The ice is fragile on the icy river. “Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous..." (excerpt from the poem "Railroad")

Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous
Air tired strength invigorates;
Fragile ice on a chilly river
It lies like melting sugar;

Near the forest, like in a soft bed,
You can get a good night's sleep - peace and space!
The leaves have not yet faded,
Yellow and fresh, they lie like a carpet.

Glorious autumn! Frosty nights
Clear, quiet days...
There is no ugliness in nature! And kochi,
And moss swamps and stumps -

Everything is fine under the moonlight,
Everywhere I recognize my native Rus'...
I fly quickly on cast iron rails,
I think my thoughts...

Good dad! Why the charm?
Should I keep Vanya the smart one?
You will allow me in the moonlight
Show him the truth.

This work, Vanya, was terribly enormous
Not enough for one!
There is a king in the world: this king is merciless,
Hunger is its name.

He leads armies; at sea by ships
Rules; rounds up people in the artel,
Walks behind the plow, stands behind
Stonemasons, weavers.

It was he who drove the masses of people here.
Many are in a terrible struggle,
Having brought these barren wilds back to life,
They found a coffin for themselves here.

The path is straight: the embankments are narrow,
Columns, rails, bridges.
And on the sides there are all Russian bones...
How many of them! Vanechka, do you know?

Chu! menacing exclamations were heard!
Stomping and gnashing of teeth;
A shadow ran across the frosty glass...
What's there? Crowd of the dead!

Then they overtake the cast-iron road,
They run in different directions.
Do you hear singing?.. “On this moonlit night
We love to see your work!

We struggled under the heat, under the cold,
With an ever-bent back,
They lived in dugouts, fought hunger,
They were cold and wet and suffered from scurvy.

The literate foremen robbed us,
The authorities flogged me, the need was pressing...
We, God's warriors, have endured everything,
Peaceful children of labor!

Brothers! You are reaping our benefits!
We are destined to rot in the earth...
Do you still remember us poor people kindly?
Or have you forgotten a long time ago?..”

Do not be horrified by their wild singing!
From Volkhov, from Mother Volga, from Oka,
WITH different ends great state -
These are all your brothers - men!

It's a shame to be timid, to cover yourself with a glove,
You're not little!.. With Russian hair,
You see, he’s standing there, exhausted by fever,
Tall sick Belarusian:

Bloodless lips, drooping eyelids,
Ulcers on skinny arms
Always standing in knee-deep water
The legs are swollen; tangles in hair;

I'm digging into my chest, which I diligently put on the spade
Day after day I worked hard all my life...
Take a closer look at him, Vanya:
Man earned his bread with difficulty!

I didn’t straighten my hunchbacked back
He is still: stupidly silent
And mechanically with a rusty shovel
It's hammering the frozen ground!

This noble habit of work
It would be a good idea for us to adopt...
Bless the work of the people
And learn to respect a man.

Don’t be shy for your dear fatherland...
The Russian people have endured enough
He also took out this railway -
He will endure whatever God sends!

Will bear everything - and a wide, clear
He will pave the way for himself with his chest.
It’s just a pity to live in this wonderful time
You won’t have to, neither me nor you.

At this moment the whistle is deafening
He squealed - the crowd of dead people disappeared!
“I saw, dad, I had an amazing dream,”
Vanya said, “five thousand men,”

Representatives of Russian tribes and breeds
Suddenly they appeared - and he said to me:
“Here they are - the builders of our road!..”
The general laughed!

“I was recently within the walls of the Vatican,
I wandered around the Colosseum for two nights,
I saw St. Stephen in Vienna,
Well... did the people create all this?

Excuse me for this impudent laugh,
Your logic is a little wild.
Or for you Apollo Belvedere
Worse than a stove pot?

Here are your people - these thermal baths and baths,
It’s a miracle of art - he took everything away!” -
“I’m not speaking for you, but for Vanya...”
But the general did not allow him to object:

"Your Slav, Anglo-Saxon and German
Do not create - destroy the master,
Barbarians! wild bunch of drunkards!..
However, it’s time to take care of Vanyusha;

You know, the spectacle of death, sadness
It is a sin to disturb a child's heart.
Would you show the child now?
The bright side..."

Glad to show you!
Listen, my dear: fatal works
It’s over - the German is already laying the rails.
The dead are buried in the ground; sick
Hidden in dugouts; working people

A tight crowd gathered around the office...
They scratched their heads:
Every contractor must stay,
Walking days have become a penny!

The foremen entered everything into the book -
Did you take to the bathhouse, did you lie sick:
“Maybe there is a surplus here now,
Here you go!..” They waved their hand...

In a blue caftan - a venerable meadowsweet,
Thick, squat, red as copper,
A contractor is traveling along the line on holiday,
He goes to see his work.

The idle people part decorously...
The merchant wipes the sweat from his face
And he says, putting his hands on his hips:
“Okay... nothing... well done!.. well done!..

With God, now go home - congratulations!
(Hats off - if I say!)
I expose a barrel of wine to the workers
And - I give you the arrears!..”

Someone shouted “hurray”. Picked up
Louder, friendlier, longer... Lo and behold:
The foremen rolled the barrel singing...
Even the lazy man could not resist!

The people unharnessed the horses - and the purchase price
With a shout of “Hurray!” rushed along the road...
It seems difficult to see a more gratifying picture
Shall I draw, general?..

“Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous..." (excerpt from the poem " Railway»)

Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous

The air invigorates tired forces;

Fragile ice on a chilly river

It lies like melting sugar;

Near the forest, like in a soft bed,

You can get a good night's sleep - peace and space!

The leaves have not yet faded,

Yellow and fresh lie like a carpet...

Glorious autumn! Frosty nights

Clear, quiet days...

From the book Russian Soviet science fiction novel author

The Road of a Hundred Parsecs New names and directions. "Far" topics - new stage Sciences. Man and machine. Cybernetic story by A. Dneprov. Philosophical and fantastic story by G. Gore. Union of “myths” and “numbers”. “Anti” fictional short story by I. Varshavsky. Fantastic

From the book A book for people like me by Fry Max

The road to nowhere Alexander Greene, a man who spent most of his short life balancing between two worlds - the “fulfilled” and the “unfulfilled” - by an unkind irony of fate, entered the history of Russian literature as the author " Scarlet Sails", his only novel, which

From the book Russian poets second half of the 19th century century author Orlitsky Yuri Borisovich

The road The distant moon shines dimly through the fog, And the snowy meadow lies sadly. White from the frost, birch trees with bare branches stretch in rows along the path. The troika rushes dashingly, The bell rings, My coachman hums quietly, sleepily. I'm in a wagon, I'm driving and I'm bored: I'm bored

From the book Domestic science fiction literature (1917-1991). Book one. Science fiction is a special kind of art author Britikov Anatoly Fedorovich

Road Deaf steppe - the road is far away, Around me the wind worries the field, In the distance there is fog - I feel sad involuntarily, And a secret melancholy takes over me. No matter how the horses run, it seems to me that they run lazily. In the eyes it’s the same thing - Everything is steppe and steppe, behind the field there’s a field again - “Why, coachman, don’t you sing?

From the book Science Fiction is a Special Kind of Art author Britikov Anatoly Fedorovich

The Road of a Hundred Parsecs New names and directions. “Far” topics are a new stage of science. Man and machine. Cybernetic story by A. Dneprov. Philosophical and fantastic story by G. Gore. Union of “myths” and “numbers”. “Anti” science fiction short story by I. Varshavsky. Fantastic

From the book Thought Armed with Rhymes [Poetic anthology on the history of Russian verse] author Kholshevnikov Vladislav Evgenievich

The Road of a Hundred Parsecs New names and directions. "Far" topics are a new stage of science. Man and machine. Cybernetic story by A. Dneprov. Philosophical and fantastic story by G. Gore. Union of "myths" and "numbers". "Anti" science fiction short story by I. Varshavsky. Fantastic

From the book Leskovsky Necklace author Anninsky Lev Aleksandrovich

From the book Fairytale Roots science fiction author Neyolov Evgeniy Mikhailovich

From the book Messenger, or the Life of Daniil Andeev: a biographical story in twelve parts author Romanov Boris Nikolaevich

Path-road It is known that the image of a road is one of the universal, “eternal” images of folklore and literature. “The importance of the chronotope of the road in literature is enormous,” emphasizes M. M. Bakhtin, “a rare work is done without any variations of the road motif.”

From the book Merciful Road author Sorgenfrey Wilhelm Alexandrovich

From the book In Disputes about Russia: A. N. Ostrovsky author Moskvina Tatyana Vladimirovna

II. MERCY ROAD to Alexander Blok...I have this in mind for you that you left your first love. Rev. St. John Remembers the advancing month Everything that has happened and passed, But in the soul, meekly melting, Empty, ringing and light. Above the ground there is a snowy blizzard, In the heart it is slow

From the book Russian Literature and Medicine: Body, Prescriptions, social practice[Digest of articles] author Borisova Irina

Healthy - sick Ostrovsky wrote forty-seven original plays and had a record number of children for a great Russian writer (ten; four, from Agafya Ivanovna, died early). Exceptional and again universal fertility. “You are our hero,” he will write

From the book Universal Reader. 3rd grade author Team of authors

Silvia Sasse “Imaginary and Healthy”: Nikolai Evreinov’s theater therapy in the context of theatrical aesthetics

From the book Essays on the History of English Poetry. Poets of the Renaissance. [Volume 1] author Kruzhkov Grigory Mikhailovich

A little man with a fingernail (excerpt from the poem “Peasant Children”) Once, in the cold winter season, I came out of the forest; it was bitterly cold. I see a horse slowly ascending the mountain, carrying a cart of brushwood. And, walking importantly, in decorous calm, a peasant leads the horse by the bridle.

From the author's book

“It shines merrily...” (excerpt from the poem “ Winter night in the village") The moon shines merrily over the village; White snow sparkles with a blue light. The temple of God is bathed in the rays of the moon; The cross under the clouds burns like a candle. Empty, lonely Sleepy village; The huts were swept deep by the blizzards. Silence

From the author's book

The third road The path of Tom the sleepwalker is a flight from the world of reality. Love and madness are just separating parts of that multi-stage rocket, with the help of which he breaks the bonds of gravity, breaks away from misfortunes and worries. Tom in the ballad is the leader of the army of violent

Here you go. It was a wonderful morning. She walked and mentally said:
"Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous
The air invigorates tired forces;"
and planned to re-read Nekrasov.
During the day, you can’t always do what you want. If work gets in the way of your hobbies, then don’t bother with that kind of work)
Evening. I'll say something banal. But there is no other way to say it: blue evening. The sky is dark blue. There may be such an effect from the lanterns, but blue, blue.
There is a little time that can be used without benefit)
I asked myself the question: what is it about me that I like about myself?
Appearance is ordinary. Mind? Shaking your head skeptically, you have to admit that it’s good if we get closer to the average. So, taking myself apart piece by piece, I got to what I value in myself. Mainly because I raised this quality herself. I know how to tell myself the truth and I know how to make fun of myself.
For the first almost 20 years of my life I lived under the strange and difficult surname Kutsevolova for the place where I lived. My dear father rewarded me with such a gift. IN kindergarten I didn’t go, but I had a blast at school. It was later, when she became an adult, that she discovered that the roots of the surname stretch from the Principality of Poland-Lithuania. That “cutseval” was the name given to those whose profession was to lay cloth on caftans. This is where the surnames Kutsevalov and Kutsevolov, and Pustovalov at the same time, came from.
Based on what my brother once told my fathers family legend what them distant ancestors fled to the Stavropol region in the 15th century approximately from the Chernigov region and, given that this region is the border region of Rus', Belarus and Ukraine, it seems to converge.
Historical excursion - just like that.
As a child, both my classmates and I were convinced that the root of the surname was the word short, tailless. Can you imagine how they teased me? A girl who came to school from home education.
Somehow, apparently through experience, I don’t remember now, I determined that the more you show offense, the more they tease you. I learned to pretend that I don't give a damn.
The next step was the ability to give nicknames. The names I gave usually stuck for a long time. It turned out that I was malicious and very attentive. She noticed subtleties and came up with precise characteristics.
She didn’t tease the weak. Usually it went to those who first entered the battle.
My son’s physical education teacher saw me and began shorter. He probably remembered his childhood years and how I chased him around a big tree. For what? Neither he nor I remember, but he wore the nickname he received from me until he graduated from school. I didn’t tell my son. I regret it.)
I didn't like my last name. That’s why I tried to change it as quickly as possible. Then I started improving)
From those very distant childhood years, a lesson began - not to be afraid to laugh at yourself, to make fun of yourself and the absence of fear to admit that you are wrong in anything.
Only this quality helped and helps to live and cope with any situations.
Why did I remember this?
Because in the morning, leaving the house, I caught my first thought:

Vanya (in a coachman's jacket). Dad! who built this road?
Dad (in a coat with a red lining). Count Pyotr Andreevich Kleinmichel, my dear!
Conversation in the carriage

I wasn’t thinking about the beauties of nature. Not about autumn.
Seeing the road workers, I imagined the count in a coat with a red lining)

Then I remembered how it was on Town Hall Square. this year, the spruce fell twice, and one of those “in a coat with a red lining” broadcast on the news this morning that the city authorities had absolutely nothing to do with it. That the contractor is to blame. He didn’t say a word about how the contractor was chosen. Why did you choose those who have no experience installing spruce trees on the square?
It's good that there were no casualties. The spruce is huge.

“Good dad! Why the charm?
Should I keep Vanya the smart one?
You will allow me in the moonlight
Show him the truth."

That's why I remembered Nekrasov. My class instincts perked up.
Outrage began to rise. I thought: against whom? To rebel against the owner of our small company? Stupid.
Oh, I won’t start a front.
Better about autumn.

Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous
The air invigorates tired forces;
Fragile ice on the icy river
It lies like melting sugar;

Near the forest, like in a soft bed,
You can get a good night's sleep - peace and space!
The leaves have not yet had time to fade,
Yellow and fresh, they lie like a carpet.

Glorious autumn! Frosty nights
Clear, quiet days...
There is no ugliness in nature! And kochi,
And mossy swamps and tree stumps -..."

And yet, I re-read "The Railroad"

And I advise you.
Let’s read, think, and laugh at ourselves.
What else is left to do?

They say that ten minutes of laughter is equivalent to a glass of sour cream.
This is probably why people love comedians so much.
But they don't make me laugh. On the contrary, their jokes make me sad.

Nikolai Alekseevich so perfectly showed the reality of his time and our time, and time in general and all of us, that the soul becomes joyful and wants to laugh, that we people have not changed and, most likely, will not change.

So: Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov “Railroad” year 1845

The ice is fragile on the icy river. “Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous..." (excerpt from the poem "Railroad")

Other articles in the literary diary:

Zheleznaya road

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