Living flame - Nosov E.I
Aunt Olya looked into my room, again found it behind papers and, raising her voice, said imperiously:
Will write something! Go get some air, help to cut the flower bed. - Aunt Olya took out a birch bark box from the closet. While I was happily kneading my back, beating the wet earth with a rake, she sat down on the heap and poured bags and nodules with flower seeds onto her knees, and arranged them into varieties.
Olga Petrovna, what is it, - I notice, - you are not sowing poppies in the flower beds?
Well, what a poppy color! - she answered with conviction. - It's a vegetable. It is sown in the beds along with onions and cucumbers.
What do you! I laughed. - Another old song is sung:
And her forehead, like marble, is white, And cheeks burn like poppies.
It only happens in color for two days, - Olga Petrovna persisted. - For a flower bed, this does not fit in any way, he puffed and immediately burned out. And then all summer this same beater sticks out, only spoils the view.
But I still secretly poured a pinch of poppy into the very middle of the flower bed. After a few days, she turned green.
Have you sowed the poppies? - Aunt Olya approached me. - Oh, you are such a mischievous person! So be it, I left the top three, I felt sorry for you. The rest were weeded out.
Suddenly I left on business and did not return until two weeks later. After a hot, exhausting journey, it was pleasant to enter the quiet old house of Aunt Olya. The freshly washed floor felt cool. A jasmine bush growing under the window dropped a lace shadow on the writing table.
Pour kvass? she suggested, looking at me sympathetically, sweaty and tired. - Alyosha was very fond of kvass. Sometimes he would bottle and seal himself.
When I was renting this room, Olga Petrovna, looking up at the portrait of a young man in flight uniform that hangs above the desk, asked:
Doesn't it interfere?
This is my son Alexey. And the room was his. Well, you settle down, live in good health ...
Serving me a heavy copper mug with kvass, Aunt Olya said:
And your poppies have risen, have already thrown away the buds.
I went out to look at the flowers. The flower bed has become unrecognizable. Along the very edge was a rug, which, with its thick cover with flowers scattered over it, very much resembled a real carpet. Then the flower bed was surrounded by a ribbon of matthiol - modest night flowers, attracting to themselves not by their brightness, but by a delicately bitter aroma, similar to the smell of vanilla. The curtains of yellow-violet pansies dazzled, the purple-velvet hats of Parisian beauties swayed on thin legs. There were many other familiar and unfamiliar colors. And in the center of the flower bed, above all this floral variegation, my poppies rose, throwing three tight, heavy buds towards the sun.
They blossomed the next day.
Aunt Olya went out to water the flower bed, but returned immediately, thundering with an empty watering can.
Well, go, look, they bloomed.
From a distance, the poppies looked like lighted torches with tongues of flame living cheerfully blazing in the wind. A light wind swayed slightly, and the sun pierced the translucent scarlet petals with light, which caused the poppies to flare up with a vibrantly bright fire, then filled with a thick crimson. It seemed that one had only to touch - they would immediately scorch!
Poppies blinded with their mischievous, scorching brightness, and next to them all these Parisian beauties, snapdragons and other flower aristocracy faded, faded.
The poppies were on fire for two days. And at the end of the second day they suddenly crumbled and went out. And immediately the lush flowerbed became empty without them. I picked up a petal from the ground, still quite fresh, in drops of dew, and spread it in the palm of my hand.
That's all, ”I said loudly, with a feeling of admiration that had not yet cooled down.
Yes, it burned out ... - Aunt Olya sighed, as if for a living creature. - And I somehow didn’t pay attention to this poppy before. His life is short. But without looking back, lived through in full force. And it happens with people ...
Aunt Olya, somehow hunched over, suddenly hurried into the house.
I have already been told about her son. Alexei died, diving in his tiny "hawk" on the back of a heavy Nazi bomber.
I now live on the other side of the city and occasionally stop by to see Aunt Olya. I recently visited her again. We sat at a summer table, drank tea, shared news. And a large bonfire of poppies was blazing on the flowerbed nearby. Some crumbled, dropping petals to the ground, like sparks, others only opened their fiery tongues. And from below, from the moist earth full of vitality, more and more tightly folded buds rose to prevent the living fire from extinguishing.
Aunt Olya looked into my room, again found it behind papers and, raising her voice, said imperiously:
Will write something! Go get some air, help to cut the flower bed. Aunt Olya took out a birch bark box from the closet. While I was happily kneading my back, beating the wet earth with a rake, she sat down on the heap and poured bags and nodules with flower seeds onto her knees, and arranged them according to their varieties.
Olga Petrovna, what is it, - I notice, - you are not sowing poppies in the flower beds?
Well, what is the color of the poppies! - she answered with conviction. - It's a vegetable. It is sown in the beds along with onions and cucumbers.
What do you! I laughed. - Another old song is sung:
And her forehead, like marble, is white. And cheeks burn like poppies.
It only happens in color for two days, - Olga Petrovna persisted. - For a flower bed, this does not fit in any way, he puffed and immediately burned out. And then all summer this same beater sticks out and only spoils the view.
But I still secretly poured a pinch of poppy into the very middle of the flower bed. After a few days, she turned green.
Have you sowed the poppies? - Aunt Olya approached me. - Oh, you are such a mischievous person! So be it, leave the top three, I felt sorry for you. And the rest were weeded out.
Suddenly I left on business and did not return until two weeks later. After a hot, exhausting journey, it was pleasant to enter the quiet old house of Aunt Olya. The freshly washed floor felt cool. A jasmine bush growing under the window dropped a lace shadow on the writing table.
Pour kvass? she suggested, looking at me sympathetically, sweaty and tired. - Alyoshka was very fond of kvass. Sometimes he himself bottled and sealed
When I was renting this room, Olga Petrovna, looking up at the portrait of a young man in flight uniform that hangs above the desk, asked:
Not prevent?
This is my son Alexey. And the room was his. Well, you settle down, live in good health.
Serving me a heavy copper mug with kvass, Aunt Olya said:
And your poppies have risen, they have already thrown away the buds. I went to look at the flowers. The flower bed was unrecognizable. Along the very edge was a rug, which, with its thick cover with flowers scattered over it, very much resembled a real carpet. Then the flower bed was surrounded by a ribbon of matthiol - modest night flowers, attracting to themselves not by their brightness, but by a delicately bitter aroma, similar to the smell of vanilla. The curtains of yellow-violet pansies dazzled, the purple-velvet hats of Parisian beauties swayed on thin legs. There were many other familiar and unfamiliar colors. And in the center of the flower bed, above all this floral variegation, my poppies rose, throwing three tight, heavy buds towards the sun.
They blossomed the next day.
Aunt Olya went out to water the flower bed, but returned immediately, thundering with an empty watering can.
Well, go look, they bloomed.
From a distance, the poppies looked like lighted torches with tongues of flame alive, cheerfully blazing in the wind. A light wind swayed slightly, the sun pierced the translucent scarlet petals with light, which caused the poppies to flare up with vibrantly bright fire, or filled with a thick crimson. It seemed that one had only to touch - they would immediately scorch!
Poppies blinded with their mischievous, scorching brightness, and next to them all these Parisian beauties, snapdragons and other flower aristocracy faded, faded.
The poppies were on fire for two days. And at the end of the second day they suddenly crumbled and went out. And immediately the lush flowerbed became empty without them.
I picked up a petal from the ground, still quite fresh, in drops of dew, and spread it in the palm of my hand.
That's all, ”I said loudly, with a feeling of admiration that had not yet cooled down.
Yes, it burned out ... - Aunt Olya sighed, as if for a living creature. - And I somehow didn’t pay attention to this poppy before. His life is short. But without looking back, lived through in full force. And it happens with people ...
Aunt Olya, somehow hunched over, suddenly hurried into the house.
I have already been told about her son. Alexei died, diving in his tiny "hawk" on the back of a heavy Nazi bomber ...
I now live on the other side of the city and occasionally stop by to see Aunt Olya. I recently visited her again. We sat at a summer table, drank tea, shared news. A large carpet of poppies blazed on the flowerbed nearby. Some crumbled, dropping petals to the ground, like sparks, others only opened their fiery tongues. And from below, from the moist earth full of vitality, more and more tightly folded buds rose to prevent the living fire from extinguishing.
Igor Nosov "Stories"
Hear funny, kind, and enlightening stories about modern girls and boys, as well as about their friends, parents, teachers, and pets.
- Zhenya's treasure
- Artist
- Apollo, Hercules and me
- Bananas
- Borka-autopilot
- Khruhrumchik
- Apparently retrained
- Smugglers
Audiobook
Nikolay Nosov "Vitya Maleev at school and at home"
It's no exaggeration to say that Vitya Maleev became a favorite hero for several generations of boys and girls. Adventures of fourth graders - Viti Maleev and his best friend Kostya Shishkin, their leprosy and mistakes, sorrows and resentments, joys and victories - are described by Nikolai Nosov so interestingly and naturally that any reader will recognize himself in them. Once the writer received a letter from a young man, whose name and surname completely coincided with the hero of the Nosov story: “I Vitya Maleev... How did you find out the stories from my life? .. ".
Audiobook
Nikolay Nosov "Dreamers"
Funny, touching and at the same time instructive stories by Nikolai Nosov are favorite books for several generations of young readers.
After all, his heroes - dreamers and inventors, mischievous people and fidgets who always find themselves in unexpected funny situations - are so similar to modern boys and girls!
- Resourcefulness
- Putty
- Dreamers
- Living hat
- On the hill
Audiobook
Nikolay Nosov "Bobik visiting Barbos and other stories"
Already several generations of young readers in our country have grown up on the books of a wonderful writer Nikolay Nosov.
We bring to your attention funny and instructive stories for the youngest listeners.
Music - Eva Dominyak.
Sound engineer - Olesya Kuzmina.
- Bobik visiting Barbos
- Three hunters
- Dreamers
- Resourcefulness
Audiobook
Nikolay Nosov "The Adventures of Tolya Klyukvin"
Funny and instructive stories and stories of Nikolai Nosov have brought up more than one generation of young readers.
His heroes - naive and sane, obsessed with a thirst for activity, mischievous and inquisitive fidgets who constantly find themselves in funny and unusual situations - are so similar to modern boys and girls!
- Diary of Kolya Sinitsyn
- The Adventures of Tolya Klyukvin
- About Gena
- Blot
- Fedin's problem
- When we laugh
- Under the same roof
Audiobook
Nikolay Nosov "Dunno in the Solar City"
In the second part of the trilogy, Dunno becomes the owner of a magic wand and goes on a journey together with Button and Patchcule. Friends find themselves in the Sunny City, where it is full of all sorts of fabulous inventions: rotating houses, car horses, spiral rovers, jet roller tubes and other wonderful machines and mechanisms.
Audiobook
Nikolay Nosov "Stories"
The collection includes famous children's stories Nikolai Nosov.
Dreamers
- Putty
- Dreamers
- Resourcefulness
- Knock-Knock
- Blot
- Fedin's problem
Living hat
- Karasik
Audiobook
Nikolay Nosov, Igor Nosov "All the Adventures of Dunno"
Carefree and cheerful little ones live in one fabulous town. And their name is short, because they are very small, as tall as a small cucumber. The most famous among them is the baby Dunnoa... No matter what this prankster undertakes, whether to draw a picture or to drive in a carbonated car, he always gets into funny and amusing stories, making a noise all over the Sunny city.
- The Adventures of Dunno and His Friends
- Dunno in the Sunny City
- Dunno on the Moon
- Dunno's Journey to Stone Town
- Dunno Island
- Dunno's big surprise
Audiobook
The sequel to The Hunger Games, an international bestseller. Katniss and Pete survived the terrible Hunger Games, making them both victorious. But many of those who don't like winning consider the boyfriend and girlfriend to be dangerous. These people have the strength and power to kill both Pete and Katniss with ease. But no one can separate them. Now everything is set up so that Pete and Katniss are forced to return for another Hunger Games tour. They will again find themselves face to face with death - for the sake of their love, their future, their hope for happiness.
Audiobook
Susan Collins "Catching Fire"
The second novel of the Hunger Games trilogy, which has become an international bestseller. Katniss and Pete survived the terrible Hunger Games, and the Capitol was forced to recognize both of them as victors, but the powers that be do not like it when they break their rules. The spark of rebelliousness that Katniss Everdeen ignited in the inhabitants of Panem is about to outgrow the flames that could destroy both the Capitol and President Snow himself. Simply removing it means turning it into a martyr, into a symbol, into an idea ... and this cannot be allowed. And therefore the heroes will face a new test - a new Arena. They will again find themselves face to face with death, with betrayal, with a common enemy. Face to face with each other ...
The Hunger Games series:
- The Hunger Games
- And the flame will break out
- Mockingjay
Audiobook
Eleonora Yakovlevna Galperina (Nora Gal) - Soviet translator from English and French, literary critic and translation theoretician, editor. She was born on April 27, 1912 in Odessa. At the turn of the 1950s and 1960s, she became famous thanks to the translations of The Little Prince by Saint-Exupery, The Outsider by Camus, and a number of stories from the works of world fiction. In 1972, Nora Gal's book "The Living and the Dead Word" was published. It was based on examples of unsuccessful and erroneous linguistic and stylistic decisions of translators, authors and editors, accompanied by a brief analysis and suggestions for better replacement. Much attention in the book is paid to everyday speech, and it is addressed not only to specialists. Nora Gal died on July 23, 1991 after a serious illness. Her memory is immortalized in space: in July 1995, a minor planet from the asteroid belt was named Noragal.
Audiobook
Troy Brothers extinguished the Dark Flame in the Cursed Forest, now the sacred trees of the elves grow there again. He cleansed Kradrekram, the ancient stronghold of the dwarves, of the filth. And he fulfilled the condition of the Great Council of Temi - he restored the elven and dwarf settlements in the lands of Arvendale. But a horde of western orcs is amassing forces on the shores of the Long Sea, and rumor has it that the orcs have already occupied the human capital of El-Severin, rallying under the leadership of the Dark God Yhlag. True, the Light races still have hope: the legend says that in ancient times the Great Marelborough, the emperor of people, killed one of the Dark gods. This means that victory is possible ...
Audiobook
In the 1970s, he wrote the first children's books Kysh, Two portfolios and a whole week and Kysh and I in the Crimea (1975). Beginning in the 1950s, Aleshkovsky became known as the author and performer of the officially unauthorized songs Personal Date, Butter and others. Lines from his song Comrade Stalin, you are a great scientist, diverged into aphorisms, for example, “You fanned the flame here from a spark / Thank you, I'm warming myself by the fire. " After 1968, the writer stopped working with Soviet publishing houses and began to write songs and prose that could only be distributed in samizdat. The characters of his works are people who were "persona non grata" in official literature, and the author did not hide and does not hide his sympathy for them.
NOSOV EVGENY IVANOVICH
LIVE FLAME
Aunt Olya looked into my room, again found it behind papers and, raising her voice, said imperiously:
- Will write something! Go get some air, help to cut the flower bed. Aunt Olya took out a birch bark box from the closet. While I was happily kneading my back, beating the wet earth with a rake, she sat down on the heap and poured bags and nodules with flower seeds onto her knees, and arranged them into varieties.
- Olga Petrovna, what is it, - I notice, - you are not sowing poppies in the flower beds?
- Well, what is the color of the poppies! - she answered with conviction. - It's a vegetable. It is sown in the beds along with onions and cucumbers.
- What do you! I laughed. - Another old song is sung:
And her forehead, like marble, is white. And cheeks burn like poppies.
“It only happens in color for two days,” Olga Petrovna persisted. - For a flower bed, this does not fit in any way, he puffed and immediately burned out. And then all summer this same beater sticks out and only spoils the view.
But I still secretly poured a pinch of poppy into the very middle of the flower bed. After a few days, she turned green.
- You sowed the poppies? - Aunt Olya approached me. - Oh, you are such a mischievous person! So be it, leave the top three, I felt sorry for you. And the rest were weeded out.
Suddenly I left on business and did not return until two weeks later. After a hot, exhausting journey, it was pleasant to enter the quiet old house of Aunt Olya. The freshly washed floor felt cool. A jasmine bush growing under the window dropped a lace shadow on the writing table.
- Pour kvass? she suggested, looking at me sympathetically, sweaty and tired. - Alyoshka was very fond of kvass. Sometimes he himself bottled and sealed
When I was renting this room, Olga Petrovna, looking up at the portrait of a young man in flight uniform that hangs above the desk, asked:
- Not prevent?
- What do you!
- This is my son Alexey. And the room was his. Well, you settle down, live in good health.
Serving me a heavy copper mug with kvass, Aunt Olya said:
- And your poppies have risen, the buds have already been thrown away. I went to look at the flowers. The flower bed was unrecognizable. Along the very edge was a rug, which, with its thick cover with flowers scattered over it, very much resembled a real carpet. Then the flower bed was surrounded by a ribbon of matthiol - modest night flowers, attracting not by their brightness, but by a delicately bitter aroma, similar to the smell of vanilla. The curtains of yellow-violet pansies dazzled, purple-velvet hats of Parisian beauties swayed on thin legs. There were many other familiar and unfamiliar colors. And in the center of the flower bed, above all this floral variegation, my poppies rose, throwing three tight, heavy buds towards the sun.
They blossomed the next day.
Aunt Olya went out to water the flower bed, but returned immediately, thundering with an empty watering can.
- Well, go look, they bloomed.
From a distance, the poppies looked like lighted torches with tongues of flame alive, cheerfully blazing in the wind. A light wind swayed slightly, the sun pierced the translucent scarlet petals with light, which caused the poppies to flare up with a tremulous fire, or filled with a thick crimson. It seemed that one had only to touch - they would immediately scorch!
Poppies blinded with their mischievous, scorching brightness, and next to them all these Parisian beauties, snapdragons and other flower aristocracy faded, faded.
The poppies were on fire for two days. And at the end of the second day they suddenly crumbled and went out. And immediately the lush flowerbed became empty without them.
I picked up a petal from the ground, still quite fresh, in drops of dew, and spread it in the palm of my hand.
“That's all,” I said loudly, with a feeling of admiration that had not yet cooled down.
- Yes, it burned out ... - Aunt Olya sighed, as if for a living creature. - And somehow I didn’t pay attention to this poppy before. His life is short. But without looking back, lived through in full force. And it happens with people ...
Aunt Olya, somehow hunched over, suddenly hurried into the house.
I have already been told about her son. Alexei died, diving in his tiny "hawk" on the back of a heavy Nazi bomber ...
I now live on the other side of the city and occasionally stop by to see Aunt Olya. I recently visited her again. We sat at a summer table, drank tea, shared news. A large carpet of poppies blazed on the flowerbed nearby. Some crumbled, dropping petals to the ground, like sparks, others only opened their fiery tongues. And from below, from the moist earth full of vitality, more and more tightly folded buds rose to prevent the living fire from extinguishing.
_______________
1) Features of the genre of the work.
The work of E.I. Nosov's "Living Flame" belongs to the genre of the story. This is an epic genre of a small volume, telling about one episode, an event in the life of a hero.
2) Themes and problems of the story.
Evgeny Ivanovich Nosov belongs to the generation of those Russian writers of the 20th century who survived the war, endured all the hardships of wartime, so the theme of a feat, an instantly lived life is especially relevant for him. The writer’s story "Living Flame" tells about the too fast flowering of poppies and the associations that arose in the main character of the work, Aunt Olya, who was observing the bright but short life of poppies.
How do you understand the words of Aunt Olya: “His life is short. But without looking back, in full force lived. And it happens with people ”? What did Aunt Olya remember when she said these words? (about his son Alexei, who died after diving in his tiny "hawk" on the back of a heavy fascist bomber)
Why did Aunt Olya henceforth give preference to poppies and plant them in a flower bed? (Poppies reminded Aunt Olya of her son.)
3) The meaning of the title of the story. E.I. Nosov called his story "Living Flame". It was through the title of the work that the writer conveyed his attitude to the depicted and drew the reader's attention to the key episode of the story. Describing the flowering of poppies, the author uses various artistic means: color epithets ("lighted torches with living, cheerfully blazing tongues of flame in the wind", "translucent scarlet petals"), unusual metaphors ("they flashed with vibrantly bright fire, then they got drunk with thick crimson" , "One has only to touch - they will immediately scorch"), capacious comparisons ("Poppies blinded with their mischievous, scorching brightness, and next to them all these Parisian beauties, snapdragons and other flower aristocracy faded, faded"), The life of a flower is fleeting: "Two poppies blazed wildly during the day. And at the end of the second day they suddenly crumbled and went out. " Aunt Olya associates such a short, but full of strength life with the fate of his own son Alexei, who "died after diving in his tiny" hawk "on the back of a heavy fascist bomber." The title of the story is based on an unusual metaphor that characterizes not only the color of the poppy, red like fire, but also the very fast life of a flower like a flame. The title contains the main meaning of the story of E.I. Nosov, his philosophical depth. The writer, as it were, invites the reader to reflect on the moral essence of life, to live brightly, not to be afraid of difficulties, to overcome circumstances. The author makes him strive not for a faceless existence, but for a life full of deep meaning.
How do you understand the meaning of the title of the story by E.I. Nosov "Living Flame"? (Poppies, like flames, quickly flared up and burned just as quickly.)
4) Artistic features of the story.
What did the blossoming poppies look like? ("On lighted torches with live tongues of flame blazing cheerfully in the wind")
What artistic and expressive means does the author use in describing poppies? (epithets, metaphors: "translucent scarlet petals", "flashed with a tremulous bright fire", "filled with a thick crimson", "blinded with their mischievous, burning brightness", etc.)