Immeasurable country.
If long, long, long
we fly on an airplane,
If long, long, long
We have to look at Russia.
We'll see then
Both forests and cities
ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains ...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra where spring rings.
And then we'll understand what
Our country is big
Immeasurable country.
G. Ladonshchikov Our
motherland
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
Long drive from the capital
To any border.
Everything around is own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
rivers sparkling blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
dear to the heart,
Every rural house is expensive.
Everything in battles is once taken
And strengthened by labor!
Kremlin stars
Kremlin stars
Burning above us
Everywhere their light reaches!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
Not!
(S. Mikhalkov)
There is no better homeland
Zhura-zhura-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew, circled
Wings, legs worked hard.
We asked the crane:
Where is the best land? -
He answered, flying:
- There is no better native land!
(P. Voronko)
Motherland
hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you ever go out
To the fork in the road.
And I realized that it
expanse of fields -
Particle of the great
My fatherland.
(G. Ladonshchikov)
Hi
Hello, my native land,
With your dark forests
With your great river
And boundless fields!
Hello, dear people,
Hero of labor tireless,
In the middle of winter and in the summer heat!
Hello, my native land!
(S. Drozhzhin)
native country
In a wide area
predawn time
Scarlet dawns rose
over the native country.
Every year it gets better
Dear edges...
Better than our motherland
Not in the world, friends!
(A. Prokofiev)
Ride across the seas-oceans
Ride across the seas, oceans,
It is necessary to fly over the whole earth:
There are different countries in the world
But one like ours is not to be found.
Deep are our bright waters,
The land is wide and free,
And the factories rumble without ceasing,
And the fields are noisy, blooming ...
(M. Isakovsky)
Above native land
Airplanes are flying
over our fields...
And I shout to the pilots:
"Take me with you!
So that over native land
I shot like an arrow
I saw rivers, mountains,
Valleys and lakes
and swell on the Black Sea,
and boats in the open
plains in riotous color
and all the children in the world!
(R. Bosilek)
motherland
If they say the word "homeland",
Immediately comes to mind
Old house, currants in the garden,
Thick poplar at the gate,
By the river there is a shy birch
And chamomile...
And others will probably remember
Your native Moscow courtyard.
In the puddles the first boats
Where there was a skating rink recently,
And a big neighboring factory
A loud, joyful horn.
Or the steppe is red from poppies,
Golden whole...
Homeland is different
But everyone has one!
(Z. Aleksandrova)
native land
Cheerful forest, native fields,
Winding rivers, flowering slope,
Hills and villages, free space
And bell ringing.
With your smile, with your breath
I merge.
Boundless, guarded by Christ,
My native land
My love.
(M. Pozharova)
Motherland
Has its own native land
By the stream and by the crane.
And you and I have it -
And the native land is one.
(P. Sinyavsky)
Russia
Here the warm field is filled with rye,
Here the dawns splash in the palms of the meadows.
Here golden-winged angels of God
Beams of light descended from the clouds.
And the earth was watered with holy water,
And the blue expanse was overshadowed with a cross.
And we have no Motherland, except for Russia -
Here is mother, here is the temple, here is the father's house.
(P. Sinyavsky)
What do we call motherland
What do we call motherland?
The house where we live
And birches along which
We are walking next to my mother.
What do we call motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs
Warm evening outside.
What do we call motherland?
Everything that we keep in our hearts
And under blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin.
(V. Stepanov)
Key words
Learned in kindergarten
We are beautiful words.
They were first read:
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
Spring and summer will fly by.
Leaves become sunny.
Illuminate with new light
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
The sun shines kindly on us.
Blue is pouring from the sky.
May they always live in the world
Mom, Motherland, Moscow!
(L. Olifirova)
Kremlin stars
Kremlin stars
Burning above us
Everywhere their light reaches!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
Not!
(S. Mikhalkov)
There is no better homeland
Zhura-zhura-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew, circled
Wings, legs worked hard.
We asked the crane:
–
Where is the best land?
–
He answered, flying:
–
There is no better native land!
(P. Voronko)
Motherland
hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you ever go out
To the fork in the road.
And I realized that it
expanse of fields -
Particle of the great
My fatherland.
(G. Ladonshchikov)
Native nest
song swallows
Above my window
Sculpt, sculpt a nest...
I know, soon in it
The chicks will appear
They will start to vote
They will be parents
Moscara to wear.
Little ones flutter
From the nest in summer
Fly over the world
But they always
They will know and remember
What is in the native land
The nest will greet them
Above my window.
(G. Ladonshchikov)
motherland
Motherland -
big word, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the heavens!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, native apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek a mole -
This is also homeland.
(T. Bokova)
motherland
spring,
cheerful,
eternal,
kind,
Tractor
plowed
happiness
sown -
All in front of her
From South
to the north!
dear motherland,
Russian motherland,
Mirnaya-peaceful
Russian-Russian...
(V. Semernin)
Our Motherland
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
Long drive from the capital
To any border.
Everything around is own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
rivers sparkling blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
dear to the heart,
Every rural house is expensive.
Everything in battles is once taken
And strengthened by labor!
(G. Ladonshchikov)
Good morning!
The sun rose over the mountain
The darkness of the night is blurred by the dawn,
Meadow in flowers, as if painted ...
Good morning,
Native land!
Noisily the doors creaked,
The early birds sang
They argue loudly with silence ...
Good morning,
Native land!
People went to work
Bees fill honeycombs with honey,
There are no clouds in the sky...
Good morning,
Native land!
(G. Ladonshchikov)
Hello my motherland
In the morning the sun rises
Calls us to the street.
I leave the house:
- Hello, my street!
I sing in silence
The birds sing to me.
Herbs whisper to me on the way:
- Hurry, my friend, grow up!
I answer the herbs
I answer the wind
I answer the sun
- Hello, my Motherland!
(V. Orlov)
Key words
Learned in kindergarten
We are beautiful words.
They were first read:
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
Spring and summer will fly by.
Leaves become sunny.
Illuminate with new light
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
The sun shines kindly on us.
Blue is pouring from the sky.
May they always live in the world
Mom, Motherland, Moscow!
(L. Olifirova)
Our region
Now a birch, then a mountain ash,
Willow bush over the river.
Where else can you find one!
From seas to high mountains,
In the middle of native latitudes -
Everything is running, roads are running,
And they call ahead.
Valleys flooded with sun
And wherever you look
Native land, forever beloved,
Everything blooms like a spring garden.
Our childhood is golden!
You are brighter every day
Under a lucky star
We live in our native land!
(A. Alien)
What do we call motherland
What do we call motherland?
The house where we live
And birches along which
We are walking next to my mother.
What do we call motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs
Warm evening outside.
What do we call motherland?
Everything that we keep in our hearts
And under blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin.
(V. Stepanov)
vast country
If long, long, long
In an airplane we fly
If long, long, long
We look at Russia
We'll see then
Both forests and cities
ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains ...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra where spring rings
And then we'll understand what
Our country is big
Immeasurable country.
(V. Stepanov)
What is our Motherland!
An apple tree blooms over a quiet river.
Gardens, thinking, stand.
What a beautiful motherland
She herself is like a marvelous garden!
The river plays with rifts,
In it the fish is all made of silver,
What a rich motherland
The wave runs slowly
The expanse of fields caresses the eye.
What a happy motherland
And this happiness is everything for us!
(V. Bokov)
Motherland
Has its own native land
By the stream and by the crane.
And you and I have it -
And the native land is one.
(P. Sinyavsky
■
)
Russia
Here the warm field is filled with rye,
Here the dawns splash in the palms of the meadows.
Here golden-winged angels of God
Beams of light descended from the clouds.
And the earth was watered with holy water,
And the blue expanse was overshadowed with a cross.
And we have no homeland, except for Russia –
Here is mother, here is the temple, here is the father's house.
(P. Sinyavsky ■ )
Picture
On my drawing
field with spikelets,
Church on the hill
Close to clouds.
On my drawing
Mom and friends
On my drawing
My motherland.
On my drawing
beams of dawn,
Grove and river
Sunshine and summer.
On my drawing
stream song,
On my drawing
My motherland.
On my drawing
Daisies have grown
Jumping along the path
horse rider,
On my drawing
rainbow and me
On my drawing
My motherland.
On my drawing
Mom and friends
On my drawing
stream song,
On my drawing
rainbow and me
On my drawing
My motherland.
(P. Sinyavsky ■ )
native song
The sun is pouring cheerful
golden streams
Over gardens and over villages,
Over fields and meadows.
Here come the mushroom rains
Colored rainbows shine
Here are simple plantains
Since childhood, the most relatives.
poplar powders
Twirled on the edge,
And scattered over the grove
Strawberry freckles.
Here come the mushroom rains
Colored rainbows shine
Here are simple plantains
Since childhood, the most relatives.
And buried again
Flocks of swallows over the house
To sing about the Motherland again
Familiar bells.
(P. Sinyavsky
■
)
native land
Cheerful forest, native fields,
Winding rivers, flowering slope,
Hills and villages, free space
And bell ringing.
With your smile, with your breath
I merge.
Boundless, guarded by Christ,
My native land
My love.
(M. Pozharova)
motherland
If they say the word "homeland",
Immediately comes to mind
Old house, currants in the garden,
Thick poplar at the gate,
By the river there is a shy birch
And chamomile...
And others will probably remember
Your native Moscow courtyard.
In the puddles the first boats
Where there was a skating rink recently,
And a big neighboring factory
A loud, joyful horn.
Or the steppe is red from poppies,
Golden whole...
Homeland is different
But everyone has one!
(Z. Aleksandrova)
Above native land
Airplanes are flying
over our fields...
And I shout to the pilots:
"Take me with you!
So that over native land
I shot like an arrow
saw rivers, mountains,
Valleys and lakes
and swell on the Black Sea,
and boats in the open
plains in riotous color
and all the children in the world!
(R. Bosilek)
Rain, rain, where have you been?
“Rain, rain, where have you been?”
- I floated in the sky with a cloud!
“And then you crashed?”
- Oh, no, no, it spilled with water,
Dripped, dripped down, fell -
I went right into the river!
And then I swam away
In the fast, blue-eyed river,
Loved with all my heart
Our Motherland is great!
Well, after it evaporated,
Attached to a white cloud,
And swam, I tell you
To distant countries, islands.
And now over the ocean
I'm drifting away with the fog!
Enough, the wind, continue to blow -
You need to sail back.
To meet the river
To rush with her to the native forest!
To love so that the soul
Our homeland is big.
So, wind, my friend,
With a cloud, we hurry home!
You, wind, drive us -
Send the cloud to the house!
Cause I miss home...
Well, I'll shake the cloud!
I'm in a hurry to get home...
I'll be back to you soon!
(K. Avdeenko
■
)
Ride across the seas-oceans
Ride across the seas, oceans,
It is necessary to fly over the whole earth:
There are different countries in the world
But one like ours is not to be found.
Deep are our bright waters,
The land is wide and free,
And the factories rumble without ceasing,
And the fields are noisy, blooming ...
(M. Isakovsky)
native country
In a wide area
predawn time
Scarlet dawns rose
over the native country.
Every year it gets better
Dear edges...
Better than our Motherland
Not in the world, friends!
(A. Prokofiev)
Hi
Hello, my native land,
With your dark forests
With your great river
And boundless fields!
Hello, dear people,
Hero of labor tireless,
In the middle of winter and in the summer heat!
Hello, my native land!
(S. Drozhzhin)
Crane
The warmth has gone from the fields,
and a flock of cranes
The leader leads to the green overseas land.
The wedge flies sadly,
And only one is cheerful
One kind of crane is unintelligent.
He breaks into the clouds
hurries the leader,
But the leader says to him sternly:
- Though that land is warmer,
And the homeland is sweeter
Miley - remember, crane, this word.
Remember the sound of birches
and that steep slope
Where mother saw you flying;
Remember forever
Otherwise, never
My friend, you will not become a real crane.
We have snow
We have a blizzard
And the voices of birds are not heard at all.
And somewhere far away
Cranes chirp,
They talk about the snowy Motherland.
(I. Shaferan)
Song of Glory
Hail, great
multilingual
Fraternal Russian
Peoples family.
Stay surrounded
Armed
ancient stronghold
The gray Kremlin!
hello darling,
unshakable
banner flowing
Mind light!
Glorious grandfathers,
Brave grandchildren
friendly Russian
Peoples family.
Strengthen with victories
Explore the sciences
Forever imperishable
Glory to the earth!
(N. Aseev)
Russia, Russia, Russia
There is no more beautiful edge in the world
There is no homeland brighter in the world!
Russia, Russia, Russia, –
What can be dearer to the heart?
Who was your equal?
Anyone has been defeated!
Russia, Russia, Russia, –
We are in sorrow and happiness – with you!
Russia! Like a blue bird
We protect and honor you
And if they violate the border,
We will protect you with our breasts!
And if we were suddenly asked:
"And what is the country dear to you?"
– Yes, because for all of us Russia,
Like a mother, – one!
(V. Gudimov)
The best in the world
Russian region, my land,
Native spaces!
We have rivers and fields,
Seas, forests and mountains.
We have a north and a south.
Gardens bloom in the south.
In the north of the snow around -
It's cold and blizzard there.
In Moscow they go to bed now
The moon looks out the window.
Far East at the same time
Rise to greet the sun.
Russian region, how great you are!
From border to border
And a fast train straight ahead
Doesn't fit in a week.
Words are heard on the radio -
The long journey is not difficult for them.
Your familiar voice, Moscow,
Heard by people everywhere.
And we are always glad to hear the news
About our peaceful life.
How happy we live
In your own homeland!
The nations are like one family,
Although their language is different.
All are daughters and sons
Your beautiful country.
And everyone has one homeland.
Hello and glory to you
invincible country,
Russian state!
(N. Zabila, translated from Ukrainian by Z. Aleksandrova
)
Russian house
Russia is like a huge apartment.
It has four windows and four doors:
North, west, south, east.
Above it hangs a heavenly ceiling.
Luxurious carpet carpets in the apartment
Floors in Taimyr and Anadyr.
And the sun burns in a billion kilowatts,
Because our house is dark in places.
And, as befits every apartment,
There is in it the Pantry of Siberia:
Various berries are stored there,
And fish, and meat, and coal, and gas.
And next to the Kurilka - the Kuril ridge -
There are hot water taps
Keys bubbling at the Klyuchevskoy hill
(Go and turn on the hot water!)
There are also three cool baths in the apartment:
Northern, Pacific and Atlantic oceans.
And a powerful stove of the Kuzbass system,
What warms us in the cold winter.
But the refrigerator with the name "Arctic",
The automation works great.
And to the right of the ancient Kremlin clock
There are seven more time zones.
Everything is in the Russian House for a comfortable life,
But there is no order in the huge apartment:
A fire breaks out here, a pipe leaked there.
Then the neighbors knock loudly from the corner.
The walls are cracking, then the paint is falling,
Alaska fell off two hundred years ago,
The roof went down, the horizon disappeared ...
Again rebuilding and again repairing.
What they are building, the builders themselves do not know:
First they build, and then they break.
Everyone wants - immediately built to
Izbu-Chum-Yarangu-Palace-Skyscraper!
We are all neighbors and residents in our house:
Ordinary tenants, building managers, builders.
And what will we build now in Russia? ..
Ask your mom and dad about this.
(A. Usachev)
Poems for little citizens of Russia
Poems about the flag of the Russian Federation
ABC of a little Russian
He gets up and goes into his other room, looks out the window at the house, at the front garden of the mean pan, at the porch entwined with wild grapes. On this porch he saw her for the last time. And now she is not there, nor in the house. It's empty now, and it's empty everywhere.
The street lives its normal life. Two Polish women, dressed in a festive way, are talking about something, stopping in the middle of the street. Men with pipes sit on a mound near the headman's house, pigs run across the street and scare a cheerful flock of sparrows. All this is now so uninteresting, so far from him and so alien to him.
He feels terrible loneliness. Something grabs his throat. It's hard, unspeakably hard!
Lobanovich comes to the table, takes paper and ink, leans over a piece of paper and thinks. I must write to her, I must pour out all my sadness. He thinks how to address her, how to call her, but does not find the appropriate word and writes:
"You are no longer there. You left, taking with you everything that connected me with this place, with this corner of Polissya. Now it is dead to me, because you have taken everything that gave it beauty and charm. I am here alone, everything here became distasteful to me, as if what previously attracted and beckoned me had died and disappeared. And only now I felt my great loss. I so wanted to see you, hear your voice, laughter, look deep into your soul and find out what kind of grief lay in her. Now, as I write this letter, I only want to thank you for beautifying my life here, that you were that clear, pure star that shone for me in this darkness of life, made me happy and saved from various dirt, and if a living spark has been preserved in me, it is only thanks to you ... "
The teacher reread what he had written. "Everything is not right, everything is not working out the way we would like." He considered. "And where to send?" he asked himself, and could not give an answer.
Grandma brought a samovar.
Tea is ready, panichok, drink and rest, because you are out of the way.
Okay, grandma, I'll drink now.
He went out into the yard.
Grandmother, looking at him, shook her head: "She yearns for Yadvis."
Glancing at the young pear, Lobanovich noticed that its top was broken and sadly bent to the ground.
"She broke it," thought the teacher. "Why did she do it? Does she really want me to throw her out of my heart?"
The anguish gripped him even more. He wanted to cut off the broken top.
Eh, whatever! - he said and moved away from the tree.
He did not sleep that day. He began sorting through books, folding papers, putting them in order. In one book I found a small note, I recognized Yadvisi's handwriting. She wrote:
"Farewell. I deliberately tried so that you would not find me here, although I wanted to see you at least once, for the last time. But I thought: I still need to go, and leave, knowing that you are here, nearby, it would be even harder for me ... Panna Lyudmila is waiting for you, go to her.
And it's all.
Lobanovich silently looked at a small piece of paper. She didn’t even write where she was going, and she didn’t sign her name ...
And why did it all end like this? Why? And is this really the end?
He sat deep in thought for a long time. Tears welled up in my eyes. Then he folded Yadvisi's letter along with his own and put it in his pocket.
In the evening the headman came to take over the school. Lobanovich explained to him where the documents were and what he was handing over. The headman did not understand anything, but he pretended that all these matters were well known to him.
The next day, Lobanovich wrote a request for a transfer to another school and began to get ready for the road. Grandmother often entered the room and, like a mother, picked up various things for him.
My doves are flying away, - the grandmother said quietly. - Don't you come back, panichok, here! - And she, in deep sadness, propped up her cheek with her hand.
In the evening, seeing off the teacher, the grandmother began to cry.
Sitting down on the cart with his two suitcases, the teacher mentally said:
"One chapter of the book is read and closes! Well, let's move on!"
Mensk, 1921–1922
book two
In the depths of Polissya
Part one
In native lands
I love my native expanses, I love their boundless pinkish-blue distances, full of life, an infinite variety of colors of the earth and sky, where there is so much expanse for your eyes, where the silent distances, shrouded in a thin bluish haze, think some kind of eternal thought of their own and so strongly attract, beckon to look behind the bright veil of their wisdom, to know their secrets. I love these distances, where the affectionately friendly sun scatters its smiles and so gently passes the whisk of its rays across the face of the earth and a light breeze sways green leaves on the branches, combs and tangles the braids of curly pines and shakes silver-gray rye over the field, instantly changing, shimmering with its living, moving shadows, as if rolling out of the ground smoky linen endless, non-stop waves.
I love my native expanses, where human settlements are scattered among the fields and forests, small, economically furnished courtyards, low huts surrounded by willows, lindens, elms and maples, where the whole life of a peasant passes with its anxieties, hopes, with its joys and sorrows, and where hidden peasant thoughts merge with the thoughts of the open spaces.
I love these distances, when a menacing cloud spreads its wings above them and rolls huge golden-fleeced clouds of clouds in front of it, angrily casting shadows on the verge of earth and sky, pouring thunder and shaking fields and forests that have become silent, as if numb.
There will be a storm, a thunderstorm will strike ...
Kindness and anger, silence and storm! I greet you when you arrive at your due date, fulfilling the eternal will of life.
To space, to wide space!
Behind Selets, the road turned sharply onto a highway with a bridge across the Teleshev Oak and immediately climbed a hill into the forest.
It was evening. Warm dampness wafted from the swamps. A whitish mist hung over the vines. In the alder forest, at the edge of the forest, a nightingale whistled. And the forest, motionlessly hanging its branches, silently listened to this hymn to spring and young life.
Lobanovich looked at Telshino for the last time. Tall pears flashed in white, a chapel in a gloomy cemetery, the monotonous gray roofs of the Telshinsky buildings, a school and a high cross next to it, windmill with wings raised and frozen in the evening silence. It seemed that her figure, so familiar to Lobanovich, expressed even greater surprise.
Empty and unfriendly there.
The heart of the young teacher sank painfully, and the image of Panna Yadvisi rose even brighter before his eyes.
She was there - and life bloomed around, joy, a feeling of fullness of life filled him. And now she is gone - and everything has faded, as if frozen ...
Why did this happen? Why?
Or maybe it's even better...
Nevertheless, resentment, sadness remained in his heart.
The road entered the forest. Telshino, the school and the house of the master of the mean, eclipsed by the forest, were left behind.
Really forever?
Something sad and dreary, like a funeral bell, was felt in this silent question.
Lobanovich stirred in the cart and took out a cigarette.
Let's smoke, Uncle Roman, so that they don't scold at home.
I wanted to talk, to get away from oppressive, painfully sad thoughts, to draw a line under what was.
Uncle Roman, a broad-shouldered man, willingly turned to the teacher and clumsily took a cigarette with coarse fingers. His face lit up with a friendly smile.
Why scold? he replied. - I suppose they will be glad to see you at home ... Are you, sir teacher, leaving us for the whole summer?
Yes, for the whole summer, and maybe forever.
Do you really want to get out? Eh, sir teacher, you have to stay with us some more. And the children loved you, and we got used to you. Yes, you haven't looked around yet. Didn't you like it with us?