The children's theme arose in the work of Marshak not by chance. By the will of fate and the tragic vicissitudes of the beginning of the century, he was continuously connected with helping children. Marshak did charity work, worked in educational bodies, founded and edited children's magazines, and stood at the origins of the famous Detgiz, which published a lot of works for children.
The children immediately liked to read the poems of Samuil Marshak. This was facilitated by the excellent ability of the poet to write poetry. plain language, respecting the size and rhyme. Therefore, almost all of Marshak's poems for children are not only easy to read, but also well remembered. These advantages of the poet's works are explained not only by his talent. Marshak treated children's works with great exactingness. He believed that children's poems and books should be a work of high art. He called even short children's poems "Great Literature for the Little Ones." At the same time, Marshak tried to avoid excessive moralizing and varnishing of the actions of his heroes, with which children's works were overloaded before him.
Among the most popular poems by Marshak for children are such works as "Cat's House", "That's how absent-minded", translated "Robin-Bobbin", "Humpty Dumpty" and "The House That Jack Built". Translations of children's poems performed by Marshak often sound much better than in the original language. This once again shows how seriously the poet took even the work on translating short children's poems. It was this serious approach to work that made Samuil Marshak's poems so popular and loved.
Tales of Marshak- this is a special world that can neither be forgotten nor confused with anything. After all, each story told is not only a style, rhythm and story from which it is difficult to break away, but also the image, morality, justice that we take out of them. How can you not sympathize with the absent-minded from Basseinaya Street or admire the kindness and responsiveness of the little kittens from the Cat's House, or forget about what happened to the little mouse, because of his fastidiousness and capriciousness, and the New Year's meeting with twelve months will always take a special place in the soul of everyone who has ever read or listened to this fairy tale. All these images are so alive and bright that the memory of them is forever preserved in our hearts. Read Marshak's tales online you can on this page of the site.
Samuil Marshak was the first writer for a very for a long time, who created primarily for children, and he carried this love for real, lively, bright and high-quality children's literature through his whole life. Each of us gets acquainted with the tales and poems of this author from a very early age, and his bright characters and images, despite the fact that they are created, do not tolerate lies and slickness for young children. And this honesty creates the trust that is forever preserved between the author and his readers.
Genius Samuil Marshak
You can almost endlessly tell and describe the many stories that came out from the pen of Samuil Marshak, but the best and most cognizable way will be only one way: you must discover this world for yourself, see the created reality for children. And such a world could be created only by a person who himself did not close the doors of his childhood. Because he understands, appreciates and gives children exactly what they not only want to read and hear, but also what they really need to understand, what they need to learn and what they should never forget, and all this is presented in such a form, that it is virtually impossible to tear yourself away from these books. We give you the opportunity to read Marshak's fairy tales directly on the pages of our website online.
Read fairy tales by Samuil Marshak- this is one of the pillars in the upbringing of your children, and passing by it is akin to committing an unforgivable crime in relation to your beloved child. For this reason, do not refuse not only your child, but also yourself to miss these extraordinary and mind-blowing works.
WORKS FOR CHILDREN.
FAIRY TALES. SONGS. PUZZLES.
FUN JOURNEY FROM "A" TO "Z".
POEMS OF DIFFERENT YEARS.
TALES IN POETRY
Preparation of the text and notes by V. I. Leibson
* ABOUT ME *
(Autobiography-preface by S. Ya. Marshak, written by him for a collection of selected poems in the series "Library of Soviet Poetry" (M. 1964).)
I was born in 1887 on October 22 of the old style (November 3 of the new style) in the city of Voronezh.
I wrote this phrase, common for biographies, and thought: how to fit on a few pages of a brief autobiography long life full of many events? One list of memorable dates would take up a lot of space.
But this small collection of poems written in different years(approximately from 1908 to 1963), in essence, is my short autobiography. Here the reader will find poems that reflect different periods of my life, starting with my childhood and adolescence, spent on the outskirts of Voronezh and Ostrogozhsk.
My father, Yakov Mironovich Marshak, worked as a foreman in factories (that's why we lived on the factory outskirts). But work in small handicraft factories did not satisfy a gifted person who self-taught the basics of chemistry and was constantly engaged in various experiments. Looking for best use With his strength and knowledge, his father and his whole family moved from city to city, until he finally settled down for permanent residence in St. Petersburg. The memory of these endless and difficult journeys has been preserved in poems about my childhood.
In Ostrogozhsk, I entered the gymnasium. He passed the exams for round fives, but was not accepted immediately because of the percentage norm that existed then for Jewish students. I started writing poetry even before I could write. I owe a lot to one of my gymnasium teachers, Vladimir Ivanovich Teplykh, who sought to instill in his students a love for a strict and simple language, devoid of pretentiousness and banality.
So I would have lived in a small, quiet Ostrogozhsk until the end of the gymnasium, if not for an accidental and completely unexpected turn in my fate.
Shortly after my father found a job in St. Petersburg, my mother moved there with her younger children. But even in the capital, our family lived on the outskirts, alternately behind all the outposts - Moscow, Narva and Neva.
Only my elder brother and I remained in Ostrogozhsk. It was even more difficult for us to transfer to the St. Petersburg gymnasium than to enter the Ostrogozhsk one. By chance, during the summer holidays, I met the famous critic Vladimir Vasilyevich Stasov in St. Petersburg. He met me with unusual cordiality and warmth, as he met many young musicians, artists, writers, artists.
I remember the words from the memoirs of Chaliapin: "This man, as it were, embraced me with his soul."
Having become acquainted with my poems, Vladimir Vasilievich gave me a whole library of classics, and during our meetings he talked a lot about his acquaintance with Glinka, Turgenev, Herzen, Goncharov, Leo Tolstoy. Mussorgsky. Stasov was like a bridge for me almost in the Pushkin era. After all, he was born in January 1824, before the Decembrist uprising, in the year of Byron's death.
In the autumn of 1902, I returned to Ostrogozhsk, and soon a letter arrived from Stasov that he had secured my transfer to the St. Petersburg 3rd gymnasium - one of the few where, after the reform of Minister Vannovsky, in full teaching ancient languages. This gymnasium was front and official of my Ostrogozh school. Among the lively and dapper gymnasiums of the capital, I seemed - to myself and to others - a modest and timid provincial. I felt much freer and more confident in Stasov's house and in the spacious halls of the Public Library, where Vladimir Vasilyevich was in charge of the art department. Whom I just did not meet here - professors and students, composers, artists and writers, famous and still unknown to anyone. Stasov took me to the Museum of the Academy of Arts to see the wonderful drawings of Alexander Ivanov, and in the library he showed me a collection of popular popular prints with inscriptions in verse and prose. He first interested me in Russian fairy tales, songs and epics.
At Stasov's dacha, in the village of Starozhilovka, in 1904 I met Gorky and Chaliapin, and this meeting led to a new turn in my life. Having learned from Stasov that since moving to St. Petersburg I have often been ill, Gorky suggested that I settle in Yalta. And then he turned to Chaliapin: "Let's arrange it, Fedor?" - "We'll arrange, we'll arrange!" Chaliapin answered cheerfully.
And a month later, news came from Gorky from Yalta that I had been accepted into the Yalta gymnasium and would live in his family, with Ekaterina Pavlovna Peshkova.
I arrived in Yalta when the memory of the recently deceased Chekhov was still fresh there. This collection contains poems in which I recall the first time I saw Chekhov's orphaned house on the edge of the city.
I will never forget how kindly I was met - at that time still quite young - Ekaterina Pavlovna Peshkova. Alexei Maksimovich was no longer in Yalta, but even before his new arrival, the house where the Peshkov family lived was, as it were, electrified by the impending revolution.
In 1905, the resort town could not be recognized. Here for the first time I saw the fiery banners in the streets, heard the speeches and songs of the revolution in the open air. I remember how Alexey Maksimovich arrived in Yalta, shortly before that he had been released from Peter and Paul Fortress. During this time, he became noticeably haggard, turned pale, and grew a small reddish beard. At Ekaterina Pavlovna's, he read aloud the play "Children of the Sun" written by him in the fortress.
Shortly after the turbulent months of 1905, Yalta began to see widespread arrests and searches. Here, at that time, the fierce mayor, General Dumbadze, ruled. Many fled the city to avoid arrest. Returning to Yalta from St. Petersburg in August 1906 after the holidays, I did not find the Peshkov family here.
I was alone in the city. He rented a room somewhere in the Old Bazaar, gave lessons. During these months of loneliness, I read avidly new, hitherto unknown to me literature - Ibsen, Hauptmann, Maeterlinck, Poe, Baudelaire, Verlaine, Oscar Wilde, our symbolist poets. It was not easy to understand the new literary trends for me, but they did not shake the foundation firmly laid in my mind by Pushkin, Gogol, Lermontov, Nekrasov, Tyutchev, Fet, Tolstoy and Chekhov, folk epic, Shakespeare and Cervantes.
In the winter of 1906, the director of the gymnasium summoned me to his office. Under strict secrecy, he warned me that I was in danger of expulsion from the gymnasium and arrest, and advised me to leave Yalta as discreetly and quickly as possible.
And here I am again in St. Petersburg. Stasov died shortly before, Gorky was abroad. Like many other people of my age, I had to work my way into literature on my own, without anyone's help. I began to publish in 1907 in almanacs, and later in the newly appeared magazine "Satyricon" and in other weeklies. Several poems written in early youth, lyrical and satirical, are included in this book.
Among the poets whom I already knew and loved before, Alexander Blok occupied a special place in these years. I remember with what emotion I read my poems to him in his modestly furnished study. And the point was not only that in front of me was a famous poet who already owned the minds of young people. From the first meeting he struck me with his unusual - open and fearless - truthfulness and some kind of tragic seriousness. So thoughtful were his words, so alien to the fuss of his movements and gestures. Blok could often be found on white nights walking alone along the straight streets and avenues of St. Petersburg, and he then seemed to me like the embodiment of this sleepless city. Most of all, his image is associated in my memory with the St. Petersburg Islands. In one of my poems I wrote:
Neva has been speaking in verse for a long time.
Gogol's page lays down Nevsky.
The whole Summer Garden is Onegin's head.
The Islands remember Blok,
And Dostoevsky wanders along Razyezzhaya ...
At the very beginning of 1912, I secured the consent of several editorial offices of newspapers and magazines to publish my correspondence and went to study in England. Shortly after arrival, my young wife, Sofya Mikhailovna, and I entered the University of London: I - to the Faculty of Arts (in our opinion - philological), my wife - to the Faculty of Exact Sciences.
In my department, they studied English language, its history, and the history of literature. Much time was devoted to Shakespeare. But, perhaps, the university library made friends with English poetry most of all. In cramped, closet-filled rooms overlooking the business-like Thames, swarming with barges and steamers, I first learned what I later translated - Shakespeare's sonnets, poems by William Blake, Robert Burns, John Keats, Robert Browning, Kipling. I also came across wonderful English in this library children's folklore full of quirky humour. My old acquaintance with our Russian children's folklore helped me to recreate in Russian these classical poems, songs and jokes that are difficult to translate.
Since our literary earnings were barely enough to live on, my wife and I happened to live in the most democratic areas of London - first in its northern part, then in the poorest and most densely populated - east, and only in the end did we get into one of the central districts near The British Museum, where many foreign students like us lived.
And during the holidays we took walks around the country, measured the steps of two southern counties (regions) - Devonshire and Cornwall. During one of the distant walks we met and became friends with a very interesting forest school in Wales ("School of the Simple Life"), with its teachers and children.
All of this had an impact on my further fate and work.
In my early youth, when I loved lyricism most of all in poetry, and most often gave satirical poems to the press, I could not even imagine that in time translations and children's literature would occupy a large place in my work. One of my first poems, placed in the "Satyricon" ("Complaint"), was an epigram on the translators of the time when we published many translations from French, Belgian, Scandinavian, Mexican, Peruvian and all kinds of other poetry. The craving for everything foreign was then so great that many poets flaunted in their poems foreign names and words, and a certain writer even chose for himself a sonorous pseudonym similar to the royal name - "Oscar of Norway". Only the best poets of that time cared about the quality of their translations. Bunin translated Longfellow's Hiawatha in such a way that this translation could take a place next to his original poems. The same can be said about the translations of Bryusov from Verhaarn and Armenian poets, about some translations of Balmont from Shelley and Edgar Poe, Alexander Blok from Heine. We can name several other talented and thoughtful translators. And most poetic translations were the work of literary artisans, who often distorted both the original from which they were translated and their native language.
At that time, the most popular literature for children was also made by the hands of artisans. The golden fund of the children's library was the classics, Russian and foreign, folklore and those stories, short stories and essays that from time to time were given to children by the best modern writers, popularizers of science and teachers. Pre-revolutionary children's literature (especially in magazines) was dominated by sugary and helpless rhymes and sentimental stories, the heroes of which were, in Gorky's words, "disgustingly charming boys" and the same girls.
No wonder the deep prejudice that I had then to children's books in gold-embossed bindings or in cheap colorful covers.
I began translating poetry in England, working in our quiet university library. And I translated not by order, but by love - just as I wrote my own lyrical poems. My attention was first drawn to English and Scottish folk ballads, the second half of XVIII and the first quarter of the 19th century, William Blake, famous and credited in the classics many years after his death, and his contemporary, who died in the 18th century, the people's poet of Scotland, Robert Burns.
I continued to work on the translation of the poems of both poets after my return to my homeland. My translations of folk ballads and poems by Wordsworth and Blake were published in 1915-1917 in the journals "Northern Notes", "Russian Thought", etc.
And I came to children's literature later - after the revolution,
I returned from England to my homeland a month before the First World War. I was not taken into the army because of the weakness of my eyesight, but I stayed for a long time in Voronezh, where in early 1915 I went to be called up. Here I plunged headlong into work, into which life itself gradually and imperceptibly drew me. The fact is that at that time the tsarist government resettled many residents of the front line, mainly from the poorest Jewish towns, in the Voronezh province. The fate of these refugees depended entirely on voluntary public assistance. I remember one of the Voronezh buildings, which housed a whole town. Here the bunks were houses, and the passages between them were streets. It seemed as if an anthill with all its inhabitants was moved from place to place. My job was to help the children of migrants.
My interest in children arose long before I started writing books for them. Without any practical purpose, I visited Petersburg primary schools and orphanages, he loved to invent fantastic and funny stories for the children, he enthusiastically took part in their games. I became even closer to the children in Voronezh when I had to take care of their shoes, coats and blankets.
And yet, the help that we provided to the refugee children had a tinge of charity.
A deeper and more permanent connection with children was established for me only after the revolution, which opened wide scope for initiative in the affairs of education.
In Krasnodar (formerly Yekaterinodar), where my father served at the factory and where our whole family moved in the summer of 1917, I worked in a local newspaper, and after the restoration Soviet power headed the section of orphanages and colonies of the regional department of public education. Here, with the help of the head of the department M.A. Aleksinsky, I and several other writers, artists and composers organized in 1920 one of the first theaters for children in our country, which soon grew into a whole "Children's Town" with its own school, children's garden, library, carpentry and locksmith workshops and various circles.
Remembering these years, you don’t know what to be more surprised at: whether that in a country exhausted by intervention and civil war, could arise and exist for several years "Children's Town", or the dedication of its workers, content with meager rations and earnings.
But in the theater team there were such workers as Dmitry Orlov (later People's Artist of the RSFSR, actor of the Meyerhold Theater, and then the Moscow Art Theater), as the oldest Soviet composer V. A. Zolotarev and others.
Plays for the theater were written mainly by two people - I and the poetess E. I. Vasilyeva-Dmitrieva. This was the beginning of my poetry for children, which has a significant place in this collection.
Looking back, you see how every year I was more and more fascinated by work with and for children. "Children's Town" (1920-1922), Leningrad Theater of Young Spectators (1922-1924), editorial office of the magazine "New Robinson" (1924-1925), children's and youth department of Lengosizdat, and then "Young Guard" and, finally, the Leningrad edition Detgiz (1924-1937).
The magazine "New Robinson" (which at first wore a modest and unpretentious name"Sparrow") played an important role in the history of our children's literature. There were already sprouts of that new and original in it, which distinguishes this literature from the former, pre-revolutionary. Boris Zhitkov, Vitaly Bianchi, M. Ilyin, the future playwright Yevgeny Schwartz first began to be published on its pages.
Even more wide opportunities were opened by the front office and other employees of the magazine when we started working at the publishing house. Over the thirteen years of this work, the publishing houses that managed the editorial board changed, but the editorial office itself did not change, which was tirelessly looking for new authors, new topics and genres of fiction and educational literature for children. The editorial staff were convinced that a children's book should and could be a work of high art, not allowing any discounts on the reader's age.
Arkady Gaidar, M. Ilyin, V. Bianchi, L. Panteleev, Evg. Charushin, T. Bogdanovich, D. Kharms, A. Vvedensky, Elena Danko, Vyach. Lebedev, N. Zabolotsky, L. Budogoskaya and many other writers. The book by Alexei Tolstoy "The Adventures of Pinocchio" was also published here.
We did not know at that time how closely A. M. Gorky, who was then in Italy, followed our work, attaching paramount importance to children's literature. Even in the very first years of the revolution, he founded the Northern Lights magazine for children, and then, with the participation of Korney Chukovsky and Alexander Benois, edited the cheerful and festive children's almanac "Yelka".
My communication with Alexei Maksimovich was interrupted since the time of his departure abroad in 1906.
And in 1927 I received a letter from him from Sorrento, in which he praised the books of Boris Zhitkov, Vitaly Bianchi and mine, as well as the drawings of V. V. Lebedev, who worked in our editorial office hand in hand with me. Since then, not a single outstanding book for children has escaped Gorky's attention. He rejoiced at the appearance of the story by L. Panteleev and G. Belykh "The Republic of Shkid", the publication of "The Story of the Great Plan" and the book "Mountains and People" by M. Ilyin. In the almanac, published under his editorship, he placed a children's book published by the famous physicist MP Bronstein "Solar Matter".
And when, in 1929-1930, the combined forces of the most irreconcilable Rappovites and dogmatists from pedology took up arms against me and our entire editorial staff, Alexei Maksimovich issued an angry rebuke to all the persecutors of fantasy and humor in a children's book (the articles "A Man Whose Ears Are Stopped with Cotton", "About irresponsible people and about the children's book of our days", etc.).
I remember how, after one of the conferences on children's literature, Gorky asked me in his soft, subdued bass voice:
"Well, did they finally allow the inkwell to talk to the candle?
And he added, coughing, quite seriously:
- Refer to me. I myself heard them talking. By God!"
In 1933 Gorky invited me to his place in Sorrento in order to outline in general terms the program of the future - as we then called it - Children's Publishing House and work on a letter (memorandum) to the Central Committee of the Party on the organization of the world's first and unprecedented scale state publishing house of children's literature.
When the First All-Union Congress of Soviet Writers met in Moscow in 1934, Aleksei Maksimovich suggested that my speech (“On Great Literature for Little Ones”) be heard at the congress immediately after his report, as a co-report. By this he wanted to emphasize the significance and importance of the children's book in our time.
My last meeting with Gorky was in Tessel (in the Crimea) two months before his death. He gave me the lists of books he planned for publishing for young and middle-aged children, as well as a project for a sliding geographical map and geological globe.
The following year, 1937, our editorial board, in the composition in which it had worked in previous years, disintegrated. Two editors were arrested on slander. True, after some time they were released, but in fact the previous edition ceased to exist. Soon I moved to Moscow.
The editorial office took up a lot of my energy and left little time for my own literary work, and yet I remember it with satisfaction and with a feeling of deep gratitude to my fellow workers, who were so selflessly and selflessly devoted to the cause. These comrades were the remarkable artist V. V. Lebedev, talented writers and editors Tamara Grigorievna Gabbe, Evgeny Schwartz, A. Lyubarskaya, Leonid Savelyev, Lydia Chukovskaya, Z. Zadunaiskaya.
Kukryniks - M. V. Kupriyanov, P. N. Krylov and N. A. Sokolov.
satirical poems post-war years were directed mainly against forces hostile to peace.
The text of the oratorio, which I wrote for the composer Sergei Prokofiev, is also dedicated to the cause of peace. I worked with him on the cantata "Winter Bonfire".
And finally, in 1962, my "Selected Lyrics" was published for the first time.
Now I continue to work in the genres in which I worked before. I'm writing lyric poetry, I've written new children's books in verse, I'm translating Burns and Blake, I'm working on new articles on craftsmanship, and in Lately returned to dramaturgy - wrote a comedy-fairy tale "Smart Things".
S. MARSHAK
Yalta, 1963
* FAIRY TALES. SONGS. PUZZLES *
* STORY BEGINS *
Once,
Two,
Three,
Four.
The story begins:
In the one hundred and thirteenth apartment
The giant lives with us.
On the table he builds towers,
Builds a city in five minutes.
Faithful horse and homemade elephant
They live under his table.
He takes it out of the closet
leggy giraffe,
And from the drawer -
Long-eared donkey.
Full of heroic strength,
He is from the house to the gate
Whole passenger train
Leads on a rope.
And when big puddles
Spilling in the spring
The giant is in the navy
The youngest foreman.
He has a sailor's jacket,
Anchors on the jacket.
Cruisers and destroyers
He leads across the seas.
Steamboat after steamboat
He leads out into the ocean.
And it grows every year
This glorious giant!
Samuil Yakovlevich Marshak. Products for children. Volume 1
BALL
MUSTACHIOED - STRIPED
TWO THRUSHES
Roly-Vstanka
BIG POCKET
ZOO
ELEPHANT
GIRAFFE
TIGER CUB
ZEBRAS
Great about verses:
Poetry is like painting: one work will captivate you more if you look at it closely, and another if you move further away.
Little cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creak of unoiled wheels.
The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is that which has broken.
Marina Tsvetaeva
Of all the arts, poetry is most tempted to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen glitter.
Humboldt W.
Poems succeed if they are created with spiritual clarity.
The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is commonly believed.
If only you knew from what rubbish Poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion near a fence, Like burdocks and quinoa.
A. A. Akhmatova
Poetry is not in verses alone: it is spilled everywhere, it is around us. Take a look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life breathe from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.
I. S. Turgenev
For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.
G. Lichtenberg
A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. Not our own - our thoughts make the poet sing inside us. Telling us about the woman he loves, he wonderfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He is a wizard. Understanding him, we become poets like him.
Where graceful verses flow, there is no place for vainglory.
Murasaki Shikibu
I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in Russian. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. Because of the feeling, art certainly peeps out. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.
Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
- ... Are your poems good, tell yourself?
- Monstrous! Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! the visitor asked pleadingly.
I promise and I swear! - solemnly said Ivan ...
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "Master and Margarita"
We all write poetry; poets differ from the rest only in that they write them with words.
John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"
Every poem is a veil stretched out on the points of a few words. These words shine like stars, because of them the poem exists.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
The poets of antiquity, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. It is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times, a whole Universe is certainly hidden, filled with miracles - often dangerous for someone who inadvertently wakes dormant lines.
Max Fry. "The Talking Dead"
To one of my clumsy hippos-poems, I attached such a heavenly tail: ...
Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea and not a plague!
Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore drive away critics. They are but miserable drinkers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let the verses seem to him an absurd lowing, a chaotic jumble of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from tedious reason, a glorious song that sounds on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.
Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"
Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing but pure poetry that has rejected the word.
Old grandfather Kol
There was a merry king.
He shouted loudly to his retinue:
Hey pour us cups
Let's fill our pipes
Yes, call my violinists, trumpeters,
Call my violinists!
There were violins in the hands of his violinists,
All the trumpeters had pipes,
Between swamps from a small well
The brook, without stopping, pours.
Inconspicuous clean stream,
Not wide, not ringing, not deep.
Cross it over the plank
And you look - the stream spilled into the river,
Though in some places this river ford
And the chick will cross over in the summer.
But her keys, streams are drunk,
And snow, and showers of summer thunderstorms,
Works are divided into pagesEach of us from childhood remembers cute fairy tales for children about “scattered from Basseynaya Street” or a funny story about a woman who “checked in a sofa, a cardigan, a bag ...”. You can ask any person WHO wrote these extraordinary works, and everyone, without hesitation for a second, will blurt out: this poems by Samuil Yakovlevich Marshak.
Samuil Yakovlevich Marshak created a huge number of poems for children. Throughout his life he was a good friend of children. All his poems lovingly teach children to enjoy the beauty of the poetic word. With his children's fairy tales, Marshak easily draws colorful pictures of the world around him., tells interesting and informative stories, as well as teach to dream about the distant future. Samuil Yakovlevich tries to compose children's poems already in the very early age. At the age of 12, he began to write entire poems. The very first collections of the writer with poems for children began to appear more than seventy-five years ago. We get acquainted with Marshak's children's fairy tales quite early. As very young children, we listened with extraordinary pleasure, watched and recited by heart his children's fairy tales: “The Mustachioed Striped”, “Children in a Cage”. The famous poet and professional translator, playwright and teacher, and to everything else the editor - such is the huge creative baggage of Samuil Yakovlevich Marshak, read poetry which is simply necessary.