Scenario of the literary evening “Poems about love”.

"It all starts with love."

Clip “A person needs to be loved” (not completely - for 2 minutes 40 seconds).

Music is playing (Alexey Rybnikov, music from the film “You Never Dreamed of”).

(sounds quiet)

1 presenter.

Love... It has a huge, almost magical power over people, it makes them experience suffering, and joy, and doubt, and hope, and jealousy. It’s not without reason that they say that a lover is like a madman.

2 presenter.

Shakespeare wrote: “Love is the shine of the sun that follows the rain... Love is always like a bright spring color.”

1 presenter.

And Moliere soulfully remarked: “The day would fade in the soul and darkness would come again if we drove love out of it.”

2 presenter.

Chekhov’s confession is amazing: “When you love, you discover such wealth in yourself, so much tenderness, affection, you can’t even believe that you know how to love like that.”

1 presenter.

The Bible says that love is given to man by God. What kind of gift is this, the mystery of which has been wrestled with by more than one generation of poets, writers, musicians, people who are capable of not only experiencing this feeling, but also expressing it in words and music.

(music turns off)

2 presenter.

1 presenter.

Therefore, today we will only touch upon this topic - the topic of love in poetry.

(The presenters sit in chairs)

A romance based on Pasternak’s poems “Night” (“The candle was burning...”) is performed.

(After the first verse, candles are lit on the tables.)

(The presenters light candles after the second verse during the breakdown).

2 presenter.

What kind of state of mind is this – love? Maybe it’s like Yesenin’s:

The gait is light, the waist is gentle.

If you knew with a persistent heart,

How can a bully love?

How he knows how to be submissive.

I would forget the taverns forever

And I would have given up writing poetry,

Just touch your hand gently

And your hair, the color of autumn.

1 presenter.

Or maybe like Blok:

And every evening at the appointed hour,

(Or am I just dreaming?)

The girl's figure, captured by silks,

A window moves through a foggy window.

Readers.

Poem by Akhmatova (read by Bannawong Nina)

Twenty-one. Night. Monday.
The outlines of the capital in the darkness.
Composed by some slacker,
What love happens on earth.
And out of laziness or boredom
Everyone believed, and so they live:
Looking forward to dates, afraid of separation
And they sing love songs.
But to others the secret is revealed,
And silence will rest on them...
I came across this by accident
And since then everything seems to be sick.

Poem by R. Rozhdestvensky “It all starts with love”(reads)

It all starts with love...
They say:
"In the beginning
was
word..."
And I declare again:
It all begins
with love!..

It all starts with love:
and insight,
and work,
flower eyes,
child's eyes -
everything starts with love.

It all starts with love
With love!
I know that for sure.
All,
even hatred -
dear
and eternal
sister of love.

It all starts with love:
dream and fear,
wine and gunpowder.
Tragedy,
yearning
and feat -
everything starts with love...

Spring whispers to you:
"Live..."
And the whisper will make you sway.
And you will straighten up.
And you will begin.
It all starts with love!

1 presenter. (Goes to the chair where Katya is sitting, stands behind the chair)

Since ancient times, knights have dedicated beautiful words to the lady of their heart. A man dedicates love poems to a woman, a young man to a girl.

Reader (young man). ( Antipov Dmitry)

Among the worlds, in the twinkling of the stars
I repeat the name of One Star...
Not because I loved her,
But because I languish with others.

And if doubt is hard for me,
I am looking to Her alone for an answer,
Not because it’s light from Her,
But because there is no need for light with Her.

2 presenter.

This is what the Silver Age poet Innokenty Annensky wrote. But who said more and better about love than? Each of his poems is a masterpiece of love lyrics.

Reader.(Magomedov A.).

Pushkin "Confession"

I love you, even though I'm mad,
Although this is labor and shame in vain,
And in this unfortunate stupidity
At your feet I confess!
It doesn't suit me and it's beyond my years...
It's time, it's time for me to be smarter!
But I recognize it by all the signs
The disease of love in my soul:
I'm bored without you - I yawn;
I feel sad in your presence - I endure;
And, I have no courage, I want to say,
My angel, how I love you!
When I hear from the living room
Your light step, or the noise of a dress,
Or a virgin, innocent voice,
I suddenly lose all my mind.
You smile - it’s a joy to me;
You turn away, I’m sad;
For a day of torment - a reward
I want your pale hand.
When you are diligent about the hoop
You sit, leaning casually,
Eyes and curls drooping, -
I am moved, silently, tenderly
I admire you like a child!..
Should I tell you my misfortune?
My jealous sadness
When to walk, sometimes in bad weather,
Are you going away?
And your tears alone,
And speeches in the corner together,
And travel to Opochka,
And piano in the evening?..
Alina! have pity on me.
I don't dare demand love.
Perhaps for my sins,
My angel, I'm not worth love!
But pretend! This look
Everything can be expressed so wonderfully!
Ah, it’s not difficult to deceive me!..
I'm happy to be deceived myself!

Presenter (Sonia Likhacheva).

Like the right and left hand,

Your soul is close to my soul.

We are adjacent, blissfully and warmly,

Like left and right wing.

1 presenter (sitting at the table)

A woman's heart is ready to endure all the suffering and bitterness of love, because it loves by sacrificing.

Poems by Veronica Tushnova and Robert Rozhdestvensky.

(“Music without words” is turned on - quietly).

Readers(Lineva K. and Yasnyuk N.)

V. Tushnova

What did I deny you?
Tell?
You asked to kiss -
I kissed.
You asked me to lie, -
as you remember, and in lies
I have never refused you.
Always was the way I wanted:
wanted - laughed,
but I wanted to - I was silent...
But there is a limit to mental flexibility,
and there is an end
everyone has a beginning.
Blaming me alone for all my sins,
having discussed everything
and having thought everything over soberly,
Do you wish that I didn’t exist...
Don't worry -
I've already disappeared.

R. Rozhdestvensky.

I will drown in your eyes - Is it possible?
After all, drowning in your eyes is happiness!
I'll come up and say - Hello!
I love you very much - Is it difficult?
No, it’s not difficult, but it’s difficult.
It is very difficult to love - Do you believe it?
I'll come to a steep cliff
I'll fall - will you have time to catch it?
Well, if I leave, will you write?
It’s just hard for me without you!
I want to be with you - Do you hear?
Not a minute, not a month, but for a long time
For a very long time, all my life - Do you understand?
So we're always together - Do you want it?
I'm afraid of the answer - You know?
Answer me, but only with your eyes.
Answer me with your eyes - Do you love me?
If yes, then I promise you,
That you will be the happiest.
If not, then I beg you
Don't reproach with your gaze, don't,
Don't drag yourself into the pool,
But you remember me a little...
I will love you - Is it possible?
Even if you can’t... I will!
And I will always come to the rescue,
If it gets difficult for you!

The romance “Love is a Magic Land” is performed.

Presenter (reader).

Don't be separated while you're alive

Neither for grief nor for play,

Love will not endure without revenge,

Love will take away its gifts.

Don't be separated while you live

Guard jealously the treasured circle.

In free separation lies a lie,

Love does not like earthly separations.

1 presenter (sitting at the table)

There are few people who are unfamiliar with the lines of the poem

“Don’t part with your loved ones!”, especially after the release of the film “The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath.” In fact, the poem is called differently - “The Ballad of a Smoky Car”, and its author is Alexander Kochetkov.

2 presenter (sitting at the table)

This poem has an interesting history of creation, which the poet’s wife told about in her notes. The couple spent the summer of 1932 in Sochi with relatives, and Alexander Kochetkov had to leave before his wife. But they did not want to leave so much that at the last moment it was decided to return the ticket and postpone departure for three days. Then they learned that the train on which the poet was supposed to travel crashed and many people died.

1 presenter.

It turned out that those three days of delay saved the poet from inevitable death. The very first letter from the husband that his wife received contained the poem “The Ballad of a Smoky Car.”

(Music from the film “The Irony of Fate”).

Poem "The Ballad of a Smoky Car"(Mikhalev A.A. is also read).

How painful, honey, how strange,
Connected in the ground, intertwined with branches, -
How painful, honey, how strange
Split under the saw.
The wound on the heart will not heal,
Will shed pure tears,
The wound on the heart will not heal -
It will spill with fiery resin.

As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Soul and blood are indivisible, -
As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Love and death are always together.
You will carry it with you everywhere -
You will carry with you, my love, -
You will carry it with you everywhere
Native land, sweet home.

But if I have nothing to hide with
From incurable pity,
But if I have nothing to hide with
From the cold and darkness?
- After parting there will be a meeting,
Don't forget me, darling,
After parting there will be a meeting,
We'll both come back - you and me.

But if I disappear into obscurity -
Short daylight beam -
But if I disappear into obscurity
Beyond the star belt, into the milky smoke?
- I will pray for you,
So as not to forget the earthly path,
I will pray for you,
May you return unharmed.

Shaking in a smoky carriage,
He became homeless and humble,
Shaking in a smoky carriage,
He was half crying, half sleeping,

Suddenly he bent with a terrible list,
When the train is on a slippery slope
The wheels were torn off the rails.

Superhuman strength
In one winepress, crippling everyone,
Superhuman strength
She threw earthly things off the ground.
And didn't protect anyone
The promised meeting in the distance,
And didn't protect anyone
A hand calling in the distance.

- Don’t part with your loved ones!
- Don’t part with your loved ones!
Grow into them with all your blood, -
And every time say goodbye forever!
- And every time say goodbye forever!
And every time say goodbye forever,
When you leave for a moment!

The song “Echo of Love” performed by a vocal group.

Reader.(Mitrofanova Dasha).

Love, love is a mysterious word,

Who could fully understand?

In everything you are always old or new,

Are you languor of spirit or grace?

Irreversible loss of self

Or endless enrichment?

A hot day that doesn't have a sunset,

Or the night that devastated hearts?

Or maybe you're just a reminder

About what inevitably awaits us all:

And the eternal world cycle?

2 presenter.

Dear guests! If any of you would like to read a love poem, we would love to listen.

(After the guests speak) We continue our evening.

1 presenter (sitting at the table)

Each poet speaks about love in his own way, each has his own attitude towards this eternal feeling. This is how touchingly and simply the poets Stepan Shchipachev and Yulia Drunina wrote about love.

Readers.
Stepan Shchipachev

Looking through the dates of your love,
I can't imagine one
that you were once a stranger to me
and I didn’t know anything about you.

No matter what deadlines pass
and no matter how much I leave the earth,
I should bless the roads again and again,
that you and I were brought to a meeting.

Yulia Drunina

You are nearby, and everything is fine:
And rain and cold wind.
Thank you, my clear one,
For the fact that you exist in the world.

You are nearby, but you could
Can't meet each other at all...
My only one, thank you
For being in the world!

There is no such thing as unhappy love.
It may be bitter, difficult,
Unresponsive and reckless
Can be deadly.

But love is never unhappy
Even if she kills.
Anyone who doesn't understand this
He's not worth happy love...

2 presenter (sitting at the table)

Vladimir Mayakovsky is a rebel who wants to destroy the world of vulgarity and satiety, but is so vulnerable in love. This was the most important theme in the lyrics of the young Mayakovsky.

Reader

In this topic,

and small,

covered more than once

and not five

I circled like a poetic squirrel

and I want to spin again.

and prayer to Buddha

and the black man will point a knife at the owners.

If Mars

and there is at least one heart-loving man on it,

This topic will come

crippled by the elbows

pushes to paper,

will order:

Scrape! -

bursts into screams,

The song ripples in the sun with bitter lines.

This topic will come

will call from the kitchen,

will turn around

will disappear like a mushroom cap,

wait a second

and will collapse

burying myself under the ripples of notes.

This topic will come

will order:

True! -

This topic will come

Beauty! -

the hands are spread out by the crossbar -

just waltz under your breath and purr from the cross.

This topic will touch the alphabet with a run -

Why, it seemed, the book was clear! -

and it becomes

more inaccessible than Kazbek.

will pull you away from bread and sleep.

This topic will come

will never wear out,

will only say:

From now on, look at me! -

And you look at her

and you go as a standard bearer,

red silk fire over the ground banner.

This is a tricky topic!

Dive under the events

in the recesses of instincts preparing to jump,

and as if angry

Dare to forget it! -

will shake;

Souls from skins will fall down.

This topic came to me in anger,

ordered:

days of the bit! -

I looked, with a grimace, at my daily

and scattered people and affairs like a thunderstorm.

This topic has arrived

wiped off the rest

became completely close.

This topic came to my throat like a knife.

Hammerman!

From heart to temples.

This topic has darkened the day, into darkness

pound - she ordered - with lines of foreheads.

(After this poem, Igor goes to the chair, Katya too)

Presenter (reader) reads a sonnet Shakespeare.

Wake up love! Is the edge yours?
Duller than the sting of hunger and thirst?
No matter how abundant the food and drink,
You can't get enough once.
So is love. Her hungry look
Today I'm tired to the point of exhaustion,
And tomorrow you will be engulfed in fire again,
Born for burning, not decay.
So that love is dear to us,
Let the ocean be the hour of separation,
Let two, going to the shores,
One stretches out their hands to the other.

Let this hour be the winter cold,
May spring warm us warmer!

1 presenter (sitting in a chair)

The paths of love are joyful, sad, and tragic, and yet they bring us happiness, because, as Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin wrote, “the heart burns again and loves because it cannot help but love.”

2 presenter (sitting in a chair)

And there was not a single person who did not end up on this road.

Song "Road Without End"

1 presenter.

Believe in the great power of love!..
Believe sacredly in her conquering cross,
In her light, radiantly saving,
A world mired in dirt and blood,
Believe in the great power of love!

2 presenter.

This concludes our evening of poetry “It all starts with love”. I would like each of us to take with us today a piece of a kind, comprehensive feeling that our hearts need - love.

Svetlana Bazanova
Scenario of the literary and musical lounge “Poetic voices of the native land”

Target:

introduce children to the origins native culture, spiritual values.

Tasks:

Expand the concept "small Motherland", develop a personal attitude towards it as a value;

To form a holistic perception of the world around children;

Develop children's speech, activate dictionary: Vologda region, ancient, poetic, prose writers, poetess, quiet North, good North, northern landscapes, vast, small Motherland, father's house, business card, upper room, hospitable.

Foster respect for creativity fellow countrymen poets, pride in the talents of the Vologda region.

Preparatory work:

Looking at photographs, illustrations, reading books, poems about the Vologda land.

Conversations about native land.

Excursions around home village, visiting places of interest and objects.

Design of a photo exhibition "My relatives, nice places".

Displaying everything seen in different activities (sculpting, applique, designing, drawing, games).

Getting to know the biographies of Vologda residents poets, looking at their portraits.

Visiting the library, looking at Vologda books poets.

Conversations about Vologda poets.

Design of a photo exhibition « Poets of the Vologda land» .

Learning songs, poems, proverbs, folk games, round dances.

Material and equipment:

Table set in Russian style (samovar, treat).

Costumes for children.

Musical instruments.

Photos of Vologda poets.

Photos native village.

Musical accompaniment: sheet music, audio recording.

(To the song « Native places» music and words by Yu. Antonov, children enter the hall and sit on chairs.)

Leading:

Hello, dear guests, dear guys!

Today we have gathered in this room to talk about amazing and talented people - poets of the Vologda land, who turned in their creativity to the theme of the small Motherland and dedicated their works to it.

There is perhaps a more beautiful corner,

There are richer ones, there are wider ones edges.

Only for me from all my Russia

My Vologda region is closer to my heart.

(I. Shvets)

Motherland, Russia, Vologda region, relatives places...How many bright and warm feelings these words conceal!

(The presenter draws the attention of those present to the photo exhibition "My relatives, nice places".)

In a big country, every person has his own native place - city or village, street, house where he was born. This is his "little house"- his "small Motherland". And no matter where a person lives, he always remembers his life with love and tenderness. "small homeland".

This small Motherland with its special appearance, with its most modest and unassuming beauty, with its people, is revealed to a person in childhood and remains with him for the rest of his life.

Sooner or later, all talented people are writers, poets, composers, musicians, artists, have always addressed the theme of the small Motherland in their work.

Telling in his creations, works about love for his native land, these people helped everyone see, appreciate its beauty and uniqueness, and bring out the best in the people around them. quality: a sense of duty and responsibility, nobility and tolerance; taught goodness, honor and justice.

Our Vologda region has long been sung in songs and poems. Do you guys and I know their authors? poets, writers, composers who dedicated their works to the Vologda region, the Vologda region?

On « poetic» On the map of Russia, the Vologda region occupies a special place. This "small Motherland" such wonderful prose writers and poets who made a great contribution to the development of the domestic literature, How: Konstantin Batyushkov, Pavel Zasodimsky, Vladimir Gilyarovsky, Igor Severyanin, Varlam Shalamov, Alexander Yashin, Sergey Vikulov, Victor Korotaev, Victor Astafiev, Vasily Belov, Anatoly Petukhov, Nikolay Rubtsov, Olga Fokina, Ivan Chukhin and many others.

All these people loved their land, knew its history well, the life and way of life of the people living here. Many of them "small Motherland" connected with the Russian village, since almost all of them were born in the village and everything connected with it is close, understandable and dear to them. Our poets in a person his attachment to Homeland: to the land on which a person works, grows bread, to the nature that surrounds man. After all, man himself is a child of nature. And they see poets from the vastness of their native northern region, the bottomlessness of the sky and the depth of the waters.

There is so much warmth, cordiality, and kindness in their works! They all glorify their region, and each does it in his own way. Some with delight, others with surprise and joy.

Let's listen to how our modern Vologda residents poets write with humor for children about amazing winter natural phenomena!

Anatoly Sergeevich Martyukov

Poem “Do they eat snow or not?”

Reads (name, senior group

Do they eat snow or not?

That he's always cold

This is not a problem at all.

But what is inedible,

Sometimes they forget.

Seryo loves snow here zhka:

Just left the gate -

A palm full of snow...

Once it, and straight into the mouth.

This has been going on for a month now:

I didn’t see the boy in the yard...

Because he's in the hospital

It still heals my throat.

Leading:

Elvira Pavlovna Chelnokova

Poem "First Snow"

Reads (name, senior group

The first snow fell on the ground,

Everything around became white.

I fell asleep with yellow leaves,

He hid the squirrel in a hollow.

Scattered my snowflakes

On trees and houses.

These wonderful pictures

Mother gives it - winter.

The first snow will still melt,

There will be a second one soon -

It will creak and sparkle,

And he will spin with the kids.

Leading:

No one will be indifferent to the descriptions of northern landscapes created by the famous poetess Olga Alexandrovna Fokina!

She notices beauty even where not everyone will notice it.

Nature for Olga Alexandrovna - home, and the trees are alive, like in a good fairy tale.

Each of her poems is filled with warmth, kindness, and sincere love for the world around us.

Olga Alexandrovna Fokina

Poem "Hello, winter!"

Still smoking and spinning

free river,

But the puddles won't melt

Already for sure.

Still in a cheerful panic

Snowflakes don't fly

But the roofs are like gingerbread

They shine under the frost.

Still deserted and boring

Indoor skating rinks,

But we are twisted by impatience

"Snow Maiden" proboscis!

And skiers dream of crosses

And I dream of coolness.

Long live the frosts!

Long live winter!

Leading:

Let this fairy tale quickly enter every home along with the song "Winter in Russia" music and lyrics by N. Kulikova performed by the ensemble "Sunflowers"- preparatory group.

Musical break.

(Song "Winter in Russia" music and lyrics by N. Kulikova, performed by the ensemble "Sunflowers"- preparatory group.)

Leading:

And in the poems of the famous children's Vologda poetesses Tatiana Leonidovna Petukhova also contains elements of fairy tales. Yes, together with my beloved poetess we can talk with the spider, admire its house made of silver threads, learn to see the beauty of nature.

Tatyana Leonidovna tells her readers about the world around them in a simple and accessible way. With great love and warmth, she writes about a sunny bunny, a poplar branch, and gives us lessons about a kind and sensitive attitude towards all living things.

Tatyana Leonidovna Petukhova

Poem “Hello, mother pine!”

Reads (name, preparatory group

The snowstorm has passed, there is silence again,

It just creaks sadly pine:

The little pine cones have disappeared.

The playful girls dived into the snowdrift as if from a tower!

Don't worry, mother pine,

The seeds settled into the soft snow.

Like in a warm house, pine cones

They will sleep by the pine tree.

Under the warm spring sun

Seeds will sprout here and there,

And your pines will grow.

They will reach towards themselves

Green branches. To mom.

Leading:

The words in Tatyana Leonidovna’s poems are pleasing, playful, and joking. The picture of the surrounding world is conveyed in them so brightly, vividly, colorfully that we seem to see with our own eyes the beauty of nature, hear bird voices, we feel the breeze.

Tatyana Leonidovna Petukhova

Poem "Dandelion parachute"

Reads (name, preparatory group

Higher than the pines. Above the fir trees

Dandelions took off -

Balloons,

Obedient to all winds.

Choosing different routes

Parachutes fly away

Above the green forests

Over the cheerful meadows,

The seeds fly away...

...And when spring comes,

Will turn yellow here and there

Dandelion parachute.

Leading:

Feeling proud of native places, the desire to talk about their beauty and greatness at any time of the year is another side of Tatyana Leonidovna’s lyrics.

Tatyana Leonidovna Petukhova

Poem "Meeting"

Reads (name, preparatory group

She waved her puffy sleeve

Sorceress winter,

And sparkled with silver

Snowflake fringe.

And the first snow is white, clean,

Whirling like a butterfly, he fluttered.

White and fluffy blanket

He quietly covered the ground.

Covered with soft snow

Bushes, trees and houses,

Like snow-white scarves,

They were all wrapped up in winter.

An ancient city dressed in white,

Tired, straightening your shoulders,

He became handsome, he is young again,

He is happy to meet you!

Leading:

But not only joy, but sometimes also sadness, pain for relatives places are filled with poems from Vologda poetesses. Tatyana Leonidovna again and again reminds us of everyone’s personal responsibility for what is happening to the Motherland and nature today, and calls for action.

Tatyana Leonidovna Petukhova

Poem "Our Land"

Reads (name, preparatory group

In spring the whole earth will bloom,

Trees, flowers and fields.

There will be birds chirping in the gardens,

A wonderful world to glorify!

What could we do with you?

So that the planets become brighter -

It depends on us, on the people!

How good it is if each of us.

Will plant a bush at least once.

Helps flowers grow

And our land will bloom!

Leading:

Let's all remember the beauty together native land with a song« My dear side» music and lyrics by T. Krivova performed (Name)- preparatory group.

Musical break.

(Song « My dear side» music and lyrics by T. Krivova, performed (Name)- preparatory group.)

Leading:

In the works of Alexander Yakovlevich Yashin there is also an amazing feeling of kinship with the life of nature - with animals and birds, trees and herbs, flowers. With great love and trepidation, Alexander Yakovlevich conveys in them his attitude towards the blade of grass and blade of grass, towards the curly mountain ash and modest birch, towards the northern beauty - the pine.

Heart poet so widely that he wants to hug everything that is dear, to warm and, maybe even revive with his love, to help with something.

Alexander Yakovlevich Yashin

Poem “Feed the birds in winter!”

Reads (name, senior group

Feed the birds in winter!

Let it come from all over

They will flock to you like home,

Flocks on the porch.

Their food is not rich.

I need a handful of grain

One handful - and not scary

It will be winter for them.

It’s impossible to count how many of them die,

It's hard to see.

But in our heart there is

And it's warm for the birds.

Is it possible to forget:

They could fly away

And they stayed for the winter

Together with people.

Train your birds in the cold

To your window

So that you don’t have to go without songs

Let's welcome spring!

Leading:

And in poems for children about nature by Lydia Slutskaya there is a lot of tenderness, warmth and light! Her poetic the images are simple and recognizable to everyone. They are distinguished by brightness and expressiveness. Many of them are instructive and humorous.

Lydia Slutskaya

Poem “Who will warm the sun?”

Reads (name, senior group

Everyone is cold in winter,

They run to the house quickly.

The sun remains.

Who will warm him?

It used to warm me up

We were glad to see the sun.

And now they admire

Snowfall dance.

I'll draw the sun

In my album,

And as if it will become

Lighten up the house.

I'll write a note -

I already know how:

Don't be sad, sunshine!

I'll keep you warm.

Leading:

Love for native Vologda region, the edge of vast forests and swamps, their inhabitants are imbued with the creativity of another of our fellow countrymen, the wonderful poet Nikolai Mikhailovich Rubtsov.

Lyrics written specifically for children occupy a modest place in it. A significant part of them is dedicated to animals and birds. These poems teach children from an early age to take care of nature, love and understand representatives of the fauna, and help them to the best of their ability. As I said poet: “Love for nature, caring for it makes a person kinder, helps him recognize other people’s pain as his own, and without this, words about love and kindness are an empty phrase.”

Nikolai Mikhailovich Rubtsov

Poem "Sparrow"

Reads (name, senior group

A little alive. Doesn't even tweet.

The sparrow freezes completely.

As soon as he notices a cart with luggage,

From under the roof he rushes towards her!

And he trembles over the poor grain,

And flies to his attic.

And look, it doesn’t become harmful

Because it's so difficult for him.

Leading:

The poetry of Nikolai Mikhailovich awakens in us the kindest and purest feelings. His poems are unusually musical, they seem to be created for songs. Thus, in the most famous poem "In the Upper Room", which became his calling card, poet he was not afraid to open his soul to his readers and shared his bright childhood memories. In this sincerity lies the secret of the incredible success of his works.

Nikolai Mikhailovich Rubtsov

Poem "In the Upper Room"

Reads (name, preparatory group

It’s light in my upper room.

This is from the night star.

Mother will take the bucket,

Silently bring water...

My red flowers

Everything in the kindergarten withered.

Boat on the river bank

It will soon rot completely.

Slumbering on my wall

Willow lace shadow.

Tomorrow I have under her

It's going to be a busy day!

I will water the flowers

Think about your destiny

I'll be there before the night star

Make your own boat...

Leading:

What bright and kind lines! They make many of us feel warmer at heart.

That's how our poems are Vologda poets, like rays born in the heart, carry their warmth throughout vast Russia and glorify our small Motherland - the Vologda region.

Homeland... Birthplaces...

Today we remembered and heard how our poets spoke with great love about the Vologda region and managed to convey this deep feeling in their poems. And the Vologda writer and publicist Vasily Belov was right, speaking: “Whatever to whom, but for me Russia is these birthplaces!”

Concluding our meeting, I would like to note that our Vologda region is not only generous with talents, but also hospitable, hospitable, songful. Here That's why, goodbye ensemble "Stars" senior group decided to give everyone his song “We invite you to tea!” music and lyrics by V. Shestakova.

Musical break.

(Song “We invite you to tea!” music and lyrics by V. Shestakova performed by the ensemble "Stars"- senior group.)

(Treats for children, photographs for memory.)

(Song plays "My Vologda", the children and their teachers leave the hall.)

Equipment: slide film, sound equipment, screen, coffee table, poet exhibition. Collections, flowers, candles, a “Meeting with the Muse” poster - a screen with an image of a lyre and a goose feather. Music by M. Tariverdiev sounds
On the columns are quotes from classics about poetry.
Participants: the “Young Correspondents” association, young poets of city educational institutions, teachers and out-of-school students of SDDT children’s associations
Guests of honor: Stavropol poet Muza Sergeevna Belinskaya, youth experimental theater “Muses on Stage” (director – Natalya Vladimirovna Mostakova)
Scenario plan
1. Welcome speech about poetry and celebration.
2. Brief memories of classical poets, accompanied by a slide film:
- Sappho, Omar Khayyam, Shakespeare, Byron, Goethe)
- the golden age of Russian poetry (Pushkin, Lermontov, Nekrasov, Tyutchev, Fet)
- Silver Age of Russian poetry (Blok, Tsvetaeva, Yesenin, Mayakovsky, Akhmatova)
- poets of the sixties (Yevtushenko, Voznesensky, Akhmadulina, Rozhdestvensky, Rubtsov)
- Stavropol poets (Fateev, Yakittsev, Bernard, Vanetik, Slyadneva, Naryzhnaya, Polumiskov, Kornienko, Goncharova, Belinskaya)

3. Performance by Muse Belinskaya
4. Performance by the youth experimental theater “Muses on Stage” (director – Natalya Vladimirovna Mostakova
5. Performance by young poets of Stavropol (Mila Sotnikova, Narina Baluyants, Masha Vinichenko, Lera Galushkina)
6. Final word. Presentation of certificates for participation and general photography.

Progress of the scenario.
TARIVERDIEV'S MUSIC SOUNDS (while the audience gathers)
The music is muted
A welcoming speech about poetry and celebration.
Good evening, dear friends! We are pleased to welcome you to the Stavropol Palace of Children's Creativity, the Development Center. And we have gathered today for the sake of a significant date. March 21 is World Poetry Day, established by UNESCO in 1999. The role of modern poetry in society and in the state is great. It is enough to look at any literary site on the Internet to see how hundreds of thousands of writing poets, uniting in communities, are trying to change this world for the better with their creativity. They celebrate Poetry Day at forums, as well as in elite cafes and small literary lounges.
If there were no poetry, there would be no songs. And song is the soul of any people. Is poetry capable of changing our world for the better today? – The answer is yes, if she follows the classics of the poetic word. Let's take a brief excursion into the past and remember the names of the greatest poets of the world and our Russia. And I give the floor to our presenters: Lera Galushkina, Katya Romanenko, Masha Meshcheryakova.

Presenter 1 - Katya R. We will begin our meeting with the Muse, perhaps, with the poets of antiquity. The poetess Sappho was popular in her time. She was born on the island of Lesbos in the 1st century BC, wrote odes, hymns, festive and stagnant songs, and love lyrics. With a lyre in her hands, she recited her hot stanzas. Sappho created a poetic circle of noble girls and had a huge influence on the poets Horace and Catullus. Socrates called her a teacher in matters of love.
Sappho's poem is read by the teacher of the Development Center Evgenia Vladimirovna Shpak
E.V. Shpak: It seems to me that God is equal in happiness
The man who is so close
Sitting in front of you, your sounding gentle
Listens to the voice
And a lovely laugh. At the same time I have
My heart would immediately stop beating:
As soon as I see you, I can’t
Say the words... etc.

Presenter 2- Lera G. The bright poet of the East Omar Khayyam was born in 1048. Mathematician and poet, philosopher and thinker, doctor and engineer. His work is an amazing phenomenon not only in the cultural history of the peoples of Central Asia and Iran, but, perhaps, of all humanity. Wonderful quatrains - rubai - captivate readers with their brevity, simplicity and expressiveness.
Khayyam highly values ​​a person in his lines:
The goal of the creator and the pinnacle of creation is us!
Wisdom, reason, the source of insight - we are!
This circle of the universe is like a ring. -
There is a cut diamond in it, without a doubt, we are!
Presenter 1-Katya.. How not to remember the name of the great English poet, playwright, writer of the Middle Ages William Shakespeare. In addition to plays and tragedies, Shakespeare wrote elegant, sensual and wise poems. Shakespeare's 154 sonnets of different themes express all sorts of human feelings.

The heart and the eye have a secret agreement:
They ease each other's pain,
When the eye searches for you in vain,
That heart suffocates in separation.
If you fall out of love - so now!
Now that the whole world is at odds with me!
Be the most bitter of my losses,
But not the last drop of grief!

Presenter 3. Masha M.. English romantic poet, aristocrat - Gordon Byron! He began writing poetry very early. An amorous personality, unbridled in desires, hot-tempered and rebellious, with heightened pride and a high sense of honor. Byron traveled the world a lot, wrote many poems, critical articles and the poem "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."
There is no need for the sweet deceptions of the novel,
Away with fiction! Don't worry your soul in vain!
Oh, give me a ray of intoxicated glance
And love's first bashful kiss!
A poet praising the grove and the field!
Hurry, heal your inspiration!
Your poems will flow freely,
Just taste love's first kiss!

Presenter1 – Katya R.. Johann Goethe is a German poet-thinker and natural scientist.
Goethe's most grandiose creation is his tragedy "Faust", on which he worked all his life. A crater on Mercury and the mineral goethite are named in honor of Goethe. A bust of the writer was erected in St. Petersburg. He wrote: “When a poet expresses not only personal feelings, but internalizes the world and learns to depict it, then he will be a poet - inexhaustible and always new.”
Presenter 2- Lera G. GOLDEN age of Russian poetry! This is, first of all, Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin. The greatest Russian classical poet, writer, creator of the literary language and new literature. He was close in spirit to the Decembrists, exiled to the south of Russia, then dismissed from service and exiled to the village of Mikhailovskoye under police supervision.
On a modest, noble lyre
I did not praise the earthly gods
And strength, in free pride,
I didn’t use the censer of flattery.
Only by learning to glorify freedom,
Sacrificing poetry only to her,
I was not born to amuse kings
My shy muse...
Love and secret freedom
Instilled in the heart a simple hymn
And my incorruptible voice
Was an echo of the Russian people.

Presenter1 - Katya R.. The poet of the generation matches Pushkin - M.Yu. Lermontov - a most brilliant creator, artist, who glorified the Caucasus, and who passed away so early.
“What is the life of a poet without suffering?
And what is the ocean without a storm? - he exclaimed.
“He wants to live at the cost of torment,
At the cost of tedious worries.
He buys the sounds of the sky,
He doesn’t take glory for free.”

Lera Galushkina reads Lermontov's poem “The Sea Princess”

Presenter 3.- Masha M. Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov is a great Russian poet, writer and publicist. A recognized classic of world literature, his civic lyrics are highly patriotic. Contemporaries spoke of him as “a gentle, kind, unenvious and simple man, with a Russian nature.
My son can't look calmly
On my dear mother's grief,
There will be no worthy citizen
I have a cold heart for the Fatherland.
“So you may not be a poet, but you must be a citizen!” - Nekrasov exclaimed.
Presenter 1 - Katya R.. Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is one of the most interesting poets of the 19th century. His poems are original and aphoristic.
We can't predict
How our word will respond, -
And we are given sympathy,
How grace is given to us:
He called for faith in the future of Russia:
“You can’t understand Russia with your mind,
The general arshin cannot be measured.
She will become special, -
You can believe in Russia, you have to believe in it!”

Presenter 2 - Lera G. Let us remember the poets of the Silver Age of Russian poetry - the beginning of the twentieth century.
“If only you knew from what kind of rubbish
Poems grow without shame...
Like a dandelion near a fence,
Like burdocks and quinoa,” admitted Anna Akhmatova
“The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong,” wrote Marina Tsvetaeva.
Lera reads early poems by M. Tsvetaeva
Presenter 1 - Katya R. Poetry is the music of words. Sergei Yesenin, Alexander Blok, Vladimir Mayakovsky and many, many other poets of the Silver Age mastered it perfectly.
Poetry, as the inner fire of talent, clearly manifested itself in the 60s of Soviet Russia, during the time of space exploration. The generation of the “sixties” packed stadiums, like overseas rock idols. The jam-packed Polytechnic Museum, the crowds at the monuments to Pushkin and Mayakovsky - that was and is all. The sixties poets are bright representatives of the era of Inspiration - Yevtushenko, Voznesensky, Akhmadulina, Rozhdestvensky, Rubtsov and others.
Presenter 3 - Masha M.. In our poetic region, the names of Stavropol poets, whose youth and youth emerged from the era of the 60s, are widely known: Fateev, Yakittsev, Bernard, Vanetik, Romanov, Sutulov-Katerinich, Kuprin... We don’t have once poets from the Russian Writers' Union were visiting. These are Tatyana Kornienko, Ekaterina Polumiskova, Elena Ivanova, Muza Belinskaya, Tatyana Gontar, Valentina Naryzhnaya, Tatyana Kornienko and others.
Children read short poems by Stavropol poets.
E.V. Nikiforova:
We are pleased to introduce you to the guest of honor of our evening, the Stavropol poet, whose name symbolically reflects not only our meeting - “Meeting with the Muse”, but is also an inspired word given to her quite justifiably at birth. Muse Belinskaya is a poet, musician, composer, a prominent representative of the Stavropol Yesenin Club (the only one in Russia!) and the entire creative elite of Stavropol. Born into the family of a drama theater director, she has been faithful to the art of words and music all her life. Muza Sergeevna wrote many songs and hymns, surprisingly bright lyrical and philosophical poems, poems for children, dedications to great people and events.
A word from the Stavropol poet - Muza Sergeevna Belinskaya.
During the reading of her poems, instrumental music sounds muffled
MUSIC FILE with SONG “Stavropol Waltz”

Presenter 1 - Katya R. Inspiration lives on the stage and theater stage. The muse does not leave the youth theater studio, which calls itself an experimental youth studio and is called “Muses on Stage.” The theater is directed by the teacher of school No. 6 of Stavropol - Natalya Vladimirovna Mostakova
Over to you. N.V. Mostakova performs, then theater actors - Oleg Kostrovsky, Alexander Novikov and Svetlana Mostakova performed fragments of Shakespeare's tragedies "Macbeth" and "Othello".

Presenter 3 – Masha M. Thank you! Your extraordinarily sensitive and insightful performance naturally deserved this thunderous applause. Well, now - a word to the young poets of Stavropol - correspondents of the city children's newspaper “I am a Stavropolets!”: Narine Baluyants, Lera Galushkina, Sofya Shevtsova, Gorokhov Ivanvinder, Ksenia Chmyreva.
During the reading of their poems, instrumental music sounds muffled

Presenter - Katya R. Closing words to the head of the “Young Correspondents” association - E.V. Nikiforova.

Dear guys, today we remembered those classic poets whose wise, heartfelt words remained throughout the centuries, and focused our attention on the poets of Russia. Russian poetry has always been “ahead of the rest.” If our country was inferior to the West in some way, it was not in poetry.

A poet in Rus' is a God-bearer!
His life path is thorny.
A poet in Rus' is a godmaker! -
Give him life to breathe
In simple hackneyed truths -
In worn out words,
And in a ballgown truly
Dress the truth, comb your hair.
Given to resurrect with hopes
Divine light in souls,
Sublimely pure, tender
So that they respond...
Poets are the first to leave
To the foggy skies
God probably needs them there
Angels' voices!
When in the sixties, out of spiritual hunger, poetry entered stadiums and concert venues, it was an era of inspiration. The following lines are dedicated to her:
“The sixties – the era of Inspiration -
Free souls space flight!
Winged, with Gagarin’s “Let’s go!”
During the “thaw” we took the lead!

The people of the sixties are optimistic poets,
Dreamy student people!
Romantics and entirely idealists,
Hipsters and masters of all fashions!

And again on the poetic stage
The Polytechnic Museum is seething,
And Yevtushenko, for the sake of the anniversary, -
Gathered the people... Envy, Colosseum!

Let the “nineties” be jealous,
Heads buried in the sand
Like an ostrich, when sometimes vultures
Every brave voice was extinguished.

Let it turn upside down,
Having become ninety, that number is 60,
The Age of Inspiration is back:
Two thousand came to the parade!

Parades of lines - the Universe is behind them! -
That army is a match for the sixties -
They fly around the world - miles in megabytes -
On the Internet - to conquer souls!”

Today some of you have discovered new names for yourself. This is the 21st computer century - the era of the Internet, and, unfortunately, it is slowly replacing the book.
But domestic poetry is on the rise again. How many “good and different poets” are published on the Internet on literary sites, read poetry to each other and know each other by sight, although they live in different parts of the globe! A million-strong army of young gifted authors has appeared throughout the country and the world, whose pages on the Internet are visited day and night by unknown readers.
Why a word that does not penetrate the soul and make it more beautiful, kinder, wiser, more independent? After all, you can change the world for the better only if people's thinking changes. That’s why creative people, poets, writers exist, to cure spiritual illnesses, and not to put people into depression, trance, disappointment and despondency.
Awareness of the beauty of this world, the struggle for good and ideals, and ultimately victory over the vices of society - these are the main tasks of modern literature and poetry, in particular.
And today we took part in the living word of Her Majesty Poetry, heard classics and modern poets, met our contemporary - Muse Belinskaya, young and very young poets.
We hope for our further cooperation and commonwealth.
SLIDE 14
I will hand over the letters of thanks for participation to the head of the SDDT Development Center, Ekaterina Yuryevna Podoprigora, and we will end our meeting with a group photograph.

Literary evening script

“So we are kindred spirits”

dedicated to the presentation of the poetry collection “Springs”

Target:

Literature :

Dryzhakova E. In the magical world of poetry. Book for students Art. class - M.: Education, 1978. - 203 p.

Uglich poets (brochures).

Equipment:

portraits of poets

candle

certificate, tokens, prizes

invitations

biographies of poets in the collection “Springs”.

Event plan:

Org. moment

Will join. leader's word

A word about guests

A word about the poets of the collection

Conversation with the guests of the evening (tea party) + Quiz “The best expert in poetry”

Summing up the event.

Scenario:

Presenter:

***(Poetry has no time to be a candle...)
...Poetry is not a torch, but a candle...
(I forgot whose words, but it seems to be Gorodetsky)

This is not the time for poetry to be a candle,
Barely flickering, no time at all.
Well, perhaps when it’s for the repose...
Mourning the young tribe...

Which one would learn and grow,
Tasting this wonderful world to taste,
And not throwing earthen soil from a handful
Parental, in tears, on the coffin lid.

Poetry is not the light of a candle,
There must be now, obedient to the winds of evil,
And a guiding beacon in the night,
Burning steel furnace.
Draude.A

Presenter: Good evening, friends! Each of you sitting in this hall, each person in our vast world, has his own understanding of poetry, individual, accepted only by him alone, and even if for one poetry is comparable to a candle, and for another - to a guiding beacon - it doesn’t matter. It is no coincidence that the candle is burning in our hall, because our evening is dedicated to the presentation of the poetry collection “Springs”, the authors of which are students at the university. Their voice is still weak, like this flickering flame. But sometimes this is enough to illuminate the souls of loved ones, friends, acquaintances, and just strangers who happen to be close to you at a certain period of time. Poetry is the desire to share your light with others. This fact was very accurately noted by the Yaroslavl poet K. Vasiliev:

… “Poetry that rages only in the poet’s soul is not yet poetry - since no one knows about it. She is "on her own." The same as - nothing. She is out of action. Out of life. A poet who keeps his poems to himself deprives his life of meaning. The need to make one's poems public is an indispensable need of a poet. For only this gives meaning to his activities and, more broadly, to his life.”

These words will become the epigraph of our evening.

Poetry is an old, beloved passion of humanity. There is no people on earth that does not have poets. Poets are more or less endowed with talent, sometimes among them are geniuses like Pushkin. But world poetry carefully preserves the names of those who found and told people the right words in time - sometimes cheerful and kind, and sometimes bitter and ironic, and said so that they wanted to believe him, for poets are always living witnesses of time. The choice of the poet-interlocutor will always remain with the reader, in whose absence the poet himself disappears.

There are no indifferent people in our hall; everyone came here at the behest of their soul and heart. Some of you write poetry yourself, others are their grateful listeners. I would like to introduce the guests of our holiday:

Ochkina L.M., Zyablova N.A., Chistyakova L.P., Budnikov A., etc.

Let me introduce another full-fledged participant in our evening - the poetry collection “Springs”. Its authors are graduates and current students of our school. The choice of name is also not accidental. Springs are sources of clean water, gushing out from their native land; the poems of young poets amaze with sincerity, kindness, love for our land, its nature, the world. The main feature of the poems is not the refinement of their skill, but the purity and openness of their souls. And a frank conversation with enthusiastic youth will not leave anyone indifferent.

Rastorgueva Elena.

Elena, who matured early, always amazed me with the depth and richness of her inner world and her heightened sense of the present. Her poetry is not an ordinary girl’s lyrical diary, but mature, meaningful, heartfelt things. Their main theme is love-passion that knows no measure or boundaries; a feeling almost always painted in tragic tones. Like Tyutchev - “love is like a fatal duel...”.

Belkina Irina.

Cheerful, kind, sympathetic... Irina lives in an atmosphere of constant celebration and unselfishly shares her joy with others. This lightness, to some extent, carelessness is also inherent in her lyrics. Her poems are simple and frank. Irina always talks about herself. But! When, for example, she admires the beauty of our capital, this admiration is transmitted to us, the readers. And speaking openly about what you love is a truly brave act, not only for a poet, but for any person

Toporischeva Lyubov.

Love! Her name is the answer to all questions. Sincerity in feelings, often difficult, is constant. The image of a flying bird is not accidental either... Love rushing out; because in captivity this feeling dies. Simplicity of words! But only flattery and untruth are always verbose, and that is why their speeches are dead.

Myagkova Yulia.

Julia is an amazing girl with the “radiant” eyes of a Tolstoy princess, in which Russian herbs bloom. In them, kindness coexists with tenderness, mercy with courage. So her poems are a reflection of her eyes. With equal zeal and attention, she writes about Russian nature, love, life. Lively participation and frankness in everything are her life and creative credo.

Tushnova Anna.

Only at first glance, Anna is modest and fragile, because she is a strong-willed girl with character. A fighter by nature, she transforms herself into poetry. Each of her poems is an emotional dialogue with the reader. More often this is a desire to be sad in the fall, watching dying nature, or to ride in a fast three-wheeler in winter. But always, even in the most majestic poems, a slight sadness is felt.

Galaktionov Artyom.

Roman is a calm and self-possessed, responsible, but slightly shy young man. He is someone you can always rely on. Likewise, his poems are open and simple.

Gagieva Maria.

Maria, a proud and independent girl who does not obey any law or rule. She is passionate in everything: both in life and in poetry, and therefore she hates half-tones and half-feelings, getting to the very essence in everything. And, despite such a young age, her lyrics are characterized by a special “maturity”, seriousness of thought and feeling.

The collection consists of three sections: “About Nature”, “About Love”, “About Life”. In the life of every person, these are the most important and dear topics.

Lyubov Ivanovna Sirotkina, the director of our school, a wise woman and an interesting conversationalist, played a special role in the creation of the collection. Therefore, the collection begins with an epigraph poem by I. Belkina, dedicated to Lyubov Ivanovna. Currently, Irina lives in another city.

Reader:***

I've been at this school for three years now,

And I like her so much.

Our director is very strict,

But she helps everyone.

Sometimes he screams a little,

There is no life without difficulties.

It happens, and he will praise too,

Let there be more happiness than troubles.

Thank you for your understanding,

Patience, honesty, kindness!

And never forget

Irina Belkina my!

2004

Presenter: Each poet is a whole era, a whole world. Some people are attracted to pictures of nature; someone conveys a storm of passions and feelings in their lines;

someone is frank with the reader, someone is philosophizing; someone talks about friendship, love; and someone about all this together. Of course, the lyrical descriptions of the native Uglich nature will not leave anyone indifferent. And the story about Anna Tushnova’s late autumn is also extremely accurate. She compares the cold rain to a crying sky. But, by the way, a word from the poet...

A. Tushnova:

***

All the trees turned golden:

After all, autumn time has come.

My heart became a little sad,

It seems like it won't end.

In the morning you get up and it’s cold rain

It hits the roofs, as if out of spite,

It seems that these are the tears of the sky,

Because it died.

The sun no longer warms him

And it doesn’t shine so brightly anymore.

The sky is all shrouded in a veil,

It seems that the sky, the sky is sleeping.

15.10.2004.

Presenter: Earthly love... Human love... An eternal, immortal theme. Each of the poets tried to express and convey this feeling in their own unique way. Saadi and Omar Khayyam, Dante and Petrarch, Byron and Goethe. And our great Pushkin! Other great poets of Russia: Lermontov, Nekrasov, Tyutchev, Blok…. Everyone is an innovator in this topic, because he writes and speaks about what hurts his heart, his soul. Our century has left its mark on the sphere of personal and family relationships, coarsened and trampled on the intimate world of man, giving rise to a cynical and commercial view of the holy of holies - love, female beauty, motherhood. All the more joyful is the encounter with works, each of which is unique, each of which contains the finest beautiful impulses of the human soul, its love and fidelity. It is interesting to watch the vicissitudes of a young soul, describing the experience of first love, first separations and betrayals. E. Rastorgueva’s poems are not childishly serious and painfully sensual.

Rastorgueva:

Two candles.

Two candles, like two lives, burn,

Kindling a fire in souls,

Two candles are like two sinners

suffer in silence

You put my hand on your palm.

You captivated me with a bright flame,

I lit a reciprocal flame,

Our love was so warm,

That the candles melted and love left.

Now you and I are like strangers,

We are now neither friends nor enemies,

And my thoughts are different now,

They don't want more love.

My heart is now like a piece of ice,

like an eternal block of ice,

I don’t shed tears now,

and I am stronger now than then.

2003

Presenter: Life is a complicated thing. A huge number of folk proverbs prove this. “Living life is not a field to cross.” Telling others about what worries you, what your heart cannot put up with is already a feat. Yu. Myagkova’s poem “The Ninth of May” evokes tears of respect.

Myagkova:

***

Let's stand by the holy fire,

Let's kneel down to the granite.

We will remember the fallen and the living,

About destinies broken by war.

Look, a gray-haired soldier has approached,

I put flowers on the balustrade.

Look how the medals burn in the sun,

And bearing, as if at a parade.

They were exactly like us:

Loved, worked, lived,

We joked, laughed, went to the cinema,

They gave birth to children and raised them.

But mourning is the terrible word “War”

Interfered in their destinies and lives.

They defended their homes

Country and people from fascism.

Look how many of them are in front of you in formation,

You can’t count the kilometers of surnames,

Those who died in an unequal mortal battle,

May you and I be happy.

2005.

Presenter: We light a candle on our birthday cake. There is only one candle, at the presentation of the second collection we will light two of them.

A word to the guests.

Presenter: Where, when and under what circumstances did people learn to compose poetry? It is impossible to answer this question, because we have learned this always and everywhere.

It is no coincidence that the name of our evening “So, we are kindred in soul!” was chosen. Everyone was united by the flame of this candle... Let her fire illuminate your soul and save you from the darkness of indifference and vulgarity. And relatives should help each other. Share a spark of warmth, and it will come back to you a hundredfold. Until next time.

Conversation.

Scenario of a literary evening dedicated to A.A. Blok “He is all a child of goodness and light, He is all a triumph of freedom!”

Scenario of a literary evening dedicated to A.A. Blok

And such a compelling force
What am I ready to repeat after rumors,
It's like you brought down angels,
Seducing with its beauty...

Reader 1. And when you laugh at faith,
Suddenly it lights up above you
That dim, purple-gray
And I once saw a circle.

Evil or good? - All of you are not from here.
Wise things they say about you:
For others, you are both a Muse and a miracle.
For me you are torment and hell.

Reader 2. I don't know why at dawn,
At an hour when there was no more strength,
I didn’t die, but I noticed your face
And asked for your consolations?

I wanted us to be enemies
So why did you give me
Meadow with flowers and firmament with stars -
All the curse of your beauty?
Presenter 1.“Here a man burned,” he will repeat Fet’s words about his poems. And it will always be that his poems are like himself. And he himself is like his poems: face, eyes, gait...
Presenter 2.(slide 7) Even outwardly, Blok surprisingly corresponded to the ideal image of the poet, which is confirmed by the memories of his contemporaries. Maximilian Voloshin, for example, noted: “Looking at the faces of other poets, you can make a mistake in determining their specialty: Vyacheslav Ivanov can be mistaken for a conscientious professor, Andrei Bely for a demoniac, Balmont for a noble Spaniard traveling incognito in Russia without knowing the language, Bryusov for a gypsy, but regarding Blok there can be no doubt that he is a poet..."

"What do you want?" - "Togo,
So that you become frank like me,
How humble I am in humiliation,
And nothing more, my friend."

“Why are you interfering in someone else’s heart?
Go, come on, stay away!" -
“Do you think, honey, there are two of us?
In vain: look, look around..."

And it’s true (well, I set the task!)
I look - no one is near me...
I looked in my pocket - nothing...
I looked into my heart... and I cried.
Presenter 1. (slide 15) And this is his house... brick and very ordinary. It stands by the seaside and, obviously, was the first to bear the brunt of the Baltic storm.
Presenter 2. Decembrist Street, formerly Ofitserskaya, 57. Blok lived here for exactly ten years. This is where he died. At first he lived on the 4th floor, then he lived, got sick, and died in his mother’s rooms on the 2nd.

And, teasing with her teeth, she laughed,
Suddenly I forgot everything.
Suddenly I remembered everything - I started sobbing,
Dropping ten hairpins on the table.

She turned ugly, walked away, turned around,
She turned back and waited for something,
She cursed, turned her back,
And she must be gone forever...

Well, it's time to get down to business
For my old business.
Has life really stopped making noise?
Did you make any noise, how was your dress?
Presenter 4.(slide 24) At the time of his growing fame, Blok more than once performed in theater and concert halls in St. Petersburg reading his poems. Tenishevsky School on Mokhovaya... Blok’s poetry evenings were held here more than once...

I break the thread of consciousness
And I forget what and how...
All around - snow, trams, buildings,
And ahead there are lights and darkness.

What if I'm spellbound
The thread of consciousness that has been severed,
I will return home humiliated, -
Can you forgive me?

You, who knows the distant goal
Guiding beacon,
Will you forgive me my snowstorms,
My delirium, poetry and darkness?

Or you can do better: without forgiving,
Wake up my bells
So that the night thaw
Didn’t she take you away from your homeland?
(slide 27)
Reader 4. Everything happened according to the scriptures:
The youthful ardor has cooled,
And the end of charms
It came gradually.

I was in a daze, not smelling the fumes,
I was consoled by the torment of hell,
Listed all the words
But my head hurt...

I was painfully sick for a long time,
The body quietly grew cold,
Awakened: thirty years.
Grab and praise, but there is no heart.

The heart is a painted corpse.
And when the end came,
He found it quite banal
The death of your sad soul.

Reader 5. How often do we cry - you and I -
Over your miserable life!
Oh, if only you knew, friends,
The cold and darkness of the days to come!
The earthly heart will freeze again,
But I meet the cold with my chest.
I keep to people in the wilderness
Unrequited love.
Reader 6. But behind love comes anger,
Contempt and desire grow
Read in the eyes of husbands and maidens
The seal of oblivion, or election.
Let them call: Forget it, poet!
Return to beautiful comforts!
No! It’s better to perish in the fierce cold!
There is no comfort. There is no peace.
(slide 28)

I know that you, Light One, will not remember evil,
which beat inside me,
When you approached, slender and white,
Like a swan to my depths.

It was not I who outraged Your proud laziness -
That is his alien power.
A cold cloud troubled my day, -
Your day was brighter than mine.

You'll remember when I retire
I’ll disappear behind the blue line, -
Only one song that I sang with You,
What did you repeat after me?
Presenter 3. Blok's poems... "They are not outside of me, they sing in me, they are like my poems..."
You rushed with the movement of a frightened bird,
You passed as if my dream was light...
And the spirits sighed, the eyelashes fell asleep,
The silks whispered anxiously.
Presenter 4. Blok's poems about love are witchcraft. Like any witchcraft, they are inexplicable and painful. It's almost impossible to talk about them. You need to re-read them, repeat them, experiencing heart palpitations every time, get sick of their languid melodies and be endlessly surprised that they enter your memory suddenly and forever...
K. Paustovsky
Presenter 1.(slide 30) 800 poems dedicated to Lyubov Dmitrievna Mendeleeva later formed a cycle of poems about the Beautiful Lady. Poems are melodious, languidly tender, sometimes vague, but always sincere.
Reader 2. I enter dark temples,
I perform a poor ritual.
There I am waiting for the Beautiful Lady
In the flickering of red lamps.
In the shadow of a tall column;
I'm shaking from the creaking of the doors.
And he looks into my face, illuminated,
Only an image, only a dream about Her...
Presenter 2. The Beautiful Lady of Blok is the eternal ideal of Love and Beauty. Love appears in poetry not as a real, earthly feeling, but as a religious service, worship of a mystical creature, an unearthly shrine.

Your clear gaze to the starry heights
Reverse.
And in your hand is an iron sword
Put it down.
Heart with useless trembling
Tame it.
Snow whirlwinds over the abyss
Screw it up.

The sleeve of my snowstorms
I'll strangle you.
The silver of my joys
I'll stun you.
On an aerial carousel
I'll spin it around.
Yarn of tangled tow
Shoes.
Light mash of snowy hops
I'll give you a drink.
(slide 31)
Reader 4. About valor, about exploits, about glory
I forgot on the sorrowful land,
When your face is in a simple frame
It was shining on the table in front of me.

But the hour came, and you left home.
I threw the treasured ring into the night.
You gave your destiny to someone else
And I forgot the beautiful face.

The days flew by, spinning like a damned swarm...
Wine and passion tormented my life...
And I remembered you in front of the lectern,
And he called you like his youth...

I called you, but you didn't look back,
I shed tears, but you did not condescend.
You sadly wrapped yourself in a blue cloak,
On a damp night you left the house.

I don't know where your pride is sheltered
You, dear, you, gentle one, have found...
I sleep soundly, I dream of your blue cloak,
In which you left on a damp night...

Don't dream about tenderness, about fame,
Everything is over, youth is gone!
Your face in its simple frame
I removed it from the table with my own hand.
Presenter 3. These are not so much poems about the eternally feminine as a burst of enormous poetic power that captures both sophisticated and inexperienced hearts.
K. Paustovsky
Presenter 4. From the photograph, Blok looks at us directly, eye to eye. In life, as in poetry, he was absolutely, unconditionally truthful. Here are the words of contemporaries:
(slide 32) Z. Gippius: “...All his material was truthful, he, so to speak, reeked of truth,”
(slide 33) T. Volokhova: he “didn’t know how to gild a pill at all.”
(slide 34) K. Chukovsky: “...I have never met a person so alien to lies and pretense.”
(slide 35) He himself wrote in his diary:
“Only the truth, no matter how heavy it may be, is a “light burden.” It is our job to bring back the truth that has disappeared from Russian life. (And “our business” was emphasized.)”
Presenter 1.(slide 36) E.Yu. Kuzmina-Karavaeva recalls: “Blok rarely visited the Tower... I remember the first time Anna Akhmatova read poetry.” Blok was asked to express his opinion about her poems. “Blok blushed,” he surprisingly knew how to blush from embarrassment, looked around seriously and said: “She writes poetry, as if in front of a man, but you need to write, as if in front of God.”
Presenter 2.“...but we must write as if before God,” these words shocked us. How much Love, Suffering and Compassion are in his soul, in his heart!
Reader 5. Why in my constricted chest
So much pain and sadness?
And lighthouses are so unnecessary,
And people have been hateful for so long,
Despondently waiting for Christ...
They only find the devil...
They only lead to despair
Eternally lying lips...
Reader 6.(slide 37) You poor naked unfortunates.
Lear
Oh, how crazy it is outside the window
The evil storm is roaring,
Clouds are rushing, rain is pouring,
And the wind howls, dying away!
Terrible night! On a night like this
I feel sorry for people who are homeless
And regret drives away -
Into the arms of the damp cold!..
Fight the darkness and rain
Sharing the fate of the sufferers...
Oh, how crazy it is outside the window
The wind is raging and languishing!
Reader 1. I wander among the crowd
With only one cherished thought:
Let the month shine - the night is dark.
May life bring happiness to people...
(slide 38)
Presenter 3. The poems of Alexander Blok are confession, repentance, and a warning to us living on planet Earth.
Reader 2. Flattery, deceit, glory, gold -
Past, past, forever...
Human stupidity -
Everything that once tormented me
It was funny sometimes...
Reader 3. And again - deceit, glory,
Gold, flattery, the crown of everything -
Human stupidity
Hopeless, majestic,
Endless... Well, is it the end?
Reader 4. No... still forests, clearings,
And country roads and highways,
Our Russian road
Our Russian fogs,
Our rustles in oats...
Reader 5. I'm scared to meet you.
It's worse not to meet you.
I began to wonder at everything
I caught the stamp on everything

Shadows walk along the street
I don’t understand - they are living or sleeping...
Clinging to the church steps,
I'm afraid to look back.

They put their hands on my shoulders,
But I don't remember the names.
There are sounds in my ears
The recent big funeral.

And the gloomy sky is low -
The temple itself was covered.
I know - You are here, You are close.
You're not here. You are there.