What is my homeland who is the author. Poems about the motherland. There the skies and the waters are clear
A selection of poems about the motherland - help ... supplement!
***
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
***
For peace, for children.
Anywhere in any country
The guys don't want war.
They will have to enter into life soon,
They want peace, not war
The green noise of the native forest,
They all need a school
And the garden at the peaceful threshold,
Father and mother and father's house.
There are many places in the world
For those who live accustomed to work.
Our people raised their powerful voice
For all children, for peace, for work!
Let each ear ripen in the field,
Gardens are blooming, forests are growing!
Who sows bread in a peaceful field,
Builds factories, cities,
The one for the children of the orphanage
Will never wish!
E. Trutneva
***
About Motherland
What is my homeland called?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?
Is that autumn birch over there?
Or spring drops?
Maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a cold winter day?
Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without mother's care dear,
And I'm not the same without friends.
That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be by your side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!
***
Oh Motherland!
Oh Motherland! In dim light
I catch with a quivering gaze
Your blueberries, copses - Everything that I love without memory:
And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross above the bell tower,
And a low mound with a star...
My hurts and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone - and consolation
And my healing.
A.V. Zhigulin
***
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
***
motherland
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Sunny bunny in the palm
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek a mole -
This is also homeland.
Tatyana Bokova
***
Immeasurable country.
If long, long, long
In an airplane we fly
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.
***
Motherland.
Motherland is a big, 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.
Tatyana Bokova
***
Russia is my Motherland!
Russia - You are like a second mother to me,
I have grown and grown before your eyes.
I go forward confidently and directly,
And I believe in God that lives in heaven!
I love the ringing of your church bells,
And our rural flowering fields,
I love people, kind and spiritual,
Who were raised by the Russian Land!
I love slender, tall birches -
Our sign and symbol of Russian beauty.
I look at them and make sketches,
Like an artist, I write my poems.
I could never part with you
For I love You with all my heart and soul.
War will come and I will go to fight
At any moment I want to be only with You!
And if it ever happens,
That fate will separate us from you
Like a bird in a tight cage I will beat,
And every Russian here will understand me!
E. Kislyakov
Other topics from the section Poems, rhymes and poems for children see here.
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The old house where he was born, the native yard where he spent his childhood, found his first friends, the school that taught him to love his land, to protect it. Here it is, Russia - an immense country that gave life, caressed and educated its citizen. Poems about the motherland, filled with inexplicable power, pride and respect, glorify the beauty of fields, forests, rivers, the power of people's love for their native land, traditions, and its history.
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I left my home...
I left my home
Blue left Russia.
The mother's old sadness warms.
golden frog moon
Spread out on still water.
Like apple blossom, gray hair
My father spilled in his beard.
I won't be back soon!
For a long time to sing and ring the blizzard.
Guards blue Russia
Old maple on one leg.
And I know there's joy in it
Because that old maple
Head looks like me.
I left my home
Blue left Russia.
Three-star birch forest over the pond
The mother's old sadness warms.
golden frog moon
Spread out on still water.
Like apple blossom, gray hair
My father spilled in his beard.
I won't be back soon!
For a long time to sing and ring the blizzard.
Guards blue Russia
Old maple on one leg.
And I know there's joy in it
To those who kiss the leaves of the rain,
Because that old maple
Head looks like me.
S. Yesenin
Just think, listen
In the name of "Russia!"
It has both dew and blue,
And radiance and strength.
I would have only one fate
asked -
So that again the enemies do not go on
Russia...
Just think, listen
In the name of "Russia!"
It has both dew and blue,
And radiance and strength.
I would have only one fate
asked -
So that again the enemies do not go on
Russia...
Y. Drunina
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.
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
It will change so much that the son ...
It will change so much that the son,
What even the son does not know?
No blond braids
No blue eyes...
Russia is mother
Holy and visible
May your lot be great!
But keep the unique
Your maternal bright face.
It will change so much that the son,
What even the son does not know?
Here he is waiting for a meeting with her,
And suddenly, look, trouble struck:
Neither the former, from childhood sweet speech,
No blond braids
No blue eyes...
Russia is mother
Holy and visible
May your lot be great!
But keep the unique
Your maternal bright face.
N. Starshinov
Grows along the road
goose weed,
And next to the road
Ditch with water.
And all sorts of things
Floats in it
Hiding by the shore
Slumbering at the bottom:
Beetles and leeches
Dragonflies, goats
They don't know peace
Dive, dive,
And small fish
They even happen here.
And grandmother Manya,
Chasing a goat
Said,
Shading eyes from the sun:
- I live in the world
For seventy years
The best here is entih
There are no places in the world.
Grows along the road
goose weed,
And next to the road
Ditch with water.
And all sorts of things
Floats in it
Hiding by the shore
Slumbering at the bottom:
Beetles and leeches
Dragonflies, goats
They don't know peace
Dive, dive,
And small fish
They even happen here.
And grandmother Manya,
Chasing a goat
Said,
Shading eyes from the sun:
- I live in the world
For seventy years
The best here is entih
There are no places in the world.
G. Lebedeva
Smolensk and Tula, Kyiv and Voronezh
We are proud of our past glory.
Everywhere there are traces of the past.
Calls out our past, commanding
Smolensk and Tula, Kyiv and Voronezh
We are proud of our past glory.
Where you can't touch our land with a staff, -
Everywhere there are traces of the past.
The old time gives us treasures:
Dig with a shovel and you will find everywhere -
Here is a forged stirrup in Danzig,
And there - an arrow, red-hot in the Horde.
Buried a lot of rusty steel in the ground
Everyone who feasted with us at a party!
Like a monument stands on a pedestal,
So Russia stood on enemy bones.
To us, vigilant guardians of ancient glory,
Calls out our past, commanding
So that on the rusty iron of the enemy
And henceforth stood the Russian land!
D. Kedrin
Good morning!
The sun rose over the mountain
The darkness of the night is blurred by the dawn,
A meadow in flowers, as if painted ...
Good morning,
Native land!
Noisily the doors creaked,
The early birds sang
Loudly arguing 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!
The sun rose over the mountain
The darkness of the night is blurred by the dawn,
A meadow in flowers, as if painted ...
Good morning,
Native land!
Noisily the doors creaked,
The early birds sang
Loudly arguing 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
Russian house
Floors in Taimyr and Anadyr.
What warms us in the cold winter.
There are seven more time zones.
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 so that
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
Russia didn't start with a sword!
Russia did not begin with a sword,
But because the Russian shoulder
And arrows ringing battles
No wonder the horse of the mighty Elijah
Out of kindness sometimes not immediately
Retribution was rising. It's true.
And if the hordes prevailed,
Forgive me, Russia, the troubles of sons.
Whenever the strife of the princes,
Yes, you can deceive the hero,
That guarantee is Lake Peipsi,
River Nepryadva and Borodino.
And if the darkness of the Teutons or
That is the current proud Russia
She has overcome hell.
That guarantee - hero cities
That did not humiliate anyone anywhere.
Dawn rises, bright and hot.
And it will be so forever indestructible.
Russia did not begin with a sword,
And that's why she's invincible!
Russia did not begin with a sword,
She began with a scythe and a plow,
But because the blood is not hot,
But because the Russian shoulder
Never in my life has anger touched ..
And arrows ringing battles
They only interrupted her usual work.
No wonder the horse of the mighty Elijah
Saddled was the master of the arable land.
In hands, cheerful only from labor,
Out of kindness sometimes not immediately
Retribution was rising. It's true.
But there was never a thirst for blood,
And if the hordes prevailed,
Forgive me, Russia, the troubles of sons.
Whenever the strife of the princes,
How would the hordes be given in the muzzle!
But only meanness rejoiced in vain.
With a hero, jokes are short-lived;
Yes, you can deceive the hero,
But to win - that's already pipes!
'Cause that would be just as funny
How, say, to fight with the sun and the moon,
That guarantee is Lake Peipsi,
River Nepryadva and Borodino.
And if the darkness of the Teutons or
Batu found the end in my homeland,
That is the current proud Russia
A hundred times more beautiful and stronger!
And in the fight with the most fierce war
She has overcome hell.
That guarantee - hero cities
In the fireworks on a festive night!
And my country is always strong
That did not humiliate anyone anywhere.
'Cause kindness is stronger than war
How disinterestedness is more effective than a sting,
Dawn rises, bright and hot.
And it will be so forever indestructible.
Russia did not begin with a sword,
And that's why she's invincible!
E. Asadov
Russia in the heart is not accidental
Russia in the heart is not accidental,
I went through it on foot.
She rattles the keys in me,
Noisy spring streams,
Above the nests yelling rooks,
Sounds like a shepherd's horn.
Russia! I owe you.
You're all like a church in plain sight.
Put in a common stack!
I serve you day and night
What's hard is nothing.
With his verbal pattern
I lay down on your forehead!
Russia in the heart is not accidental,
I went through it on foot.
She rattles the keys in me,
Noisy spring streams,
Above the nests yelling rooks,
Sounds like a shepherd's horn.
Russia! I owe you.
You're all like a church in plain sight.
By your hand, like a sheaf, I am bound,
Put in a common stack!
I serve you day and night
What's hard is nothing.
With his verbal pattern
I lay down on your forehead!
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, -
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?”
Like a mother, alone!
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, alone!
V. Gudimov
Since the time of Timur and Batu
And rudely humiliated your people.
Your great tragedy
In the animal malice of the father's land
Promises, sword and hypocrisy!
We had a country of the USSR -
Great and proud state.
Solid screamers and demagogues!
And it also had to be broken
And they do not even think to be considered!
To bring a powerful state
She always, dispelling the darkness,
And from resentment, from grief and loss
I don't know if we'll live or not
When will these times come?
You are always so trusting, Russia,
Which, right, is just dumbfounded.
Since the time of Timur and Batu
You, cunning, were tormented by evil forces
And rudely humiliated your people.
Your great tragedy
Secondary in the world is hardly found:
Do you remember how specific princes,
In the animal malice of the father's land
Betrayed to enemies without regret?!
My people are kind! How much have you suffered
From cunning intrigues with your trust!
After all, no one called Rurik to Russia.
He himself crushed Novgorod with his retinue
Promises, sword and hypocrisy!
And what about the recent past, for example?
What honor, dignity and glory?
We had a country of the USSR -
Great and proud state.
But it can't be allowed,
To live in a country without grief and anxiety!
There were again "specific princes",
And yet, no! What kind of "princes" are there!
Solid screamers and demagogues!
And it also had to be broken
And take away all the strength and wealth,
So that now it’s not something to talk with her,
And they do not even think to be considered!
And how much did it take
Dashing laws, beating angrier than a stick,
To bring a powerful state
To the position of a miserable host!
Yes, Russia is always trusting. It's like that.
But how many times in history has it happened
No matter how broken, no matter how tyrannical the enemy,
She always, dispelling the darkness,
Like a Phoenix bird, reborn again!
And if so, then, then, and now
All good things will surely happen
And from resentment, from grief and loss
Russia will not be blown to pieces!
And the hour will strike, though fast, though not fast,
When Russia rises to its full height.
Mighty, from the depths to the very stars,
And throw off the shoulders of businesslike packs!
I don't know if we'll live or not
Until these days, my dear people,
But I firmly believe: the light will light up,
But I know for sure: there will be a revival!
When will these times come?
It's not for me to judge. But the clouds will break!
And I know for sure: the truth is lit,
My country will still appear to everyone
And proud, and great, and mighty!
E. Asadov
Here golden-winged angels of God
And the earth was watered with holy water,
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
Yes, these rays will not go!
You bloomed blue.
In the spring she kissed my eyelashes.
Blind words of litany.
Powerful, song books.
I hear your roaring call!
You still shine for me!
Is it all the same to me - whether a slave, a mercenary
Or just call you crazy?
You shine ... I'll take a look - and I will remember happiness ..
Yes, these rays will not go!
You are in my passion, and in solemn suffering,
And in a woman's slow gaze was ..
In fields lit, cold and virgin,
You bloomed blue.
You drove autumn through the tearful groves,
In the spring she kissed my eyelashes.
You in stuffy churches repeated after the deacon
Blind words of litany.
You bloomed with lightning behind the cornfield in the summer;
On a winter day, I saw your face in hoarfrost.
You leaned over the pages with me at night
Powerful, song books.
You were and will be .. I was mysteriously created
From the shine and haze of your clouds.
When the starry night splashes over me,
I hear your roaring call!
You are in the heart, Russia! You are the goal and the foot
You are in the murmur of blood, in the confusion of dreams!
And should I stray in this age of impassability?
You still shine for me!
V. Nabokov
Russia, you are a great power,
And there is no other way for you.
We are proud of your cities.
The glorious capital crowns you,
And Petersburg keeps history.
How little we know about you.
Russia, you are a great power,
Your expanses are infinitely great.
For all ages you have crowned yourself with glory.
And there is no other way for you.
Lake captivity crowns your forests.
The cascade of ridges in the mountains conceals dreams.
River flow heals thirst
And the native steppe will give birth to bread.
We are proud of your cities.
From Brest to Vladivostok, the road is open.
The glorious capital crowns you,
And Petersburg keeps history.
In the land of your wealth, the flow is inexhaustible,
The path lies to your treasures.
How little we know about you.
How much we have to learn.
I. Mordovina
Native nest
song swallows
Above my window
They 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.
song swallows
Above my window
They 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
native nature
Let's take care of our nature!
And from our caring love.
It will depend only on us.
Don't forget about it now.
And let him praise the anthem of life
Nature!
Come on, friends, in any weather
Let's take care of our nature!
And from our caring love.
The earth will become richer and more beautiful!
Remember adults, remember children!
Remember that the beauty of the planet
It will depend only on us.
Don't forget about it now.
Save the living planet for the people.
And let him praise the anthem of life
Nature!
T. Petukhova
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.
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
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.
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
They don't choose their families...
They don't choose their families.
Starting to see and breathe
They receive a homeland in the world
Immutable, like father and mother.
The days were gray, slanting ...
Bad weather chalk street ...
I was born in autumn in Russia,
And Russia accepted me.
Motherland! And joy and sorrow
Were inextricably merged in it.
You were my ally.
Motherland! Tender than the first caress
You taught me to take care
Golden Pushkin's fairy tales.
Gogol's captivating speech,
Clear, spacious nature,
True liberty and freedom
Drunk with restless blood
By the waters of a living spring,
Like frost, burned with love
Russian crazy man.
I love rolling thunderstorms
Crisp and knurled frost,
Sticky life-giving tears
morning shining birches,
Nameless rivers of the bend.
Quiet evening fields;
I stretch out my hands to you
My homeland is one.
They don't choose their families.
Starting to see and breathe
They receive a homeland in the world
Immutable, like father and mother.
The days were gray, slanting ...
Bad weather chalk street ...
I was born in autumn in Russia,
And Russia accepted me.
Motherland! And joy and sorrow
Were inextricably merged in it.
Motherland! In love. In battle and dispute
You were my ally.
Motherland! Tender than the first caress
You taught me to take care
Golden Pushkin's fairy tales.
Gogol's captivating speech,
Clear, spacious nature,
The horizon for hundreds of miles around,
True liberty and freedom
A caring hand is a generous gesture.
Drunk with restless blood
By the waters of a living spring,
Like frost, burned with love
Russian crazy man.
I love rolling thunderstorms
Crisp and knurled frost,
Sticky life-giving tears
morning shining birches,
Nameless rivers of the bend.
Quiet evening fields;
I stretch out my hands to you
My homeland is one.
M. Aliger
Sometimes worn out, they barely ring
Walking through life the way of a soldier,
Yes, just different, as when,
I would probably say:
She is just like my mother!
And then I saw you differently
My first teacher.
When I followed your pointer
You, scolding, suddenly smile
And doomedly closed his eyes?
Dragonflies gossiped with midges:
- It's a pity .. Quite young!
With a basket, scarlet from raspberries.
I looked and I already understood everything:
Intoxicated from bread and milk,
I have long seen from afar
Who are you to help me?
Or the "mistress" of the taiga forests?
I am everywhere, I immediately recognize you
How sorry I am that our proud words
"Power", "Motherland" and "Fatherland"
Sometimes worn out, they barely ring
In the simple vocabulary of everyday life,
I did not sin with this talkativeness.
Walking through life the way of a soldier,
I just loved you from birth
Shy, quiet and very holy.
What have you always been to me?
Probably different at different times.
Yes, just different, as when,
But forever mine and always beautiful!
In some five barefoot years
The world is a street, a soccer ball,
Saber, yes, a blue triangular serpent,
Yes, a dove ripping up the dawn.
And if then I had about
They asked: what kind of Motherland do I represent?
I would probably say:
She is just like my mother!
And then I saw you differently
In the whistle of the blizzard Ural days,
Thin, strict, with a big scythe -
My first teacher.
Life opened up almost like in a fairy tale,
Where every minute a different expanse,
When I followed your pointer
Higher and further into the vast world!
Happen, I'll make you angry sometimes -
You, scolding, suddenly smile
And you will say, shaking my forelock with your hand:
- OK. Let's get better, friend!
Do you remember the meeting in the taiga region,
When, lost, almost without strength,
I sat down on an old dry deadwood
And doomedly closed his eyes?
Sympathetically, the cedars rustled around,
Dragonflies gossiped with midges:
- Left behind the childish mushroom artel ..
- It's a pity .. Quite young!
And then, as if from a Surikov painting,
Illuminated by my own beauty
You took a step, slightly moving the bushes,
With a basket, scarlet from raspberries.
I looked and I already understood everything:
- Are you a city? .. Well, well, it happens ..
We have our own, you see, they stray,
Let's go! And she gave me her hand.
And, sitting at the junction in a rattling train,
Intoxicated from bread and milk,
I have long seen from afar
You, standing in the dawn to the waist ..
Who are you to help me?
It's hard for me to figure it out:
You were indeed a forester's daughter
Or the "mistress" of the taiga forests?
And yet, no matter where I am
And no matter how I live now, and before,
I am everywhere, I immediately recognize you
Your voice, hands, your smile,
In whatever clothes you would appear!
E. Asadov
O unyielding tongue!
Why would it be simple - a man,
Understand, he sang before me:
- Russia, my homeland!
But also from the Kaluga hill
She opened up to me
Far away - distant land!
Foreign land, my homeland!
Distance, born like pain,
So homeland and so
Rock that is everywhere, through the whole
Dal — I carry it all with me!
The distance that moved me near,
Dal, who said: "Come back
Taking me off my seats!
Not without reason, doves of water,
I furrowed my forehead.
You! I will lose this hand of mine,
At least two! I'll sign with my lips
On the chopping block: strife my land -
Pride, my homeland!
O unyielding tongue!
Why would it be simple - a man,
Understand, he sang before me:
- Russia, my homeland!
But also from the Kaluga hill
She opened up to me
Far away - distant land!
Foreign land, my homeland!
Distance, born like pain,
So homeland and so
Rock that is everywhere, through the whole
Dal — I carry it all with me!
The distance that moved me near,
Dal, who said: "Come back
Home!". From all - to the mountain stars -
Taking me off my seats!
Not without reason, doves of water,
I furrowed my forehead.
You! I will lose this hand of mine,
At least two! I'll sign with my lips
On the chopping block: strife my land -
Pride, my homeland!
M. Tsvetaeva
spring,
cheerful,
eternal,
good,
Tractor
plowed
happiness
sown -
All in front of her
From South
to the north!
dear motherland,
Russian motherland,
Mirnaya-peaceful
Russian-Russian…
spring,
cheerful,
eternal,
good,
Tractor
plowed
happiness
sown -
All in front of her
From South
to the north!
dear motherland,
Russian motherland,
Mirnaya-peaceful
Russian-Russian…
V. Semernin
In that distant
In that Don village
Each reed has a bee...
Motherland!
Simple and great.
Strictly you looked at me ...
And then,
Calling to the harsh edges,
On the thin, young me.
I didn't drink milk for many years.
Only you, my land,
Didn't believe
What did I change for you?
I went through everything:
difficult roads,
Evil libel and bitter misfortune
A dusty swan in a ditch.
I'm with you again
The land is spacious
Where behind the wedge of the old stubble
My homeland is quiet;
Where hangs over the hut
Red month;
Each reed has a bee...
I remember: under the shade of old cherries
In that distant
In that Don village
Bees lived in reed roofs -
Each reed has a bee...
Motherland!
Simple and great.
In early childhood, keeping from trouble,
Ancient Arkhangelsk faces
Strictly you looked at me ...
And then,
Calling to the harsh edges,
Where in the spring you will not find greenery,
Life has loaded a hundred-pound rails
On the thin, young me.
I dug ore in the Far North.
I didn't drink milk for many years.
Only you, my land,
Didn't believe
What did I change for you?
I went through everything:
difficult roads,
Evil libel and bitter misfortune
To touch with your fingers again
A dusty swan in a ditch.
I'm with you again
The land is spacious
Where behind the wedge of the old stubble
Under the mountain stands the village of Podgornoe -
My homeland is quiet;
Where hangs over the hut
Red month;
Where in the transparent weightless haze
The bees sleep under the reed roof -
Each reed has a bee...
A. Zhigulin
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the heavens!
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Sunny bunny in the palm
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek a mole -
This is also homeland.
Motherland is a big, 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
If they say the word "Motherland",
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 hillock ...
And others will probably remember
Your native Moscow courtyard ...
In the puddles the first boats
Above the rope, the stomp of feet
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!
If they say the word "Motherland",
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 hillock ...
And others will probably remember
Your native Moscow courtyard ...
In the puddles the first boats
Above the rope, the stomp of feet
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. Alexandrova
native country
In a wide area
predawn time
Scarlet dawns rose
over the native country.
Every year it gets better
Dear lands...
Better than our motherland
Not in the world, friends!
In a wide area
predawn time
Scarlet dawns rose
over the native country.
Every year it gets better
Dear lands...
Better than our motherland
Not in the world, friends!
A. Prokofiev
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.
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
Hello Russia
Hello, Russia - my homeland!
And there is no singing, but I clearly hear
Hello, Russia - my homeland!
For all the mansions I do not give
How peacefully in my upper room
And the glorious breath of antiquity,
Hello, Russia - my homeland!
Stronger than storms, stronger than any will
Love for you, a hut in an azure field.
Hello, Russia - my homeland!
How happy I am under your foliage!
And there is no singing, but I clearly hear
Invisible choral singing singing ...
As if the wind drove me along it,
All over the earth - in villages and capitals!
I was strong, but the wind was stronger
And I couldn't stop anywhere.
Hello, Russia - my homeland!
Stronger than storms, stronger than any will
Love for your barns at the stubble,
Love for you, a hut in an azure field.
For all the mansions I do not give
Your low house with nettles under the window.
How peacefully in my upper room
The sun was setting in the evenings!
Like the whole expanse, heavenly and earthly,
Breathed in the window of happiness and peace,
And the glorious breath of antiquity,
And rejoiced under the showers and heat! ..
Hello, Russia - my homeland!
Stronger than storms, stronger than any will
Love for your, Russia, cranes,
Love for you, a hut in an azure field.
N. Rubtsov
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!
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
Great name - Russia
Such a beautiful name - Russia!
What a beautiful name - Russia!
We are kinder and stronger with this name.
In it is the wind of hope and front-line days,
And the rustle of birches, and the sadness of cranes.
Years pass over my country.
Years pass over a great destiny,
And if we are worth something in life,
It's only because our hearts are with you.
Such a beautiful name - Russia!
The blizzard forest and the silence of the fields.
I carried this name in my heart,
When I parted with my Russia.
Such a beautiful name - Russia!
She gave us her good nature.
All my life I only asked fate for one thing,
May Russia be happy forever.
A. Dementiev
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!
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!
Again I thought about the Motherland
Again I thought about the Motherland,
Where the quinoa freezes in the dew,
The star is getting colder in the morning.
There are black shadows in the oak forest
And a white garden above the shore.
And you can not think about fame
And listen to the leaves fly...
There are red bushes of reeds,
It is probably well known
Is our soul immortal?
Again I thought about the Motherland,
Where the quinoa freezes in the dew,
Where in the old mossy well
The star is getting colder in the morning.
There are black shadows in the oak forest
And a white garden above the shore.
And you can not think about fame
And listen to the leaves fly...
There the river is transparent, like childhood.
There are red bushes of reeds,
It is probably well known
Is our soul immortal?
A. Zhigulin
Oh Russia! With a difficult fate, the country ...
Oh Russia!
With a difficult fate, the country ...
I have you, Russia,
Like a heart, alone.
I will tell a friend
I will tell the enemy
Without you,
Like without a heart
I can't live...
Oh Russia!
With a difficult fate, the country ...
I have you, Russia,
Like a heart, alone.
I will tell a friend
I will tell the enemy
Without you,
Like without a heart
I can't live...
Y. Drunina
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland
A melody full of light and tears?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
Longing for birds flying away for the winter?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
Motherland, only Motherland.
Motherland, dear Motherland.
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
And the best songs are yours and mine -
About the motherland, only about the motherland ...
And my thoughts, and my prayers -
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
What is this song of weeping birches about,
A melody full of light and tears?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
What is beyond the cold granite borders
Longing for birds flying away for the winter?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
In moments of sadness, in times of adversity
Who will take care of us and who will save us?
Motherland, only Motherland.
Whom in the bitter cold we need to warm
And in hard days we should regret?
Motherland, dear Motherland.
When we leave for interstellar flight
What is our earthly heart singing about?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
We live in the name of kindness and love,
And the best songs are yours and mine -
About the motherland, only about the motherland ...
Under the scorching sun and in the snow dust
And my thoughts, and my prayers -
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
R. Gamzatov
What is my homeland called?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Is that autumn birch over there?
Or spring drops?
Maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a cold winter day?
But it will all be nothing
Without mother's care dear,
And I'm not the same without friends.
So that's what is called the Motherland!
To always be by your side
Who needs me too!
What is my homeland called?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?
Is that autumn birch over there?
Or spring drops?
Maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a cold winter day?
Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without mother's care dear,
And I'm not the same without friends.
So that's what is called the Motherland!
To always be by your side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!
E. Trutneva
Oh Motherland!
Oh Motherland! In dim light
I catch with a quivering gaze
Your clearings, copses -
Everything that I love without memory:
And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a low mound with a star...
My hurts and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone - and consolation,
And my healing.
Oh Motherland! In dim light
I catch with a quivering gaze
Your clearings, copses -
Everything that I love without memory:
And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross above the bell tower,
And a low mound with a star...
My hurts and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone - and consolation,
And my healing.
A. Zhigulin
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.
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
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!
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
My motherland
I will draw the fields and the snake of the river.
I'll take a pencil and draw a house
I will draw the sky and the sun above it.
So that it is warm for those who live in the house,
I'll draw a pipe with smoke coming out of it.
I'll take a pencil and draw flowers
I will draw bushes and trees around.
So that there is always freshness in this garden,
I will draw rain from caring hands.
I'll take a pencil and draw a forest
I will draw the fields and the snake of the river.
So that peace and tranquility be on this Earth,
I'll draw a dove flying in the sky.
T. Travnik
Moscow, Russia
Two words: Moscow and Russia, -
Two calls: Russia - Moscow, -
Whom on earth I don't ask
Everyone knows these words! ...
Russia started from Moscow
Moscow defended itself from enemies,
Moscow flaunted from the face ...
How little did she endure
Raids and troubles without end!
But the stubborn strength grew stronger
Moscow people-creator.
Suffered, burned, empty -
You will not meet an answer to a shout -
And again sparkled, shone,
Forgetting all evil for the last.
People flocked under her wing,
Rise up to great labors,
And again - residential buildings,
And again - trade rows.
We can compete with strength
We are not looking for someone else's good, -
To master his wealth,
Raise yours to the top!
Two words: Moscow and Russia, -
Two calls: Russia - Moscow, -
Whom on earth I don't ask
Everyone knows these words! ...
Russia started from Moscow
Like a swan's scream - from a chick.
Moscow defended itself from enemies,
Moscow flaunted from the face ...
How little did she endure
Raids and troubles without end!
But the stubborn strength grew stronger
Moscow people-creator.
Suffered, burned, empty -
You will not meet an answer to a shout -
And again sparkled, shone,
Forgetting all evil for the last.
People flocked under her wing,
Rise up to great labors,
And again - residential buildings,
And again - trade rows.
We can compete with strength
We are not looking for someone else's good, -
To master his wealth,
Raise yours to the top!
My home area
I go out to the balcony
I see a park and a stadium
cinema, library,
Church, clinic, pharmacy,
music school,
Offices are mirrored.
Also an ice palace.
And the mall is brand new
And my high school
Where I study with imagination.
I go out to the balcony
Hello,
My home area!
I go out to the balcony
I see a park and a stadium
cinema, library,
Church, clinic, pharmacy,
music school,
Offices are mirrored.
Also an ice palace.
And the mall is brand new
And my high school
Where I study with imagination.
I go out to the balcony
Hello,
My home area!
A. Smetanin
My house is in the woods
Among blueberry belts.
Among the fields, among the roads
You will find its threshold.
Among underground springs,
Where the sun beats from the fetters
Among the resin, among the oak forests
He stands among the fragrant herbs.
A star fell over the pond
And I was friends with her for a month.
Let me never be there
But only there - I lived.
My house is in the woods
Among blueberry belts.
Among the fields, among the roads
You will find its threshold.
Among underground springs,
Where the sun beats from the fetters
Among the resin, among the oak forests
He stands among the fragrant herbs.
A star fell over the pond
And I was friends with her for a month.
Let me never be there
But only there - I lived.
He said, "Come here
Leave Russia forever.
I will wash the blood from your hands,
I will take out black shame from my heart,
I will cover with a new name
The pain of defeat and resentment.
But indifferent and calm
I covered my ears with my hands
So that this speech is unworthy
The mournful spirit was not defiled.
I had a voice. He called comfortingly
He said, "Come here
Leave your land deaf and sinful,
Leave Russia forever.
I will wash the blood from your hands,
I will take out black shame from my heart,
I will cover with a new name
The pain of defeat and resentment.
But indifferent and calm
I covered my ears with my hands
So that this speech is unworthy
The mournful spirit was not defiled.
A. Akhmatova
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!
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
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 snow around -
It's cold and blizzard there.
The moon looks out the window.
Far East at the same time
Rise to greet the sun.
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!
Translation from Ukrainian
Z. Alexandrova
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 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!
Translation from Ukrainian
Z. Alexandrova
N. Zabila
native land
Cheerful forest, native fields,
Winding rivers, flowering slope,
And bell ringing.
I merge.
My native land
My love.
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
What is our Motherland!
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
Do not count her goodness!
The wave runs slowly
The expanse of fields caresses the eye.
What a happy motherland
And this happiness is everything for us!
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
Do not count her goodness!
The wave runs slowly
The expanse of fields caresses the eye.
What a happy motherland
And this happiness is everything for us!
And the day of the war light is heavy, -
If you are a plowman
Give her everything like Minin
Be her Suvorov
If you are a warrior.
In the hour of testing
Bow to the Fatherland
In Russian,
In the night,
And tell her
— Mother!
You are my life!
You are dearer to me than life!
With you to live
With you - to die!
And no matter how long
And the day of the war light is heavy, -
If you are a plowman
Give her everything like Minin
Be her Suvorov
If you are a warrior.
Love her, swear like our grandfathers
Mountain to stand for her life and honor,
To say in the desired hour of victory:
- And there is a drop of honey here.
D. Kedrin
Thought about Russia
Russia is spread wide
Russia endured many troubles:
They attacked her from the east
With a fiery blizzard of the Tatars,
The Livonians marched like a wall against her.
“Now,” they frightened her, “
Where did the German foot set foot ... ".
Militia thorny Minin,
The swarthy hand of Tsar Ivan
She beat the crusaders on the cheeks.
And they drew on the steppe yarugi
Golden Fist Ivan the Great...
And Andrei Rublev painted icons,
Russians with blue eyes
They went to the beast with a horn,
They sang the harp of the prophetic Bayan
And Moscow grew on the ashes,
Like a golden dovecote...
Now sharpens crooked teeth again
The will to take away our share,
So that we don't sing our songs
To our little guys
And we will not become his slaves!
The Russian river will drown him...
Do not drink the Don's helmet to the enemy!
Russian banners will not bend!
To remain from the filthy horde
Only nameless barrows
Russia is spread wide
Russia endured many troubles:
They attacked her from the east
With a fiery blizzard of the Tatars,
From the west, eclipsing the sun with shields,
The Livonians marched like a wall against her.
“Now,” they frightened her, “
We will crush you into the sand with our feet!
Wait, they say: nettles will grow,
Where did the German foot set foot ... ".
The sentinel beat in the beat in a fire,
Warriors ran to the greyhound horses,
Brought out under the Russian blue sky
Militia thorny Minin,
From Polish and Tatar captivity
Rescued Don Russia with Pozharsky,
The swarthy hand of Tsar Ivan
She beat the crusaders on the cheeks.
And they drew on the steppe yarugi
Kites above them circle after circle,
They pecked on shaky roads,
Crows in monastic black cassocks,
And uplifted over the beaten enemy clique
Golden Fist Ivan the Great...
A peasant sowed rye in the ports of pastures,
And Andrei Rublev painted icons,
Russians with blue eyes
They went to the beast with a horn,
Fedka Horse, subduing a violent temper,
He built the miraculous White City,
The bowl was smoldering in the mica window,
The girls went to whiten their canvases in the sun,
They sang the harp of the prophetic Bayan
The glory of past battles, and Russia stood,
And Moscow grew on the ashes,
Like a golden dovecote...
Now sharpens crooked teeth again
Enemy to the Russian land. He wants again
Lay out the bones of us in the military field,
The will to take away our share,
So that we don't sing our songs
Owned neither land nor forest,
To attract a horde of Teutonic drunks
Our wives in tents, like polonyanok,
To our little guys
Bows made humpbacks,
So that only wanderers wandered barefoot
Do not be such a shame, brothers!
To the places where Russia used to be...
Let's get breasts! Let's fight to the death!
Let's take out the enemy! I'll stab you with a bayonet!
Let's sew a bullet! Let's kill with a drekol!
Let's trample into the ground! Let's bite our teeth
And we will not become his slaves!
The hawk will show us the wing of the enemy,
Rustling grass will tell about him,
The distance will lure, will give out horse stomp,
The Russian river will drown him...
Do not drink the Don's helmet to the enemy!
Russian banners will not bend!
We will fight so that it can be seen:
There is no stronger Russian power in the world!
To remain from the filthy horde
Only nameless barrows
So that, as of old, stood majestically
Mother Russia, our life and glory!
D. Kedrin
Goy you, my dear Russia ...
Goy you, my dear Russia,
Huts - in the robes of the image ...
See no end and edge -
Only blue sucks eyes.
Like a wandering pilgrim,
I watch your fields.
And at the low outskirts
Poplars wither loudly.
Smells like apple and honey
Through the churches your meek Savior,
And buzzes behind the hillside
There is a cheerful dance in the meadows.
I'll run along the wrinkled stitch
To the freedom of the green lekh,
Meet me like earrings
A girlish laugh will ring out.
If the holy army shouts:
"Throw you Russia, live in paradise!",
I will say: “There is no need for paradise,
Give me my country."
Goy you, my dear Russia,
Huts - in the robes of the image ...
See no end and edge -
Only blue sucks eyes.
Like a wandering pilgrim,
I watch your fields.
And at the low outskirts
Poplars wither loudly.
Smells like apple and honey
Through the churches your meek Savior,
And buzzes behind the hillside
There is a cheerful dance in the meadows.
I'll run along the wrinkled stitch
To the freedom of the green lekh,
Meet me like earrings
A girlish laugh will ring out.
If the holy army shouts:
"Throw you Russia, live in paradise!",
I will say: “There is no need for paradise,
Give me my country."
S. Yesenin
Russian anthem
Be, Russia, always Russia
If we are not, be!
On par with the Russian song.
We have everything in Russia.
Russians, together we are strong.
If we are not, be!
Be, Russia, always Russia
And do not cry, crouching on the chest of others.
Be free, proud and beautiful
If we are not, be!
We were born in the most snowy country,
But in the most tender country,
Not sinless, true, but boundless,
On par with the Russian song.
Is conscience in a camp grave?
Both courage and honor will live.
For us to be happy
We have everything in Russia.
Russians, together we are strong.
Separate us just to shake off the planet.
God bless you, Russia,
If we are not, be!
E. Evtushenko
Majestic Motherland
I want to glorify the Motherland.
In the whole world there is no more wonderful
She can handle any business.
It's a hot day in Yalta
in Norilsk - a blizzard -
That's the scope of my country!
But she - from north to south -
Fits in our hearts.
And not without reason the whole planet sees,
And not without reason the whole earth sees,
Give the stars of the ancient Kremlin.
We will always be faithful to her.
Sunny, bright pages
Let's write in the biography of the country!
The best, most sonorous song,
I want to glorify the Motherland.
In the whole world there is no more wonderful
She can handle any business.
It's a hot day in Yalta
in Norilsk - a blizzard -
That's the scope of my country!
But she - from north to south -
Fits in our hearts.
And not without reason the whole planet sees,
And not without reason the whole earth sees,
How many people of festive light
Give the stars of the ancient Kremlin.
Let's be proud of our country
We will always be faithful to her.
Sunny, bright pages
Let's write in the biography of the country!
M. Plyatskovsky
Gratitude
From spring barley
For the fact that I am prolonged young
Thank you, Russian land!
For the song of your plain,
For the generosity of your table,
For the kindness of your Arina,
That lived next to Pushkin,
For the ageless harp,
Ringing like a clear day
For the lake of glassy sadness
For the songs of the streets and backyards,
And for the accordion on the rise,
And for the salty, strong voice
In the barracks and on the marinas.
Thank you Russia
For the breadth of your fields,
For carrying me
Under my mother's heart!
For bread, for hops, for salt, for malt
From spring barley
For the fact that I am prolonged young
Thank you, Russian land!
For the song of your plain,
For the generosity of your table,
For the kindness of your Arina,
That lived next to Pushkin,
For the ageless harp,
Ringing like a clear day
For the lake of glassy sadness
With a beautiful name - Ilmen.
For the songs of the streets and backyards,
And for the accordion on the rise,
And for the salty, strong voice
In the barracks and on the marinas.
Thank you Russia
For the breadth of your fields,
For carrying me
Under my mother's heart!
Blows something native and ancient
Blows something native and ancient
From the vastness of my land.
Like distant ships.
Walking along the narrow path,
I repeat - once again! —
“It’s good that with a Russian soul
And she was born on Russian soil!
Blows something native and ancient
From the vastness of my land.
Villages float in the snowy sea,
Like distant ships.
Walking along the narrow path,
I repeat - once again! —
“It’s good that with a Russian soul
And she was born on Russian soil!
Y. Drunina
Where does the Motherland begin?
A responsible and difficult task is to educate a patriot. A child's feelings for the Motherland begin with relationships in his family, in love, respect for the closest people - mother, father. Admiration for native landscapes, culture, traditions causes amazement, a response in the young soul, smoothly taking root that connects with an invisible thread with the stepfather's house.
It is impossible to teach or impose love for one's country on a child. A quivering, deep feeling arises as one grows up, gets acquainted with the amazing history of one's native land, the richness of a powerful language in the work of Russian poets and writers. After all, it was poems about the motherland, like nothing else, that retained the special traits of the character of a Russian person with their inherent moral values, breadth of soul, hard work and loyalty. Acquaintance with patriotic works introduces children to universal values, representing the richest source of cognitive moral development. The main thing is not just to transfer knowledge, but to take care of the education of the soul, to lay the seed that generates the personality.
It smells of apple and honey My dear Russia
How much love, light sadness, desperate pain for one's land contain the patriotic verses of the classics. Often written far from home, they are saturated with deep longing for Russia in every line. Poems about the motherland, where sounds, smells, voices, and events of past years familiar from childhood, echo in the heart of every reader.
Sergei Yesenin dedicated poems to his native land more than others. In simple words, similar to an oath of allegiance to his beloved woman, he admires rural landscapes - spiked meadows, the harmony of birches, the boundlessness of fields. Alexander Blok describes his patriotic affection somewhat differently. The beauty and greatness of Russia are described through the female image, the beautiful features of the girl, in her worries, tears, kindness, sensitivity. Neither the reigning poverty, nor the sheer injustice to the social strata detract from the poet's boundless love for the Motherland. The great singer of the beauty of his native land, F. Tyutchev, like no one else, could see the spiritualized wildlife, feel how the azure sky laughs, or hear the languid, light noise of crimson leaves.
The theme of feelings for the fatherland can be found in many works. Like a red line, patriotic works pass through the work of A. Pushkin, A. Fet, V. Mayakovsky, N. Nekrasov, M. Tsvetaeva, M. Lermontov and many others. Warm love, pride in the strength of the spirit, the beauty of the Motherland - this is the main idea in the works of classical poets. You cannot love your country without understanding your people, without loving and following their traditions, without experiencing joys and hardships with them.
About Motherland
What is my homeland called?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?
Is that autumn birch over there?
Or spring drops?
Maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a cold winter day?
Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without mother's care dear,
And I'm not the same without friends.
That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be by your side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!
Oh Motherland!
Oh Motherland! In dim light
I catch with a quivering gaze
Your blueberries, copses - Everything that I love without memory:
And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross above the bell tower,
And a low mound with a star...
My hurts and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone - and consolation
And my healing.
A.V. Zhigulin
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
Motherland.
Motherland is a big, 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.
Tatyana Bokova
Russia is my Motherland!
Russia - You are like a second mother to me,
I have grown and grown before your eyes.
I go forward confidently and directly,
And I believe in God that lives in heaven!
I love the sound of bells
your church ones,
And our rural flowering fields,
I love people, kind and spiritual,
Who were raised by the Russian Land!
I love slender, tall birches -
Our sign and symbol of Russian beauty.
I look at them and make sketches,
Like an artist, I write my poems.
I could never part with you
For I love You with all my heart and soul.
War will come and I will go to fight
At any moment I want to be only with You!
And if it ever happens,
That fate will separate us from you
Like a bird in a tight cage I will beat,
And every Russian here will understand me!
E. Kislyakov
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)
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)
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)
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)
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)
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)
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)
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)
Hey
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 the 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 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, alone!
(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.
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)
Russia
Russia, you are a great power,
Your expanses are infinitely great.
For all ages you have crowned yourself with glory.
And you have no other way
Lake captivity crowns your forests.
The cascade of ridges in the mountains conceals dreams.
River flow heals thirst
And the native steppe will give birth to bread.
We are proud of your cities.
From Brest to Vladivostok, the road is open.
The glorious capital crowns you,
And Petersburg keeps history.
In the land of your wealth, the flow is inexhaustible,
The path lies to your treasures.
How little we know about you.
How much we have to learn.
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)
Keep the fire of the native hearth
Keep the fire of the native hearth
And do not covet other people's fires -
Our ancestors lived by this law
And bequeathed to us through the centuries:
Keep the fire of the native hearth!
Cherish a patch of paternal land,
No matter how swampy, no matter how stony he is,
Do not reach for the clean black earth,
What others have found before you.
Cherish a patch of paternal land!
And if the enemy thought to take away
A field cultivated by your labor,
Not on the page that they taught at school,
You will know what to stand for
You will know what to stand for!
(O. Fokina)
My homeland, bright-eyed
In chamomile meadows, in birch regions,
My motherland shines bright sun on me.
I walk on my native land - I am not,
I will breathe freely - I won’t breathe!
My homeland, bright-eyed,
You are inseparable from me.
Like a mother.
I was lucky to be born in Russia,
And I'm ready to wear it even in my arms.
Ready to serve her faithfully
And for her at least lay down a violent head.
My homeland, bright-eyed,
You are inseparable from me.
From an early age I have been attached to you
Like a mother.
(M. Nozhkin)
native land
Dear land, we are your particles,
Ages sleep in your palm.
I'm on it like a grain of wheat
On my lips I am a drop of a spring.
You teach us the truth with inspiration,
Your sunrise is in everyone's destiny.
I write one line, probably
Our common book about you.
There are many of us, but you are all one,
Let's stand up, just call.
Motherland! Take a bow from your son
And his declaration of love.
(George Voda, translated from Mold. R. Olszewski)
Where does the Motherland begin?
Where does the Motherland begin?
With smiles and tears of mothers;
From the path, the guys passed,
From home to school doors.
From birch trees standing for centuries
On the hill in the father's land,
Desire to touch with hands
my beloved land.
Where does our Fatherland end?
Look - you will not see the borders,
In the fields the horizon moves apart
With a flash of distant lightning.
And at night in her blue seas
A wave cradles the stars.
There is no edge-end in Russia;
Boundless, like a song, she is.
So what are you. Motherland?
Fields in the copses of dawn.
Everything seems to be very familiar
And look - and the heart burns.
And it seems: you can run
Fly up without fear of heights
And a blue star from the sky
Get it for your native country.
(K. Ibryaev)
Under the sound of wheels
Russia, Russia... Expanses without edge.
And the clouds, and the rain that charged in the morning.
In the gaps, the flaming disk burns out,
Like a flame on the coals of a big fire.
There is a blackening outline of a distant forest.
Here - nearby green fringe bushes.
Green stretches on the horizon
And houses sinking into the night...
Everything here - from the church to the peg - is cute:
Glades - and rivers are a mirror surface.
Dear, forever you rewarded me
Desire for all this soul to give.
The aching silence of an uninhabited village,
Ebullient life of primeval forests.
I breathe Russia - and I can't live otherwise.
Accept my crumbs, dear Russia.
I will give all of myself - and I will become richer,
Because I will connect with you.
O. Altovskaya
T. Bokova
Motherland is a big, 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.
Immeasurable country.
If long, long, long
In an airplane we fly
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.
About Motherland
What is my homeland called?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?
Is that autumn birch over there?
Or spring drops?
Maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a cold winter day?
Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without mother's care dear,
And I'm not the same without friends.
That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be by your side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!
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!
Hello my homeland!
The sun rises in the morning.
Calls everyone to the street.
I leave the house -
hello my street
I sing, and in the sky,
Birds sing to me
Herbs whisper to me on the way,
Hurry, my friend, grow up.
I sing along to the herbs
I sing to the winds
I sing along to the sun
Hello my homeland!
Poems about the homeland of Lermontov
You are beautiful, fields of the native land Poems about the Motherland
You are beautiful, fields of the native land,
Even more beautiful are your bad weather;
Winter is similar in it to the first winter
As with the first people of her peoples! ..
Fog here dresses the sky vaults!
And the steppe spread out in a lilac shroud,
And so she is fresh, and so kindred with a soul,
As if it was created only for freedom ...
But this steppe of my love is alien;
But this snow is flying silver
And for a vicious country - too pure
Never gladdens my heart.
His clothes are cold, unchanged
Hidden from the eyes of the grave ridge
And forgotten dust, but to me, but priceless to me.
Motherland. (I love my homeland, but with a strange love)
I love my homeland, but with a strange love!
My mind won't defeat her.
Nor glory bought with blood
Nor full of proud trust peace,
No dark antiquity cherished legends
Do not stir in me a pleasurable dream.
But I love - for what, I do not know myself -
Her steppes are cold silence,
Her boundless forests sway,
The floods of her rivers are like the seas;
On a country road I like to ride in a cart
And, with a slow gaze piercing the shadow of the night,
Meet around, sighing about an overnight stay,
The flickering lights of sad villages.
I love the smoke of the burnt stubble,
In the steppe, an overnight convoy,
And on a hill in the middle of a yellow field
A couple of whitening birches.
With joy unknown to many
I see a complete threshing floor
Thatched hut,
Carved shuttered window;
And on a holiday, dewy evening,
Ready to watch until midnight
To the dance with stomping and whistling
To the sound of drunken men.
Poems about Yesenin's Motherland
Oh Motherland!
Oh Motherland, oh new
With a golden roof of blood,
Trumpet, moo like a cow,
Roar telkom thunders.
I wander through the blue villages,
Such a grace
Desperate, cheerful
But I am all in you, mother.
In the school of revelry
I strengthened the flesh and mind.
From the birch rumble
Your noise is growing.
I love your vices
And drunkenness, and robbery,
And in the morning in the east
Lose yourself as a star.
And all of you, as I know
I want to crush and take
And I curse bitterly
Because you are my mother.
Goy you, my dear Russia.
Goy you, my dear Russia,
Huts - in the robes of the image ...
See no end and edge -
Only blue sucks eyes.
Like a wandering pilgrim,
I watch your fields.
And at the low outskirts
Poplars wither loudly.
Smells like apple and honey
Through the churches your meek Savior,
And buzzes behind the hillside
There is a cheerful dance in the meadows.
I'll run along the wrinkled stitch
To the freedom of the green lekh,
Meet me like earrings
A girlish laugh will ring out.
If the holy army shouts:
"Throw you Russia, live in paradise!",
I will say: “There is no need for paradise,
Give me my country."
I weave a wreath for you alone,
I sprinkle gray stitch with flowers.
Oh Russia, a quiet corner,
I look into the expanse of your fields,
You are all near and far.
Akin to me the whistle of cranes
And the slippery path is not alien.
The swamp font blooms,
Kuga calls for a long vespers,
And drops ring through the bushes
Dew cold and healing.
And even though your fog drives away
The stream of winds blowing with wings,
But all of you are myrrh and Lebanese
Magi, secretly sorcerers.
Hewn drogs sang,
Plains and bushes run.
Again chapels on the road
And memorial crosses.
Again I am sick with warm sadness
From the oatmeal breeze.
And on the lime of the bell towers
Involuntarily, the hand is baptized.
Oh Russia, crimson field
And the blue that fell into the river
I love to joy and pain
Your lake longing.
Cold grief cannot be measured,
You are on a foggy shore.
But not to love you, not to believe -
I can't learn.
And I will not give these chains
And I will not part with a long sleep,
When native steppes ring
Prayer feather grass.
Poems about the Motherland are short
F. Tyutchev
Russia cannot be understood with the mind,
Do not measure with a common yardstick:
She has a special become -
One can only believe in Russia.
V. Semernin
spring,
cheerful,
eternal,
good,
Tractor
plowed
happiness
sown -
All in front of her
From South
to the north!
dear motherland,
Russian motherland,
Mirnaya-peaceful
Russian-Russian…
From the wilds fogs timidly
From the wilds fogs timidly
Native closed the village;
But the spring sun warmed
And the wind blew them away.
Know it's boring to wander for a long time
Over the expanse of lands and seas,
A cloud stretches for the homeland,
Just to cry over her
G. Ladonshchikov
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
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.
There is no better native land!
P. Voronko
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!
Kremlin stars
S. MikhalkovPoems about the Motherland of Russia
Kremlin stars
Burning above us
Everywhere their light reaches!
The guys have a good homeland,
And better than that Motherland
Not!
Poems about the Motherland of Russia
G. Gladkov
MY RUSSIA
Oh my God! Bless and save
My Russia, Motherland, Fatherland!
I am connected with her all my life -
Oh my God! Bless and save!
I can't live a day without her.
She is my sorrow, my joy.
I don't need anything without Russia -
I can't live a day without her!
She is mine from end to end.
My country, my native land...
Spread my arms like two wings.
Oh my God! What a beauty:
Veined rivers and blue lakes
Hope, faith and love in the eyes -
Oh my God! What a beauty!
Save and keep her, Lord,
My Russia, Motherland, Fatherland.
As a mother, I owe her my life.
Save and save her, Lord!
N. Suslennikov
The painted dawn has dawned,
I'm leaving the neighborhood.
Good morning, dear side-
My dear Motherland.
Artels moved together in the field,
Labor boils from village to village.
Axes rang through the forests,
The silence behind the mounds has gone.
The ships are under loading
At the moorings of awakened rivers,
And about the Volga, the Russian beauty,
A man sings with inspiration.
Songs flow like an invisible stream
To the stars of happiness - to the gray
Kremlin.
I love you, my dear land,
Invariably, in Russian, I love!
V. Bryusov
In the stony glow of the fire,
Under the ardent cry of world enmity,
In the smoke of untamed storms, -
Your appearance flies with an imperious spell:
Ruby and sapphire crown
Above the clouds pierced azure!
Russia! in the evil days of Batu
Who, who to the Mongol flood
Built a dam, didn't you?
Whose, in a tense will, you
For the pay of slavery, saved Europe
From Genghis Khan's heel?
But from the deaf depths of shame,
From the darkness of permanent humiliations,
Suddenly, with a bright cry of a fire, -
Isn't it you, with the scorching steel of your gaze,
Ascended to sovereignty of decrees
During the days of Peter's revolution?
And again, at the hour of world reckoning,
Breathing through cannon muzzles
Your fire sipped your chest, -
All ahead, country leader,
Above the darkness you threw a torch,
Illuminating the way for the people.
What do we have before this terrible force?
Where are you, who dares to contradict?
Where are you, who can know fear?
We just do what you decide
We are to be with you, we are to glorify
Your greatness is forever!
E. Asadov
Russia did not begin with a sword,
It started with a scythe and a plow.
Not because the blood is not hot,
But because the Russian shoulder
Never in my life has anger touched...
And arrows ringing battles
They only interrupted her usual work.
No wonder the horse of the mighty Elijah
Saddled was the master of the arable land.
In hands, cheerful only from labor,
Out of kindness sometimes not immediately
Retribution was rising. It's true.
But there was never a thirst for blood.
And if the hordes prevailed,
Forgive me, Russia, the troubles of sons.
Whenever the strife of the princes,
Then how the hordes would be given in the muzzle!
But only meanness rejoiced in vain.
Jokes with the hero are short-lived:
Yes, you can deceive the hero,
But to win - that's already pipes!
'Cause that would be just as funny
How, say, to fight with the sun and the moon.
That bail is Lake Peipus,
River Nepryadva and Borodino.
And if the darkness of the Teutons or Batu
Found the end in my homeland
That is the current proud Russia
A hundred times more beautiful and stronger!
And in the fight with the most fierce war
She has overcome hell.
That's the guarantee - hero cities
In the fireworks on a festive night!
And my country is always strong
That did not humiliate anyone anywhere.
'Cause kindness is stronger than war
How disinterestedness is more effective than sting.
The dawn is rising, bright and hot.
And it will be so forever indestructible.
Russia did not begin with a sword,
And that's why she's invincible!
Bicorn moon.
The feather grass shines.
White road.
Dust flies.
Flying, flock
night owls -
Sobbing in the distance
Empty nights.
The poles are getting dark
dry aspens;
The firmaments are numb...
I stand alone.
Here is a sleepy goblin
Shakes to dust.
Here - horse, foot
Carries in dreams.
Care gnaws;
Lost path.
Nothing can
Return him.
Swamps of rust:
bushes, lights,
dense herbs,
Empty stumps!
Holy Russia...My Russia:
The meek face, the halo of the martyrs ...
I believe the righteous Messiah
Repay your suffering!
Blessed Mary
I opened my board over you!
Holy Russia, my Russia,
Burdened by fate...
I believe the world will bow its knees
Seeing in penitent prayer:
You are the burden of the devil's captivity
You carry! Holy ... by Fate.
Holy Russia... My Russia..
The meek face, the halo of the martyrs ...
I believe: the righteous Messiah
Repay your suffering!
I believe that there will be strength
Wait! - We keep the light in the soul!
And if you sinned against Him,
Then you repented before him!
Poems about Blok's homeland
Russia
Again, as in the golden years,
Three worn out harnesses fray,
And painted knitting needles
In loose ruts...
Russia, impoverished Russia,
I have your gray huts,
Your songs are windy for me, -
Like the first tears of love!
I can't pity you
And I carefully carry my cross ...
What kind of sorcerer do you want
Give me the rogue beauty!
Let him lure and deceive, -
You won't disappear, you won't die
And only care will cloud
Your beautiful features...
Well? One more concern -
With one tear the river is noisier
And you are still the same - forest, yes field,
Yes, patterned to the eyebrows ...
And the impossible is possible
The road is long and easy
When it shines in the distance of the road
Instant glance from under the scarf,
When ringing melancholy guarded
The deaf song of the coachman! ..
You are extraordinary even in a dream.
I won't touch your clothes.
And in secret - you will rest, Russia.
Russia is surrounded by rivers
And surrounded by wilds,
With swamps and cranes,
And with the cloudy gaze of a sorcerer,
Where are the diverse peoples
From edge to edge, from valley to valley
Conduct night dances
Under the glow of burning villages.
Where are the sorcerers with the soothsayers
Enchant cereals in the fields
And witches amuse themselves with devils
In road snow pillars.
Where the blizzard sweeps violently
Up to the roof - fragile housing,
And girl on an evil friend
Under the snow it sharpens more sharply.
Where are all the ways and all the crossroads
Exhausted with a living stick,
And a whirlwind whistling in the bare bars,
Sings the legends of old...
So - I learned in my slumber
Country native poverty,
And in the patches of her rags
Souls hide nakedness.
Path sad, night
I trampled to the graveyard,
And there, in the cemetery, spending the night,
I sang songs for a long time.
And he did not understand, did not measure,
To whom did I dedicate the songs,
What god did you passionately believe in?
What girl did you love?
I rocked a living soul,
Russia, you are in your expanses,
And behold - she did not stain
original purity.
I doze - and behind the slumber is a mystery,
And Russia rests in secret.
She is extraordinary in dreams,
I won't touch her clothes.
Poems about the Motherland of Pushkin
On the quiet shores of Moscow
Churches crowned with crosses
Shattered chapters shine
Above the monastery walls.
Stretched around the hills
Forever uncut groves,
Have been resting there for a long time
Saint relics.
I greet you, desert corner,
Shelter of tranquility, work and inspiration, Poems about the Motherland. Village
Where the invisible stream of my days flows
In the bosom of happiness and oblivion.
I am yours: I traded the vicious court for a circus,
Luxurious feasts, fun, delusions
To the peaceful noise of oak trees, to the silence of the fields,
To free idleness, a friend of thought.
I am yours: I love this dark garden
With its coolness and flowers,
This meadow, lined with fragrant stacks,
Where bright streams rustle in the bushes.
Everywhere in front of me moving pictures:
Here I see two lakes azure plains,
Where the fisherman's sail sometimes turns white,
Behind them are a row of hills and striped fields,
Scattered houses in the distance,
Herds roaming on wet shores,
Smoky barns and krylat mills;
Everywhere traces of contentment and labor ...
I am here, freed from vain shackles,
I am learning to find bliss in truth,
With a free soul to idolize the law,
Murmuring do not listen to the unenlightened crowd,
Participation to answer a shy plea
And do not envy fate
A villain or a fool - in greatness is wrong.
Oracles of the ages, here I ask you!
In majestic solitude
Hear your joyful voice.
He drives laziness a gloomy dream,
To works gives rise to heat in me,
And your creative thoughts
In the spiritual depths ripen.
But a terrible thought darkens the soul here:
Among flowering fields and mountains
Friend of mankind sorrow
Great about verses:
Poetry is like painting: one work will captivate you more if you look at it closely, and another if you move further away.
Little cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creak of unoiled wheels.
The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is that which has broken.
Marina Tsvetaeva
Of all the arts, poetry is most tempted to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen glitter.
Humboldt W.
Poems succeed if they are created with spiritual clarity.
The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is commonly believed.
If only you knew from what rubbish Poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion near a fence, Like burdocks and quinoa.
A. A. Akhmatova
Poetry is not in verses alone: it is spilled everywhere, it is around us. Take a look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life breathe from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.
I. S. Turgenev
For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.
G. Lichtenberg
A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. Not our own - our thoughts make the poet sing inside us. Telling us about the woman he loves, he wonderfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He is a wizard. Understanding him, we become poets like him.
Where graceful verses flow, there is no place for vainglory.
Murasaki Shikibu
I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in Russian. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. Because of the feeling, art certainly peeps out. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.
Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
- ... Are your poems good, tell yourself?
- Monstrous! Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! the visitor asked pleadingly.
I promise and I swear! - solemnly said Ivan ...
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "The Master and Margarita"
We all write poetry; poets differ from the rest only in that they write them with words.
John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"
Every poem is a veil stretched out on the points of a few words. These words shine like stars, because of them the poem exists.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
The poets of antiquity, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. It is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times, a whole Universe is certainly hidden, filled with miracles - often dangerous for someone who inadvertently wakes dormant lines.
Max Fry. "The Talking Dead"
To one of my clumsy hippos-poems, I attached such a heavenly tail: ...
Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea and not a plague!
Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore drive away critics. They are but miserable drinkers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let the verses seem to him an absurd lowing, a chaotic jumble of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from tedious reason, a glorious song that sounds on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.
Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"
Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing but pure poetry that has rejected the word.