“Summary of a lesson-reflection on literature on the topic“ N. Rylenkov “I remember the hands of my mother .... Summary of the lesson in elementary school “Russian poet, prose writer, translator, one of the founders of the Smolensk poetic school, Nikolai Ivanovich Rylenkov Rodina.1. Fatherland,

N. I. Rylenkov was born on February 2 (February 15), 1909 in the village of Alekseevka (now Roslavl district, Smolensk region) into a peasant family. In 1926 he graduated from school in Roslavl, at the same time his first poems were published. He worked as a village teacher. Graduated from the Faculty of Literature and Language of Smolensky Pedagogical Institute(1933), in the same year the first collection of poems was published. Member of the Great Patriotic War 1941-1945. Member of the CPSU (b) since 1945. Member of the board of the SP RSFSR since 1958, secretariat of the SP RSFSR since 1965. N. I. Rylenkov died on June 23, 1969. He was buried in Smolensk at the Fraternal Cemetery.

Creation

Published since 1926. The first book of poems -"My Heroes" (1933) . Author of collections "Birch Coppice" (1940), "Blue Wine" (1943), "Book of Fields" (1950), "Rowan Light" (1962)and others, several poems. The author of the poetic retelling "Words about Igor's Campaign" (completed in 1962, published in 1963 in the newspaper Literaturnaya Rossiya, in 1966 it was published as a separate book and then repeatedly reprinted). Author of songs, stories, essays, autobiographical and historical stories. Published a collection of articles"Tradition and Innovation" (1962).

Awards

The order of Lenin

Order of the Red Banner of Labor

Medals

Compositions

My heroes, 1933

Breath, 1938

Green shop, 1949

Poems and poems, 1956, the same, in 2 vols., 1959

Roots and leaves, 1960

On Lake Sapsho. Stories, 1966

The Book of Time, 1969

Koktebel elegy // "Star", 1976, No. 6

Poems and poems, 1981

Editions[edit | edit source]

Selected works. In 2 vols., 1974

Collected works. In 3 vols., 1985

Poems by Nikolai Rylenkov

***

All in a melting haze:

Hills, copses.

Here the colors are not bright

And the sounds are not harsh.

Here the rivers are slow

misty lakes,

And everything slips away

From a glance.

There is little to see here

Here you need to look

So that with clear love

The heart was filled.

Little to hear here

Here you need to listen

So that consonance in the soul

They surged together.

To suddenly reflect

clear waters

All the charm of the shy

Russian nature.

Let me fall to your hand, Russia

The day hid in dewy fogs,

The edge of the clouds has vanished.

My eternal caregiver.

Let me kiss your calluses

So that, as in childhood, I smell of hay,

So that the taste of salt remains forever

On my parched lips.

Let every rustle enter my soul,

Every breath in my native land.

I've been studying all my life in your spaces

Live like your plowman - in the coming day.

I saw more than once other distances,

But I dreamed of only one thing, loving, -

So that friends and foes say

That I'm all in you in character.

I don't need to hide in front of you

Where I cried, where I gave flowers.

All that is hidden from the eyes of others

You feel with a mother's heart.

Refresh whiskey my gray

Only your melodious stream.

Let me fall to your hand, Russia,

My eternal caregiver!

* * *

I remember my duty to you, Russia,

I will never forget about him.

All that I asked and did not ask,

You gave me enough in my native land.

Not everything is as it should be seen first,

Now I thank my fate -

For teaching so hard

Walking barefoot on hard stubble.

Gave me to comprehend how the ears are pricked,

Protecting the golden spring...

After all, if I managed to do something,

So because I'm used to stubble.

That the skin is just right tanned summer

And imbued with the spirit of thyme.

And what will I pay for this with you,

How not a line truthful to the end!

* * *

Russian land

From the ridges of the Caucasus to the Urals,

Long roads of dust,

You called out to the battle of your sons more than once,

Russian land!

Added strength to them in the days of sadness

Full-flowing rivers of your jets,

And the enemies of the offense were not forgiven

Your sons.

And always, safe and sound,

Endowing sons with immortality,

You rose from fire and smoke

Russian land!

About you in the centuries the songs are loud,

All of you are like a melodious string!

And the legacy of our ancestors, we, the descendants,

Fully accepted!

Here again the brown feather grass is smoking,

Moving with light brushes,

Here again you send us into battle under a storm,

Russian land!

Well! Or we are not Russian soldiers,

Or is the war cry of the fathers forgotten?

We won't forgive the damned rapists

We are your insults!

Wherever you go, your fate is preserved,

Death for death to your enemies promising, -

We are strengthened by your courage,

Russian land.

We call friends by name

Under the fire of experienced soldiers,

And above them Russian banners

Noisy in the wind!

Remember the heroes who fell in battles,

Autumn banners of the Kremlin

Cradle of our fathers and grandfathers,

Russian land!

Curse now and forever

Trembling in the face of the enemy,

In the days when the flames of the river rolled,

Throwing the shore.

And again, safe and sound,

Endowing sons with immortality,

You will rise from the flame and smoke,

Russian land!

Kutuzov on the way

What does the glory of the commander mean?

A long time ago he was full of glory,

But again at every well

Again at the steep pass

Enemies are celebrating...

Not the king, but the motherland called

In his difficult time!

Whatever happens, whatever happens -

Ready to do his duty...

And now he is in a hurry, forgetting about old age,

To the shelves in the mail carriage.

The pillars flash by miles,

Bells sing and cry...

Oh, who is dear to you, Russia,

Find beginnings and ends!

Who can calculate on the map,

How great is the spirit of your sons?

Will see Bonaparte again

Your angry, your stern face!

... Warmed by the fluid heat of the day,

Roads creep, dust.

And he looks out the carriage window

To copses and fields.

The heavy body of the carriage rumbles.

There are no end and end fields ...

"... Kutuzov is in a hurry to beat the French!" -

The bearded men are screaming after them.

Village, bridge... At the well

Crane creaky and tight

And the heart is beating, the heart is beating

Like a bell under Luga.

Oathbreakers

Russia! We repeat your name everywhere

Sacred are your gray hairs and wrinkles,

Celebrations and sorrows of your anniversary

In your great and harsh fate.

And, meeting maturity, by right of a man

We swore an oath of allegiance to you:

To be faithful to your green copses,

To be faithful to your crimson dawns,

To be faithful to the nightingale, sleepless nights,

To fidelity to the girlish eyes of the bottomless,

For fidelity to the hopes that we have been hiding since childhood.

Let the perjurer on the Russian plain

Forget about mother, friend and son, -

He has no friends, no family.

Let him become stone bread from now on,

The spring will not let him quench his thirst.

He will fall in fear when he hears your name,

Consonant with the name of that woman,

That swaddled us with her hands,

That fed us with her nipples,

That warmed us with its warmth.

Levitan

We will mature and appreciate

Simple colors, precise words.

Here again it shines in gold in autumn

Slightly sun-kissed blue.

And if you are an artist, if you are vigilant

Your sharp eye and sharpened your hearing, -

Foggy path go out to the hillock,

Listen and look around.

Before you, like bare pages,

Melting summer memories

Birches wander to distant lands,

And the wind confuses oblique shadows,

Rooks are noisy. So here it is, Russia,

Death is not terrible. Idleness is worse than death.

It does not part with sadness.

Opened window. And on the easel

Reinforced tight fabric.

Transparent day. Take a look and wipe your brushes.

You are master. Be prudent, strict and simple.

There is silence, there are colors on the palette,

To transfer the ringing of foliage to the canvas.

Hang golden cobwebs,

Let the paths through the field twisted,

Level the stubble with a barbed brush

And, looking around the desert dwelling,

Forget everything. Before you, Russia

Your love, your immortality.

Wherever you are - the soul of Russian nature

Was with you. You couldn't forget

Not a forgotten pond with a rastru mill,

Not a dilapidated courtyard, not a foggy haystack.

Overcoming life's anxieties

You saw: the sons of my land

On the hard labor Vladimir road

Walking into an open future.

Thinking about their fate for the first time,

You remembered all the field paths

And the reflection of dawns on the bank of the stream.

You understand: dreams and human aspirations

Russia will make the same reality,

Your love, your insomnia.

* * *

Wherever you look - relatives

Edges open to the heart.

I'm all in front of you, Russia,

My destiny, my conscience.

Didn't you surround me

Expanse of meadows and fields,

Didn't you make me friends

With my thoughtful muse!

Are you not a full-fledged word

Opened up everything for me...

I know it's harsh

From me you will ask yourself!

More than once to your roadside

I will come from song rivers,

So that even an unexpected lie

You will never be humiliated.

So ask more strictly - I will answer

For everything: for girlfriends and friends,

For the shortest meeting

With my thoughtful muse.

For songs which for the first time

Attention to native lands ...

I'm all in front of you, Russia,

My destiny. My conscience!

* * *

The son who has matured tenderness is ashamed,

The mother does not assure her of her love,

But nothing hides before her

And everything is ready to give it to the court.

And I already have gray whiskey

My thoughts are endless thread

And I want without extra words, Russia,

Like a mother, talking to you.

* * *

Snowdrifts gleams of mica,

Heaven frosty magic

But how warm, my Russia,

Me from your breath.

Silent winds behind the shoulders,

When in the paternal side

With your prophetic eyes

You look straight into my soul.

You look, not guessing about happiness,

She creates her own destiny

Like willows in hoarfrost, gray-haired

And young as the dawn.

What secrets do you own

You, towering over fate,

That every year you get younger

And everything is getting younger with you.

But you don't have to hide secrets

All your secrets are in plain sight.

After all, you are happy with any dream

Light up like a new star.

* * *

The wind of battle will turn the bushes,

A furious pillar of fire erupts,

And like the hot sting of death,

The enemy bullet will pierce me.

Dry lips turn white

But with eyes fixed on the dawn,

Three times your name, Russia.

Like a prayer, I will repeat.

And then - I know in advance -

You open all the ways for me

So that I can, forgetting about the wound,

Pass through the field of death.

* * *

golden cloud of heat

The smell of herbs is honey, intoxicating.

Russian painted sky

It opened up in front of me.

And I ask, as in the days of old,

In the never fading light of day:

The sun of my life, Russia,

Strengthen me for battle.

Lesson 53

N. Rylenkov "To the Motherland"

Target: to form skills of verbal drawing; develop attention to the figurative means of language; to teach the ability to express their feelings in relation to what they read.

Equipment: pictures of native Russian nature

During the classes

Org. Moment
Checking homework.
Preparing for perception.

The teacher reads the lines written on the blackboard:

Words burn like fire

Or freeze like stones, -

What did you give them?

What to them in their hour

touched by hands

And how much did he give them

Heartfelt warmth.

We choose words depending on how we relate to the subject being described.

Today we will try to give our spiritual warmth to Russian nature, our native side. Please open the textbooks on the page 6 , read the title of the work, the name of the poet.

4. reading and analysis of N. Rylenkov's poem "To the Motherland" (p.6-7).

1. independent reading of the poem by students.

2. expressive reading by the teacher.

3. conversation by content

1) what features of the native nature does the poet talk about?

2) How do you understand the line “and everything escapes a cursory glance?”

3) Does the poet himself explain this?(explains in full on page 7 of the textbook)

4) what is the difference between actions: look and peer, listen and listen? ( look means to direct the eye to what is immediately revealed to the eye. to peer - it means to overcome some obstacle with the eyes, that is, the eye does not immediately open to what it is directed at. The same can be said for the couple.listen - listen)

5) why is it necessary to peer and listen in order to understand the beauty of Russian nature? (Such beauty slowly penetrates the soul; it does not capture a person with an impulse of a quick feeling, but gradually fills his heart.)

6) what does a person need to be able to and have in order to understand the beauty of Russian nature? (a person needs to have an educated eye and heart, be able to peer into the world around him, have a sensitive soul, be able to notice beauty in its discreet features)

Fizminutka

5. Work with the "Picture Gallery".

1. preliminary conversation.

What does the concept of "small homeland" mean?"? (this is what specific place(city, village, house) where a person was born and lived a significant period of his life, where he spent his childhood and (or) school years, where his parents and (or) grandparents live)

2. reading the commentary in the textbook (p. 8).

3. work with the pictureM. Chagall "window at the dacha" (hall 7)

Is it possible to have tender feelings for a summer cottage?

Consider the painting by Marc Chagall "window in the country".

How much space in the picture is the image of the window? (almost the whole place)

Do you like the summer landscape outside the window?

When? (at what time of summer, at what time of the day and in what weather) is greenery so dazzling emerald? (obviously this early summer or late spring, perhaps after a short rain - nature seems bright and as if cleanly washed; It's possible that it's early in the morning.)

Don't you think it's strange that the artist paints such a wonderful landscape through the binding of the window frame, because the landscape seems to be crossed out by the vertical line of the window, first with one strip, and then even with a double strip, lined with horizontals of the window sash and curtains? Why does the artist complicate the perception of the landscape so much for himself and for us?(if the children find it difficult to answer, you should ask them to pay attention to the name of the picture again. The artist’s goal is to depict not a corner of the forest, but a window in the country house. A window is like a transparent wall, a border that defines a cramped country room from the miracles that unfold behind it , by nature of extraordinary, piercing beauty).

Can you see that the room is cramped? (Certainly. The artist creates a feeling of tightness in the room due to the fact that objects on the windowsill are very close and in one row, and also due to the fact that the male and female heads seem to be placed one on top of the other).

Did you know that in the right corner is a self-portrait of the artist and a portrait of his wife.

Why does the artist depict himself and his wife like theatrical masks?(people seemed to freeze, peering in fascination at the beautiful landscape outside the window, so their faces resemble masks).

Remember which poet perceives the beauty of the forest in the country in the same way as the performance that nature plays in front of a person?(Dmitry Kedrin "Invitation to the Cottage" - from the first part of the textbook)

4. work with the pictureM. Chagall "My Village" (room 7)

Consider the picture

Why does the artist call the city of Vitebsk, where he spent his childhood and youth, "my village"?(this is an expression of an affectionate attitude towards the native city, as to something infinitely close and beloved).

Can you see, if you carefully consider the picture, that the artist loves his little hometown Vitebsk?

By what signs can this be judged?
- how do you perceive a horse with a sleigh, - where is it located? outside the city, in the field or walking through the sky itself? (for an artist, the boundary between the real world and the world of the wonderful, fantastic, blurred. For Chagall, there is nothing special in the fact that a man with a horse plows the sky).

Is this picture a hymn to the great motherland or a declaration of love to one's small motherland? (This is a declaration of love to your small homeland).

6. summary of the lesson

What interested you most in the lesson?

D.z. come up with how the "small motherland" is connected with the big motherland, with the fatherland

Nikolai Ivanovich Rylenkov was born February 2 (15), 1909 in the village of Alekseevka, Smolensk province.

In the story “The Tale of My Childhood,” Rylenkov recalls: “The village of Alekseevka, where my parents were peasants and where I grew up, was one of the most remote corners of the forest Roslavl district ... During the years of my childhood, there were not even fifty yards in it. Almost at its very outskirts, dense forests began ... ”Father was remembered“ walking with a bare head and with a seeder on his chest along the cornfield, surrounded by the golden glow of scattered grain. Personal grief was added to the difficulties of rural life: in 1916 Rylenkov's father died in 1919- mother died.

Rylenkov completed 5 classes of elementary school in 4 years and entered high school in with. Tyunino, where he participated in the release of the school handwritten magazine "Iskorki". The father, a village literate and book lover, dreamed of making his son a village teacher. In 1930 Nikolai Rylenkov enters the Smolensk Pedagogical Institute. He enters the literary environment of the regional city, glorious for its cultural traditions, is published in the regional magazines "Offensive" and "Western Region", gets acquainted with Mikhail Isakovsky, Alexander Tvardovsky, with whom he will later have a long and strong friendship. I have been drawn to poetry since childhood. Rylenkov grew up in an environment where folklore was present in everyday life, and poems by great Russian poets sounded in the Rylenkov house.

In 1926 ninth grader Rylenkov brought poems to the editorial office of the newspaper "Smolenskaya village", in 1929 began to be published in the local newspapers "Our Village", "Way of Youth", "Bryansk Worker".

In 1933 graduated from the Faculty of Language and Literature of the Pedagogical Institute, worked as a teacher, then as an editor in a book publishing house, led the criticism department in the Smolensk newspaper Rabochy Put. He recalled: “I knew that I was leaving for the city, / But I leave my heart in the field” - this was not a metaphor, but a life program: he was in charge of agricultural broadcasts of the regional radio broadcasting, then he worked as a secretary and chairman of the village council.

In 1933 in Smolensk, Rylenkov published the first book of poems, My Heroes. The second book also in Smolensk was the collection "Meetings". Late 1930s"Poems about a prosperous life", the poem "Earth" were published, followed by "Birch copse" ( 1940 ). From the first books, Rylenkov declared himself as a singer of his native land. He creates poems about the history of Smolensk "Master Fedor Horse", "Kutuzov on the way", "Monument of 1812 in Smolensk", etc. Rylenkov's poems are recognized, M. Gorky speaks approvingly of them. Since 1936 Rylenkov heads the Smolensk Writers' Organization. Becoming a master of the epic genre, he writes poems on the themes of Russian history "Big Road" ( 1938 ), "Buffoon Ovsey Kolobok" ( 1939 ), "The Great Jam" ( 1940 ).

In the early days of the Great Patriotic War, Rylenkov left as a volunteer, although he was not subject to conscription for health reasons. He took the books of Blok and Heine with him to the front, commanded a sapper platoon, and at night by the light of an oil lamp in dugouts he continued to write poetry. The topic of Russia is filled with more and more significant content. In the verses of the war years, journalistic appeals appear that were not typical for Rylenkov before. Rylenkov became a military journalist, leaflets with his poems-calls were dropped from aircraft behind enemy lines to partisans and residents of the temporarily occupied Smolensk region and Belarus; the author was awarded the medal "Partisan of the Great Patriotic War". Rylenkov works in different genres, writes poetry, songs, ballads, poems "April", "Forest Gatehouse", "Return", "Creation of the World", "In the Native Land". Rylenkov's poem "Revenge, comrade" was sung like a folk song.

In 1943-1944 Rylenkov's books of poems "Blue Wine", "Farewell to Youth", "Smolensk Forests" were published. In 1946 Rylenkov published a book with recordings of partisan songs " living water"(Smolensk).

Rylenkov turns to prose, comprehending the path traveled by the people, the stories “The Great Rosstan”, “On the Old Smolensk Road” appear, an autobiographical trilogy is built: “The Tale of My Childhood”, “I’m Fourteen Years Old”, “The Road Goes Beyond the Outskirts”. Criticism was also heard against Rylenkov - they reproached him for allegedly passive admiration of nature, for the lack of citizenship in verses about her. Rylenkov approaches nature from the standpoint of the people's worldview. The images of nature in Rylenkov's work are deeply civic and patriotic. Publicistically, the poet is sharply indignant when "greedy crazy axes / They cut off their hands from the birches." Rylenkov's prose sketches Blue Eyes of Winter, My Sleepless Spring, How Summer Smells, Autumn Rainbow combine the experience of a poet and a peasant. "The Cranes' Guiding Thread" runs through all the poet's work; he called his last book "Cranes' Trumpets".

The folk song was written in 1948 Rylenkov's poem "A girl walks across the field." Many composers (M. Fradkin, A. Flyarkovsky, I. Massalitinov and others) turned to Rylenkov's song verses.

Rylenkov created his own poetic retelling of The Tale of Igor's Campaign.

last decade the poet's life was especially productive, books of prose "Magic Book" were published (1964 ), "On Lake Sapsho" ( 1966 ) and others, a book of poems "Roots and Leaves" ( 1960 ), "Thirst" ( 1961 ), "The Fifth Season", "Selected Lyrics" (both - 1965 ), "Snowball" ( 1968 ), "The Book of Time" ( 1969 ) and etc.

A significant contribution to literature was Rylenkov's books on the history of poetry - "Traditions and Innovation" ( 1962 ), where Russian poetry appears in detail from M. Lomonosov to V. Bokov, "The Soul of Poetry" ( 1969 ), which includes articles about Pushkin, Krylov, Surikov, Shevchenko, Blok and many others. Rylenkov's poems are also dedicated to many poets. His poems about M. Glinka and Beethoven were included in the anthology Music in the Mirror of Poetry. A manifestation of the “good soul” of the poet (as the book about him is called) were his translations of poets from the neighboring Smolensk region of Belarus - Y. Kolas, P. Brovka, M. Tank, A. Kuleshov, P. Panchenko, A. Velyugin, A. Zaritsky, F. Pestrak, P. Trus, K. Kireenko, as well as articles about their work. Rylenkov translated poems and poets of other peoples, some of the translations are collected in the book "Crane pipes" ( 1972 ).

Nikolai Ivanovich Rylenkov ()

1. Where and when was the poet born? Answer: Smolensk province, 1909 2. In what atmosphere did you spend your childhood? Answer: Difficulties of rural life. Personal grief. 3. What contributed to the development of poetic abilities? Answer: Father is literate and a book lover (poems sounded in the house). Introduction to literature (issue of a school magazine) 4. What is the creative path? Answer: The main direction is poetry, and musicality makes poetry songs, but also prose, journalism.

Where and when was the poet born? Smolensk province, 1909 In what atmosphere did his childhood pass? Difficulties of rural life. Personal grief. What contributed to the development of poetic abilities? Father is a literate and book lover (poetry sounded in the house). Introduction to literature (issue of a school magazine) What is the creative path? The main direction is poetry, and musicality makes poetry songs, but also prose, journalism.

What features of Russian nature did Rylenkov write about? With the help of what epithets does the poet draw her originality? What helped the poet to discover these features? Explain the meaning of the words “see” and “peer”, “hear” and “listen” What other tricks have you discovered?

I chose the Theme of the motherland and native nature in the poetry of Nikolai Ivanovich Rylenkov, because I am very interested in the life and work of this great Smolensk poet. In this essay, I will analyze some of the poetic works of this famous person. I will try to reflect some facts of the poet's biography, tell how they influenced his work. I would like to prove that the theme of the homeland is the main one in his poetry. I am very proud that he is my countryman. In his poetic works, he sings of the beauty and, it seems to me, the modesty of the nature of his native land. In my opinion, we should all be proud that we were born in Smolensk, where Nikolai Rylenkov once lived and created his wonderful poetic works.

Nikolai Ivanovich Rylenkov died in 1969, but his poems and his books continue an active life. Rylenkov's lines are heard at literature lessons in schools, at meetings of writers with readers, on radio and television,

On the day of his seventieth birthday - in 1979 - on the house along Nakhimson Street, where the poet lived last years, a memorial plaque was erected. Writers, lovers of poetry, students of the school named after Rylenkov came to its opening.

In 1981, the Poet's Library published a second edition of a collection of poems and poems by Nikolai Rylenkov, which was compiled and prepared for publication by Professor of the Smolensk Pedagogical Institute, Doctor of Philology V.S. Baevsky.

In 1985, the Sovremennik publishing house published a collection of the poet's works in three volumes.

Why do people remember and love Rylenkov?

I think it's all about his poetry. Let's take a look at his work.

Rylenkov's poems speak for themselves. True poetry cannot be retold. His poems are not a noisy waterfall. It is best to compare them with clean springs, clear spring water.

But to say only that Rylenkov is a singer of his native nature means to say nothing about his work. After all, the poet sings of the beauty of his native land not as a phenologist or local historian. In his poems, the life of nature merges deeply with thoughts about life. And the landscape appears only in the name inner world person.

Rylenkov felt nature as a revelation and therefore wrote about it without loud words. His poetry is in harmony with life. The poet was fortunate enough to deeply express the shy beauty of Russia. And here he was amazingly accurate and truthful.

Poetry is always winged. But Rylenkov's birds "are not in bright plumage." How many poems about spring, about thawed patches, about pure snow and winter twilight. Loyalty to the native land is rewarded with an amazing pictorial diversity in the way the poet expresses the familiar, beloved and even traditional.

How valuable and wonderful that the poet "of a rural nature," without any split, without breaking this rural, labor generously brought into our lives. How beautifully he exalts the feeling of the Motherland, the feeling of Russia, all the immeasurable breadth of the Russian soul.

Often the poet deliberately switched to a song mode. His innermost thoughts about the great purpose of Pushkin, about the genius of Gogol, about the humanity of Vrubel's "Demon", so naturally merge with the thought of Koltsov's "prophetic Russian word".

In the stanzas and lines of Nikolai Rylenkov, the sincerity of the Russian song triumphs. From the past, she rushes to the future, radiates with goodness and happiness. The whole heart of Rylenkov's poetry is in the understanding that the world is beautiful.

Nikolai Rylenkov called one of his collections "Permanence". Literary criticism determined the meaning of this title somewhat one-sidedly - only as a constancy in the poet's commitment to the theme of love for the Motherland. All this is true - love for the Motherland permeates all of Rylenkov's work. (And what truly Soviet poet does not have this main current?). But in this title there was also a polemical charge: the constancy of the ideological and aesthetic positions of the lyric poet. After all, the book was published in the years when some, even among writers, believed that the time of intimate and landscape lyrics passed. With the collection "Constancy" Rylenkov defended the positions of the poet, who devoted his whole life to lyrics.

Rylenkov's talent is versatile. I would like to mention one side of his work - the perception of native nature. Here, with special force, his talent for subtle lyrics was manifested. How much beautiful poems about Russian nature before him was written by outstanding poets of Russia. They have admiration, and admiration, and admiration, and magnificence. All this, to one degree or another, is also present in Rylenkov's poetry. But there is something else in it that is unique to him, as a Soviet author. This “something” is a feeling of active involvement in this nature, a sense of responsibility of the artist for the beauty around him. His poetic perception of the world is a perception inherent in a person of the socialist era.

I don’t even think about what place Rylenkov occupies in poetry - he is my fellow countryman, and that says it all.

The history of the Smolensk region, its linguistic element - all this somehow nourished the poetry of Nikolai Rylenkov. Of no small importance was the location of the Smolensk region, bordering on seven regions, where, as it was once said, the rooster sings to three provinces at once.

Core Russian land. From here, from the Smolensk land, the Dnieper begins with a thin thread, linking together our region with Belarus and Ukraine. A side where no stone, no river, no village is all a fragment of the ancient truth.

You will drive away from Moscow to the west or from the small station Zaolsha on the westernmost border of the region, as “greenery and pastures”, grain-growing fields, hills and stretches, through birch pegs and blue forest along the edges will go. Only all this is quieter, less bright than the neighbors.

How we began to live, how widely we marched before the war, how everything became on our shoulders - this will be told by the poems and prose of Nikolai Ivanovich Rylenkov, who remained faithful to Smolensk until the end of his life.

The one who gets everything in life easily, any, the smallest, misfortune will oppress him so that he can’t even straighten up. Smolensk got everything and gets it with work - sleepless, requiring the whole person without a trace.

The Smolensk region is poetic, the Smolensk region of the cultivators courageously meets the war famously.

Nikolai Ivanovich Rylenkov from the lyric poets: the coat of arms is a living ball of fluff on metal. Just a "lump". And how should you take care of it?

Of course, the poet singled out, peered into his small homeland with a son's look.

Like Sergei Yesenin, Rylenkov seeks to convey the “gentle thrill of winter”, he is ready to “read poems like prayers through tears by heart”, he experiences “sweet joy and sadness”, he wants to “sing and cry”, he is “ready to choke on chaste whiteness”.

In the early work of Nikolai Rylenkov, allusions associated with A.S. Pushkin, N. Nekrasov, A. Blok, S. Yesenin were directly evident and betrayed the author’s dependence on brilliant predecessors:

While the fire burns in the blood

There is a young tenderness in the heart ...

A.S. Pushkin:

While we burn with freedom

As long as hearts are alive for honor ...

But all the poems inspired by the Smolensk region - and they make up a large layer in his work - do not sound like a call to stand apart, isolate, which characterizes nationalism so badly, but as an invitation to acquaintance, to friendship with our long-suffering land. We are like this, we ask you to love and favor, we are always glad to have friends - you read it in his "Smolensk" poems. Therefore, in the collections they so naturally side by side with poems about Belarus dearly loved by him, about Baikal, Orel, Georgia, Riga ...

There is not a shadow of parochialism in them, it is obligatory to go beyond the borders of the native land, a certain time, thematic framework.

With the highest lyrical power, both love for the native land and the deep meaning of this love, which gives a lot, but which requires even more from a person, are expressed in the poem "Seven Hills".

Rylenkov lived as he wrote. In love with Smolensk, he explained himself not speculatively, as some alleged villagers who do not leave the city do. They invited him to live in Leningrad, in Belarus dear to his heart.

Persuaded to move, persuaded, persuaded not only officials. In 1950, M.V. Isakovsky also gave his voice: “It seems to me that all this would be very good ...”

And, of course, he listened to the opinion of his friend N.I. Rylenkov, and became deputy chairman of the organizing committee, and worked with the young for many years, but did not move, did not betray the Smolensk land.

The age-old mystery of the Russian character abroad, perhaps, lies precisely in the fact that "everything eludes a cursory glance." Tvardovsky spoke about the Smolensk Territory - "the quiet side." Rylenkov from a great variety of definitions finds his own: "shy Russian nature."

There is little to see here

Here you have to look…

Little to hear here

Here you need to listen...

And only those who know how to peer and listen will discover not only “all the charm of shy Russian nature”, but also the essence of the Russian character.

A great Russian lyricist, a fine connoisseur of the Russian language, a master of landscape verse, Rylenkov reveals himself most fully in his poems about the Motherland.

From poem to poem, the theme of love for Russia is more and more inextricably linked with the theme of duty to Russia.

Wherever you look - relatives,

Edges open to the heart.

I'm all in front of you, Russia,

My destiny, my conscience...

It is infinitely interesting to trace how the essence of the poet manifests itself over the years, how the accumulation of life experience, skill, and ever greater demands on oneself will be reflected in the poetic word.

I remember my duty to you, Russia,

I will never forget about him.

All that I asked and did not ask,

You gave me enough in my native land ...

Walking barefoot on hard stubble, “touching the wet furrow with bare soles” are visible touches of a peasant, and even orphan, besides, childhood. But it is also about hardening by time, adversity, a poetic rethinking of the real signs of rural life.

Four years before his death, in 1965, Nikolai Ivanovich published perhaps the most chaste poem - "Let me fall to your hand, Russia."

The day hid in dewy fogs,

The edge of the clouds has vanished.

Let me fall to your hand, Russia,

My eternal caregiver...

And a few years before that, in 1957, N.I. Rylenkov wrote a poem “I remember my mother’s hands ..” - a hymn of gratitude to the hard-working maternal hands, wide, rough palms.

Without them, these lines, the poem "Let me fall to your hand, Russia" would not have been born. How free, how natural is the transition from the hands of the mother-woman to the hands of the Motherland.

In this poem, the pictorial skill of the poet will fully affect. Not the first words about Russia that come across will pour out "from the depths of the chest." For indeed the day in our latitudes is hidden in "mists of dew." And as it is familiar, and always in a new way, the sunset moment is seen, when "the clouds of the edge will blaze away."

Rylenkov is restrained in expressing his feelings. He finds here full-fledged, non-futile words, fully provided mentally. This alone - "my eternal caregiver" - is worth a lot. Hands of the Motherland - with a "taste of salt", "smell of hay" ...

What does it mean to study all your life, "to live like your plowman - in the coming day"? This means - despite the troubles, age, ailments, perhaps misunderstanding, injustice - to follow the old covenant working man: "Die yourself, but this rye." That is, work not only to quench your thirst to work, but also for those others who will come after.

Those who knew him know that this is how it is, and this is how he lived. With his character, modest, self-demanding, peasant industriousness, N.I. Rylenkov is a real son of his motherland.

Nikolai Ivanovich has been abroad almost once in all. I didn’t travel much around the country, and even then in recent years. And how subtly, penetratingly he knew world literature, as none of the literature of our fraternal republics was alien, distant, unfamiliar to him. But that is why he could say about himself:

And fell in love with Rimbaud

And I marveled at Apollinaire,

But in a time of anxiety

Blok and Yesenin were with me.

Since then I have been in poetry

I only know one thing:

The sound is just as poignant

Like an echo of the native valley!

Artistic imagination, the power of creative intuition, the power of "feeling" in a real object or object - all taken together played an important role in the landscape lyrics of Nikolai Rylenkov.

Nature is under our gaze

transforms itself,

he wrote and thereby argued that the artist voluntarily or involuntarily projects the state of mind onto the world, gives it a subjective coloring. A lyrical landscape is a kind of snapshot of a person's soul, and if this person is our contemporary, then it is obvious that in the landscape we will guess some modern features. The daily observed pictures of nature, the change of seasons of the day and year, in turn, evoked thoughts in the artist about the fleeting time, made him feel more acutely the endless cycle in nature. Rylenkov has many poems on this traditional theme of landscape lyrics. However, in this traditional solution of the topic, he knew how to remain himself - "and always say, having heard the ringing for hours, that your best song has not yet been sung." Thus, communication with nature almost invariably directed his mental gaze to creative deeds, and if we take a broader category, then to human deeds. From contemplation, the poet moved on to self-deepening and again to nature, but already “included” in the stream of his lyrical experiences.

The lyrical landscape is not an abstract projection of abstract human feelings, it is a landscape, all permeated with moods of some kind of guilt and shyness, love for the native space and inability to resist others, perhaps alien views, that is, in this landscape a specific lyrical character is revealed, the soul is revealed poet. Rylenkov was not an experienced, skillful polemicist, but in his own, Rylenkovian way, he defended his convictions, his unchanging loyalty to his native land. Consistently pairing the theme of nature and the theme of art, he came to other lyrical and philosophical convictions.

Rylenkov's seasons. In his poems there are no clear distinctions between just a picture, a landscape sketch and a philosophical poem, where nature is projected onto human feelings.

Probably the most favorite time of the year for Nikolai Rylenkov was spring.

Reading the “spring” poems of N. Rylenkov, one wonders in general how one could blame him for allegedly abstract admiration of nature.

Even the charming poetic picture “Cranes brought spring at midnight ...” ends with the most ingenious line: “And the tractor drivers went to start the cars.”

There is not a single word in vain here. Writes a peasant who has become a poet, but has not lost his sense of the earth, who knows all the signs.

Poems about the morning of the year will tell the heart a lot: “After the rain, there was a slight smell of spring ...”, “A cheerful herald of noisy downpours ...”, “At dawn in April ...”, “Spring still has the same jokes ...”, etc.

Reading poems about the blessed time of the year - summer, you notice a certain pattern. From year to year, without losing their picturesqueness, the poems become more capacious, stricter. In poems about summer, Nikolai Rylenkov will use the words slow, slow, so characteristic of this time, more than once.

Autumn. I would like to quote a poem, under which there is a date - 1928, "The dawn in the green twilight went out ...". And bring it in order to show once again that even the most lyrical poetry, if it is poetry, captures absolutely accurate signs and moods. Also very famous is the poem "August".

Isn't it true, these are always topical-sounding verses, because it is in the nature of a Russian person to love his Motherland, to work for the good of the world, in the name of peace. I think the most high reward to the poet - when poems written in the forties before the war have not lost their deep qualities to this day.

And yet, of all the seasons, spring and winter, apparently, were dearest to the soul of the poet. Nikolai Ivanovich was too Russian not to love our snowy, vigorous, frosty winters. He loved many places on earth, extended the summer, living in Koktebel in October. And in winters he always remained in his own area. With the first snow comes to mind - "winter does not like clear lines."

Winter turns to us this way and that with its laughing face, ruddy from the frost, now with a stern mask, now with the daring run of a sled across the creaking snow. In "All the Riches of the Russian Landscape...", "Don't Squeak Your Skids..." you gladly kind words, as "agility", "lane", where it sounds so melodious: "white snows". In the poem “The time has come again for winter ...”, the ending is firmly remembered: “And the winter is clean, like this dear Pushkin’s trochee.”

Another "winter" poem is "Winter Twilight ...". It is very picturesque - blue twilight, silver haze of hoarfrost ... But behind these colors a person is not lost. It is clear that this is no longer a young man, otherwise why would it be - "the heart ached so young, young."

When you think about how many people the book helped to endure in a confrontation with some kind of grief, straightened a person, led out of hopelessness, then it must be said in fairness: poetry here goes ahead of prose in terms of the depth of impact. It is extremely important for a person in our time, regardless of age, regardless of whether he is aware of it or not, to feel his unity with nature, harmonious merging with it. Purposefully to develop this feeling of unity means to ensure your mental health. Everyone knows for himself how urgently it is important at other times to escape to nature. Let it be in a suburban grove, not in a village, not in a forest. At least in the park, in its most secluded part. Nature heals, nature removes coarseness from us. It cleanses us, reconciles us with the world, those around us, adversity…

But if you can’t suddenly escape into silence, primevalness, to greenery, birds, multi-colored snows, poetry will help here.

Nikolai Ivanovich Rylenkov said more than once that after an empty meeting, a tedious conversation, another blow - and who has not received them in life ?! - he was cleansed by poetry, restored his peace of mind.

Rylenkov is a living encyclopedia... He perfectly knew the peasant rituals and their names, sequence, poems of completely forgotten, half-forgotten, famous and still little-known poets. He was very fond of Blok, Yesenin, Pasternak, Ushakov.

Nothing can bribe the reader's heart to the poet, if his book does not contain his own approach to the phenomena of life, his figurative vision of the world, his poetic voice: not that voice, which the louder, the supposedly more audible, but that truly musical one, which is the better, the better it is. cleaner.

Nikolai Rylenkov owns a diverse poetic intonation: either energetic ballad rhythms, or plastically accurate aphoristic lines, or melodic fairy tale speech. And in all these very different verses, we will never hear someone else's voice, we always have before us the work of one poet, fresh in feeling, deep in thought, and precisely because of this, rich in intonation.

The poetry of N. Rylenkov preserves for us the beauty and aroma of our native places. You enter it like a spring forest filled with the tantalizing smell of bird cherry, a forest where a snowdrop glows with a delicate color, where pink euonymus catkins sway in a welcoming way, where a lily of the valley with emerald dew drops on a wide leaf will flash in the grass.

Only a very observant, thoughtful artist can see and embody the colors of nature in words.

Again heavy geese drop down,

Leveling the bottom of the heated nest,

Again transparent days and nights of light blue,

And above you stands a sleepless star.

Proximity to native nature, a subtle understanding of it allow Nikolai Rylenkov to find the right tone, give artistic credibility to many poems "on a civil theme."

It's no secret that many of our poets' poems affect the mind, the consciousness, and not the reader's feelings, although art must find its way to the mind through the soul, through the heart. It's the right way. But the ways and means to achieve the goal can be different. Rylenkov love for nature helps to find this path "through the heart." In the poem "Pereyaslav-Khmelnitsky" the lines about how "the hands of white bird cherry trees are extended with caress" heartily prepare pathos lines about the friendship of the peoples of the whole country.

Nature for N. Rylenkov is eternally alive, pulsating like a spring, a source of thoughts. Of course, this is not new. And Pushkin's wise philosophy in "Autumn", and the depth of Tyutchev's thoughts, and the touching spirituality of Fet's landscape lyrics - all these are old conquests of Russian poetry. But this "secret" is somehow hidden in recent times, and the more weighty the poetry of Nikolai Rylenkov, one of the few contemporary poets of ours who are trying to comprehend the "philosophy of nature," sounds.

The poet writes about spring, about the fact that April prepared everything for the May flowering:

Everything blooms around, and you -

You know, listening to bird trills,

May reveals flowers to us,

What's in April!

These are poems about spring, about flowers, about bird trills. But they contain a philosophical conclusion, for which the poem was written - each of us should gratefully remember that other people have done and are doing great things with us and before us.

A wonderful cycle - five sonnets - was written by Rylenkov about the Russian soul and Glinka's Russian music!

N. Rylenkov loves and knows the heart of a Russian person - fit and brave, courageous and hardworking, gentle and observant. Therefore, his poems about love, about “spiritual” and strict Russian girls in their beauty, are so simple and sincere.

Folk songs, choruses, sayings easily and freely enter into his poems, making the poet's communication with the reader so direct. Moreover, the very mood of his poetic voice, the structure of speech rest on the precise and confident possession of those riches that were created by the oral poetry of the people. Many of his songs are close to the ditty, perhaps the most favorite genre of today's folk art.

In my opinion, the genuine relevance of all Rylenkov's poems is in the unity of the poet with his native nature, with the life of his people.

During his life, Rylenkov wrote great amount poems about the native land, about ordinary people, about native nature and much more. I believe that he is not only a famous poet of the Smolensk region, but of the whole of Russia.

V. A. Zvezdaeva said: “N. Rylenkov lived for poetry and for poetry. And if I nevertheless tried to say something about him beyond his poems (the verses speak for themselves to any open heart), then only with the hope: maybe what I wrote will encourage you to read his poems more kindred. And one more thing: in every life there is not one, but another big man. Do not miss your Rylenkov in your life. Because the appearance of a great person is always a miracle, enrichment, a rise in spirituality.”

In my essay, I examined the life and work of the famous Smolensk poet Nikolai Ivanovich Rylenkov. I managed to prove that the theme of the motherland and native nature is the main one in his poetry. In my opinion, the great Smolensk land can be proud of this man. I would like to finish my essay with the lines of N. Rylekov:

I didn't play with words, remember

And in the fierce cold, and in the heat

That I have a village Lomnya

There is a forest in the Smolensk region.

There I grew up in bread and herbs

And everywhere he went with his friends in a row.

False words, deceitful words

I will never be forgiven.

List of used literature.

1. "Kind soul" - publishing house " Soviet Russia» Moscow - 1973.

2.B. A. Zvezdaeva "Nikolai Rylenkov" - publishing house "Sovremennik", Moscow - 1987.

3. "Creativity of M. V. Isakovsky, A. T. Tvardovsky, N. I. Rylenkov in the synopsis of Russian and world culture" - publishing house of SSPU, Smolensk - 2000.