Pushkin was on the eve of his wedding. The author was stuck in Boldino for three months. The magnificent autumn season - the charm of the eyes, as Pushkin wrote - inspired him to fruitful work. During that period, from the pen of the Russian classic came a whole series of works that are still famous to this day, including “The Tale of the Priest and His Worker Balda.”
Second visit
The next time (in the fall of 1833) Pushkin deliberately goes to the village; he already perceives it not as a family estate, but as an office for creativity. He is in a hurry to get there, despite the fact that his beautiful wife is waiting for him in St. Petersburg, and he has not been home for a very long time. Pushkin stayed in Boldino for only a month and a half, but during this time he gave the world several fairy tales and more than one poem.
Autumn time! Ouch charm!.. Do you know how beautiful Boldino autumn is? She cannot help but captivate with her beauty.
P.S.
During the same period, Pushkin gave birth to such a famous work as “The History of Pugachev.” In Boldino, the author finished work on the work, rewriting it completely. There, work began on the cycle “Songs of the Western Slavs”. The writer must not have exaggerated when he wrote that it was in the fall that he felt a surge of inspiration:
"... And I forget the world - and in the sweet silence
I'm sweetly lulled to sleep by my imagination,
And poetry awakens in me..."
That's all true, but is this a reason not to love autumn - after all, it has a special charm. It is not for nothing that Russian poets, from Pushkin to Pasternak, so often wrote about autumn, praising the beauty of golden foliage, the romance of rainy, foggy weather, and the invigorating power of cool air. AiF.ru has collected the best poems about autumn.
Alexander Pushkin
It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!
I am pleased with your farewell beauty -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant threats of gray winter.
And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I feel love again for the habits of life:
One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger comes;
The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,
Desires are boiling - I’m happy, young again,
I’m full of life again - that’s my body
(Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaicism).
State Museum-Reserve of A. S. Pushkin “Mikhailovskoye”. Pskov region. Photo: www.russianlook.com
Nikolay Nekrasov
Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous
The air invigorates tired forces;
Fragile ice on a chilly river
It lies like melting sugar;
Near the forest, like in a soft bed,
You can get a good night's sleep - peace and space!
The leaves have not yet faded,
Yellow and fresh, they lie like a carpet.
Glorious autumn! Frosty nights
Clear, quiet days...
There is no ugliness in nature! And kochi,
And moss swamps and stumps -
Everything is fine under the moonlight,
Everywhere I recognize my native Rus'...
I fly quickly on cast iron rails,
I think my thoughts...
Photo: Shutterstock.com / S.Borisov
Konstantin Balmont
And again autumn with the charm of rusty leaves,
Ruddy, scarlet, yellow, gold,
The silent blue of lakes, their thick waters,
The agile whistle and takeoff of tits in the oak forests.
Camel piles of majestic clouds,
The faded azure of the cast skies,
All around, the dimension of steep features,
The ascended vault, at night in starry glory.
Who's dreaming emerald blue
Drunk in the summer hour, sad at night.
The whole past appears before him with his own eyes.
The surf beats quietly in the Milky Stream.
And I freeze, falling to the center,
Through the darkness of separation, my love, from you.
Fyodor Tyutchev
There are in the brightness of autumn evenings
Touching, mysterious charm:
The ominous shine and diversity of trees,
Crimson leaves languid, light rustle,
Misty and quiet azure
Over the sad orphaned land,
And, like a premonition of descending storms,
Gusty, cold wind at times,
Damage, exhaustion - and everything
That gentle smile of fading,
What in a rational being we call
Divine modesty of suffering.
Afanasy Fet
When the end-to-end web
Spreads threads of clear days
And under the villager's window
The distant gospel is heard more clearly,
We're not sad, scared again
The breath of near winter,
And the voice of the summer
We understand more clearly.
Sergey Yesenin
Quietly in the juniper thicket along the cliff.
Autumn, a red mare, scratches her mane.
Above the river bank cover
The blue clang of her horseshoes is heard.
The schema-monk-wind steps cautiously
Crumples leaves over road ledges
And kisses on the rowan bush
Red ulcers for the invisible Christ.
Painting " Golden autumn" Ilya Ostroukhov, 1886-1887 Oil on canvas. Photo: www.russianlook.com
Ivan Bunin
The autumn wind rises in the forests,
It moves noisily through the thicket,
Dead leaves are torn off and having fun
Carries in a mad dance.
He will just freeze, fall down and listen,
Will wave again, and behind him
The forest will hum, tremble - and they will fall
Leaves rain golden.
Blows like winter, frosty blizzards,
Clouds are floating in the sky...
Let everything that is dead and weak perish
And return to dust!
Winter blizzards are the forerunners of spring,
Winter blizzards must
Bury under the cold snow
Dead by the time spring arrives.
In the dark autumn the earth takes refuge
Yellow foliage, and under it
Vegetation of shoots and herbs slumbers,
Juice of life-giving roots.
Life begins in mysterious darkness.
Its joy and destruction
Serve the imperishable and unchangeable -
The eternal beauty of Being!
Painting “On the veranda. Autumn". Stanislav Zhukovsky. 1911 Photo: www.russianlook.com
Boris Pasternak
Autumn. Fairytale palace
Open for everyone to review.
Clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes.
Like at a painting exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden gold hoop -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
The face of a birch tree - under a veil
Bridal and transparent.
Buried land
Under leaves in ditches, holes.
In the yellow maple outbuildings,
As if in gilded frames.
Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And the sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.
Where you can't step into a ravine,
So that everyone doesn't know:
It's so raging that not a single step
There is a tree leaf underfoot.
Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echo at a steep descent
And dawn cherry glue
Solidifies in the form of a clot.
Autumn. Ancient Corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
Flipping through the cold.
© Camille Pissarro, “Boulevard Montmartre”
© John Constable, “Autumn Sunset”
© Edward Kukuel, “Autumn Sun”
© Guy Dessard, “Autumn Motifs”
© Wassily Kandinsky, “Autumn in Bavaria”
© James Tissot, “October”
© Isaac Levitan, “Autumn Day”
© Isaac Levitan, “Golden Autumn”
© Francesco Bassano, “Autumn”
© Vincent van Gogh, “Falling Leaves”
The poem in octaves “Autumn” by A. S. Pushkin was written in the fall of 1833 during the poet’s second visit to the village. Boldino, upon returning from the Urals.
Both in prose and in poetry, A. S. Pushkin repeatedly wrote that autumn is his favorite time of year, the time of his inspiration, creative growth and literary works.
It was not without reason that the poet was happy about autumn and considered it the time of his heyday: A. S. Pushkin’s second autumn on the Boldino estate, lasting a month and a half, turned out to be no less fruitful and rich in works than the first, epochal, Boldino autumn of 1830.
The most famous passage is “Sad time! The charm of the eyes!”, which is the VII octave of the poem “Autumn,” belongs to landscape lyrics A. S. Pushkin. The lines of the passage present a complete picture, realistically accurately conveying the awakening of poetry in the soul of the poet inspired by his favorite time.
The verse size of the passage is iambic hexameter; stanza of a poem is an octave.
It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!
The work “Autumn,” and in particular the excerpt, was not published during the author’s lifetime; it was first published by V. A. Zhukovsky in the posthumous collection of works by A. S. Pushkin in 1841.
We bring to your attention the text of the poem in full:
October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.
The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
To the departing fields with my desire,
And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.
Now is my time: I don’t like spring;
The thaw is boring to me; stench, dirt - in the spring I’m sick;
The blood is fermenting; feelings and mind are constrained by melancholy.
I'm happier in the harsh winter
I love her snow; in the presence of the moon
How easy the running of a sleigh with a friend is fast and free,
When under the sable, warm and fresh,
She shakes your hand, glowing and trembling!
How fun it is to put sharp iron on your feet,
Slide along the mirror of standing, smooth rivers!
And the brilliant worries of the winter holidays?..
But you also need to know honor; six months of snow and snow,
After all, this is finally true for the inhabitant of the den,
The bear will get bored. You can't take a whole century
We'll ride in a sleigh with the young Armids
Or sour by the stoves behind double glass.
Oh, summer is red! I would love you
If only it weren't for the heat, the dust, the mosquitoes, and the flies.
You, ruining all your spiritual abilities,
You torture us; like the fields we suffer from drought;
Just to get something to drink and refresh yourself -
We have no other thought, and it’s a pity for the old woman’s winter,
And, having seen her off with pancakes and wine,
We are celebrating her funeral with ice cream and ice.
The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But she’s sweet to me, dear reader,
Quiet beauty, shining humbly.
So unloved child in the family
It attracts me to itself. To tell you frankly,
Of the annual times, I am glad only for her,
There is a lot of good in her; a lover is not vain,
I found something in her like a wayward dream.
How to explain this? I like her,
Like you probably are a consumptive maiden
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bows down without a murmur, without anger.
A smile is visible on faded lips;
She does not hear the gaping of the grave abyss;
The color of his face is still purple.
She is still alive today, gone tomorrow.
It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!
I am pleased with your farewell beauty -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I feel love again for the habits of life:
One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger comes;
The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,
Desires are boiling - I’m happy, young again,
I’m full of life again - that’s my body
(Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaicism).
They lead the horse to me; in the open expanse,
Waving his mane, he carries the rider,
And loudly under his shining hoof
The frozen valley rings and the ice cracks.
But the short day goes out, and in the forgotten fireplace
The fire is burning again - then the bright light is pouring,
It smolders slowly - and I read in front of it
Or I harbor long thoughts in my soul.
And I forget the world - and in sweet silence
I'm sweetly lulled to sleep by my imagination,
And poetry awakens in me:
The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement,
It trembles and sounds and searches, as in a dream,
To finally pour out with free manifestation -
And then an invisible swarm of guests comes towards me,
Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.
And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the poems will flow freely.
So the ship slumbers motionless in the motionless moisture,
But choo! - the sailors suddenly rush and crawl
Up, down - and the sails are inflated, the winds are full;
The mass has moved and is cutting through the waves.
Floating. Where should we sail? . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Poems about autumn through the eyes of classical poets are amazingly beautiful. They colorfully describe this sad, but at the same time charming time of year.
Excerpt from Pushkin's Autumn
It's a sad time! Ouch charm!
(A. Pushkin)
Leaf fall
The forest is like a painted tower,
Lilac, gold, crimson,
A cheerful, motley wall
Standing above a bright clearing.
Birch trees with yellow carving
Glisten in the blue azure,
Like towers, the fir trees are darkening,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there through the foliage
Clearances in the sky, like a window.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
Over the summer it dried out from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
Enters his motley mansion...
(I. Bunin)
An unprecedented autumn built a high dome,
There was an order for the clouds not to darken this dome.
And people marveled: the September deadlines were passing,
Where did the cold, humid days go?..
The water of the muddy canals became emerald,
And the nettles smelled like roses, but only stronger,
It was stuffy from the dawns, unbearable, demonic and scarlet,
We all remembered them until the end of our days.
The sun was like a rebel entering the capital,
And the spring autumn caressed him so greedily,
What seemed like it was about to turn transparent
snowdrop…
That’s when you approached, calm, to my porch.
(Anna Akhmatova September 1922)
Late autumn time
Late autumn time
I love the Tsarskoye Selo garden,
When he is in the quiet half-darkness,
As if in a drowsiness, embraced
And white-winged visions
On the dull lake glass
In some kind of bliss of numbness
They will become rigid in this semi-darkness...
And to the porphyry steps
Catherine's Palaces
Dark shadows are falling
October early evenings -
And the garden darkens like oak trees,
And under the stars from the darkness of the night,
Like a reflection of the glorious past,
A golden dome emerges...
(F. Tyutchev)
Autumn blues...
The autumn wind played the saxophone
A little sad my favorite blues
The saxophone sparkles in his palms,
I'm freezing...
I'm afraid of scaring...
Maestro wind, narrowing his eyes slightly,
He leads the party selflessly.
He furrowed his brows with inspiration...
And the leaves start a round dance to the beat.
He throws them up
And it calms down...
The foliage soars obediently and lightly...
The melody floats
And my heart melts
And he can’t find the right words...
And I really want to wear a green light dress
Dancing quietly on tiptoe,
And feel what happiness it is
Listen to autumn light music...
And expose your face to the rain notes
Catching the tart taste with your lips
And how easy it is for foliage to soar in flight...
I love it when the wind plays the blues...
(N. Vesennyaya)
Autumn reigned in the old park,
Painted trees and bushes.
Bright scarves, thrown over the shoulders,
I set up canvases for artists.
Smeared a little blue watercolor
The surface of the pond and the height of the sky.
Colored with soft pastels
Clouds, adding purity.
I looked into the old alleys,
Made noise by the wind and rain.
Without sparing beauty and affection,
She covered everything with gold leaf.
A red fox ran by
On long uncut grass...
And a big, alarming, bright bird
Carried away to the cold blue.
(T. Lavrova)
Excerpt from the poem Eugene Onegin
The sky was already breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less often,
The day was getting shorter
Mysterious forest canopy
With a sad noise she stripped herself,
Fog lay over the fields,
Noisy caravan of geese
Stretched to the south: approaching
Quite a boring time;
It was already November outside the yard.
(A. Pushkin)
There is in the initial autumn
There is in the initial autumn
Short but wonderful time -
The whole day is like crystal,
And the evenings are radiant...
The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard,
But the first winter storms are still far away
And pure and warm azure flows
To the resting field...
(F. Tyutchev)
It's a sad time! Ouch charm!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
(A. Pushkin)
Golden leaves swirled
Golden leaves swirled
In the pinkish water of the pond,
As if butterflies light flock
Freezingly, he flies towards the star.
I'm in love this evening,
The yellowing valley is close to my heart.
The wind boy up to his shoulders
The hem of the birch tree was stripped.
Both in the soul and in the valley there is coolness,
Blue twilight like a flock of sheep,
Behind the gate of the silent garden
The bell will ring and die.
I've never been thrifty before
So did not listen to rational flesh,
It would be nice, like willow branches,
To capsize into the pink waters.
It would be nice, smiling at the haystack,
The muzzle of the month chews hay...
Where are you, where, my quiet joy,
Loving everything, wanting nothing?