Grandfather Mazai and the Hares. Read Nekrasov's poems for children
1
In August, near Malye Vezhi,
With old Mazai I beat great snipes.
Somehow it suddenly became especially quiet,
The sun was playing in the sky through a cloud.
There was a small cloud on it,
And it burst into brutal rain!
Straight and bright, like steel rods,
Rain streams pierced the ground
With swift force... Me and Mazai,
Wet, they disappeared into some barn.
Children, I’ll tell you about Mazai.
Coming home every summer,
I stay with him for weeks at a time.
I like his village:
In the summer, cleaning it up beautifully,
Since ancient times, hops in it will be born miraculously,
All of it is drowned in green gardens;
The houses in it are on high pillars
(Water understands this entire area,
So the village emerges in the spring,
Like Venice). Old Mazai
He loves his low-lying land with passion.
He is widowed, childless, has only a grandson,
Walking the wrong road is boring for him!
Forty miles straight to Kostroma
He doesn’t care about running through the forests:
“The forest is not a road: by bird, by beast
You can blurt it out." - “What about the goblin?” - "I do not believe!
Once in a hurry I called them and waited
The whole night, I didn’t see anyone!
During the day of mushrooms you collect a basket,
Eat lingonberries and raspberries in passing;
In the evening the warbler sings tenderly,
Like a hoopoe in an empty barrel
Hoots; the owl flies away by night,
The horns are chiseled, the eyes are drawn.
At night... well, at night I myself was timid:
It is very quiet in the forest at night.
Quiet as in church after the service
The service and the door was firmly closed,
Is any pine tree creaking?
It’s like an old woman grumbling in her sleep...”
Mazai doesn’t spend a day without hunting.
If he lived gloriously, he would not know worries,
If only the eyes did not change:
Mazay began to poodle often.
However, he does not despair:
Grandfather blurts out, and the hare leaves,
Grandfather threatens his sideways finger:
“If you lie, you’ll fall!” - he shouts good-naturedly.
He knows a lot of funny stories
About the glorious village hunters:
Kuzya broke the trigger of the gun,
Spichek carries a box of matches with him,
If he sits behind a bush, he will lure the black grouse,
He will put a match to the seed and it will strike!
Another trapper walks with a gun,
He carries a pot of coals with him.
“Why are you carrying a pot of coals?”
- “It hurts, darling, my hands are cold;
If I now track the hare,
First I’ll sit down, put my gun down,
I’ll warm my hands over the coals,
And then I’ll shoot at the villain!”
“That’s how a hunter is!” - Mazai added.
I admit, I laughed heartily.
However, dearer than peasant jokes
(How are they worse, however, than the nobles?)
I heard stories from Mazai.
Children, I wrote one down for you...
2
Old Mazai chatted in the barn:
In our swampy, low-lying region
There would be five times more game,
If only they didn't catch her with nets,
If only they didn’t press her with a snare;
Hares too - I feel sorry for them to the point of tears!
Only the spring waters will rush in,
And without that, they are dying by the hundreds, -
No! not enough yet! men are running
They catch them, drown them, and beat them with hooks.
Where is their conscience?.. I'm just getting firewood
I went in a boat - there are a lot of them from the river
In the spring the flood comes to us, -
I go and catch them. The water is coming.
I see one small island -
The hares gathered on it in a crowd.
Every minute the water was rising
To the poor animals; already under them remains
Less than an arshin of land in width,
Less than a fathom in length.
Then I arrived: their ears were chattering,
You can't move; I took one
He commanded the others: jump yourself!
My hares jumped - nothing!
The oblique team just sat down,
The entire island disappeared under water.
“That's it! - I said, - don’t argue with me!
Listen, bunnies, to grandfather Mazai!”
Just like that, we sail in silence.
A column is not a column, a bunny on a stump,
Paws crossed, the poor fellow stands,
I took it too - the burden is not great!
Just started paddle work
Look, a hare is scurrying around the bush -
Barely alive, but as fat as a merchant's wife!
I, fool, covered her with a zipun -
I was shaking violently... It wasn’t too early.
A gnarled log floated past,
About a dozen hares escaped on it.
“If I took you, sink the boat!”
It’s a pity for them, however, and a pity for the find -
I caught my hook on a twig
And he dragged the log behind him...
The women and children had fun,
How I took the village of bunnies for a ride:
“Look: what old Mazai is doing!”
OK! Admire, but don’t disturb us!
We found ourselves in the river outside the village.
This is where my bunnies really went crazy:
They look, stand on their hind legs,
The boat is rocked and not allowed to row:
The shore was seen by oblique rogues,
Winter, and a grove, and thick bushes!..
I drove the log tightly to the shore,
The boat moored - and “God bless!” said...
And with all my might
Let's go bunnies.
And I told them: “Wow!”
Live, little animals!
Look, oblique,
Now save yourself
And mind you in winter
Don't get caught!
I take aim - boom!
And you’ll lie down... Woo-hoo!..
Instantly my team fled,
There are only two couples left on the boat -
They were very wet and weak; in a bag
I put them down and dragged them home,
During the night my patients warmed up,
We dried ourselves off, slept well, ate well;
I took them out to the meadow; out of the bag
He shook it out, hooted, and they gave a shot!
I gave them the same advice:
“Don’t get caught in winter!”
I don’t beat them either in the spring or in the summer,
The skin is bad, it sheds obliquely...
In August, near Malye Vezhi,
With old Mazai I beat great snipes.
Somehow it suddenly became especially quiet,
The sun was playing in the sky through a cloud.
There was a small cloud on it,
And it burst into brutal rain!
Straight and bright, like steel rods,
Rain streams pierced the ground
With swift force... Me and Mazai,
Wet, they disappeared into some barn.
Children, I’ll tell you about Mazai.
Coming home every summer,
I stay with him for a week.
I like his village:
In the summer, cleaning it up beautifully,
Since ancient times, hops in it will be born miraculously,
All of it is drowned in green gardens;
The houses in it are on high pillars
(Water understands this entire area,
So the village emerges in the spring,
Like Venice). Old Mazai
He loves his low-lying land with passion.
He is widowed, childless, has only a grandson,
Walking the wrong road is boring for him!
Forty miles straight to Kostroma
He doesn’t care about running through the forests:
“The forest is not a road: by bird, by beast
You can blurt it out." - What about the goblin? - "I do not believe!
Once in a hurry I called them and waited
The whole night - I didn’t see anyone!
During the day of mushrooms you collect a basket,
Eat lingonberries and raspberries in passing;
In the evening the warbler sings tenderly,
Like a hoopoe in an empty barrel
Hoots; the owl flies away by night,
The horns are chiseled, the eyes are drawn.
At night... well, at night I myself was timid:
It is very quiet in the forest at night.
Quiet as in church after the service
The service and the door was firmly closed,
Is any pine tree creaking?
It’s like an old woman grumbling in her sleep...”
Mazai doesn’t spend a day without hunting.
If he lived gloriously, he would not know worries,
If only the eyes did not change:
Mazay began to poodle often.
However, he does not despair:
Grandfather blurts out - the hare leaves,
Grandfather threatens his sideways finger:
“If you lie, you’ll fall!” - he shouts good-naturedly.
He knows a lot of funny stories
About the glorious village hunters:
Kuzya broke the trigger of the gun,
Spichek carries a box of matches with him,
He sits behind a bush and lures the black grouse,
He will apply a match to the seed and it will strike!
Another trapper walks with a gun,
He carries a pot of coals with him.
“Why are you carrying a pot of coals?” -
It hurts, darling, my hands are cold;
If I now track the hare,
First I’ll sit down, put my gun down,
I’ll warm my hands over the coals,
And then I’ll shoot at the villain! -
“That’s how a hunter is!” - Mazai added.
I admit, I laughed heartily.
However, dearer than peasant jokes
(How are they worse, however, than the nobles?)
I heard stories from Mazai.
Children, I wrote one down for you...
Old Mazai chatted in the barn:
"In our swampy, low-lying region
There would be five times more game,
If only they didn't catch her with nets,
If only they didn’t press her with a snare;
Hares too - I feel sorry for them to the point of tears!
Only the spring waters will rush in,
And without that, they are dying in the hundreds, -
No! not enough yet! men are running
They catch them, drown them, and beat them with hooks.
Where is their conscience?.. I'm just getting firewood
I went in a boat - there are a lot of them from the river
In the spring the flood comes to us -
I go and catch them. The water is coming.
I see one small island -
The hares gathered on it in a crowd.
Every minute the water was rising
To the poor animals; already under them remains
Less than an arshin of land in width,
Less than a fathom in length.
Then I arrived: their ears were chattering,
You can't move; I took one
He commanded the others: jump yourself!
My hares jumped - nothing!
The oblique team just sat down,
The entire island disappeared under water:
“That's it! - I said, - don’t argue with me!
Listen, bunnies, to grandfather Mazai!”
Just like that, we sail in silence.
A column is not a column, a bunny on a stump,
Paws crossed, the poor fellow stands,
I took it too - the burden is not great!
Just started paddle work
Look, a hare is scurrying around the bush -
Barely alive, but as fat as a merchant's wife!
I covered her, stupidly, with a zipun -
I was shaking a lot... It wasn’t too early.
A gnarled log floated past,
Sitting, and standing, and lying flat,
About a dozen hares escaped on it
“If I took you, sink the boat!”
It’s a pity for them, however, and a pity for the find -
I caught my hook on a twig
And he dragged the log behind him...
The women and children had fun,
How I took the village of bunnies for a ride:
“Look: what is old Mazai doing!”
OK! Admire, but don’t disturb us!
We found ourselves in the river outside the village.
This is where my bunnies really went crazy:
They look, stand on their hind legs,
The boat is rocked and not allowed to row:
The shore was seen by oblique rogues,
Winter, and a grove, and thick bushes!..
I drove the log tightly to the shore,
The boat moored - and “God bless!” said…
And with all my might
Let's go bunnies.
And I told them: “Wow!
Live, little animals!
Look, oblique,
Now save yourself
And mind you in winter
Don't get caught!
I take aim - bang!
And you’ll lie down... Uh-uh-uh!..”
Instantly my team fled,
There are only two couples left on the boat -
They were very wet and weak; in a bag
I put them down and dragged them home.
During the night my patients warmed up,
We dried ourselves off, slept well, ate well;
I took them out to the meadow; out of the bag
He shook it out, hooted - and they gave a shot!
I gave them the same advice:
“Don’t get caught in winter!”
I don’t beat them either in the spring or in the summer,
The skin is bad, it sheds obliquely...”
1
In August, near Malye Vezhi,
With old Mazai I beat great snipes.
Somehow it suddenly became especially quiet,
The sun was playing in the sky through a cloud.
There was a small cloud on it,
And it burst into brutal rain!
Straight and bright, like steel rods,
Rain streams pierced the ground
With swift force... Me and Mazai,
Wet, they disappeared into some barn.
Children, I’ll tell you about Mazai.
Coming home every summer,
I stay with him for weeks at a time.
I like his village:
In the summer, cleaning it up beautifully,
Since ancient times, hops in it will be born miraculously,
All of it is drowned in green gardens;
The houses in it are on high pillars
(Water understands this entire area,
So the village emerges in the spring,
Like Venice). Old Mazai
He loves his low-lying land with passion.
He is widowed, childless, has only a grandson,
Walking the wrong road is boring for him!
Forty miles straight to Kostroma
He doesn’t care about running through the forests:
"The forest is not a road: by bird, by beast
You can blurt it out." - "What about the goblin?" - "I don't believe it!
Once in a hurry I called them and waited
The whole night - I didn’t see anyone!
During the day of mushrooms you collect a basket,
Eat lingonberries and raspberries in passing;
In the evening the warbler sings tenderly,
Like a hoopoe in an empty barrel
Hoots; the owl flies away by night,
The horns are chiseled, the eyes are drawn.
At night... well, at night I myself was timid:
It is very quiet in the forest at night.
Quiet as in church after the service
The service and the door was firmly closed,
Is any pine tree creaking?
It's like an old woman grumbling in her sleep..."
Mazai doesn’t spend a day without hunting.
If he lived gloriously, he would not know worries,
If only the eyes did not change:
Mazay began to poodle often.
However, he does not despair:
Grandfather blurts out, the hare leaves,
Grandfather threatens his sideways finger:
“If you lie, you’ll fall!” - he shouts good-naturedly.
He knows a lot of funny stories
About the glorious village hunters:
Kuzya broke the trigger of the gun,
Spichek carries a box with him,
He sits behind a bush and lures the black grouse,
He will apply a match to the seed and it will strike!
Another trapper walks with a gun,
He carries a pot of coals with him.
“Why are you carrying a pot of coals?”
- “It hurts, darling, my hands are cold;
If I now track the hare,
First I’ll sit down, put my gun down,
I’ll warm my hands over the coals,
And then I’ll shoot at the villain!”
"That's how a hunter is!" - Mazai added.
I admit, I laughed heartily.
However, dearer than peasant jokes
(How are they worse, however, than the nobles?)
I heard stories from Mazai.
Children, I wrote one down for you...
Old Mazai chatted in the barn:
"In our swampy, low-lying region
There would be five times more game,
If only they didn't catch her with nets,
If only they didn’t press her with a snare;
Hares too - I feel sorry for them to the point of tears!
Only the spring waters will rush in,
And without that, they are dying in the hundreds, -
No! not enough yet! men are running
They catch them, drown them, and beat them with hooks.
Where is their conscience?.. I'm just getting firewood
I went in a boat - there are a lot of them from the river
In the spring the flood comes to us, -
I go and catch them. The water is coming.
I see one small island -
The hares gathered on it in a crowd.
Every minute the water was rising
To the poor animals; already under them remains
Less than an arshin of land in width,
Less than a fathom in length.
Then I arrived: their ears were chattering,
You can't move; I took one
He commanded the others: jump yourself!
My hares jumped - nothing!
The oblique team just sat down,
The entire island disappeared under water.
“That’s it!” I said, “don’t argue with me!”
Listen, bunnies, to grandfather Mazai!"
Just like that, we sail in silence.
A column is not a column, a bunny on a stump,
Paws crossed, the poor fellow stands,
I took it too - the burden is small!
Just started paddle work
Look, a hare is scurrying around the bush -
Barely alive, but as fat as a merchant's wife!
I covered her, stupidly, with a zipun -
I was shaking violently... It wasn’t too early.
A gnarled log floated past,
About a dozen hares escaped on it.
“If I took you, sink the boat!”
It’s a pity for them, however, and a pity for the find -
I caught my hook on a twig
And he dragged the log behind him...
The women and children had fun,
How I took the village of bunnies for a ride:
“Look: what old Mazai is doing!”
OK! Admire, but don’t disturb us!
We found ourselves in the river outside the village.
This is where my bunnies really went crazy:
They look, stand on their hind legs,
The boat is rocked and not allowed to row:
The shore was seen by oblique rogues,
Winter, and a grove, and thick bushes!..
I drove the log tightly to the shore,
The boat moored - and “God bless!” said...
And with all my might
Let's go bunnies.
And I told them: “Uh-huh!”
Live, little animals!
Look, oblique,
Now save yourself
And mind you in winter
Don't get caught!
I take aim - bang!
And you’ll lie down... Woo-hoo!..”
Instantly my team fled,
There are only two couples left on the boat -
They were very wet and weak; in a bag
I put them down and dragged them home,
During the night my patients warmed up,
We dried ourselves off, slept well, ate well;
I took them out to the meadow; out of the bag
He shook it out, hooted - and they gave a shot!
I gave them the same advice:
"Don't get caught in winter!"
I don’t beat them either in the spring or in the summer,
The skin is bad, it sheds obliquely..."
Nekrasov Nikolai Alekseevich, Russian poet, literary figure.
Grandfather Mazai and the hares
Every summer the narrator came to the village of Malye Vezhi for a week to stay with the old hunter Mazai and hunt with him. Once during a hunt, it started to rain heavily, and the narrator and Mazai took refuge in the barn. The old man began to tell stories about village hunters: one broke the trigger of his gun and walks around with a box of matches, and the other carries a pot of coals with him because his hands are cold. The author wrote down one of the stories. Mazai said that in their low-lying region there would have been much more game if the men had not caught and killed hares during spring floods. Once Mazai went to get firewood. Suddenly he saw an island on which hares had gathered. Mazai took them to his boat. He picked up another hare from a stump, took the hare into the boat and covered it with a zipun. A dozen hares were sitting on a log floating past. Mazai caught the hook on a knot on a log and dragged it behind him. The whole village laughed with Mazay. And beyond the village, as soon as he landed on the shore, all the hares began to run in all directions. Only two pairs left. They were wet and weak. Mazai put them in a bag and brought them home. They warmed up overnight. In the morning Mazai let them go into the forest.
Gribov Alexey Nikolaevich
(18) January 31, 1902, Sokolniki, Moscow - November 26, 1977, Moscow.
Born in Sokolniki, into a working-class family. As a child, I helped my father, a car driver. In 1916, when he was called to the front, Alexey, as the eldest, was forced to go to work as a clerk in the management of a silk weaving factory, then, after the revolution, at the Red Rose plant. He studied at a school for working youth and became interested in theater.
In 1924 he graduated from school at the 3rd studio of the Moscow Art Academic Theater. He joined the theater troupe, on whose stage he played for more than 40 years. In Gribov's art, extreme simplicity was combined with vivid stage expressiveness and outstanding skill. Alexey Nikolaevich created deeply folk images that embody the best features of the Russian person - wisdom, sincerity, honesty, humor. Member of the CPSU(b) since 1944.
One of the main theatrical successes of Alexei Gribov, since the 1930s, was the unforgettable Foma Opiskin in the play based on the satire of F.M. Dostoevsky "The village of Stepanchikovo and its inhabitants." In 1973, the Moscow Art Theater teleplay of the same name was released. Gribov outdid himself by reliably resurrecting the brilliant image of not just a cunning opportunist, but an energy vampire and behind-the-scenes schemer, social manipulator and psychological sorcerer.
The Moscow Art Theater was the most traveled theater - Japan, England, France. Gribov went on all the tours and was a resounding success everywhere. It seems that Firs was not the most important role in The Cherry Orchard, but the French were so delighted! He was called the “Russian Jean Gabin.” “Dead Souls” was played in London. The unsociable, gloomy Sobakevich made a strong impression on the British.
Since 1970, he taught acting at the Moscow Art Theater School.
After a stroke suffered during one of the performances on tour in Leningrad, he was struck by paralysis. The actor was bedridden for almost three years. Over time, his speech was restored and he began to walk, although not too confidently. With a firm memory and a firm consciousness, he even began classes with Moscow Art Theater students. But he never came on stage again.
Honored Artist of the RSFSR (1938).
People's Artist of the RSFSR (1943).
People's Artist of the USSR (1948).
The actor was buried at the Novodevichy cemetery in Moscow.
In August, near Malye Vezhi,
With old Mazai I beat great snipes.
Somehow it suddenly became especially quiet,
The sun was playing in the sky through a cloud.
There was a small cloud on it,
And it burst into brutal rain!
Straight and bright, like steel rods,
Rain streams pierced the ground
With swift force... Me and Mazai,
Wet, they disappeared into some barn.
Children, I’ll tell you about Mazai.
Coming home every summer,
I stay with him for weeks at a time.
I like his village:
In the summer, cleaning it up beautifully,
Since ancient times, hops in it will be born miraculously,
All of it is drowned in green gardens;
The houses in it are on high pillars
(Water understands this entire area,
So the village emerges in the spring,
Like Venice). Old Mazai
He loves his low-lying land with passion.
He is widowed, childless, has only a grandson,
Walking the wrong road is boring for him!
Forty miles straight to Kostroma
He doesn’t care about running through the forests:
“The forest is not a road: by bird, by beast
You can blurt it out." - “What about the goblin?” - "I do not believe!
Once in a hurry I called them and waited
The whole night, I didn’t see anyone!
During the day of mushrooms you collect a basket,
Eat lingonberries and raspberries in passing;
In the evening the warbler sings tenderly,
Like a hoopoe in an empty barrel
Hoots; the owl flies away by night,
The horns are chiseled, the eyes are drawn.
At night... well, at night I myself was timid:
It is very quiet in the forest at night.
Quiet as in church after the service
The service and the door was firmly closed,
Is any pine tree creaking?
It’s like an old woman grumbling in her sleep...”
Mazai doesn’t spend a day without hunting.
If he lived gloriously, he would not know worries,
If only the eyes did not change:
Mazay began to poodle often.
However, he does not despair:
Grandfather blurts out, and the hare leaves,
Grandfather threatens his sideways finger:
“If you lie, you’ll fall!” - he shouts good-naturedly.
He knows a lot of funny stories
About the glorious village hunters:
Kuzya broke the trigger of the gun,
Spichek carries a box of matches with him,
If he sits behind a bush, he will lure the black grouse,
He will put a match to the seed and it will strike!
Another trapper walks with a gun,
He carries a pot of coals with him.
“Why are you carrying a pot of coals?”
- “It hurts, darling, my hands are cold;
If I now track the hare,
First I’ll sit down, put my gun down,
I’ll warm my hands over the coals,
And then I’ll shoot at the villain!”
“What a hunter! “Mazai added.
I admit, I laughed heartily.
However, dearer than peasant jokes
(How are they worse, however, than the nobles?)
I heard stories from Mazai.
Children, I wrote one down for you...
Old Mazai chatted in the barn:
"In our swampy, low-lying region
There would be five times more game,
If only they didn't catch her with nets,
If only they didn’t press her with a snare;
Hares too - I feel sorry for them to the point of tears!
Only the spring waters will rush in,
And without that, they are dying by the hundreds, -
No! not enough yet! men are running
They catch them, drown them, and beat them with hooks.
Where is their conscience?.. I'm just getting firewood
I went in a boat - there are a lot of them from the river
In the spring the flood comes to us, -
I go and catch them. The water is coming.
I see one small island -
The hares gathered on it in a crowd.
Every minute the water was rising
To the poor animals; already under them remains
Less than an arshin of land in width,
Less than a fathom in length.
Then I arrived: their ears were chattering,
You can't move; I took one
He commanded the others: jump yourself!
My hares jumped - nothing!
The oblique team just sat down,
The entire island disappeared under water.
“That's it! - I said, - don’t argue with me!
Listen, bunnies, to grandfather Mazai!”
Just like that, we sail in silence.
A column is not a column, a bunny on a stump,
Paws crossed, the poor fellow stands,
I took it too - the burden is not great!
Just started paddle work
Look, a hare is scurrying around the bush -
Barely alive, but as fat as a merchant's wife!
I, fool, covered her with a zipun -
I was shaking violently... It wasn’t too early.
A gnarled log floated past,
About a dozen hares escaped on it.
“If I took you, sink the boat!”
It’s a pity for them, however, and a pity for the find -
I caught my hook on a twig
And he dragged the log behind him...
The women and children had fun,
How I took the village of bunnies for a ride:
“Look: what old Mazai is doing!”
OK! Admire, but don’t disturb us!
We found ourselves in the river outside the village.
This is where my bunnies really went crazy:
They look, stand on their hind legs,
The boat is rocked and not allowed to row:
The shore was seen by oblique rogues,
Winter, and a grove, and thick bushes!..
I drove the log tightly to the shore,
The boat moored - and “God bless!” said...
And with all my might
Let's go bunnies.
And I told them: “Wow!”
Live, little animals!
Look, oblique,
Now save yourself
And mind you in winter
Don't get caught!
I take aim - boom!
And you’ll lie down... Uuuh!..”
Instantly my team fled,
There are only two couples left on the boat -
They were very wet and weak; in a bag
I put them down and dragged them home,
During the night my patients warmed up,
We dried ourselves off, slept well, ate well;
I took them out to the meadow; out of the bag
He shook it out, hooted, and they gave a shot!
I gave them the same advice:
“Don’t get caught in winter!”
I don’t beat them either in the spring or in the summer,
The skin is bad, it sheds obliquely... "
