Now the last snow in the field is melting,
Warm steam rises from the ground
And the blue jug blooms
And the cranes are calling each other.
Young forest, dressed in green smoke,
Waiting impatiently for warm thunderstorms;
All springs are warmed by breath,
All around and loves and sings;
In the morning the sky is clear and transparent
At night the stars shine so brightly;
Why is it so dark in your soul
And why is your heart heavy?
It's hard for you to live, my friend, I know
And I understand your sadness:
If you flew back to your native land
And you are not sorry for the earthly spring ...
_______________
Oh wait, wait a little more
Let me go there with you ...
The road will seem easier for us -
Let's fly her hand with hand! ..
More poems:
- The heights flare up, the snow melts on the mountain. Awake, answer, speak of the dawn. The snow melts on the mountain in front of my cave, and all the distance is in the silver of cautious rays. Repeat to me, soul, that today ...
- On the last snow, under the last early light of a distant day, wrapped in fog like delirium, he lies and looks at me. This gaze, as from a portrait, follows and follows everything ...
- The last snow floats outside the window And the wind shakes its pillars. Snow, you and I are crazy together, We are walking along the spring road, Our life, our joy will melt. The news of sorrow is carried by the cranes, By Decay ...
- Let there be no stake and no yard, But the King does not pay taxes Workers of a knife and an ax, Romantics from the high road. We do not want to live, oh, differently! We don't want to live, oh, in a different way! ...
- To whom suffering is familiar, You will sweetly put to sleep, That will understand, Como, Your windless silence. And along the water, from a distant church, In the village of poor fishermen, Ave Maria - a sad groan, Evening ...
- Dear friend, I am dying Because I was honest; But on the other hand, I will surely be known to my native land. Dear friend, I am dying, But I am calm in my soul ... And I bless you: Walk with that ...
- Perhaps, for the last time I choose My path, On the far tower the late hour Ranged. It's time to go, I know. My new path, the last path, You again lead to ...
- Give me your hand, and we will go into the field, Friend of my brooding soul ... Our life today is in our will, Do you value your life? If not, we will destroy this day, This day ...
- I go and rejoice. Easy for me. The rain is over. The green meadow glitters. I don’t know you and don’t remember, My comrade, my unknown friend. Where did you fall, in what battle ...
- Childhood flies like a silver star in the palm of your hand, Flickers and rings, hurrying to assure everyone, That we will not get tired to live, we will not look at this first snow, this first snow ...
- And again the snow, so fluffy, so dry, calm, winter ... And the hazy air flies out of the open shops. Do you remember how deep water flooded the road in January? It overburdened in the snow before spring ...
- KD Balmont I know the fluency of Night and Winter, I pray confidently to Dawn and May. That in the future we will triumph, I know. I see the power over the world in people. Will dissipate when ...
- In a light rain, Elijah, the prophet of a cloud, the other day, it is raining - It is raining, lighting up my ceiling with crushed glass, Or the crystal above the table is already burning for the third day, Or I am sleeping in a delusional dream, ...
- When, foreseeing close separation, the Soul aches with despondency and longing, I say, squeezing your hand: Christ is with you! When, in an abundance of unearthly happiness, the heart beats with joy at times, Then I repeat to you ...
- I thought: at least something has been rebuilt, But in reality - everything has been changed, And your face - you are so made - Kissed by this misfortune. Her bitter laugh is wrinkled, - The truth has become a lie, guest ...
"Spring" Artist A. Savrasov
Looking at the spiritual appearance of A. Tolstoy, one cannot fail to notice in him an enormous innate poetic talent, the need to translate impressions received from the outside world and one's innermost feelings and thoughts into artistic images.
As a truly artistic nature, A. Tolstoy sincerely and strongly loved his native nature and deeply understood its beauty. Love, rare in its strength, and the ability to feel the smallest details imperceptible to another, were so manifested in Tolstoy that, according to him, he ran away from the child of metropolitan life in order to disappear in the wilderness of the forests for a rather long period.
The poem "This is the last snow melting in the field" was written by Alexei Konstantinovich Tolstoy in 1856.
On the one hand, this poetic work is a hymn to the coming spring.
“This is the last snow melting in the field”; the kingdom of snow is over. Warm steam rises from the ground. All the signs of spring are there: a blue jug is blooming, the arriving cranes coo, the young forest put on a green mantle ... "Everything around is warmed by the breath of spring."
And the cranes are calling each other.
In different periods of his work, the perception of nature by Alexei Tolstoy changed. At the stage of 1850-1860, when this poem was written, the attitude towards nature can be called “enthusiastic”.
All springs are warmed by breath,
Everything around and loves and sings;
For the reader, the first part of the poem is simple and accessible. "What? Snow. Which one? Last (Dark. Dirty). What is he doing? It melts. " "Warm steam rises." "The blue jug is blooming." "The young forest awaits."
In the morning the sky is clear and transparent
And why is your heart heavy?
The poet draws our attention to the beauty of the spring sky. It is unusual in the morning and at night. In the morning the sky is clear and transparent, and at night the stars on it are incredibly bright.
On the other hand, this poem is a continuation of the intimate lyrical theme raised in other works by A. Tolstoy. The development of the theme is presented against the background of a spring landscape. As in other poetic works, in this poem Alexei Tolstoy resorts to the method parallelism (connections between natural and mental phenomena).
Describing nature, Tolstoy always shows the impression it makes on a person. Nature rejoices - man rejoices too. Silence and sadness are spread in nature - it becomes sad in the soul of a person. Sometimes the spectacle of jubilant nature further emphasizes the sadness in the human heart. Enjoying the beauty of nature, especially springtime, blossoming, one often experiences a painful feeling when remembering what has passed and will never return.
And I understand your sadness:
If you flew back to your native land
And you are not sorry for the earthly spring ...
Spring brings miracles: love and joy, inspiration and hope. But, rereading the lines of this work, you understand that this is not always the case ...
What means of artistic expression does the author use in the work?
Epithets: snow last, steam warm, forest young, smoke green.
Impersonation: "And name is cranes each other "(name)
The feeling of boundless love for native nature was most vividly reflected in the poetry of Alexei Tolstoy. Everyone who is familiar with the poet's lyrics knows all the luxury of poetic colors with which he is able to depict his native landscape. This sensitivity to nature gives the poet a kind of clairvoyance, opens the way for him to comprehend the innermost secrets of the universe.
Being a sensitive person, A. Tolstoy, like an eolian harp, responded to every impression in nature and in life, perceiving it with every fiber of his soul.
"Now the last snow in the field is melting .." (A.K. Tolstoy)
(full text of the poem)
Now the last snow in the field is melting
Warm steam rises from the ground
And the blue jug blooms
And the cranes are calling each other.
Young forest, dressed in green smoke,
Waiting impatiently for warm thunderstorms;
All springs are warmed by breath,
Everything around and loves and sings;
In the morning the sky is clear and transparent
At night the stars shine so brightly;
Why is it so dark in your soul
And why is your heart heavy?
It's sad for you to live, oh friend, I know
And I understand your sadness:
If you flew back to your native land
And you are not sorry for the earthly spring ...
Select verses ... Alyosha Popovich to B.M. Markevich Blagovest Prudence Pine pine forest stands alone in the country ... Borivoi In a bell, peacefully dozing, a heavy bomb from a raid ... In a deserted monastery near Cordoba ... I searched in conscience for a long time accusations ... In the land of rays, invisible to our eyes ... Vasily Shibanov Waves rise like mountains ... The door has opened again ... In days gone by ... Wolves Now the last snow in the field is melting ... like a tree ... Where vines bend over a whirlpool ... The soul of heaven flew quietly from the mountains ... Lord, preparing me for battle ... Sovereign, you are our father ... Sinner (Excerpts from the poem) White ridge swirls ... Two Stan is not a fighter ... My almond tree ... Enough! It's time for me to forget this nonsense ... A rain of noisy drops ... The wave is crumbling and splashing and splashing ... There are many sounds in the depths of my heart ... Forgot my faith, forgot my language! The thunder fell silent, the thunderstorm was tired of making noise ... The West was dying out in the distance, pale pink ... The song was louder than a lark ... The earth blossomed. In a meadow, dressed in spring ... Snake Tugarin to I. A. Goncharov (Do not listen to the noise ...) I. S. Aksakov (Judging me rather severely ...) Raising his head from the waters ... Ilya Muromets Ioann Damaskin ( Excerpts) The history of the Russian state ... The source behind the cherry orchard ... To Roman Mstislavich as ambassador to Galich ... To strangers' suffering, you are full of sorrow ... To yours, Queen, I’m feet ... If only I knew, if I knew. .. How nice and pleasant it is here ... Like a peasant when they threaten ... Prince Mikhailo Repnin Prince Rostislav When the dense forest is silent all around ... Wells My bells ... The sea sways; wave after wave ... If you love, so without reason ... You are my land, dear land! .. Crimean essays IV Kurgan Only one I will stay with me ... Madonna Raphael Me, in the darkness and in the dust ... Dear friend, you can't sleep ... Passion has passed, and its alarming ardor ... My soul is full of insignificant vanity ... My soul flies with greetings ... The wisdom of life Silence descends on the yellow fields ... haunted by anger ... grief struck not with God's thunder ... Do not scold me, my friend ... Do not believe me, friend, when ... Not the wind blowing from a height ... The sea does not foam, the wave does not splash .. Sleepless sun, sad star ... No, I really don't know, brothers, neither sleep, nor peace! .. O friend, you drag out life ... Oh, if you could even for a single moment ... Oh, do not try to calm the alarming spirit ... Oh, do not rush there ... Embracing together, we sat ... Having given it very abundantly ... Oh, haystacks, haystacks. .. Oh, is it an honor to the young man to spin flax? .. He led the strings; fell Autumn. Our whole poor garden is sprinkled ... A birch tree is wounded with a sharp ax ... A song about Harald and Yaroslavna A song about Katkov, about Cherkassky ... Rowing uneven and shaking ... Sometimes, amid worries and noise of life ... Stream-hero True Transparent clouds calm movement ... Against the current Empty house Let the one whose honor is not without reproach ... Disperses, parting ... Stretched out in the open ... Rugevit With a gun on his shoulders, alone, by the moon ... since I am alone ... Sadko Heart, flaring up stronger ... I sit and look everything, brothers, over there ... A tear trembles in your jealous gaze ... Listening to your story, I fell in love with you, my joy! .. It was getting dark, the hot day was pale imperceptibly ... Popov's dream Amid the noisy ball, by chance ... Everyone loves you so much! .. Darkness and fog obscure my path ... That was in early spring ... ... Three massacres In vain, artist, do you think ... You are a victim of life's troubles ... You know the land where everything breathes in abundance ... You know I love Liu there ... You bend your face, mentioning it ... Don't ask, don't spray ... Do you remember, Maria ... You are almost an evil little man ... People gathered at the command gates ... Swallows , circling, chirping over the roof ... Oh, you are a mother-melancholy, a grief-grief! .. You are my cornfield, nivushka ... Sleep, sad friend ... to live in the world ... Gypsy songs What a sad abode ... Every day, as breaking with moisture ... That you bowed your head ... The weather is noisy in the yard ... I recognized you, holy convictions ... I dozed off, head downcast ...
* * *
Now the last snow in the field is melting, Warm steam rises from the ground, And the blue jug is blooming, And the cranes are calling each other. Young forest, dressed in green smoke, Waiting impatiently for warm thunderstorms; All springs are warmed by breath, All around and loves and sings; In the morning the sky is clear and transparent, At night the stars shine so light; Why is it so dark in your soul And why is it heavy in your heart? It's hard for you to live, my friend, I know, And your sadness is clear to me: If you flew away to your native land And you won't regret the earthly spring ... _______________ Oh wait, wait a little longer, Let me go there with you too ... It's easier the road will seem to us - Let's fly her hand with hand! .. Note: in the final author's edition the last stanza is missingA.K. Tolstoy. My bells ...
Moscow, "Young Guard", 1978.
Now the last snow in the field is melting,
Warm steam rises from the ground
And the blue jug blooms
And the cranes are calling each other.
Young forest, dressed in green smoke,
Waiting impatiently for warm thunderstorms;
All springs are warmed by breath,
Everything around and loves and sings;
In the morning, the sky is clear and transparent.
At night the stars shine so brightly;
Why is it so dark in your soul
And why is your heart heavy?
It's sad for you to live, oh friend, I know
And I understand your sadness:
If you flew back to your native land
And you are not sorry for the earthly spring ...
Analysis of the poem "This is the last snow melting in the field" by Tolstoy
The landscape sketch by Alexei Konstantinovich Tolstoy "Now the last snow in the field is melting" in the finale becomes the confession of the lyrical hero.
The poem was written in 1856. Its author was 39 years old at that time, he is in the court service, adjutant wing. However, he is burdened by the service and will retire a few years later. A. Tolstoy publishes poetry and prose, tries his hand as a playwright, makes a Crimean journey, and finally falls in love. However, this marriage will not be arranged immediately, but after overcoming numerous obstacles. During the same period, the poet became dangerously ill with typhus while caring for friends who had contracted the same disease. By genre, landscape lyrics with philosophical overtones, by size - trochee with cross rhyming, 4 stanzas, open and closed rhymes. Variable intonation: first cordial, light, then mournful. The lyrical hero is the author himself. In 1 quatrain, the poet depicts the coming of spring. The vocabulary of the poem is neutral, lively, in places sublime. The images are classic: melting snow in the fields, steam from the ground, ready for plowing, gentle bells peeking here and there, the cranes are returning. “A forest dressed in green smoke”: a metaphor that emphasizes the poet's admiration for the eternal picture of the awakening of nature that has opened before his eyes. In stanza 2, there are several personifications: the dressed forest is waiting, the breath of spring, it loves everything and sings. The hero seems to be joining the jubilant nature. So the sky is "clear and transparent", and the stars are bright. However, in stanza 4, the first disappointed notes appear with a rhetorical question: is it gloomy in your soul, is it heavy in your heart? Internal disharmony destroys the idyll of the landscape. Finally, a direct appeal: you are sad to live. He calls his interlocutor "friend". From the context, it becomes clear that he can address both his own soul and a woman: you would have flown away. Despair makes one think about the meaninglessness of life and spring. "Native land": a double interpretation is possible. The land of the underworld, or really childhood, favorite places that always saturate the soul with hope. The prerequisites for such a state of mind should be sought in the biography of A. Tolstoy. The chosen one of his heart is married, but unhappy in marriage. Falling in love with Count A. Tolstoy, she tries to leave, but her husband is delaying the divorce case. The poet's mother, whose opinion and calmness he valued so much, also rebels against these scandalous relations. Only her death allowed this couple to reunite.
In the draft of A. Tolstoy's poem "This is the last snow melting in the field", the final quatrain, removed during publication, has been preserved. In it, lovers leave the cruel world together, hoping to meet in eternity.
Alexey Tolstoy
"Now the last snow in the field is melting ..."
Now the last snow in the field is melting,
Warm steam rises from the ground
And the blue jug blooms
And the cranes are calling each other.
Young forest, dressed in green smoke,
Waiting impatiently for warm thunderstorms;
All springs are warmed by breath,
All around and loves and sings;
In the morning the sky is clear and transparent
At night the stars shine so brightly;
Why is it so dark in your soul
And why is your heart heavy?
It's hard for you to live, my friend, I know
And I understand your sadness:
If you flew back to your native land
And you are not sorry for the earthly spring ...
Oh wait, wait a little more
Let me go there with you ...
The road will seem easier for us -
Let's fly her hand with hand! ..
Tolstoy Alexey Konstantinovich (1817-1875)
A.K. Tolstoy belongs to one of the old noble families. The last Ukrainian hetman K. Razumovsky was his great-grandfather, and Count A.K. Razumovsky was a senator under Catherine II and the minister of public education under Alexander I was his grandfather. A.K. Tolstoy was born in St. Petersburg, and the future poet spent his childhood in Ukraine, on the estate of his uncle A. Perovsky, a famous fiction writer of the 1920s, who appeared in print under the pseudonym Anthony Pogorelsky. As a teenager, Tolstoy traveled abroad, in Germany and Italy.
Tolstoy's satirical and humorous poems are no less interesting than his lyrics. Here is a witty joke - the inscriptions on Pushkin's poems, a dedication to A. Fet, these are the works of Kozma Prutkov, as well as numerous satires, among which the "History of the Russian State from Gostomysl to Timashev" occupies a special place.
During the life of Tolstoy, the only collection of his poems was published (1867).
The poet died in his estate Krasny Rog in the Chernigov province.
