Methodical development lessonRussian language in grade 9.
Lesson topic: "Preparation to write a summary"
The purpose of the lesson: to teach how to write a concise statement using various techniques text compression.
Lesson objectives:
Educational:
to form skills in working with various methods of source text compression;
develop the ability to understand and transform information.
Developing:
promote the development of speed of reaction, thinking, attention, speech and memory;
Educational:
formation communication skills, attentive attitude to the Russian language.
Equipment: outline plan, handout, presentation.
Lesson type: practical lesson.
DURING THE CLASSES
1. Organizational moment.
Today in the lesson we will again turn to text analysis, we will continue to learn the methods and techniques of text compression.
2. Actualization of knowledge.
Let's remember what a presentation is?
What types of statements do we know? (Detailed and concise)
What is a detailed presentation? (The most complete reproduction of the original text while maintaining its compositional and linguistic features)
What kind of presentation do we call condensed? (Summary of the original text, conveying essential information while omitting details)
The condensed text is brief retelling its main content, in which it is necessary to keep only everything that is most important from the point of view of meaning, omitting the details. It is necessary to preserve only the most important thing: the main idea, artistic details and linguistic features, without which it is impossible to understand the ideological orientation of the text and achieve goals. The ability to retell the content briefly is a necessary skill for working on a text.
Pay attention again to the definitions and choose key words that show the fundamental difference between these types of presentations.
(Maximum complete, saving language features; transfer of material information)
3. Repetition of techniques and methods of text compression.
Let's remember what methods and techniques of text compression do we know?
TEXT COMPRESSION TECHNIQUES:
1. Exclusion of details and details.
2. Generalization of specific, single phenomena.
3. Simplification of syntactic structures.
RECEPTION FIRST - EXCEPTION.
Exception:
words,
phrases,
Replays
quotes,
One or more synonyms
Clarifying and clarifying constructions,
sentence fragments,
whole sentences.
Read the text, highlight the secondary information.
There are people for whom everything is always clear. It's them, according to them own opinion, are best versed in politics, medicine, education - in short, in any field of human knowledge and activity. Such "experts" are not surprised by anything, and therefore are not able to make a discovery, even the smallest one. In general, people to whom everything is clear are hopeless people.
There are people for whom everything is always clear. They, in their opinion, are best versed in any areas of human knowledge and activity. Such "experts" are not surprised at anything and are not able to make a discovery. People who are clear are hopeless people.
Exclusion of synonyms in a series of homogeneous members.
The trustee of one of the schools near Serpukhov was Gilyarovsky. And there is a photograph of the students: village children with open, ingenuous, clear faces.
(According to E. Kiseleva)
The trustee of one of the schools near Serpukhov was Gilyarovsky. And there is a photograph of the students: village children with clear faces.
Removal of explanatory constructions: homogeneous members, parts of a complex sentence.
Education has many aspects: the coach educates the body - muscles, strength, energy, physical will, the mathematician educates the mind, the ability of abstract thinking. But there is another important area of education - the education of the soul.
(Yu. M. Lotman)
Education has many aspects. But there is one important area of education - the education of the soul.
RECEPTION SECOND - GENERALIZATION.
Generalization:
Replacing homogeneous members with a generalized name,
Replacing words with a less broad meaning with a word with a broader meaning,
Replacement simple sentences complex.
Read the text, answer the question: In what atmosphere did the life of the Serov family proceed?
Serov family lifewas filled with art work of his father, discussion of exhibitions, conversations on the topics of art. The Serovs often gathered not only painters, but also musicians, sculptors, artists, and poets. Among them are actors Moskvin,Komissarov, Dobronravov,artists Efimov, Konchalovsky, Yakovlev, Krymov, musicians Neuhaus, Richter, poet Pasternak.
(According to G. Arbuzov)
The life of the Serov family proceeded in a creative atmosphere.
An example of replacing homogeneous members with their generalized name.
Many argue that listening to music at home is even better than in the hall:no one whispers, no one rustles with candy papers, no one coughs, no one creaks with chairs.(S. Ghazaryan)
Many argue that listening to music at home is even better than in the hall: no one interferes.
An example of replacing simple sentences with complex ones.
I remember the evening before the New Year. I was six or seven years old. As a gift, I received a book with Andersen's fairy tales. So this Danish storyteller appeared in my life.
(According to K. Paustovsky)
My meeting with Andersen took place in childhood, when I New Year gave a book with his fairy tales.
THIRD RECEPTION - SIMPLIFICATION:
Merging several sentences into one;
Replacing a sentence or part of it with a demonstrative pronoun,
Replacing the SPP with a simple one,
Replacing direct speech with indirect
Replacing a sentence fragment with a synonymous expression
That is, SIMPLIFICATION is a combination of exclusion and generalization.
An example of replacing a subordinate attributive with a synonymous definition
Car models that are equipped with electric motors take part in real sports competitions.
Cars with electric motors acceptparticipation in real sports competitions.
Replacing the adverbial adverbial adverbial clause.
When analyzing events related to the past, remember the future. When you talk about what is and will be, do not forget about what was.
When analyzing events related to the past, remember the future. Speaking of what is and will be, do not forget about what was.
WE MAKE A CONCLUSION:
In order to correctly compress the text, it is necessary to EXCLUDE details and details, GENERALIZE specific, single details and SIMPLIFY syntactical constructions.
(I EXCLUDE, GENERALIZE, SIMPLIFY)
When writing a presentationyou need to do the following work:
1. SELECT IMPORTANT INFORMATION.
4. TRANSFER THE CHARACTER OF THE ACTORS AND THE SITUATION WITHOUT DISTORTION.
5. SELECT THE MAIN MICROTHEMS.
6. GENERALIZE THE CONTENT OF THE SOURCE TEXT.
4. Work on text compression (collective)
Task number 1
Read the text carefully.
Mowers
1. We walked along the high road, and they mowed in a young birch forest near it - and sang.
2. It was a long time ago, it was an infinitely long time ago, because the life that we all lived at that time will not return forever.
Z. They mowed and sang, and the whole birch forest, which had not yet lost its density and freshness, still full of flowers and smells, loudly responded to them.
4. All around us were fields, the wilderness of the middle, primordial Russia. 5. It was late afternoon on a June day. 6. The old high road, overgrown with curly ants, cut with stalled ruts, traces of the old life of our fathers and grandfathers, went ahead of us into the endless Russian distance. 7. The sun leaned to the west, began to set into beautiful light clouds, softening the blue behind the distant folds of the fields and throwing great pillars of light towards sunset, where the sky was already golden, as they are written in church paintings. 8. A herd of sheep turned gray in front, an old shepherd with a shepherd sat on the boundary, winding a whip ... blessed - god country. 10. And they walked and sang in the midst of her eternal field silence, simplicity and primitiveness with some kind of epic freedom and selflessness. 11. And the birch forest accepted and picked up their song as freely and freely as they sang.
(According to I.A. Bunin)
(199 words
Task number 2
Apply text compression techniques for each paragraph.
Compression tricks:
Sentence No. 1 is a compound sentence, the second part of which is complicated by homogeneous predicates. Let's apply the following method of text compression: eliminate the definition big in the first part, and in the second part the definition young and definition close to her.
Proposal #2 can be ruled out entirely.
Sentence No. 3 is a compound sentence, the second part of which is complicated by two consecutive separate definitions(participial turnover and common agreed definition). Complication designs bear Additional information so they need to be reduced. In addition, in the second part we exclude the word the whole and the adverb is sonorous.
Sentence No. 4 is simple, complicated by a separate definition, expressed by an application that expresses additional information. We cut the application.
Sentence #5 is a detail of the description, so it can be shortened.
Sentence No. 6 is simple, complicated by two successive separate definitions, expressed participle turnovers, and the definition expressed by the application. Complication constructs can be cut off.
Sentence number 7 - complex with two subordinate clauses. The first part, in turn, is complicated by isolated circumstances, expressed by adverbial phrases. In addition, in the first part there are two homogeneous predicates. We apply the following compression methods: we choose one of the two homogeneous terms, denoting the most general information(first homogeneous term). We exclude adverbial phrases, since they carry NON-MAIN information. Let's keep the appendix.
Proposal number 8 can be deleted.
Sentence No. 9 is complex, directly related to the topic of the text, so we will keep it to a greater extent. We exclude only repetition.
Another variant of compression: we generalize the homogeneous series by the word time exclude negation and establish subordinating sleep and control of the word there was no time for words.
Proposition No. 10 is simple, complicated by two series of homogeneous circumstances. Let's apply the following methods of text compression: select only those homogeneous members, which express information in generalized form: first from the first homogeneous row and first from the second homogeneous row.
Sentence No. 11 is complex, the main part of which is a simple sentence, complicated by homogeneous predicates and homogeneous circumstances. We apply the following compression techniques: we select one main term from the first homogeneous series - second, from the second homogeneous row - second, we cut off the accessory part.
We check:
We walked along the [high] road, and they mowed in the [young] birch forest [near it] - and sang.
It was a long time ago, [it was an infinitely long time ago, because the life that we all lived at that time will not return forever.]
They mowed and sang, and [the whole] birch forest, [not yet losing its density and freshness, still full of flowers and smells, sonorously] responded to them.
All around us were fields, [the wilderness of the middle, primordial Russia.] 6. The old high road, [overgrown with curly ants, cut with decayed ruts, traces of the old life of our fathers and grandfathers], went ahead of us into the endless Russian distance. 7. The sun was leaning to the west, [it began to set in beautiful light clouds, softening the blue behind the distant folds of the fields and throwing it towards sunset,] where the sky was already golden, [great light pillars, as they are written in church paintings.] 9. It seemed that no, [yes, there never was, nor] time, [nor its division into centuries, into years] in this forgotten - or blessed - by God country. 10. And they walked and sang in the midst of her eternal field silence, [simplicity and primitiveness] with some kind of epic freedom [and selflessness.] 11. And the birch forest [accepted and] picked up their song just as [freely and] freely, [ how they sang.]
(According to I.A. Bunin)
(199 words)
Task number 3
Write a concise summary.
Sample summary:
We walked along the high road, and they mowed in a birch forest - and sang.
It was a long time ago.
They mowed and sang, and the whole birch forest responded to them.
There were fields all around us. The old high road ran ahead of us into the endless Russian distance. The sun was leaning to the west, where the sky was already golden. It seemed that there was no time in this forgotten - or blessed - by God country. And they walked and sang in the midst of her eternal field silence with some kind of epic freedom. And the birch forest picked up their song just as freely.
(According to I.A. Bunin)
5. We analyze. Evaluate according to criteria.
6. Summary of the lesson
7. Homework. Perform text compression #2.
(Appendix No. 1)
Application No. 1. Text for compression.
City on the Neva
1. Bowed angels with lamps surround the Byzantine dome of Isaac. 2. Three golden faceted spiers echo across the Neva and the Moika. 3. Lions, griffins and sphinxes here and there - protect treasures or doze. 4. The six of Victory are jumping over the crafty arch of Russia. 5. Hundreds of porticos, thousands of columns, rearing horses, stubborn bulls...
6. What a blessing that nothing can be built here! - neither squeeze a confectionery skyscraper into Nevsky, nor slap a five-story box near the Griboyedov Canal. 7. Not a single architect, the most bureaucratic and mediocre, having used all his influence, will receive a building plot closer than Chernaya Rechka or Okhta.
8. Alien to us - and our most glorious splendor! 9. Such a pleasure to wander now along these avenues! 10.But gritting their teeth, cursing, rotting in cloudy swamps, the Russians built this beauty.11. The bones of our ancestors were caked, fused, petrified into palaces - yellowish, brown, chocolate, green.
12. It’s scary to think: so our awkward, disastrous lives, all the explosions of our disagreement, the groans of the shot and the tears of wives - will all this also be forgotten * completely? 13. Will all this also give such finished eternal beauty? ..
Ball.
In our yard, one boy keeps the dog Sharik on a chain - he planted him as a kitten, from childhood.
Once I brought him chicken bones, still warm, smelly, and just then the boy let the poor fellow run around the yard. 17. The snow in the yard is fluffy, plentiful 18. The ball rushes about in jumps like a hare, then on its hind legs, then on its front legs, from corner to corner of the yard. 19. From corner to corner, and the muzzle in the snow.
20. Ran up to me, shaggy. 21. He jumped me, sniffed the bones - and away again, belly through the snow!
22. I don’t need, they say, your bones - just give me freedom! ..
(A. I. Solzhenitsyn)
We walked along the high road, and they mowed in a young birch forest near it - and sang.
It was a long time ago, it was an infinitely long time ago, because the life that we all lived at that time will not return forever.
They mowed and sang, and the whole birch forest, which had not yet lost its density and freshness, still full of flowers and smells, loudly responded to them.
All around us were fields, the wilderness of central, primordial Russia. It was late afternoon on a June day. The old high road, overgrown with curly ants, carved with decayed ruts, traces of the old life of our fathers and grandfathers, went ahead of us into the endless Russian distance. The sun leaned to the west, began to set in beautiful light clouds, softening the blue behind the distant slopes of the fields and throwing towards sunset, where the sky was already golden, great pillars of light, as they are written in church paintings. A herd of sheep was gray in front, an old shepherd with a shepherd was sitting on the boundary, winding a whip ... It seemed that there was never and never was neither time, nor its division into centuries, into years in this forgotten - or blessed - by God country. And they walked and sang in the midst of its eternal field silence, simplicity and primitiveness with some kind of epic freedom and selflessness. And the birch forest accepted and picked up their song as freely and freely as they sang.
They were "distant", Ryazan. They passed in a small artel through our, Oryol, places, helping our hayfields and moving to the lower classes, to earn money during their working time in the steppes even more fertile than ours. And they were carefree, friendly, as people are on a long and long journey, on vacation from all family and economic ties, they were "eager to work", unconsciously rejoicing in its beauty and arrogance. They were somehow older and more solid than ours - in custom, in habit, in language - neater and more beautiful clothes, their soft leather shoe covers (1), white well-knitted onuchs, clean trousers and shirts with red, red collars and the same gussets (2).
A week ago they were mowing in the forest near us, and I saw, riding on horseback, how they came to work, after noon: they drank spring water from wooden jugs - so long, so sweetly, as only animals and good, healthy Russians drink laborers, - then they crossed themselves and cheerfully ran to the place with white, shiny, razor-sharp braids on their shoulders, on the run they entered a row, the braids let everything go at once, widely, playfully, and went, went in a free, even succession. And on the way back, I saw their dinner. They were sitting in a fresh glade near an extinct fire, dragging pieces of something pink out of cast iron with spoons.
I said:
- Bread and salt, hello.
They kindly replied:
- Good health, welcome!
The clearing descended to the ravine, revealing the still bright west behind the green trees. And suddenly, looking closer, I saw with horror that what they ate were fly agaric mushrooms, terrible with their dope. And they just laughed.
- Nothing, they are sweet, pure chicken!
Now they sang: - "Forgive me, goodbye, dear friend!" - moved through the birch forest, thoughtlessly depriving it of thick herbs and flowers, and sang without noticing it. And we stood and listened to them, feeling that we would never forget this late evening hour and never understand, and most importantly, never fully express what was such a wondrous charm of their singing.
Its charm was in the responses, in the sonority of the birch forest. Her beauty was that she was by no means herself: she was connected with everything that we and they, these Ryazan mowers, saw and felt. The charm was in that unconscious, but consanguineous relationship that was between them and us - and between them, us and this grain-growing field that surrounded us, this field air that they and we breathed from childhood, this evening time, these clouds in the already pinking west, this fresh, young forest full of honey grasses up to the waist, wild innumerable flowers and berries, which they constantly plucked and ate, and this high road, its expanse and reserved distance. The beauty was that we were all children of our homeland and were all together and we all felt good, calm and loving without a clear understanding of our feelings, because they are not necessary, should not be understood when they are. And there was also a charm (already completely unconscious by us then) that this homeland, this our common Home was - Russia, and that only her soul could sing as the mowers sang in this birch forest that responded to their every breath.
The charm was that it was as if it were not singing, but only sighs, the rises of a young, healthy, melodious chest. One breast sang, as songs were once sung only in Russia, and with that spontaneity, with that incomparable ease, naturalness, which was peculiar only to the Russian in the song. It was felt - a person is so fresh, strong, so naive in ignorance of his strengths and talents and so full of song that he only needs to sigh lightly so that the whole forest responds to that kind and affectionate, and sometimes bold and powerful sonority that these sighs filled him with. . They moved, throwing their scythes around them without the slightest effort, exposing clearings in front of them in wide semicircles, mowing, knocking out a circle of stumps and bushes and sighing without the slightest effort, each in his own way, but in general expressing one thing, making on a whim something unified, completely integral. , extraordinarily beautiful. And those feelings that they told with their sighs and half-words along with the echoing distance, the depth of the forest, were beautiful with a completely special, purely Russian beauty.
Of course, they "said goodbye, parted" with the "dear little side" and with their happiness, and with hopes and with the one with whom this happiness was united:
Forgive, farewell, dear friend,
And darling, oh yes, forgiving the side! -
They said, they sighed each in a different way, with this or that measure of sadness and love, but with the same carefree, hopeless reproach.
Forgive me, goodbye, my dear, unfaithful,
Is it for you that the heart has become blackened with mud! -
They spoke, complaining and yearning in different ways, emphasizing the words in different ways, and suddenly they all merged at once in a completely unanimous feeling of almost delight before their death, youthful audacity before fate and some unusual, all-forgiving generosity - as if shaking their heads and thrown all over the forest:
If you do not love, not nice - God is with you,
If you find better - forget it! -
And throughout the forest it responded to the friendly strength, freedom and chest sonority of their voices, died away and again, loudly rattling, picked up:
Oh, if you find a better one, you will forget it,
If you find worse - you will regret it!
What else was the charm of this song, its inescapable joy with all its supposed hopelessness? In the fact that a person still did not believe and could not believe, in his strength and incompetence, in this hopelessness. - "Oh, yes, all the ways for me, well done, are ordered!" he said, mourning himself sweetly. But I don't cry! sweetly and do not sing their sorrows, for whom indeed there is neither way nor road anywhere. - "Forgive me, goodbye, dear little side!" - the man said - and he knew that he still had no real separation from her, from his homeland, that no matter where his lot threw him, everything would be above him, his native sky, and around him - boundless native Rus', disastrous for him, spoiled, perhaps only with its freedom, spaciousness and fabulous wealth. - "The red sun set behind the dark forests, oh, all the birds fell silent, everyone sat down in their places!" - My happiness has sunk, he sighed, the dark night with its wilderness surrounds me, - and yet I felt: he is so close by blood with this wilderness, alive for him, virgin and full of magical powers, that everywhere he has a shelter, an overnight stay, there is someone's intercession, someone's kind care, someone's voice whispering: - "Don't grieve, the morning is wiser than the evening, nothing is impossible for me, sleep well, child!" - And from all sorts of troubles, according to his faith, the birds and animals of the forest rescued him, the beautiful, wise princesses and even Baba Yaga herself, who pitied him "in his youth." There were flying carpets for him, invisibility caps, milky rivers flowed, semi-precious treasures hid, from all mortal spells the keys of eternally living water beat, he knew prayers and spells, miraculous again according to his faith, flew away from dungeons, throwing himself a bright falcon , on the damp Earth-Mother, having hit, dense jungles, black marsh marshes, flying sands protected him from dashing neighbors and thieves - and the merciful God forgave for all the whistling remote, sharp, hot knives ...
One more thing, I say, was in this song - this is what we and they, these Ryazan peasants, knew well, in the depths of our souls, that we were infinitely happy in those days, now infinitely distant - and irrevocable. For everything has its time - a fairy tale has passed for us too: our ancient intercessors abandoned us, roaring animals fled, prophetic birds scattered, self-assembled tablecloths curled up, prayers and spells were desecrated, Mother-Cheese-Earth dried up, life-giving springs dried up - and the end has come, the limit of God's forgiveness.
Paris, 1921
(1) Shoe covers - half boots.
(2) Gussets - insert strips.
The great master of creating small prose works was Ivan Alekseevich Bunin. Readers are impressed by the main motives of his stories, their rare artistic subtlety, and original techniques. One of the remarkable masterpieces is Bunin's story "Mowers". The analysis of the work given in this material demonstrates the talent of the main writer of the Russian diaspora. After all, Ivan Alekseevich had to live far from his homeland.
While in exile, the writer dedicated his books to Russia, the Russian people. This also applies to Bunin's story "Mowers". WITH summary this small work We invite you to read our article. After reading the story, you will understand why Ivan Alekseevich was awarded the Nobel Prize for recreating the Russian character in prose.
Ivan Alekseevich lived for a long time before emigration in the Oryol province and was a faithful son of Russia. When he was awarded the prize, he noted that the whole Russian people deserved it.
Bunin. "Kossy". Content in summary
So, let's try to briefly retell a small masterpiece of Ivan Alekseevich. Let's start the retelling of Bunin's "Mowers" with the fact that at the edge of the forest, where young birch trees grow, the author and his companion see working mowers. The writer notices their noble appearance, neatness and diligence. They enjoy their work. This friendly company seems completely carefree.
Evening approached, and the author again wants to meet the mowers. He sees them at a meal. They enjoy a fly agaric dish, which they find sweet and reminiscent of chicken. The workers rested and decided to sing. It seemed that their ringing voices filled the forest air with a special charm, wondrous charm.
The song seemed sad, but they performed it with special prowess. At that moment, the author realized that there is no hopelessness in life. Huge Rus' can help anyone and help anyone out. Until the very night, the mowers delighted with their songs. The writer enjoyed this moment and inhaled the fresh aromas of honey forest herbs, marveled at the harmonious interweaving of man and nature.
The end of the story is a little sad, the author nostalgically recalls the mowers and their singing. He felt happy next to these workers, and their songs gave him true joy. Bunin is sincerely sorry not to return more of those fabulous moments.
Plot Features
Ivan Alekseevich himself claimed that he wrote about beauty in all its forms, he conveyed part of his soul in the description of Russian nature in the work of I. Bunin "Mowers". The analysis of the story must begin with the features of the plot. Like many other short works of the writer, the story "Mowers" does not have specific storylines. This is a kind of recollection of how he met the Ryazan mowers in the field, who sang incredibly beautifully.
The story deeply and soulfully conveys the feelings that overcame the writer during their singing. Even then, the narrator understood that he would never forget that afternoon. The author is surprised how deep the Russian soul is, that even he does not understand all the subtleties of the song of rural workers.
Compositional and genre originality
There is no clearly expressed composition in the story "Mowers". It is worth noting that individual characters here also do not stand out. There is only a separate image of the mowers. The author's feelings and thoughts come to the fore in the work.
In his reflections, the writer compares these workers with something bewitching, merged into a single artel, sees that their singing is very harmoniously woven into the life of nature, but they do not even think about it. While singing, the author feels like a part of this people. Their song surrounding nature inseparable from the motherland, Russia.
What genre does this work belong to? Perhaps this is a kind of poem in prose, where the writer reflects on the Russian people. After all, Bunin so needed spiritual unity with Russia abroad. And it can also be called a poetic sketch, a lyrical essay. The story is full of epithets, metaphors, comparisons.
Nature in Bunin's story "Mowers"
By describing Russian nature in the work, Ivan Alekseevich showed how subtly he felt it. His birch forest, as it were, responds to the song of the mowers. The author describes the old road, which is overgrown with curly ant, argues that his grandfathers and great-grandfathers walked this road so many times. During the day, beautiful light clouds floated across the sky, and in the evening the sky began to turn golden.
Workers feel great in the bosom of this nature. The reader wants to share the delight and joy conveyed by the author in describing the area and the process of haymaking. Immediately before my eyes, the paintings of A. A. Plastov "Haymaking" and G. G. Myasoedov "The Passionate Time. Mowers" pop up. They can even be called illustrations for Bunin's story.
The author depicts the relationship of strong workers with nature. These people are not burdened by such hard work. They sing a song that merges with the birch forest. Trees respond to marvelous singing. The color scheme in the work is also very rich: gray, golden, blue, red, pink, black, red. A feature of this and other stories is repetition, which is why it looks like a poem in prose. The word "charm" is repeated several times. It refers to nature and the song of the mowers.
Workers in the story
The mowers not only worked, but also sang. It seemed that they did not even make much effort in their work. The workers waved their scythes around them, and they exposed entire glades. The writer depicts not local, but Ryazan mowers, who came from another region of Russia, but are distinguished by solidarity. In their movements, a special desire for work was noticed.
And it was joyful for the author to observe their well-coordinated work. They let their braids go wide, as if playing. They walked exactly one after another, mowing stumps and bushes. Even in the sighs of these workers, the writer saw Russian beauty. In this prose poem, Bunin sings of the labor of the mowers.
Meaning of the folk song
In his work "Mowers" Ivan Bunin subtly describes the song of the field workers, glorifying their native side, happiness, hope. Some lines are dedicated to the beloved girl, unhappy love. The charm of the singing of the mowers is in the sonority responses. They are the children of their land, so such a spiritual impulse is peculiar only to them.
Bunin compares the singing of the mowers with the singing of the soul. He does not even find words to express the beauty of this song. It has a connection with the whole world around. These naive people, who did not know their strengths and talents, sang so much that even the forest responded to their sounds. They sounded joyful and hopeless at the same time. One of the mowers mourned himself: "Oh, yes, all the ways for me, well done, are ordered." How can those who have nowhere to go and roads closed everywhere can sing and mourn so sweetly? These people do not believe in hopelessness. The most important thing that was in that song - you can not return the past happy days.
The image of the Motherland in the work
Being in exile, Bunin turns to the past and shows it transformed. The writer is drawn to his compatriots, he loves Russia. Therefore, in Bunin's story "Mowers", the Motherland is shown as immeasurable and distant. The writer depicted the Ryazan peasants, their inspired work, a song that took the soul during haymaking on the Oryol land. Thus, the author recalls those times when he felt good and calm in his homeland.
It is on Russian material that the works of the emigrant period of Ivan Alekseevich are built. In a foreign land, the writer constantly recalled his native land, its fields, villages, peasants and nobles, and nature. Ivan Bunin was well acquainted with both the Russian peasant and the Russian nobleman. The West is alien to the writer, he could not write about it. Bunin's works were filled with the classical traditions of Russian literature. Also, the master of the word did not bypass love, life, the future of the whole world.
The writer calls the land of Oryol described in the story "his native side". And he calls Russia not just the Motherland, but a common home. In the words "boundless native Rus'" he expresses his love for her. He is intimately connected with the unattractive Russian hinterland. The writer claims that wherever fate throws a person, before his eyes he will always have his native sky.
sad ending
At the end of the story, readers see a sad memory of the mowers and their song. Once upon a time he was happy in the Russian expanses. But those days are gone. This makes the author very sad. He would like to return the bygone times. But, unfortunately, he left his homeland because of his political views and fear of persecution.
Like other works of the writer, "Mowers" are filled with anxiety for the fate of Russia. Bunin proves that he is a real analyst of the life of the Russian people, their character, language, traditions. At the end of the story, the writer says that the fairy tale for the Russian people has already passed, God's mercy has passed.
Idea
The story "Mowers" is called a poetic sketch, which is accompanied by the author's reflection on the fate of Russia. Once, while traveling on a steamer, Bunin heard the song of the porters. This was the reason for writing this poem in prose. The writer talks about the Russian people, about the spiritual unity of people with their country. The main thing that Ivan Alekseevich wanted to show: listening to the song of the mowers, everyone feels like a single whole - Russia. Everyone should feel their land and be proud of it. After all, the mowers sang as easily and naturally as only a Russian person can.
Summary The narrator recalls how they walked along the high road, and in the young birch forest nearby, the mowers mowed and sang. It was a long time ago. And the life that everyone lived at that time will never return. There were fields all around. The old high road, carved with ruts, went into the endless Russian distance. The sun was sinking to the west, a flock of sheep was gray ahead. An old shepherd with a shepherd was sitting on the boundary. It seemed that there is no division into time in this forgotten - or blessed - by God country. And the mowers walked and sang in the midst of this eternal silence, and the birch forest answered just as easily and freely. The mowers were distant, Ryazan, passing through these lands to earn money, moving to more fertile lands. Carefree and friendly, not burdened by anything, they were "hungry" for work. And they were dressed better than the locals. A week ago, the narrator rode on horseback and saw them mow in the nearby forest. They came to work in the afternoon: they sweetly drank spring water from wooden jugs and cheerfully ran to the place. The braids were launched at once, playfully. And then he saw their dinner, when they sat near an extinct fire and dragged pieces of something pink out of cast iron. Looking closer, the narrator realized with horror that they ate fly agaric mushrooms. And they just chuckled: "Nothing, they are sweet, like chicken." Now they sang: "Forgive me, farewell, dear friend!" and moved through the birch forest. And the narrator and his companion stood and listened, realizing that they would never forget this evening hour, and most importantly, they would never understand what the charm of this song was. And the charm was in everything - both in the sonority of the birch forest, and in the fact that this song did not exist on its own, but was closely connected with their thoughts and feelings and with the thoughts and feelings of the Ryazan mowers. It was felt that a person is so naive in ignorance of his strengths and talents that one has only to breathe a little, as the whole forest will immediately respond in response to the song. What else was the charm of this song, its inescapable joy with all its supposed hopelessness? The fact that the person still did not believe, and could not believe in this hopelessness. “Oh, yes, all the ways for me, well done, are ordered!” he said, mourning himself sweetly. But they do not weep sweetly and do not sing their sorrows, for whom indeed there is neither way nor road anywhere. “My happiness has sunk,” he sighed, “the dark night with its wilderness surrounds me,” and he was so intimately close to this wilderness, alive for him, virgin and full of magical powers! Everywhere there was a shelter for him, an overnight stay, someone’s intercession, someone’s voice whispering: “Don’t grieve, the morning is wiser than the evening, nothing is impossible for me, sleep peacefully, child! And from all the misfortunes of a person, according to his faith, the birds and animals of the forest, the beautiful, wise princesses, and even Baba Yaga herself rescued. There were flying carpets for him, invisibility caps, milky rivers flowed, semi-precious treasures hid, from all mortal spells there were keys of eternally living water. The merciful God forgave for all the distant whistles, sharp, hot knives ... There was one more thing in this song - this is what we knew well, and they, these Ryazan men, in the depths of our souls, that we were infinitely happy in those days, now already infinitely distant - and irretrievable. For everything has its time, the fairy tale has passed. The end has come, the limit of God's forgiveness. We walked along the high road, and they mowed in a young birch forest near it - and sang. It was a long time ago, it was an infinitely long time ago, because the life that we all lived at that time will not return forever. They mowed and sang, and the whole birch forest, which had not yet lost its density and freshness, still full of flowers and smells, loudly responded to them. All around us were fields, the wilderness of central, primordial Russia. It was late afternoon on a June day. The old high road, overgrown with curly ants, carved with decayed ruts, traces of the old life of our fathers and grandfathers, went ahead of us into the endless Russian distance. The sun leaned to the west, began to set in beautiful light clouds, softening the blue behind the distant slopes of the fields and throwing towards sunset, where the sky was already golden, great pillars of light, as they are written in church paintings. A herd of sheep was gray in front, an old shepherd with a shepherd was sitting on the boundary, winding a whip ... It seemed that there was no, and never was, neither time, nor its division into centuries, into years in this forgotten - or blessed - by God country . And they walked and sang in the midst of its eternal field silence, simplicity and primitiveness with some kind of epic freedom and selflessness. And the birch forest accepted and picked up their song as freely and freely as they sang. They were "distant", Ryazan. They passed in a small artel through our Orel places, helping our hayfields and moving to the lower classes, to earn money during their working time in the steppes, even more fertile than ours. And they were carefree, friendly, as people are on a long and long journey, on vacation from all family and economic ties, they were “willing to work”, unconsciously rejoicing in its beauty and arrogance. They were somehow older and more solid than ours - in custom, in habit, in language - neater and more beautiful clothes, their soft leather shoe covers, white well-knitted onuchs, clean trousers and shirts with red, kumach collars and such or gussets. A week ago they were mowing in the forest near us, and as I rode on horseback I saw how they came to work in the afternoon: they drank spring water from wooden jugs - so long, so sweetly, as only animals and good, healthy Russians drink laborers, - then they crossed themselves and cheerfully ran to the place with white, shiny, pointed like a razor scythes on their shoulders, on the run they entered a row, the scythes let everything go at once, widely, playfully, and went, went in a free, even succession. And on the way back, I saw their dinner. They were sitting in a fresh glade near an extinct fire, dragging pieces of something pink out of cast iron with spoons. I said: - Bread and salt, hello. They kindly replied: - Good health, welcome! The clearing descended to the ravine, revealing the still bright west behind the green trees. And suddenly, looking closer, I saw with horror that what they ate were fly agaric mushrooms, terrible with their dope. And they just laughed. “Nothing, they are sweet, pure chicken!” Now they sang: "Forgive me, farewell, dear friend!" - they moved through the birch forest, thoughtlessly depriving it of thick herbs and flowers, and sang without noticing it themselves. And we stood and listened to them, feeling that we would never forget this late evening hour and never understand, and most importantly, never fully express what is such a wondrous charm of their song. Its charm was in the responses, in the sonority of the birch forest. Her charm was that she was by no means herself: she was connected with everything that we saw, felt, and we, and they, these Ryazan mowers. The charm was in that unconscious, but consanguineous relationship that was between them and us - and between them, us and this grain-growing field that surrounded us, this field air that they and we breathed from childhood, this evening time, these clouds in the already pinking west, this fresh, young forest full of honey grasses up to the waist, wild innumerable flowers and berries, which they constantly plucked and ate, and this high road, its expanse and reserved distance. The beauty was that we were all children of our homeland and were all together and we all felt good, calm and loving without a clear understanding of our feelings, because they are not necessary, should not be understood when they are. And there was also a charm (already completely unaware of us then) that this homeland, this common home of ours was Russia, and that only her soul could sing like the mowers sang in this birch forest that responded to their every breath. The charm was that it was as if it were not singing, but only sighs, the rises of a young, healthy, melodious chest. One breast sang, as songs were once sung only in Russia, and with that spontaneity, with that incomparable ease, naturalness, which was peculiar only to the Russian in the song. It was felt that a person is so fresh, strong, so naive in ignorance of his strengths and talents and so full of song that he only needs to sigh lightly so that the whole forest responds to that kind and affectionate, and sometimes bold and powerful sonority that these sighs filled him with. . They moved, throwing their scythes around them without the slightest effort, exposing clearings in front of them in wide semicircles, mowing, knocking out a circle of stumps and bushes and sighing without the slightest effort, each in his own way, but in general expressing one thing, making on a whim something unified, completely integral. , extraordinarily beautiful. And those feelings that they told with their sighs and half-words along with the echoing distance, the depth of the forest, were beautiful with a completely special, purely Russian beauty. Of course, they “said goodbye, parted” with their “dear little side”, and with their happiness, and with hopes, and with the one with whom this happiness was united:Forgive me, my dear friend,
And, darling, oh yes, goodbye, little side! —
They said, each of them sighed differently, with one measure or another of sadness and love, but with the same carefree, hopeless reproach.
Forgive me, goodbye, my dear, unfaithful,
Is it for you that the heart has become blackened with mud! —
They spoke, complaining and yearning in different ways, emphasizing the words in different ways, and suddenly they all merged at once in a completely unanimous feeling of almost delight before their death, youthful audacity before fate, and some kind of unusual, all-forgiving generosity - as if shaking their heads and threw it all over the forest:
If you do not love, not nice - God is with you,
If you find a better one, you will forget it! —
And throughout the forest it responded to the friendly strength, freedom and chest sonority of their voices, died away and again, loudly rattling, picked up:
Oh, if you find a better one, you will forget it,
If you find worse, you will regret it!
