Leaf fall poem. Poem Ivan Bunin falling leaves The heavy burden of emigration
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful, colorful wall
It stands over a bright meadow.
Birches with yellow carving
Shine in blue azure,
Like towers, Christmas trees darken,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Clearances in the sky, that windows.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
During the summer it dried up from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
He enters his motley tower.
Today in an empty meadow
In the middle of a wide courtyard
Air web fabric
Shine like a net of silver.
Playing all day today
The last moth in the yard
And like a white petal
Freezes on the web
warmed by the warmth of the sun;
Today it's so bright all around
Such a dead silence
In the forest and in the blue sky
What is possible in this silence
Hear the rustle of a leaf.
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Standing above the sunny meadow,
Enchanted by silence;
The thrush quacks, flying
Among the podsed, where thick
Foliage an amber reflection pours;
Playing in the sky will flash
Scattered flock of starlings -
And again everything around will freeze.
Last moments of happiness!
Autumn already knows what it is
Deep and mute peace -
A harbinger of a long storm.
Deep, strange forest was silent
And at dawn, when from sunset
Purple glitter of fire and gold
The tower illuminated with fire.
Then it darkened gloomily.
The moon is rising, and in the forest
Shadows fall on the dew...
It's cold and white
Among the glades, among the through
Dead autumn thicket,
And terribly one Autumn
In the desert silence of the night.
Now the silence is different:
Listen - it's growing
And with her, frightening with pallor,
And the moon slowly rises.
He made all the shadows shorter
Transparent smoke brought to the forest
And now he looks straight into the eyes
From the misty heights of the sky.
0, dead dream of autumn night!
0, a terrible hour of night miracles!
In the silvery and damp fog
Light and empty in the clearing;
Forest filled with white light
With its frozen beauty
As if death is prophesying for itself;
The owl is silent too: it sits
Yes, it looks stupidly from the branches,
Sometimes wildly laughing
Will break with noise from a height,
flapping soft wings,
And sit on the bushes again
And looks with round eyes
Driving with an eared head
On the sides, as in amazement;
And the forest stands in a daze,
Filled with pale, light haze
And rotten dampness of leaves ...
Do not wait: the next morning will not glimpse
The sun is in the sky. Rain and haze
The forest is fogged with cold smoke, -
No wonder the night is over!
But Autumn will hold deep
Everything she's been through
In the silent night and lonely
Forbidden in his terem:
Let the forest rage in the rain
Let the dark and rainy nights
And in the clearing wolf eyes
Glow green with fire!
Forest, like a tower without a prize,
All darkened and shed,
September, circling through the thickets of boron,
He removed the roof in places
And the entrance was strewn with damp foliage;
And there the winter fell at night
And he began to melt, killing everything ...
Horns are blowing in distant fields,
Their copper overflow rings,
Like a sad cry, among the wide
Rainy and foggy fields.
Through the noise of the trees, beyond the valley,
Lost in the depths of the forests
Turin's horn howls sullenly,
Clicking on the prey of dogs,
And the sonorous din of their voices
The noise of the desert spreads storms.
It's raining, cold as ice,
Leaves are spinning across the fields,
And geese in a long caravan
They fly over the forest.
But the days go by. And now the smoke
Rise like pillars at dawn,
The forests are scarlet, motionless,
Earth in frosty silver
And in ermine shugai,
Wash your pale face,
Meeting the last day in the forest,
Autumn comes out on the porch.
The yard is empty and cold. At the gate
Among two dried aspens,
She can see the blue of the valleys
And the expanse of the desert swamp,
Road to the Far South:
There from winter storms and blizzards,
From the winter cold and blizzard
The birds have long since departed;
There and Autumn in the Morning
He will direct his lonely path
And forever in an empty forest
The open tower will leave its own.
Forgive me, forest! Sorry, goodbye,
The day will be gentle, good,
And soon soft powder
The dead edge will be silvered.
How strange will be in this white,
Deserted and cold day
And the forest, and the empty tower,
And the roofs of quiet villages,
And heaven, and without borders
In them leaving fields!
How happy the sables will be
And ermines, and martens,
Playing and basking on the run
In soft snowdrifts in the meadow!
And there, like a violent dance of a shaman,
Break into the naked taiga
Winds from the tundra, from the ocean,
Buzzing in the swirling snow
And howling in the field like a beast.
They will destroy the old tower,
Leave stakes and then
On this empty island
Hang frost through,
And they will be in the blue sky
Shine halls of ice
And crystal and silver.
And at night, between their white divorces,
The fires of heaven will ascend,
The star shield Stozhar will sparkle -
At that hour, when in the midst of silence
Frosty glowing fire,
Bloom of the aurora.
The poem "Falling Leaves" by Ivan Bunin is a collection of poems about autumn.
Accuracy, grace, imagery and the ability to convey mood are the main features of Ivan Bunin's landscape lyrics. His works have always been distinguished by vivid lyrical descriptions of native nature. It was in her, so simple and at the same time immense, that the poet saw the essence of all human life.
Poem " LEAF FALL"
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful, colorful wall
It stands over a bright meadow.
Birches with yellow carving
Shine in blue azure,
Like towers, Christmas trees darken,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Clearances in the sky, that windows.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
During the summer it dried up from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
He enters his motley tower.
Today in an empty meadow
In the middle of a wide courtyard
Air web fabric
Shine like a net of silver.
Playing all day today
The last moth in the yard
And like a white petal 
Freezes on the web
warmed by the warmth of the sun;
Today it's so bright all around
Such a dead silence In the forest and in the blue sky,
What is possible in this silence
Hear the rustle of a leaf.
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Standing above the sunny meadow,
Enchanted by silence;
The thrush quacks, flying
Among the podsed, where thick
Foliage an amber reflection pours;
Playing in the sky will flash
Scattered flock of starlings -
And again everything around will freeze.
Last moments of happiness! Autumn already knows what it is
Deep and mute peace -
A harbinger of a long storm.
Deep, strange forest was silent
And at dawn, when from sunset
Purple glitter of fire and gold
The tower illuminated with fire.
Then it darkened gloomily.
The moon is rising, and in the forest
Shadows fall on the dew...
It's cold and white
Among the glades, among the through
Dead autumn thicket,
And terribly one Autumn
In the desert silence of the night.
Now the silence is different:
Listen - it's growing
And with her, frightening with pallor,
And the moon slowly rises.
He made all the shadows shorter 
Transparent smoke brought to the forest
And now he looks straight into the eyes
From the misty heights of the sky.
Oh dead dream of an autumn night!
Oh, terrible hour of night wonders!
In the silvery and damp fog
Light and empty in the clearing;
Forest filled with white light
With its frozen beauty
As if death is prophesying for itself;
Yes, it looks stupidly from the branches,
Sometimes wildly laughing
Will break with noise from a height,
flapping soft wings,
And sit on the bushes again
And looks with round eyes
Driving with an eared head
On the sides, as in amazement;
And the forest stands in a daze,
Filled with pale, light haze
And rotten dampness of leaves ...
Do not wait: the next morning the sun will not peep in the sky. Rain and haze
The forest is fogged with cold smoke, - 
No wonder the night is over! But Autumn will hold deep All that she has experienced
On a silent night, and lonely, He will be locked in his chamber:
Let the forest rage in the rain, Let the dark and rainy nights And wolf eyes in the clearing
Glow green with fire!
Forest, like a tower without a prize,
All darkened and shed,
September, circling through the thickets of boron,
He removed the roof in places
And the entrance was strewn with damp foliage;
And there the winter fell at night
And he began to melt, killing everything ...
Horns are blowing in distant fields,
Their copper overflow rings,
Like a sad cry, among the wide
Rainy and foggy fields.
Through the noise of the trees, beyond the valley,
Lost in the depths of the forests
Turin's horn howls sullenly,
Clicking on the prey of dogs,
And the sonorous din of their voices
The noise of the desert spreads storms.
It's raining, cold as ice, 
Leaves are spinning across the fields,
And geese in a long caravan
They fly over the forest.
But the days go by. And now the smoke
Rise like pillars at dawn,
The forests are scarlet, motionless,
Earth in frosty silver
And in ermine shugai,
Wash your pale face,
Meeting the last day in the forest,
Autumn comes out on the porch.
The yard is empty and cold. At the gate
Among two dried aspens,
She can see the blue of the valleys
And the expanse of the desert swamp,
Road to the Far South:
There from winter storms and blizzards,
From the winter cold and blizzard
The birds have long since departed;
There and Autumn in the Morning
He will direct his lonely path
And forever in an empty forest
The open tower will leave its own.
Forgive me, forest! Sorry, goodbye,
The day will be gentle, good,
And soon soft powder
The dead edge will be silvered.
How will be strange in this white
Deserted and cold day
And the forest, and the empty tower, 
And the roofs of quiet villages,
And heaven, and without borders
In them leaving fields!
How happy the sables will be
And ermines, and martens,
Playing and basking on the run
In soft snowdrifts in the meadow!
And there, like a violent dance of a shaman, Break into the naked taiga
Winds from the tundra, from the ocean,
Buzzing in the swirling snow
And howling in the field like a beast.
They will destroy the old tower,
Leave stakes and then
On this empty island
Hang frost through,
And they will be in the blue sky
Shine halls of ice
And crystal and silver.
And at night, between their white divorces,
The fires of heaven will ascend,
The star shield Stozhar will sparkle -
At that hour, when in the midst of silence
Frosty glowing fire,
Bloom of the aurora.
Poem "Autumn. Thickets of the forest ..."
Autumn. Thickets of the forest.
Moss of dry swamps. The lake is white.
Pale sky.
The water lilies have bloomed
And the saffron blossomed.
paved paths,
The forest is both empty and naked.
Only you are beautiful
Though dry for a long time
In the bumps by the bay
Old alder.
You look feminine
In the water half asleep -
And you will become silver
First of all, spring.
Poem
The night has turned pale and the moon is setting 
Over the river with a red sickle. Sleepy fog in the meadows is silvering,
The black reed is damp and smoking,
The wind rustles the reeds.
Quiet in the village. Lamp in the chapel
Fading, tired grief.
In the quivering dusk of a chilled garden
Coolness pours with the steppe waves ...
Dawn breaks slowly.
Poem “The leaves rustled, flying around ...” , year of writing 1901
The leaves rustled, flying around, the forest started an autumn howl ...
Some gray birds flock 
Spinning in the wind with foliage.
And I was small, their confusion seemed to me like a careless joke:
Under the rumble and rustle of a terrible dance
I had doubly fun.
I wanted along with a noisy whirlwind
Circling through the forest, screaming -
And meet each copper sheet
Delight joyfully-crazy!
Poem "The autumn wind rises in the forests ..." Russian poet Ivan Bunin
The autumn wind rises in the forests,
It goes noisily through the thickets,
Dead leaves pluck and fun
In a frenzied dance carries. Just freeze, fall down and listen, - 
Waving again, and after him
The forest will buzz, tremble, - and pour Leaves rain golden.It blows in winter, frosty blizzards,
Clouds float in the sky...
Let all the dead, the weak perish
And return to dust! Winter blizzards are the forerunners of spring,
Winter blizzards must
Bury under cold snow
Dead by the coming of spring.
In the dark autumn the earth takes cover
Yellow foliage, and under it
Dormant shoots and vegetation vegetation,
Juice of life-giving roots.
Life is born in mysterious darkness.
Joy and death
Serve the imperishable and unchanging -
Eternal beauty of Being!
Poem “There are no birds to be seen. Submissively languishes…”
Birds are not visible. Dutifully languishes
The forest, deserted and sick.
Mushrooms are gone, but smells strong In the ravines of mushroom dampness.
The wilderness has become lower and brighter,
Grass fell in the bushes,
And, smoldering in the autumn rain,
Dark foliage turns black.
And in the field the wind. The day is cold
Gloomy and fresh - and all day long
I wander in the free steppe,
Away from villages and villages.
And, lulled by horseback step,
With joyful sadness I will listen,
Like the wind with a monotonous sound,
Buzzing-singing into the barrels of a gun.
Poem “More from the house in the yard…” Author: Ivan Bunin, written in 1892.
More from the house in the yard
Blue morning shadows 
And under the canopies of buildings
Grass in cold silver;
But the bright heat shines
For a long time the ax knocks in the barn,
And shy flocks of pigeons
Glittering snowy white.
From dawn the cuckoo across the river
Cuckoo loudly in the distance,
And in the young birch
It smells like mushrooms and leaves.
Bright river in the sun
Trembles joyfully, laughs,
And resounds in the grove
Above her is the sound of a roll.
Poem "There are dry stalks of corn in the fields..."
Dry stalks of corn in the fields,
Wheel tracks and faded haulm.
In the cold sea - pale jellyfish 
And red underwater grass.
Fields and autumn. Sea and naked
Rock breaks. Here is the night and here we go
To the dark shore At sea - lethargy
In all its great mystery.
"Do you see water?" - “I see only mercury
Foggy brilliance ... "No sky, no earth.
Only a star shine hangs under us - in a muddy
Bottomless phosphorus dust.
Poem "Asters are showering in the gardens"
Asters fall in the gardens,
The slender maple under the window turns yellow,
And cold fog in the fields
White all day long.
The nearby forest is quiet, and in it
Lights appeared everywhere
And he is beautiful in his attire, 
Dressed in golden foliage.
But under this through foliage
Not a sound can be heard in these thickets...
Autumn breathes longing
Autumn blows away!
Wander in the last days
Along the alley, long silent,
And look with love and sadness
To familiar fields.
In the silence of village nights
And in the silence of autumn midnight
Remember the songs that the nightingale sang,
Remember summer nights
And think the years go by
What about the spring, how bad weather passes,
They won't give us back
Deceived happiness ...
Poem “And here again at dawn ...”
And here again at dawn
In the heights, deserted and free,
The villages of birds fly to the seas,
Blackening with a triangular chain.
The dawn is clear, the steppe is silent,
The sunset is reddening, flaring up ... 
And quietly in the sky this chain
Floats, swaying steadily.
What distance and height!
You look - and the blue abyss
The depths of autumn skies
As if melting over you.
And embraces this distance, -
The soul is ready to surrender to her,
And new, bright thoughts sadness
Liberates from the earth.
Section topic: The poem "Falling Leaves" by Ivan Bunin is a collection of poems about autumn.
The work of Ivan Alekseevich Bunin is popular all over the world. During his life, he wrote a huge number of works that created a real resonance among readers. A very popular poem of the author's early period is Falling Leaves. Poetic lines were created at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when the poet was already thirty years old.In the same year, this work was published and presented for discussion to readers of that time. In October 1900, the verse was presented in a well-known magazine called Life. The poem was dedicated to Gorky and was a kind of autumn poem.
This verse was the very first in the creation of a poetry collection, which was published three years later and was awarded the Pushkin Prize. Many people liked the poem "Falling Leaves", and the author himself cherished it very much all his life.
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful, colorful wall
It stands over a bright meadow.
Birches with yellow carving
Shine in blue azure,
Like towers, Christmas trees darken,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Clearances in the sky, that windows.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
During the summer it dried up from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
He enters his motley tower.
Today in an empty meadow
In the middle of a wide courtyard
Air web fabric
Shine like a net of silver.
Playing all day today
The last moth in the yard
And like a white petal
Freezes on the web
warmed by the warmth of the sun;
Today it's so bright all around
Such a dead silence
In the forest and in the blue sky
What is possible in this silence
Hear the rustle of a leaf.
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Standing above the sunny meadow,
Enchanted by silence;
The thrush quacks, flying
Among the podsed, where thick
Foliage an amber reflection pours;
Playing in the sky will flash
Scattered flock of starlings -
And again everything around will freeze.
Last moments of happiness!
Autumn already knows what it is
Deep and mute peace -
A harbinger of a long storm.
Deep, strange forest was silent
And at dawn, when from sunset
Purple glitter of fire and gold
The tower illuminated with fire.
Then it darkened gloomily.
The moon is rising, and in the forest
Shadows fall on the dew...
It's cold and white
Among the glades, among the through
Dead autumn thicket,
And terribly one Autumn
In the desert silence of the night.
Now the silence is different:
Listen - it's growing
And with her, frightening with pallor,
And the moon slowly rises.
He made all the shadows shorter
Transparent smoke brought to the forest
And now he looks straight into the eyes
From the misty heights of the sky.
Oh dead dream of an autumn night!
Oh, terrible hour of night wonders!
In the silvery and damp fog
Light and empty in the clearing;
Forest filled with white light
With its frozen beauty
As if death is prophesying for itself;
The owl is silent too: it sits
Yes, it looks stupidly from the branches,
Sometimes wildly laughing
Will break with noise from a height,
flapping soft wings,
And sit on the bushes again
And looks with round eyes
Driving with an eared head
On the sides, as in amazement;
And the forest stands in a daze,
Filled with pale, light haze
And rotten dampness of leaves...
Do not wait: the next morning will not glimpse
The sun is in the sky. Rain and haze
The forest is fogged with cold smoke, -
No wonder the night is over!
But Autumn will hold deep
Everything she's been through
In the silent night and lonely
Forbidden in his terem:
Let the forest rage in the rain
Let the dark and rainy nights
And in the clearing wolf eyes
Glow green with fire!
Forest, like a tower without a prize,
All darkened and shed,
September, circling through the thickets of boron,
He removed the roof in places
And the entrance was strewn with damp foliage;
And there the winter fell at night
And he began to melt, killing everything ...
Horns are blowing in distant fields,
Their copper overflow rings,
Like a sad cry, among the wide
Rainy and foggy fields.
Through the noise of the trees, beyond the valley,
Lost in the depths of the forests
Turin's horn howls sullenly,
Clicking on the prey of dogs,
And the sonorous din of their voices
The noise of the desert spreads storms.
It's raining, cold as ice,
Leaves are spinning across the fields,
And geese in a long caravan
They fly over the forest.
But the days go by. And now the smoke
Rise like pillars at dawn,
The forests are scarlet, motionless,
Earth in frosty silver
And in ermine shugai,
Wash your pale face,
Meeting the last day in the forest,
Autumn comes out on the porch.
The yard is empty and cold. At the gate
Among two dried aspens,
She can see the blue of the valleys
And the expanse of the desert swamp,
Road to the Far South:
There from winter storms and blizzards,
From the winter cold and blizzard
The birds have long since departed;
There and Autumn in the Morning
He will direct his lonely path
And forever in an empty forest
The open tower will leave its own.
Forgive me, forest! Sorry, goodbye,
The day will be gentle, good,
And soon soft powder
The dead edge will be silvered.
How will be strange in this white
Deserted and cold day
And the forest, and the empty tower,
And the roofs of quiet villages,
And heaven, and without borders
In them leaving fields!
How happy the sables will be
And ermines, and martens,
Playing and basking on the run
In soft snowdrifts in the meadow!
And there, like a violent dance of a shaman,
Break into the naked taiga
Winds from the tundra, from the ocean,
Buzzing in the swirling snow
And howling in the field like a beast.
They will destroy the old tower,
Leave stakes and then
On this empty island
Hang frost through,
And they will be in the blue sky
Shine halls of ice
And crystal and silver.
And at night, between their white divorces,
The fires of heaven will ascend,
The star shield Stozhar will sparkle -
At that hour, when in the midst of silence
Frosty glowing fire,
Bloom of the aurora.
The poem is distinguished by its peculiar and unusual construction of lines and rhymes. If we consider rhyming, there is a certain list of quatrains and separate couplets, which are presented to the reader in the form of iambic tetrameter.
The main feature of the poem "Falling Leaves" is a kind of melodiousness that brings this work closer to folklore typology.
The narration of Ivan Alekseevich's poem is aimed at expanding temporal and spatial boundaries. This is tracked throughout the plot.
The beginning of the poem is distinguished by the shortness of the time period - it is only one day in the life. The action in this case is limited to a simple landscape - a clearing. This feature allows you to simulate the feeling of the last happy moments. The author focuses on small things, for example, on a moth that feels the last farewell and warm rays of the sun, and against this background a thrush taps, reminding of the passing summer.
In the course of the formation of the plot part, the action gradually expands for months. The author recalls the "circling" September. The spatial significance in the plot moves away from trifles, and special attention is already paid to the forest, the sky and all the surrounding nature, expanding the boundaries to the scale of the entire planet.
In the presented poem, the time of the year is a collecting concept. Autumn in the work "Falling Leaves" is a kind of creature that can exist independently. This "lady" is a kind of quiet widow, who is the mistress of all nature - forests, meadows, fields.
With the help of such an exclusive humanized image of autumn, the author tries to show the reader all the features of the inner world and the life cycle of nature. This world is full of both joy and sadness, there are both happy moments and various sufferings.
The author managed to surprisingly truthfully convey the change of moods embedded deep in the personality of the hero. There are all sorts of artistic expressions here. They are created in such a way that the essence of man and natural features do not have a clear separation.
Bunin shows the reader ideas about the possibility of eternal life, as well as a special cyclicity that is tracked in the processes of the universe. In the poem, the change of nature is shown in the form of a specific ring. The beauty of the time of the year - autumn, shrouded in a golden dress - is transmitted through withering. It may seem that nature is dying and suffering, but this is not at all the case. It's just that all living things are preparing for a long sleep, which will be provided in the winter.
The first part of the work is presented to the reader in the form of a beautiful image of a forest, shrouded in golden foliage and vegetation. Almost all paints found in nature are used here. This color scheme skillfully decorates the entire poem: a silver web, a lilac-colored tower, an amber tonality of foliage, a glade lit by the sun.
The poet tries to convey the autumn season to the reader in the form of a kind of fairy tale. Imitating the beauty and features of this time. The lines also trace fairy-tale vocabulary, for example, the author compares a glade with a wide yard area, a forest is used as a tower, and the gaps between the leaves on the trees are a kind of windows.
Gradually, the perception of a bright picture of a multi-colored autumn acquires a minor, and even sad mood. Thus, the author points out that autumn is a “silent widow”. These images are reminiscent of the motives of death, suffering and sadness. The further part of the poem has already been shown in the form of a picture, which is dominated by a silent and tired forest, which awaits imminent death. This is traced in almost every line and brings sadness to the reader.
Gradually the storyline moves to the third part. At this stage, autumn is “dying” and this is noticeable in many ways. The author conveys the feeling of fading with the help of various sounds, and bright colors begin to disappear and disappear into oblivion. Autumn leaves the described places.
The final part also imitates the death and destruction of nature. But, although strong winds blow, and winter comes into its own, many inhabitants of the forest like this weather.
In his poem “Falling Leaves”, Bunin tries to convey the autumn period to the reader as clearly and expressed as possible, so that a person can feel the naturalness of what is happening. For this, various additional techniques are used in the work. For example, to convey movements, specific expressive means are used:
✔ Inversion. It is used in the first stanza - the leaves are circling, it is raining.
It is worth noting that in the poem there is a large number of various tropes. Bunin also exquisitely uses anaphora, which is an assonance when replacing the letter "O" with "E". This feature allows you to create melody in the work. The replacement of the letters "Ш", "С" in various phrases personifies the sounds of natural nature, trying to convey to the reader the maximum naturalness of the current situation using the example of silence and the rustling of leaves.
In the poem presented to the reader, there are a large number of comparative turns, for example, a moth is compared with a white petal, and the shine of a fabric with silver. There are enough various metaphors in the poem, for example, a terem with variegation, as well as a wide courtyard instead of a meadow.
There are also specific personifications in the work, trying to show the reader as qualitatively as possible that autumn is a kind of living creature - autumn, entering its tower. Sometimes personifications overlap along with metaphors, for example, smoke rises in pillars. The work is full of epithets - a widow, dead silence, silver frost.
In conclusion, it would be useful to note that Ivan Alekseevich Bunin is a true artist of thought. The author of the work “Falling Leaves”, thanks to his talent, was able to convey in verbal form the multiple features of the world around him, all the beauty of nature and its greatness.
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful, colorful wall
It stands over a bright meadow.
Birches with yellow carving
Shine in blue azure,
Like towers, Christmas trees darken,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Clearances in the sky, that windows.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
During the summer it dried up from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
He enters his motley tower.
Today in an empty meadow
In the middle of a wide courtyard
Air web fabric
Shine like a net of silver.
Playing all day today
The last moth in the yard
And like a white petal
Freezes on the web
warmed by the warmth of the sun;
Today it's so bright all around
Such a dead silence
In the forest and in the blue sky
What is possible in this silence
Hear the rustle of a leaf.
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Standing above the sunny meadow,
Enchanted by silence;
The thrush quacks, flying
Among the podsed, where thick
Foliage an amber reflection pours;
Playing in the sky will flash
Scattered flock of starlings -
And again everything around will freeze.
Last moments of happiness!
Autumn already knows what it is
Deep and mute peace -
A harbinger of a long storm.
Deep, strange forest was silent
And at dawn, when from sunset
Purple glitter of fire and gold
The tower illuminated with fire.
Then it darkened gloomily.
The moon is rising, and in the forest
Shadows fall on the dew...
It's cold and white
Among the glades, among the through
Dead autumn thicket,
And terribly one Autumn
In the desert silence of the night.
Now the silence is different:
Listen - it's growing
And with her, frightening with pallor,
And the moon slowly rises.
He made all the shadows shorter
Transparent smoke brought to the forest
And now he looks straight into the eyes
From the misty heights of the sky.
0, dead dream of autumn night!
0, a terrible hour of night miracles!
In the silvery and damp fog
Light and empty in the clearing;
Forest filled with white light
With its frozen beauty
As if death is prophesying for itself;
The owl is silent too: it sits
Yes, it looks stupidly from the branches,
Sometimes wildly laughing
Will break with noise from a height,
flapping soft wings,
And sit on the bushes again
And looks with round eyes
Driving with an eared head
On the sides, as in amazement;
And the forest stands in a daze,
Filled with pale, light haze
And rotten dampness of leaves ...
Do not wait: the next morning will not glimpse
The sun is in the sky. Rain and haze
The forest is fogged with cold smoke, -
No wonder the night is over!
But Autumn will hold deep
Everything she's been through
In the silent night and lonely
Forbidden in his terem:
Let the forest rage in the rain
Let the dark and rainy nights
And in the clearing wolf eyes
Glow green with fire!
Forest, like a tower without a prize,
All darkened and shed,
September, circling through the thickets of boron,
He removed the roof in places
And the entrance was strewn with damp foliage;
And there the winter fell at night
And he began to melt, killing everything ...
Horns are blowing in distant fields,
Their copper overflow rings,
Like a sad cry, among the wide
Rainy and foggy fields.
Through the noise of the trees, beyond the valley,
Lost in the depths of the forests
Turin's horn howls sullenly,
Clicking on the prey of dogs,
And the sonorous din of their voices
The noise of the desert spreads storms.
It's raining, cold as ice,
Leaves are spinning across the fields,
And geese in a long caravan
They fly over the forest.
But the days go by. And now the smoke
Rise like pillars at dawn,
The forests are scarlet, motionless,
Earth in frosty silver
And in ermine shugai,
Wash your pale face,
Meeting the last day in the forest,
Autumn comes out on the porch.
The yard is empty and cold. At the gate
Among two dried aspens,
She can see the blue of the valleys
And the expanse of the desert swamp,
Road to the Far South:
There from winter storms and blizzards,
From the winter cold and blizzard
The birds have long since departed;
There and Autumn in the Morning
He will direct his lonely path
And forever in an empty forest
The open tower will leave its own.
Forgive me, forest! Sorry, goodbye,
The day will be gentle, good,
And soon soft powder
The dead edge will be silvered.
How strange will be in this white,
Deserted and cold day
And the forest, and the empty tower,
And the roofs of quiet villages,
And heaven, and without borders
In them leaving fields!
How happy the sables will be
And ermines, and martens,
Playing and basking on the run
In soft snowdrifts in the meadow!
And there, like a violent dance of a shaman,
Break into the naked taiga
Winds from the tundra, from the ocean,
Buzzing in the swirling snow
And howling in the field like a beast.
They will destroy the old tower,
Leave stakes and then
On this empty island
Hang frost through,
And they will be in the blue sky
Shine halls of ice
And crystal and silver.
And at night, between their white divorces,
The fires of heaven will ascend,
The star shield Stozhar will sparkle -
At that hour, when in the midst of silence
Frosty glowing fire,
Bloom of the aurora.
Analysis of the poem "Falling Leaves" by Bunin
Ivan Alekseevich Bunin was distinguished by his ability to vividly and picturesquely describe the beauties of Russian nature. His poems about nature are endowed not only with vivid descriptions, but also with a deep meaning that makes readers look at the world around them differently. One of these poems is "Falling Leaves".
semantic analysis
The work "Leaf Fall" refers to landscape lyrics. The poet draws attention to the autumn season, comparing it with the course of human life, adding notes of philosophy. Three dominant images stand out: the lyrical hero, the forest and the autumn widow.
At the beginning of the work, the lyrical hero draws the attention of readers to the bright colors of the forest, which amaze the imagination. The forest is compared to the tower in which Autumn lives. The author uses personification, comparing the golden age with a widow.
Throughout the poem, Bunin expands the scope of time. First, we are talking about one day - "today" - the actions are limited to the clearing. The lyrical hero feels the short duration of the allotted time, realizing that this means the last sunny days of autumn, followed by the cold of winter. He allows himself to enjoy the warmth, sunlight and birdsong.
By the end, the scale expands to the month - "September" - the space includes the entire forest, capturing even the sky. The mood of the lyrical hero changes, as does the mood of the forest. He plunges into tense silence, an atmosphere of doom reigns around. The owl laughter and the aroma of rotten leaves add gloominess to the picture.
The last stanzas are written on behalf of Autumn. She cannot leave without saying goodbye to the forest. Autumn convinces him that the forest dwellers will be happy with winter - freshness, snowdrifts, radiance.
IMPORTANT! The main message of the work is not to give in to short-term sadness inspired by the weather. Every season brings something beautiful.
Composition and genre affiliation
The poem is divided into three parts: a description of the forest, a story about Autumn the Widow, and Autumn's appeal to the forest. All stanzas are complete thoughts.
The genre of the work is elegy. This is due to the dominance of landscapes with dreary and sad notes. You can also find signs of plot lyrics.
The poetic size is iambic tetrameter. There are male and female rhymes.
Means of artistic expression
The poem has:
- personification (humanization of the season);
- metaphors ("dead dream");
- epithets ("forest ... purple, gold, crimson");
- comparisons (“a forest, like a painted tower”).
Bunin is a real artist. In words, he was able to convey the diversity of our world, the grandeur and beauty of the autumn season.
LEAF FALL
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful, colorful wall
It stands over a bright meadow.
Birches with yellow carving
Shine in blue azure,
Like towers, Christmas trees darken,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Clearances in the sky, that windows.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
During the summer it dried up from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
He enters his motley tower.
Today in an empty meadow
In the middle of a wide courtyard
Air web fabric
Shine like a net of silver.
Playing all day today
The last moth in the yard
And like a white petal
Freezes on the web
warmed by the warmth of the sun;
Today it's so bright all around
Such a dead silence
In the forest and in the blue sky
What is possible in this silence
Hear the rustle of a leaf.
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Standing above the sunny meadow,
Enchanted by silence;
The thrush quacks, flying
Among the podsed, where thick
Foliage an amber reflection pours;
Playing in the sky will flash
Scattered flock of starlings -
And again everything around will freeze.
Last moments of happiness!
Autumn already knows what it is
Deep and mute peace -
A harbinger of a long storm.
Deep, strange forest was silent
And at dawn, when from sunset
Purple glitter of fire and gold
The tower illuminated with fire.
Then it darkened gloomily.
The moon is rising, and in the forest
Shadows fall on the dew...
It's cold and white
Among the glades, among the through
Dead autumn thicket,
And terribly one Autumn
In the desert silence of the night.
Now the silence is different:
Listen - it's growing
And with her, frightening with pallor,
And the moon slowly rises.
He made all the shadows shorter
Transparent smoke brought to the forest
And now he looks straight into the eyes
From the misty heights of the sky.
0, dead dream of autumn night!
0, a terrible hour of night miracles!
In the silvery and damp fog
Light and empty in the clearing;
Forest filled with white light
With its frozen beauty
As if death is prophesying for itself;
The owl is silent too: it sits
Yes, it looks stupidly from the branches,
Sometimes wildly laughing
Will break with noise from a height,
flapping soft wings,
And sit on the bushes again
And looks with round eyes
Driving with an eared head
On the sides, as in amazement;
And the forest stands in a daze,
Filled with pale, light haze
And rotten dampness of leaves ...
Do not wait: the next morning will not glimpse
The sun is in the sky. Rain and haze
The forest is fogged with cold smoke, -
No wonder the night is over!
But Autumn will hold deep
Everything she's been through
In the silent night and lonely
Forbidden in his terem:
Let the forest rage in the rain
Let the dark and rainy nights
And in the clearing wolf eyes
Glow green with fire!
Forest, like a tower without a prize,
All darkened and shed,
September, circling through the thickets of boron,
He removed the roof in places
And the entrance was strewn with damp foliage;
And there the winter fell at night
And he began to melt, killing everything ...
Horns are blowing in distant fields,
Their copper overflow rings,
Like a sad cry, among the wide
Rainy and foggy fields.
Through the noise of the trees, beyond the valley,
Lost in the depths of the forests
Turin's horn howls sullenly,
Clicking on the prey of dogs,
And the sonorous din of their voices
The noise of the desert spreads storms.
It's raining, cold as ice,
Leaves are spinning across the fields,
And geese in a long caravan
They fly over the forest.
But the days go by. And now the smoke
Rise like pillars at dawn,
The forests are scarlet, motionless,
Earth in frosty silver
And in ermine shugai,
Wash your pale face,
Meeting the last day in the forest,
Autumn comes out on the porch.
The yard is empty and cold. At the gate
Among two dried aspens,
She can see the blue of the valleys
And the expanse of the desert swamp,
Road to the Far South:
There from winter storms and blizzards,
From the winter cold and blizzard
The birds have long since departed;
There and Autumn in the Morning
He will direct his lonely path
And forever in an empty forest
The open tower will leave its own.
Forgive me, forest! Sorry, goodbye,
The day will be gentle, good,
And soon soft powder
The dead edge will be silvered.
How strange will be in this white,
Deserted and cold day
And the forest, and the empty tower,
And the roofs of quiet villages,
And heaven, and without borders
In them leaving fields!
How happy the sables will be
And ermines, and martens,
Playing and basking on the run
In soft snowdrifts in the meadow!
And there, like a violent dance of a shaman,
Break into the naked taiga
Winds from the tundra, from the ocean,
Buzzing in the swirling snow
And howling in the field like a beast.
They will destroy the old tower,
Leave stakes and then
On this empty island
Hang frost through,
And they will be in the blue sky
Shine halls of ice
And crystal and silver.
And at night, between their white divorces,
The fires of heaven will ascend,
The star shield Stozhar will sparkle -
At that hour, when in the midst of silence
Frosty glowing fire,
Bloom of the aurora.
