Goal: to introduce literary works that glorify the image of a woman-mother, to cultivate feelings of love and kindness, compassion and mercy. Form of delivery: literary hour.

Mom... This is the first word that a baby's mouth utters. And no wonder. There is nothing holier and more selfless than a mother’s love. From the first day of birth of a child, the mother lives by his breath, his tears and smiles. Love for a child is as natural to her as the blossoming of gardens in spring. Just as the sun sends out its rays, warming all living things, so does a mother’s love warm.

Script for a literary hour dedicated to Mother's Day

"Woman with a child in her arms"

Goal: to introduce literary works that glorify the image of a woman-mother, to cultivate feelings of love and kindness, compassion and mercy.

Form of delivery: literary hour.

Parable of the Mother

The day before his birth, the child asked God:
- They say that tomorrow I will be sent to Earth. How will I live there, because I am so small and defenseless?
God replied:
- I will give you an angel who will wait for you and take care of you.
The child thought for a moment, then said again:
“Here in Heaven I only sing and laugh, that’s enough for me to be happy.”

God replied:
- Your angel will sing and smile for you, you will feel his love and be happy.
- ABOUT! But how can I understand him, since I don’t know his language? - asked the child, looking intently at God. - What should I do if I want to contact you?
God gently touched the child's head and said:
“Your angel will put your hands together and teach you to pray.”

Then the child asked:
“I heard that there is evil on Earth.” Who will protect me?
“Your angel will protect you, even at the risk of his own life.”
- I will be sad because I won’t be able to see you anymore...
“Your angel will tell you everything about me and show you the way to return to me.” So I will always be by your side.

The image of the mother in Russian poetry

Leading: Mom... This is the first word that a baby's mouth utters. And no wonder. There is nothing holier and more selfless than a mother’s love. From the first day of birth of a child, the mother lives by his breath, his tears and smiles. Love for a child is as natural to her as the blossoming of gardens in spring. Just as the sun sends out its rays, warming all living things, so a mother’s love warms the life of a child.

Leading: Do you often think about your mother? About the mother who gave you the great right to life, who fed you with her milk. Happy is the one who has known mother's affection since childhood and grew up under the caring warmth of a mother and the light of a mother's gaze.

Mother child from her breast

He won't give it up without a fight!

Will cover you in the midst of all worries,

With all my soul

Life is a wonderful light,

What is insulated by it!

(A. Maikov).

Leading: There is a holy page in our poetry, dear and close to anyone who has not hardened the heart, to anyone who has not been lost, who has not forgotten or abandoned its origins - these are poems about mothers.

Leading: Poets of all times have knelt before the holiness of maternal duty, before the mother’s patience, her devotion, her tenderness, caring, and warmth of heart. No one has expressed the role of a mother in a person’s life more powerfully and sincerely than Russian poets.

Leading: The image of the mother in Russian poetry has become the standard of female virtues.

There is a holy and prophetic sign in nature,
Vividly marked in centuries:
The most beautiful of women
Woman holding a child
Conjuring from any misfortune
She really doesn't have any good things to do
No, not the Mother of God, but the earthly one,
Proud, sublime mother
The light of love has been bequeathed to her since ancient times,
And since then she has lived for centuries,
The most beautiful of women
Woman holding a child
Everything in the world is measured by footprints,
No matter how many paths you walk
The apple tree is decorated with fruits,
A woman decides the fate of her children
May the sun applaud her forever!
So she will live for centuries
The most beautiful of women,
Woman holding a child

Leading: The image of the mother in Russian poetry is continuously connected with folklore tradition. Already in folklore works the image of a mother appears. In spiritual verses, this image appears through the image of the Mother of God, especially revered in Rus'.

Leading: The theme of the mother truly and deeply sounded in the poetry of Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov. Closed and reserved by nature, Nekrasov literally could not find enough vivid words and strong expressions to appreciate the role of his mother in his life. Both young men and old Nekrasov always spoke about mothers with love and admiration.

Excerpt from the poem "Mother"

In our mocking and impudent century

Great, holy word: "mother"

Does not awaken feelings in a person.

But I'm used to despising the custom.

I'm not afraid of fashionable ridicule.

Fate gave me this muse:

She sings on a free whim

Or is silent, like a proud slave,

I have been among labor and laziness for many years

He ran away with shameful cowardice

Captivating, long-suffering shadow,

For sacred memory... The hour has come!

Perhaps I'm acting criminally

Is your sleep disturbing, my mother? sorry!

But all my life I have suffered for a woman.

The path to freedom is denied her;

Shameful captivity, all the horror of a woman’s lot,

Left her little strength to fight,

But you will give her a lesson in iron will...

Bless me, dear: the hour has struck!

Sobbing sounds boil in my chest,

It's time, it's time to entrust my thought to them!

Your love, your holy torment,

Your struggle is an ascetic, I sing!..

Leading: The poem “Hearing the horrors of war...”, dedicated to the Crimean War of 1853 - 1856. This small poem, only 17 lines, succinctly and deeply conveys the meaninglessness of a bloody and merciless war, and still remains relevant:

Listening to the horrors of war,
With every new casualty of the battle
I feel sorry for not my friend, not my wife,
I'm sorry not for the hero himself...
Alas! the wife will be comforted,
And the best friend will forget the friend;
But somewhere there is one soul -
She will remember it to the grave!
Among our hypocritical deeds
And all sorts of vulgarity and prose
Some of them I looked into the world
Holy, sincere tears -
Those are the tears of poor mothers!
They will not forget their children,
Those who died in the bloody field,
How not to pick up a weeping willow
Of its drooping branches....

Leading: Nekrasov's traditions are reflected in the poetry of the great Russian poet S. A. Yesenin, who created surprisingly sincere poems about his mother, a peasant woman. The bright image of the poet’s mother runs through Yesenin’s work.

Leading: Endowed with individual traits, it grows into a generalized image of a Russian woman, appearing even in the poet’s youthful poems, as a fairy-tale image of one who not only gave the whole world.

Lettermothers

Are you still alive, my old lady?
I'm alive too. Hello, hello!
Let it flow over your hut
That evening unspeakable light.

They write to me that you, harboring anxiety,
She was very sad about me,
That you often go on the road
In an old-fashioned, shabby shushun.

And to you in the evening blue darkness
We often see the same thing:
It's like someone is in a tavern fight with me
I stabbed a Finnish knife under my heart.

Nothing, dear! Calm down.
This is just a painful nonsense.
I'm not such a bitter drunkard,
So that I can die without seeing you.

I'm still as gentle
And I only dream about
So that rather from rebellious melancholy
Return to our low house.

I'll be back when the branches spread out
Our white garden looks like spring.
Only you have me already at dawn
Don't be like eight years ago.

Don't wake up what was dreamed of
Don't worry about what didn't come true—
Too early loss and fatigue
I have had the opportunity to experience this in my life.

And don’t teach me to pray. No need!
There is no going back to the old ways anymore.
You alone are my help and joy,
You alone are an unspeakable light to me.

So forget about your worries,
Don't be so sad about me.
Don't go on the road so often
In an old-fashioned, shabby shushun.

<1924>

Leading: The 20th century is the century of a great and cruel war, the century of the Great Feat. The Second World War divided the life of the entire Russian people into “before” and “after”. The Mother suffered along with her sons.

Leading: The theme of the mother is present throughout the entire work of A. T. Tvardovsky. For example, in such poems from different years. Very often, the image of the mother in the poet’s works goes beyond the dedication to one specific person - his own mother - and becomes the image of the Motherland.

Mother and son

For my own son
The mother watches silently.
What would she care about
Wish it for your son?

I would like to wish you happiness -
But he's happy.
Wish you good health -
Young and strong.

Ask for longer
Stayed in the house -
Military man
He has no time.

Just ask
I didn’t forget my mother,
But he wrote her letters
I wrote from the pole.

So as not to catch a cold,
Give him some advice?
Yes, and it hurts so much
He is dressed warmly.

Specify the bride -
Where else! He will find it himself.
No matter what you say -
Clear in advance.

For my own son
The mother watches silently.
There seems to be nothing
To wish, to say.

Believes - not in vain
My son has learned to fly.
How should he take care -
He knows better.

It's easier,
Not a match for him.
Mothers, so that
Don't know this!

But with the enemy you will have to
Meet in battle -
He won't give it away for nothing
Your head.

Mothers - so that
Don't know this...
For my own son
The mother watches silently.

Leading: The mother lost her sons at the front, she survived the occupation and was left with small children in her arms without bread and shelter, she worked until exhaustion in the workshops and fields and, helping the Fatherland with all her might to survive, shared the last piece with the front. She endured and overcame everything, and therefore in our minds the concepts of “Motherland” and “Mother” have long merged together:

Mother

Aliyev phase

Mother! Dear, beloved! Listen!

Forgive me, mother, for the bitter torment,

Sorry for your tired black hands,

For taking away your sleep in the morning,

Because I was sick a lot as a child...

I take your hands in deep wrinkles,

I take your warm eyes into my lips.

And the transparent lines roll and flow,

And word after word fell to the pen.

Wounded by eternal suffering

Their all-maternal mind

Challenges

to humanity:

"My son is still alive

everyone alive!”

Don't forget them

those naive

And forever young sons,

How not to raise

weeping willow

Its tear-stained branches.

Not poor old women

Tears feed evil sadness,

rising from ruin,

Living mother -

Holy Rus'!

Leading: The world is once again restless, “hot spots” appear in different parts of the planet, fires flare up, terrorists destroy all living things, children’s cries are heard again and again. And above all this chaos the proud and unshakable image of the Mother rises

Everyone stand up and listen while standing

Preserved in all its glory

This word is ancient, holy!

Straighten up! Get up!..

Stand up everyone!

As the forests rise with the new dawn,

Like blades of grass rushing upward towards the sun,

Stand up, everyone, when you hear this word,

Because in this word there is life.

This word is a call and a spell,

In this word is the soul of existence,

This is the first spark of consciousness,

Baby's first smile.

May this word always remain

And, breaking through any traffic jam,

Even in a heart of stone it will awaken

A reproach to a muted conscience.

This word will never deceive you,

There is a life hidden in it,

It is the source of everything. There is no end to it.

Get up!..

I pronounce it: “Mom!”

Mom... Close your eyes, listen. And you will hear your mother's voice. He lives in you, so familiar, dear. You can't confuse him with any other! Even when you become an adult, you will always remember her gentle voice, gentle hands, gentle eyes.
Mom gave us a gift, taught us to speak and lit the eternal light of song in our hearts. Therefore, everything dear to our soul is connected with this image. This is the parental house, apple and cherry trees in the garden, a sad river, a fragrant meadow - everything that is called the Motherland.

Love for a mother has inspired many writers to write. T.G. saw the highest and purest beauty of the world in a woman, in a mother. a woman-beloved, a woman-mother is often represented by the poet in the form of a star. When a woman is humiliated and mocked, a decent person cannot remain silent. He was not silent either.
The fate of the serf in Shevchenko’s works is always tragic, since this was the case for the women in the poet’s life. This is his own mother, whom “need and work put into a premature grave,” these are his sisters: Ekaterina, Irina and Maria, those “young doves” whose “tears turned white in labor.” So, the woman’s unfortunate fate was not only a national, but also a personal tragedy for the Great Kobzar.

For Shevchenko, mother and child have always been the brightest image, the aesthetic personification of beauty, tenderness and nobility. Anna's maternal love from the work "The Maid" is so powerful that this woman endures the greatest torment for a mother all her life - she lives near her son and does not dare admit to him that she is his own mother.

From Shevchenko, the Ukrainian for centuries sang the majestic song of the mother. Since the mother is the embodiment of the beauty of the world, its sunshine, infinity, life-giving, incomprehensibility. Mother taught and teaches us! For every person, it is the beginning of life’s journey, the beginning of kindness and conscience.

Malyshko dedicated “The Song of the Towel” to maternal love and devotion, maternal sadness and greatness. A mother accompanies her son on a long journey. In her gaze there is anxiety and sadness, hope for a happy future for her son, wishing him well in an unknown land. The mother “didn’t get enough sleep at night,” and “fortunately, she gave the towel to her son for fate.”
The mother is saddened by parting with her son, but believes in his bright destiny, and the poet embodies this faith in the image of an embroidered towel, which symbolizes a person’s life path and maternal blessing.

Baby loved his mother, and in her - his origin, family, gift, homeland. This love was probably the main source of his creativity, it provided him with inspiration and reminded him of what he was working for, it was the essence of his thinking.
No matter who we become in life, no matter what height we rise to, we always remember our mother’s fair science, her heart given to her child.

In the poem “Swans of Motherhood” V. depicts the image of a mother. Eternally absorbed in worries, always concerned about her children, for whom her care seems like a magical vision:

Looks into the window glass with gray eyes,
A mother's kind affection is behind her.
We see how swans dance in the house on the wall, how they babble “with their wings and a pink feather,” we hear a prayer for quiet stars to descend on our son’s eyelashes. The whole world in the eyes of the mother is fantastic. We feel maternal affection and care for our little son. Years will pass, life will set new demands, new troubles will arise for a person. But behind the son “the mother’s eyes and the blond house will always wander.” And wherever you are, your mother’s love will always accompany you.

I am grateful to my mother for all the best that is in my soul. She taught me to value bread and salt, to pick up accidentally dropped crumbs from the floor, to be honest and hard-working.
Man does not live by bread alone.

Ministry of Education and Science of North Ossetia - Alania

State budgetary professional educational institution

"Vladikavkaz College of Electronics"

Prepared by teachers of Russian language and literature

Kulukhova S.P., Tomaeva S.K.

Vladikavkaz 2016

Literary evening script

Topic: “The image of the mother is a great theme of art”

Goals: the formation and development of the artistic culture of the individual on the basis of the highest humanistic values, the attitude of mankind to motherhood through the means of literature and art;involving students in mental and cognitive activity in preparing and conducting the evening.

Tasks:

1. Consider how literature, music, painting and cinematography take different paths to create the image of a mother.

2. To develop the creative potential of the individual in the process of studying the topic of motherhood in world culture.

3. Cultivate a conscious sense of respect for the mother;instill a sense of love, reverence for mothers and women;

4. To form a cognitive interest in cultural heritage and in the study of poetry.

5. Develop the ability to select the right material, clearly formulate and express your thoughts;

6. Develop creativity

Equipment: computer, projector, screen, presentations, slide shows, audio and video accompaniment.

Progress of the literary evening

The song “Mama” is performed by Vakhtang Kikabidze with lyrics by Rasul Gamzatov. Presentation.

Presenter 1:

I believe that a woman is such a miracle,

Which one cannot be found in the Milky Way,

And if “beloved” is a sacred word,

That thrice sacred thing is “a woman is a mother!”

Presenter 2:

We look with respect and gratitude at a man who reverently pronounces the name of his mother until his gray hair and respectfully protects her old age; and we will execute with contempt the one who, in her bitter old age, turned away from her, refused her a good memory, a piece of food or shelter. People measure their attitude towards a person by the attitude of a person to his mother.

Presenter 1: -The theme of motherhood has worried musicians, writers, and artists of all nations from century to century. This topic is close to every person. Created by the great Italian artist Raphael, the Sistine Madonna is one of the most beautiful paintings on earth. Raphael glorifies the beauty, femininity, tenderness, selflessness of the mother. The mother’s beautiful eyes are sad. Mary’s gaze is difficult to catch, as if she is looking not at us, but past or through us, there is a feeling of anxiety. She seems to foresee the tragic fate of her son and at the same time is ready to sacrifice him. Maria is the ideal of motherhood!

(Musical accompaniment, reproduction)

Presenter 2 : - We hear the sounds of the most famous Catholic prayer “Ave Maria”. The words of this prayer are heard in different languages. World-famous composers Giuseppe Verdi, Fernz Liszt and Charles Gounod wrote music to the words of this prayer. And the Russian romantic poet Fet created a miniature, the hero of which, turning to the Mother of God, cleanses himself and lets divine light into the soul

(read by Diana)

Ave Maria - the lamp is quiet,

Four verses are ready in the heart:

Pure maiden, grieving mother,

Your grace has penetrated my soul.

Queen of the sky, not in the brilliance of rays -

In a quiet dream, appear to her!

Ave Maria - the lamp is quiet,

I whispered all four verses.

A. Fet

Presenter 1: - This theme is also heard in the poetry of Ivan Alekseevich Bunin. He idolized his mother, to whom he dedicated surprisingly tender poems. Her O The image became that guiding star that did not let him stray from the path of life.

(read by Marina) Ivan Bunin "Mothers"

Presenter 1: - It is no coincidence that Pushkin did not write a single poem about his mother and so many lovely poetic dedications to his nanny, Arina Rodionovna, whom the poet often affectionately and carefully called “mummy.”(slide)

And only in the literature of the 19th century the image of the mother becomes one of the main ones. The theme of the mother sounded truly deeply in the poetry of Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov. Both young and old, Nekrasov always spoke about his mother with love and admiration. The image of the mother is vividly represented by Nekrasov in many of his works: “Russian Women”, “Village Suffering is in Full Height”, “Orina, the Soldier’s Mother”, etc. And the poem “Hearing the Horrors of War...”, dedicated to the Crimean War, sounds strikingly modern and in our days.(slide)

(read by Murat)

Listening to the horrors of war,

With every new casualty of the battle

I feel sorry for not my friend, not my wife,

I'm sorry not for the hero himself...

Alas! the wife will be comforted,

And the best friend will forget the friend;

But somewhere there is one soul -

She will remember it to the grave!

Among our hypocritical deeds

And all sorts of vulgarity and prose

I've spied the only ones in the world

Holy, sincere tears -

Those are the tears of poor mothers!

They will not forget their children,

Those who died in the bloody field,

How not to pick up a weeping willow

Of its drooping branches...

Presenter 2: - Yes, this poem amazes with the depth of humanism, it reminds the living of the eternal value of life; it seems that only mothers who give life understand its holy purpose. And the madmen who drag new generations into wars do not want to understand anything. They don't hear the voice of reason. How many Russian mothers are close and understand this poem!!!

Presenter 1: - Nekrasov’s traditions are reflected in the poetry of the great Russian poet S. A. Yesenin, who created surprisingly sincere poems about his mother, a peasant woman. The bright image of the poet’s mother runs through Yesenin’s work. Endowed with individual traits, it grows into a generalized image of a Russian woman, appearing even in the poet’s youthful poems, as a fairy-tale image of one who not only gave the whole world, but also made her happy with the gift of song. These are “Letters from Mother”, “Letters to Mother”. And everyone knows the song« Letter to Mother”, based on the words of Sergei Yesenin, Vasily Makarovich Shukshin used in the film story “Kalina Krasnaya”.

With what soulfulness, genuine warmth, and filial love it was performed by the soloist of the prisoners’ choir! The fact that the annual All-Russian song competition among convicts is called “Kalina Krasnaya” does not require comment.

(slide, excerpt from the film “Kalina Krasnaya”)

Presenter 2: - How capacious and beautiful this is...

You are my only joy and joy

You alone are an unspeakable light to me...

Presenter1: - These simple words probably contain the immortality of true poetry. A mother will never forget her children! How could A.A. not forget? Akhmatova 17 months spent in queues. Her son, Lev Gumilyov, was arrested three times. This maternal tragedy united Akhmatova with hundreds of thousands of Russian mothers, from whom the “Black Marusi” took their children. "Requiem" was born(audio recording of Akhmatova’s voice)

Presenter 2: The image of a mother in literature is not always a specific person. Mother is the bearer of an infinite number of biographies and destinies. Such a bearer of a generalized principle is the mother in A. A. Akhmatova’s poem “Requiem”. The poet speaks on behalf of the people and for the people. “Requiem” is an autobiographical work; in it, Akhmatova reflected all the horror that she had to endure both during the revolution and during the Great Patriotic War.

Presenter1: - 40 years later in St. Petersburg, on the Robespierre embankment opposite the Kresty prison, a monument to Anna Akhmatova was erected. The installation location was not chosen by chance. This event is the fulfillment of the poetic will of Anna Akhmatova(slide, photo of the monument , "Requiem", epilogue)

(read by Christina)

"And if ever in this country

They are planning to erect a monument to me,

I give my consent to this triumph,

But only with the condition - do not put it

Not near the sea where I was born:

The last connection with the sea is severed,

Not in the royal garden near the treasured stump,

Where the inconsolable shadow is looking for me,

And here, where I stood for three hundred hours

And where they didn’t open the bolt for me.”

Then, even in the blessed death I am afraid
Forget the rumble of the black marus,
Forget how hateful the door slammed
And the old woman howled like a wounded animal.
And let from the still and bronze ages
Melted snow flows like tears,
And let the prison dove drone in the distance,
And the ships sail quietly along the Neva.

Presenter 1: - The image of the mother has always carried the features of drama. And he began to look even more tragic against the backdrop of the great and terrible in its cruelty of the past war. Who suffered more than a mother at this time? Our mothers not only lost their sons, survived the occupation, worked until exhaustion helping the front, but they themselves died in fascist concentration camps, they were tortured, burned in crematorium ovens.

In Vasily Grossman’s novel “Life and Fate,” violence appears in different forms, and the writer creates vivid, piercing pictures of the threat it poses to life.

Presenter 2: - The main character of the epic novel, Viktor Pavlovich Shtrum, is a nuclear physicist. The tragic fate of his mother, Anna Semyonovna, is terrible considering the millions of Jews exterminated by the Nazis.

Strum receives his mother's last letter several months after her death.

(Staging, letter reading, musical accompaniment)

(read by Sergey)

LETTER TO MOTHER

“Vitya, I am sure that my letter will reach you, although I am behind the front line and behind the barbed wire of the Jewish ghetto. I will never receive your answer, I will not be there. I want you to know about my last days, with this thought to me It's easier to die.

Vitenka, I am finishing my letter and will take it to the ghetto fence and give it to my friend. This letter is not easy to break off, it is my last conversation with you, and, having forwarded the letter, I am finally leaving you, you will never know about my last hours. This is our very last separation. What will I tell you, saying goodbye, before eternal separation? These days, as throughout my life, you have been my joy. At night I remembered you, your children's clothes, your first books, I remembered your first letter, the first day of school, everything, I remembered everything from the first days of your life to the last news from you, the telegram received on June 30. I closed my eyes, and it seemed to me that you shielded me from the impending horror, my friend. And when I remembered what was happening around me, I was glad that you were not near me - let the terrible fate blow you away.

Vitya, I have always been lonely. On sleepless nights I cried with sadness. After all, no one knew this. My consolation was the thought that I would tell you about my life. I’ll tell you why your dad and I separated, why I lived alone for such many years. And I often thought how surprised Vitya would be to learn that his mother made mistakes, was crazy, was jealous, that she was jealous, was like all young people. But my destiny is to end my life alone, without sharing with you. Sometimes it seemed to me that I should not live away from you, I loved you too much, I thought that love gave me the right to be with you in my old age. Sometimes it seemed to me that I shouldn’t live with you, I loved you too much.

Well, enfin... Always be happy with those you love, who surround you, who have become closer to your mother. I'm sorry.

From the street you can hear women crying, police officers cursing, and I look at these pages, and it seems to me that I am protected from a terrible world full of suffering.

How can I finish my letter? Where can I get strength, son? Are there human words that can express my love for you? I kiss you, your eyes, your forehead, your hair.

Remember that on days of happiness and on days of sorrow, mother’s love is always with you, no one can kill it.

Vitenka... Here is the last line of my mother’s last letter to you. Live, live, live forever... Mom."

Presenter 1: - Yes, this letter cannot be read without shuddering. Vasily Grossman's mother died in 1942 at the hands of the Nazis. 19 years later, after his mother’s death, he wrote her a letter. It was preserved in the archives of the writer’s widow.(reading a letter)

(read by Tonya)

SON'S LETTER

Dear Mom, I learned about your death in the winter of 1944. I arrived in Berdichev, entered the house where you lived, and understood. That you are not alive. But back on September 8, 1941, I felt in my heart that you were gone.

At night at the front, I had a dream - I entered the room, clearly knowing that it was your room, and saw an empty chair, clearly knowing that you were sleeping in it: the scarf with which you covered your legs was hanging from the chair. I looked at this empty chair for a long time, and when I woke up, I knew that you were no longer on earth.

But I didn’t know what a terrible death you died. I learned about this by asking people who knew about the mass execution that took place on September 15, 1941. I've tried dozens of times, maybe hundreds, to imagine how you died. As you were going to your death, you tried to imagine the person who killed you. He was the last one to see you. I know that you have been thinking about me a lot all this time.

Now it’s been more than nine years since I’ve written letters to you, I haven’t talked about my life or affairs. And over these nine years, so much has accumulated in my soul. That I decided to write to you, tell you and, of course, complain, since, essentially, no one cares about my sorrows, only you alone cared about them. I will be frank with you... First of all, I want to tell you that over these 9 years I have been able to truly believe that I love you - since my feeling for you has not diminished one iota, I do not forget you, I do not calm down, I am not consoled, time does not heal me.

My dear, 20 years have passed since your death. I love you, I remember you every day of my life, and my grief has been persistent all these 20 years. You are human to me. And your terrible fate is the fate of a person in inhuman times. All my life I have kept the faith that all my good, honest, kind things come from you. Today I re-read several of your letters to me. And today I cried again reading your letters. I cry over the letters - because you are your kindness, purity, your bitter, bitter life, your justice, nobility, your love for me, your care for people, your wonderful mind. I am not afraid of anything, because your love is with me, and because my love is always with me.

Presenter 2 : -At all times, the fate of sons and husbands is to fight and die, wives and mothers are to mourn them. It is not surprising that the film adaptation of this novel became a big event in Russian cinema. Spectators and film critics were shocked by the brightness, depth and drama of the image of the soldier's mother.

(watch an excerpt from the movie “Life and Fate”)

Presenter 2: - Sometimes it seems to me that the soldiers

Those who did not come from the bloody fields,

They once did not die in our land,

And they turned into white cranes

Presenter 1: - The poem “Cranes” by the Dagestan poet Rasul Gamzatov can be called a kind of requiem to all the fallen. The poet stepped into immortality, giving the whole world poetic lines that fill our hearts with high, bright sadness, aching sadness.

Presenter 2: - Gamzatov’s poems dedicated to his mother sound so heartfelt and lyrical that many of them have become popular songs. One of them, performed by Vakhtang Kikabidze, was performed at the beginning of our event.

Presenter 1: - Mother! There are no shadows on this word,
And in silence, probably because
Other words, kneeling,
They want to confess to him.

(verse, slide)

(poems read by Arsen and Aurora)

Mountain boy, I'm obnoxious

Had a reputation for being unheard of in the family circle

And rejected with stubbornness by adults

All instructions are yours.

But the years passed, and, involved in them,

I was not afraid of fate,

But now I’m often timid,

How small, in front of you.

Here we are alone in the house today.

I don’t hide the pain in my heart

And I bow my palms to yours

I turn my head gray.

I'm sad, mom, sad, mom,

I am a prisoner of stupid vanity,

And there’s not enough of me in my life

You felt the attention.

I'm spinning on a noisy carousel,

I'm rushing somewhere, but suddenly again

The heart will shrink. "Really?

Have I started to forget my mother?

And you, with love, not with reproach,

Looking at me anxiously,

You sigh, as if by accident,

Secretly dropped a teardrop.

A star sparkling in the sky,

Flying on its final flight.

Your boy is in the palm of your hand

He lays down his gray head.

***

I don't need drugs and doctors,

And you, whose mothers are still alive,

Don't waste your heartfelt words on me,

It will seem to me that they are fake.

I don't blame you, I don't harbor any ill will

But your participation will not help me:

While my mother was alive,

I was also incapable of compassion.

Why feel sorry for those who are no longer alive?

Why cry in sympathy with me,

Better spare your mothers,

From your own misfortunes, from the troubles of others

Protect them at all costs

I ask you: now and always

You have pity on your dear mothers.

Not the one, believe me, trouble awaits you, -

You will not forgive yourself until the grave.

And suddenly I’m out of breath in the middle of the day,

Suddenly I wake up screaming in the middle of the night.

I feel like my mother is calling me.

I think I hear a cry: “Son!”

You who come to me now,

What good is your tearful glances?

My living ones - I conjure you -

Have pity on mothers before it's too late.

Presenter 2: - Mother…

From thousands of words of earth and ocean

This one has a special destiny.

In Russian - “mama”, in Georgian - “nana”,

And in Avar it is affectionately “baba”.

(Poems are sung in different languages, a postcard is made)

(verse 9)

Presenter 1:- The words “mother, mother” are among the most ancient on earth. Scientists have noticed that these words sound more or less similar in almost 6 thousand modern languages. This is a kind of record among all related words. This is exactly what happens, because the word “mother” is the main word in all languages.

Presenter 2:- And modern poets continue the best traditions of classical Russian literature.

(read by Tonya)

Presenter 1:- Congratulations. Musical gift.

Bottom line

I'm washing dishes in the kitchen today -

I will be a good helper for mom!

Now I'll rinse with hot water

a plate with a beautiful gold border,

with a border and large flowers around the edge,

which mom likes - I know.

But, ah! The plate slipped from my hand -

broke into a hundred small fragments.

Mom will be upset! Well, what should we do now?

I think: I need to wash the dishes,

Then finish school and become a captain,

travel the whole world, plowing the oceans, -

maybe I'm somewhere, in a distant port,

I’ll find the exact same plate,

like the one that is now broken into pieces,

I’ll give it to my mom so she won’t be angry!

Mom's holiday

Month of March. Number eight.
There is no peace for me and dad.
What should I give my mother?
What to give for the holiday?
What should I buy her for the holiday?

We bought her some sweets
And a bouquet of snowdrops.
We came home with a bouquet
We laughed, drank tea,

Sweets with mom
We ate casually.

And then a pile of dishes
The three of us washed it.
Wash all the dishes
And then they polished the floor.

Mom said this evening:
- I'm not tired at all
So little to do today!
I'm just younger.
What an event!
I'm lucky today.
It's a pity that tomorrow is not the eighth,
And the ninth number.

We answered her directly:
- We are not too lazy to help you,
We agree that mom
Looking younger every day

Research work.

“The image of the mother in the lyrics of classical and modern poets”

primary school teacher MBOU

Lyceum No. 13, Rostov-on-Don

…Mom, I carry your name through life like a shrine.

The years will go by. Apples will fall into the grass.

The sun will rise.

Rivers will burst into the desert.

Ships will sail into the whiteness of the Martian seas.

Life will rage.

Every atom. Each vein.

People! My brothers! Take care of your mothers!

A real mother is given to a person once!

Sergey Ostovoy.

Who teaches a child to take his first steps? Who sings the first lullaby in his life? Who's telling the tale? Who teaches you to speak your native language? And what word is most often spoken first by a child? Of course, MOM!

Yes, it is MOM who opens the door to the big world for the baby, she is relentlessly with him, the first to rise to his cry... He hears the mother’s kind words, feels her warmth and protection. How his little hands reach out to MOM! And even when people become adults and move away from their home, their connection with their mother does not break. And in moments of trouble, danger, despair, we still call for help, first of all, MOTHER...

The modern world is cruel, it is ruled by power, money, and patronage. But what about the power of maternal love, all-consuming love, all-forgiving love? Maybe, by turning to the beginning, to the source of life, society will be able to restore peace, tranquility, and prosperity? With Mother's milk, every person absorbs the most precious, tender, sincere feelings. Why, over time, does such a child, and then an adult, develop cruelty, a desire to humiliate, even destroy someone like himself?

These questions have worried poets and writers since biblical times. The image of the Mother is one of the most revered and beloved in Russian literature.

Mother's heart

A mother’s heart is the most merciful judge, the most sympathetic friend, it is the sun of love, the light of which warms us all our lives.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

“The Sun of Russian Poetry” - a world-famous classic - A.S. Pushkin was deprived of maternal love as a child. Nadezhda Osipovna had an uneven character, with sharp changes in mood: she would either be angry, or fall into black melancholy, or suddenly become affectionate and lively again. Alexander most often irritated her and was usually called upon for reprisals after another prank. The mother was irritated by everything: the boy’s stubbornness, his difference from other children, his incomprehensible complexity.

But still, there were two women in the Pushkin house who gave Alexander the maternal love and affection he so lacked. The nanny is Arina Rodionovna, a serf peasant woman who was set free, but who did not want to leave her masters, who nursed their children and then their grandchildren. Grandmother - Maria Alexandrovna Hannibal, who, according to the poet’s sister, Olga Sergeevna, “had a bright mind and was educated in her time, spoke and wrote in beautiful Russian ...” They told him fairy tales, legends, and introduced him to the world of folk fiction.

Oh! Shall I keep silent about my mother?
About the charm of mysterious nights,
When in a cap, in an ancient robe,
Will baptize me with zeal
And he will tell me in a whisper
About the dead, about the exploits of Bova...
I don’t move from horror, it happened,
Barely breathing, I snuggle under the blanket,
Without feeling either my legs or my head.
1816

With great love and tenderness, the poet often spoke about his nanny, Arina Rodionovna. She was constantly there not only when the poet was a child, but also as a famous poet, friend and ally of participants in the Decembrist movement. She accompanied him both in exile and in isolation on their family estate in the village of Mikhailovsky.

Nanny

Friend of my harsh days,
My decrepit dove!
Alone in the wilderness of pine forests
You've been waiting for me for a long, long time.
You are under the window of your little room
You're grieving like you're on a clock,
And the knitting needles hesitate every minute
In your wrinkled hands.
Looking through the forgotten gates
On the black distant path:
Melancholy, premonitions, worries
They squeeze your chest all the time.

Madonna - in Catholicism means the Mother of God, the “mother” of the divine creation, the son of God. The embodiment of the ideal of motherhood was the wife of Alexander Sergeevich, Natalya Nikolaevna Goncharova.

Madonna

Not many paintings by ancient masters
I always wanted to decorate my abode,
So that the visitor might superstitiously marvel at them,
Heeding the important judgment of experts.

In my simple corner, amidst slow labors,
I wanted to be forever a spectator of one picture,
One: so that from the canvas, like from the clouds,
Most Pure One and our divine savior -

She with greatness, he with reason in his eyes -
They looked, meek, in glory and in the rays,
Alone, without angels, under the palm of Zion.

My wishes came true. Creator
Sent you to me, you, my Madonna,
The purest example of pure beauty.

The image of the Mother in the works of A.S. Pushkin went through all the stages of poetic evolutionary development: from hostility towards one’s own mother, through kind, tender feelings towards the nanny and grandmother, to the highest worship of the Holy Mother of God.

Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov.

M.Yu. Lermontov’s mother, Maria Mikhailovna, was a very kind person, she treated serfs and helped the poor. She often took little Misha on her lap, played the piano and sang.

"When I was a boy of three years old , - Lermontov recalled, -that was the song that made me cry... My late mother sang it to me..." Tenderness for his mother and longing for her are reflected in many of the poet’s works.

Angel

An angel flew across the midnight sky

And he sang a quiet song;

And the month, and the stars, and the clouds in a crowd

Listen to that holy song.

He sang about the bliss of sinless spirits

Under the bushes of the Gardens of Eden;

He sang about the great God, and praise

His was unfeigned.

He carried young souls in his arms

For a world of sadness and tears,

And the sound of his song is young in the soul,

He remained - without words, but alive.

And for a long time she languished in the world,

Full of wonderful desires;

And the sounds of heaven could not be replaced

She finds the songs of the earth boring.

1831

Maria Mikhailovna died of consumption in February 1817 at the age of 21 years 11 months 7 days. The theme of loneliness and sadness, which accompanied the poet from early childhood, ran like a red thread through all the work of M.Yu. Lermontov.

Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet.

A.A. Fet's childhood was not entirely happy. But you can’t call him sad either: “... everything with him was like that of many landowners’ sons, living mainly on the land and by the land. There was village life, ordinary rural life, and all around was Central Russian nature.”- this is how his daughter later recalled the poet.

The poet’s mother’s image is associated with German roots (his mother was born Charlotte-Elizabeth Feth); the future poet was brought up in a German school until the age of 14. Then - the Oryol province with its boundless fields, plains and completely different memories of that time, about a close and dear person - about the mother. In the poems associated with that time, we find closely intertwined folklore:

Lullaby to the heart

Heart - you are little!

Take it easy...

Just for a moment of sanity

I'm glad to accept with my soul

All your illness!

Sleep, the Lord is with you,

Bai-bai!..

1843

Serenade

Quietly the evening is burning down,

Mountains of gold;

The sultry air is getting colder, -

Sleep, my child.

The nightingales have been singing for a long time,

Heralding darkness;

The strings rang timidly, -

Sleep, my child.

Angel eyes are watching,

Tremblingly shining;

The breath of the night is so easy, -

Sleep, my child.

1845

In the later period of his work, the poet turns his attention to the image of his mother as the Virgin Mary. This is due to internal disagreement in the poetic field, and misunderstanding on the part of loved ones, whose love A. Fet was deprived of in childhood. And the poems turn into a prayer:

AVE MARIA

AVE MARIA - the lamp is quiet,

Four verses are ready in the heart:

Pure maiden, mourning mother,

Your grace has penetrated my soul.

Queen of the sky, not the brilliance of the rays,

In a quiet dream, appear to her!

AVE MARIA - the lamp is quiet,

Four verses are ready in the heart.

1842

The poet represented the purpose of a woman as motherhood, and glorified the woman herself as the Madonna, carrying her son to people in the name of salvation.

Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov.

N.A. Nekrasov spent his childhood in the village of Greshnevo, which is located on the banks of the great Russian Volga River in a family of wealthy landowners. There was little pleasant in the life around him; the future poet had to experience enough sad moments. The poem “Motherland” is a biographical saga about his native land, where he spent his childhood, memories of tragic moments from his childhood. His mother, Elena Andreevna, was a kind, gentle woman who resigned herself to fate, lived with a man who tyrannized not only serfs and servants, but also all household members.

…Whose face flashes in the distant alley

Flashes between the branches, painfully - sad?

I know why you cry, my mother!

Forever given to the gloomy ignoramus,

You didn’t indulge in unrealistic hope -

The thought of rebelling against fate scared you,

You bore your lot in silence, slave...

But I know: your soul was not dispassionate;

She was proud, stubborn and beautiful,

And everything that you had the strength to endure,

Forgave your dying whisper to the destroyer?..

Bitterness, pain, melancholy can be heard in other poems - memories of family and friends:

…See me, darling!

Appear as a light shadow for a moment!

You've lived your whole life unloved,

You lived your whole life for others,

With a head open to the storms of life,

All my life under an angry thunderstorm

You stood - with your chest

Protected my beloved children...

("Knight for an Hour")

The poet of “revenge and sadness” in his works often touched on the tragic fate of the Russian woman, the woman-mother. This is the poem “Russian Women”, and the poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'”, “Frost, Red Nose” and many others.

The village suffering is in full swing...

Share you! – Russian female dolushka,

Hardly any more difficult to find.

No wonder you wither before your time,

All-bearing Russian tribe

Long-suffering mother!

And again there are lines from a prayer addressed to the Mother of God, for protection and forgiveness, for mercy:

Day after day my sad girl,

At night - a night pilgrim,

My dry food is centuries old...

("Orina, soldier's mother")

Not a single poet before N.A. Nekrasov sang with such force the image of a woman, a woman-mother. How amazing the ideal images the master creates. How beautiful are the images created by Nekrasov, who are in constant labor, the joys and sorrows of motherhood and the struggle for the family.

Poetry of the 20th century. New wave

The twentieth century burst into literature and, in particular, into poetry, with the novelty of forms, versification, size, and lexical phrases. A lot of different movements have emerged with their own ideological views and new themes. But the topic of motherhood not only remained one of the most important, but also began to sound with renewed vigor. A. Blok, I. Severyanin, O. Mandelstam, M. Tsvetaeva, B. Akhmadulina, E. Yevtushenko and many others have addressed this topic more than once.

Sergey Yesenin

But, perhaps, the most capacious, expressive, popular image of a mother belongs to Sergei Yesenin. In the Russian consciousness, the image of the mother has always been assigned a special role: she is the giver of life, and the nurse, and the protector, and the sadwoman for the hardships of children, she is the personification of the native land, she is “the green oak mother,” and “Mother Volga,” and “ Motherland,” and finally, “mother—the damp earth”—the last shelter and refuge of every person.

There is hardly a person who does not know Yesenin’s lines from “Letters to Mother.” And even the most hardened heart in life’s storms shrinks at the memory of his mother while reading his poems or singing songs, albeit someone else’s, but so similar to his in its love, anxiety, and patience.

Are you still alive, my old lady?
I'm alive too. Hello, hello!
Let it flow over your hut
That evening unspeakable light...<…>
Nothing, dear! Calm down.
This is just a painful nonsense.
I'm not such a bitter drunkard,
So that I can die without seeing you.<…>
I'm still as gentle
And I only dream about
So that rather from rebellious melancholy
Return to our low house.<…>
And don’t teach me to pray. No need!
There is no going back to the old ways anymore.
You alone are my help and joy,
You alone are an unspeakable light to me<… >

1924

S. Yesenin’s friend Ivan Evdokimov recalls reading the letter by the poet:“... it squeezed my throat tightly, secretly and hiding, I cried, in the depths of the huge ridiculous chair on which I sat in the darkened partition between the windows.”

The poet formed such a piercingly moving image of his mother only at the end of his life’s journey. Mother in Yesenin’s poems is a symbol of childhood, home, hearth, native land, Motherland. She becomes like all the mothers of the Russian land, patiently waiting for the return of their sons and grieving over their troubles and failures.

The words in the poet's poems are often intertwined with the words of many prayers addressed toMother of God:

“Our Lady of the Virgin, do not despise me, a sinner, requiring Your help and your intercession, for my soul trusts in You, and have mercy on me...”

Yesenin, dedicating poems to his mother, prayed his son’s prayer for the Mother. And his prayer reached his heart, burst into memory forever and became a folk song.

Anna Akhmatova

The stubborn and wayward girl had an evenly cold relationship with her mother, and therefore we do not find any warm words dedicated to her carefree childhood. However, the theme of motherhood in A. Akhmatova can be traced from her early work. And through all the verses - the image of the Martyr Mother, intercessor, Mother of God.

The mother's share is pure torture,

I wasn't worthy of her.

The gate has dissolved into a white paradise,

Magdalena took her son.

Every day is fun, good,

I got lost in the long spring,

Only the hands yearn for the burden,

I only hear him crying in my dreams.

1914

The tragic fate of Akhmatova repeated thousands of women's shares that fell on the shoulders of the mothers of the repressed. The pain of all mothers merged into one dark, all-consuming pain and resulted in the poem “Requiem”

Mountains bend before this grief,
The great river does not flow
But the prison gates are strong,
And behind them are “convict holes”
And mortal melancholy.
For someone the wind is blowing fresh,
For someone the sunset is basking -
We don't know, we're the same everywhere
We only hear the hateful grinding of keys
Yes, the soldiers' steps are heavy.
We rose as if for early mass.
They walked through the wild capital,

There we met, more lifeless dead,

The sun is lower and the Neva is foggy,
And hope still sings in the distance.
The verdict... And immediately tears will flow,
Already separated from everyone,
As if with pain the life was taken out of the heart,
As if rudely knocked over,
But she walks... She staggers... Alone...
Where are the involuntary friends now?
My two maddened years?..<…>

The quiet Don flows quietly,
The yellow moon enters the house.
He walks in with his hat askew -
Sees the yellow moon shadow.

This woman is sick
This woman is alone
Husband in the grave, son in prison,
Pray for me.<…>

And again the name of the Mother of God sounds, the name of the sufferer, the great martyr - the name of the Mother.

Crucifixion
"Don't cry to me, Mati,
they will see in the grave."
1
The choir of angels praised the great hour,
And the skies melted in fire.
He said to his father: “Why did you leave me?”
And to the Mother: “Oh, don’t cry for Me...”

2
Magdalene fought and cried,
The beloved student turned to stone,
And where Mother stood silently,
So no one dared to look.

Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva

The poetry of Marina Tsvetaeva is a stream of stormy memories of a distant, carefree childhood, where her mother, Maria Aleksandrovna Main, loved to play the piano, instilling a love of music and art in her daughters.

… We, like you, welcome sunsets
Reveling in the nearness of the end.
Everything that we are rich in on the best evening,
You put it in our hearts.

Tirelessly leaning towards children's dreams

(I only looked at them for a month without you!),
You led your little ones past
A bitter life of thoughts and deeds.

From an early age we are close to those who are sad,
Laughter is boring and home is alien...
Our ship has not set sail in a good moment
And floats according to the will of all winds!

The azure island is becoming paler - childhood,
We are alone on the deck.
Apparently, sadness left a legacy
You, oh mother, to your girls!

1908

In the cycle “In the first poems about mother” we see and feel all the tenderness and touching of Tsvetaeva towards loved ones, especially her mother.

Subsequently, after many years of wanderings, troubles, rejection, separation, in her lyrics we see an appeal to God, poems and prayers.

For the Youth - for the Dove - for the Son,
For Tsarevich Young Alexy
Pray, church Russia!
Wipe the eyes of the angels,

Remember how you fell on the slabs
Uglitsky pigeon - Dimitri.
You are affectionate, Russia, mother!
Oh, don't you have enough?
On him - loving grace? ...

The suffering of a mother who gives her child to people, eternal patience, love, expectation, hope - the feelings that permeate Marina Tsvetaeva’s poems, glorifying the difficult mother’s lot.

Modernity and poems about mother

Love for a mother is one of the most sacred themes not only in Russian, but also world poetry.

Mom... this is the purest spring from which every person draws strength. This is our hope, our support, our protection, our love.

In poems about the Great Patriotic War, we see the all-forgiving heart of mothers who accompany their sons to war - to defend the Motherland.

The first bullet in any war

They strike the mother's heart.

Whoever wins the last fight,

And a mother’s heart suffers!..

(K. Kuliev)

And again, prayers in the verses of contemporaries sound with renewed vigor.

Oh, why are you, red sun,

You keep leaving without saying goodbye?

Oh, why from the joyless war,

Son, aren't you coming back?

I will help you out of trouble,

I’ll fly like a quick eagle...

Answer me, my little blood!

Small, the only one...

White light is not nice.

I got sick.

Come back, my hope!

My grain

My Zoryushka,

My dear, -

Where are you?

“Requiem” by R. Rozhdestvensky

Modern poetry continues the traditions of the classics, glorifying the image of the mother - a simple peasant woman, mother of the Motherland, mother of a soldier who gave her sons to war, mother -The Mother of God, bringing to the world a part of herself, her soul, her life - her child.

The theme of separations, meetings, farewells is heard more often...

Our native lands await us like piers...

And, scorched by the winds of the paths,

You, returning to your father's house as if for the first time,

You will see your mother's hands...

That all that is good and holy has merged in them,

And the light of the window, and the trembling of the ripe fields,

That they, the sleepless ones, would have more peace,

And you don’t give them any peace!

I. Volobueva.

The mother is metaphorically and figuratively represented in the work written in blank verse by the German poet Zbigniew Herbert “Mother”:

He fell from her lap like a ball of wool.

He developed hastily and ran away blindly.

She held the beginning of life,

O twisting around your finger,

Like a thin ring. I wanted to save it.

And he rolled down the steep slope and climbed up the mountain.

And he came to her, confused, and was silent.

Will never return to sweets

the throne of her lap.

Outstretched arms shine in the darkness

like an old city.

Mom is the closest and dearest person on earth. Next to her, whether we are five, twenty or fifty years old, we are always children, and we have, as S. Yesenin said, “help and joy” in the person of our mothers. Understanding this does not come immediately, but the older we get, the more acutely we feel the tragedy of the inevitable loss and our guilt for not always being grateful, attentive, and tender enough. You can't bring back the past, so you have to protect the present.

List of used literature.

Akhmatova A.A. Poems. Poems. Tsvetaeva M.I. Poems. Poem. Dramaturgy. Essay. – M.: Olimp; LLC “Firm “Publishing House AST”, 1998.

Nekrasov N.N. Poems. Poems. Articles. – M.: Olimp; AST Publishing House, 1996.

Poetry of the Silver Age at school: A book for teachers / author.-comp. E.M. Boldyreva, A.V. Ledenev. – M.: Bustard, 2001.

Silver Age. Poetry. (School of Classics) - M.: AST, Olympus, 1996.

A.A.Fet.. Leningrad, Soviet writer, 1959.

1. Aitmatov Ch. Mother’s Field: a story.

2. Belov V. Danya: a story.

3. Berggolts O. Letter to the Kama: a poem.

4. Bunin I. Mother: poem.

5. Voronkova L. Girl from the city: a story.

6. Voskresenskaya Z. Mother’s Heart: Stories.

7. Georgievskaya S. Galina’s mother: a story.

8. Goncharov I. I will be moved by you. A word about the mother.- L.: Det. lit., 1988.-144 p.

9. Gorky M. Mother: a novel.

10. Dementyev A. Ballad about a mother; In memory of mom.

11. Yevtushenko E. Mothers leave: poem.

12. Emelyanov B. Mom’s hands. Mom's grief: stories.

13. Yesenin S. Letter to his mother.

14. Zakrutkin V. Mother of Man: a story.

15. Zvyagintseva V. To a portrait of a mother: a poem.

16. Isakovsky M. Mothers. In memory of mother. To a Russian woman: poems.

17. Kornilov B. Mom: poem.

18. Lukonin M. Mom: poem.

19. Lvov M. Poems about the mother.

20. Mother: Collection of poems by Russian and Soviet poets about mother.

21. Nekrasov N. Who Lives Well in Rus': Poem.

22. Paustovsky K. Telegram: story.

23. Rasputin V. Deadline: a story.

24. Rubtsov N. In memory of the mother: a poem.

25. Smelyakov Ya. I remembered you again, mom...: poem.

26. Khaustov L. Mothers: poem.

27. Shukshin V. Borya; Mother's heart; Mother's dreams; Suraz: stories, stories.

28. Yashin A. Alone with his mother. Mother's prayer: poems.