Afterword. If only nature could feel gratitude to man for penetrating her secret life and singing her beauty. Oral literary magazine "Good Writer", dedicated to the work of M.M. Prishvina

Goals and objectives

Expand children's understanding of the work of M.M. Prishvina.
Development of speech, expansion of the reader's horizons, nurturing a love of books.
Aesthetic education, fostering love for nature and the Motherland.

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Behind the magic kolobok

If nature could feel gratitude to man for penetrating into her secret life and sang of her beauty, then, first of all, this gratitude would fall to the lot of the writer Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin. Prishvin’s life is proof that a person should always strive to live according to his calling, “according to the dictates of his heart.”

This way of life contains the greatest common sense, because a person who lives according to his heart and in complete agreement with his inner world, - always a creator, enricher and artist. For such masters as Prishvin, one life is not enough - for masters who can write a whole poem about every leaf flying from a tree. And an innumerable number of these leaves fall. Prishvin knew how to perceive nature in organic connection with human thoughts and moods.

How can we explain this? Obviously, because the nature of the eastern part of the Oryol region, the nature around Yelets, the ancient Russian city where Prishvin was from, is very Russian, very simple and essentially poor. And in this simplicity and even some severity lies the key to Prishvin’s literary vigilance. In simplicity, all the wonderful qualities of the earth appear more clearly, and the human gaze becomes sharper.

On the screen are images of Russian nature, drawings, and photographs of students.

Prishvin's biography is sharply divided into two. The beginning of life followed the beaten path - a merchant family, a strong life. Prishvin was born on the Khrushchevo estate, Yelets district, Oryol province (now Oryol region), and spent his childhood here. Among a huge garden with poplar, ash, birch, spruce and linden alleys stood an old wooden house. It was a real noble nest.

The teacher shows this place on the map of the Oryol region, hangs up a photograph of the house where the writer was born, a photograph of 8-year-old Misha Prishvin.

From the living room a door led to a large terrace, from which there was a linden alley with hundred-year-old trees. IN native land The future writer discovered the beauty of Russian forests and fields, the music of his native language.

The student reads the stories: “The Last Flowers”, “The First Frost”.

The peasant Husek taught the future writer to understand many of the secrets of nature. “The most important thing I learned from him... is the understanding that all birds are different, and hares, and grasshoppers, and all animal creatures, too, just as people are different from each other.”

Then Prishvin graduated from high school, served as an agronomist in Crimea and wrote the first agronomic book, “Potatoes in Field and Garden Culture.” At the same time, it was 1925, Mikhail Mikhailovich wrote a collection of stories for children, “Matryoshka in Potatoes.”

It would seem that everything is going smoothly and naturally in the everyday sense, along the so-called “official path.” And suddenly - a sharp turning point. Prishvin quits his service and goes on foot to the north, to Karelia, with a knapsack, a hunting rifle and notebook and wrote a book about this journey.

Our north was wild then, there were few people there, birds and animals lived unafraid of humans. So he called this work “In the Land of Unfrightened Birds.” And when many years later Prishvin came to the North again, the familiar lakes were connected by the White Sea Canal, and it was no longer swans that swam, but steamships; a lot for long life Prishvin saw changes in his homeland. So he became a writer.

Life is at stake. Prishvin doesn’t know what will happen to him next. He obeys only the voice of his heart, the invincible attraction to be among the people and with the people, to listen to their amazing language, to write down fairy tales, beliefs, and signs. Essentially, Prishvin's life changed dramatically because of his love for the Russian language. He went in search of the treasures of this language, just as the heroes of his “Ship Grove” went in search of a distant, almost fabulous ship grove.

There is one old fairy tale, it begins like this: “The grandmother took a wing, scraped it along the box, broomed it along the bottom, took two handfuls of flour and made a funny bun. He lay there and lay there, and suddenly he rolled - from the window to the bench, from the bench to the floor, along the floor and to the doors, jumped over the threshold into the entryway, from the entryway to the porch, from the porch into the yard and behind the gate - further, further ... " . The writer attached his own ending to this tale, as if behind this kolobok he himself, Prishvin, followed the wide world, along forest paths and the banks of rivers, and the sea, and the ocean - he kept walking and following the kolobok. That’s how he called his new book “Kolobok.” Subsequently, the same magic bun led the writer to the south, to the Asian steppes and to Far East. Prishvin has a story about the steppes “The Black Arab”, about the Far East - a story “Zhen-Shen”. This story has been translated into all the major languages of the peoples of the globe.

From end to end the bun ran around our rich homeland and, when it had examined everything, began to circle near Moscow, along the banks of small rivers - Vertushinka, Nevestinka and Sister, and some nameless lakes, called by Prishvin “the eyes of the earth.” It was here, in these places close to us, that the bun revealed to his friend, perhaps, even more miracles. His books about Central Russian nature are widely known: “Calendar of Nature”, “Forest Drops”, “Eyes of the Earth”.

Reading stories: “Birch trees”, “Trees in service”, “Birch trees are blooming”, “Parachute”.

Prishvin is not only children's writer- He wrote his books for everyone, but children read them with equal interest. He wrote only about what he himself saw and experienced in nature. So, for example, to describe how the spring flood of rivers occurs, Mikhail Mikhailovich builds himself a plywood house on wheels from an ordinary truck, takes with him a rubber folding boat, a gun and everything he needs for a lonely life in the forest, and goes to the place where our river floods. “The Volga also watches how the largest animals, moose, and the smallest, water rats and shrews, escape from the water that floods the land.

Writer M.M. Prishvin was the oldest driver in Moscow. Until he was over eighty years old, he drove the car himself, inspected it himself, and asked for help in this matter only in extreme cases. Mikhail Mikhailovich treated his car almost like a living creature and called it affectionately: “Masha.” He needed the car solely for his writing work. After all, with the growth of cities, untouched nature became increasingly distant, and he, an old hunter and walker, was no longer able to walk many kilometers to meet with it, as in his youth. That’s why Mikhail Mikhailovich called his car key “the key of happiness and freedom.”

On the screen is Prishvin’s dacha near Moscow in Dunino, his office, and a portrait of the writer.

In our literature there are magnificent scientist-poets, scientist-writers, such as Timiryazev, Arsenyev, Aksakov, Klyuchevsky... But Prishvin occupies a special place among them. His extensive knowledge in the field of ethnography, botany, zoology, agronomy, history, folklore, geography, local history and other sciences was organically included in his books.

Prishvin's great love for nature was born from his love for man. All his books are full of kindred attention to man and to the land where this man lives and works. Therefore, Prishvin defines culture as family connection between people (Appendix 1).

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Kindred attention

All the writer’s works are imbued with admiration for the beauty of nature and man, her friend and owner.

Addressing the young reader, the artist claims that the world is full of miracles and “these... miracles are not like in the fairy tale about living water and dead water, but real ones... they happen everywhere and at every minute of our lives, but only often we, having eyes, We don’t see them, but having ears, we don’t hear them.” Prishvin sees and hears these miracles and reveals them to the reader. For him there are no plants at all, but there are porcini mushrooms, bloody berry of the stone fruit, blue blueberry, red lingonberry, cuckoo's tears, valerian, Peter's cross, hare cabbage. For him there are no animals and birds at all, but there are wagtail, crane, crow, heron, bunting, shrew, goose, bee, bumblebee, fox, viper. The author does not limit himself to one mention, but endows his “heroes” with voices and habits that remain in the memory for a long time: “The osprey flew in, a fish predator, - a hooked nose, keen, light yellow eyes, - looked out for its prey from above, stopped in the air to That’s why she spun her wings.” Prishvin’s animals and birds “cue”, “buzz”, “whistle”, “hiss”, “yell”, “squeak”; each of them moves differently. Even trees and plants in Prishvin’s descriptions become alive: dandelions, like children, fall asleep in the evenings and wake up in the morning, like a hero, a mushroom emerges from under the leaves, the forest whispers.

Reading stories: “Golden Meadow”, “Strong Man”, “Whispers in the Forest”.

The writer not only has an excellent knowledge of nature, knows how to notice what people often pass by indifferently, but also has the ability to convey the poetry of the world in descriptions, comparisons, even just in the titles of stories.

Reading stories: “Aspen’s Name Day”, “Old Grandfather”.

The writer believes that the richer spiritual world a person, the more he sees in nature, because he brings his experiences and sensations into it. This is the ability to judge nature “by itself”

Prishvin called it “family attention.” This is how Prishvin’s humanization of nature arises, a description of those aspects and phenomena that are in some way similar to human ones. “I write about nature, but I myself only think about people,” said M.M. Prishvin.

That is why, speaking about the animal world, the writer especially highlights motherhood. Prishvin will tell you more than once how a mother risks herself, protecting her cubs from a dog, from an eagle and from other enemies. With a smile, the artist will tell about how parent animals take care of their offspring and teach them.

Reading stories: “Guys and Ducklings”, “First Stand”.

The artist is pleased with such wonderful qualities in animals as intelligence, intelligence, and the ability to “talk” and “think.”

But in any of these cases - and this is very important - the writer knows how to maintain the boundary that separates animals from humans. Noting that in his stories “nature and man are united in unity,” M.M. Prishvin wrote in his diary on April 1, 1942: “But this unity is not a concession to nature, but the consciousness of one’s kinship and the highest guiding significance in world creativity.”

The primary role of man in nature constitutes the plots of the writer’s works. The main thing in them is that man, not possessing many of the qualities that animals are endowed with, in the process of domesticating them, learned to appropriate these qualities. By introducing culture into the natural world, he becomes a creator, a Man. And this, in turn, requires from him human morality, the highest expediency, which lies in a master’s attitude towards living things. In a fair fight, you can kill a bear, but this cannot be done if the animal came to the hunter for protection; the hunter will mercilessly kill the robber marten in the winter, but will not carry out a senseless hunt in the summer, when the skin of this marten is bad. Moreover, it is unusual for Prishvin’s heroes to destroy defenseless and harmless (or useful) animals, to beat chicks.

Reading stories: “White Necklace”, “Zhurka”.

“Our ideal is Grandfather Mazai,” wrote Prishvin, addressing his young friends. “Our youth must go hunting along this difficult path of educating themselves from a simple hunter to a hunter - a conservationist of nature and a defender of their homeland.” Thus, the theme of nature in the writer’s work turns into the theme of the Motherland, the motive of goodness and love into the motive of patriotism. “The Motherland, as I understand it,” wrote M.M. Prishvin in his diary, “is not something ethnographic or landscape that I now lean towards. For me, the Motherland is everything that I now love and fight for” (Appendix 2).

Reading stories is accompanied by music by P.I. Tchaikovsky "Seasons".

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Vasya Veselkin and others

Prishvin never divided his creativity into “adults” and “children”. “I always, all my life, work on the same topic, in which both children’s and general literature merge into a single whole,” says the writer. That is why stories for children were included in books for adults or were fragments of these books, edited accordingly.

“The only topic I am working on,” said Prishvin, “is the child that I keep within myself.” Among diary entries there are also these: “Children’s faith in people is a bright heroic path”; " New man“This is a child, and if you need to talk about him, then tell him about an adult who managed to keep the child inside him.”

As can be seen from the above notes, the main thing that Prishvin valued in a child, that he considered it necessary to cultivate, was optimism, a sense of unlost wonder at the world, responsiveness to pain and joy.

All the writer’s works are imbued with admiration for the beauty of nature and man, her friend and owner. Prishvin's first collection of stories for children was called “Matryoshka in Potatoes.” It came out in 1925. The final book was “The Golden Meadow” (1948), which united almost all of the writer’s children’s stories.

Among the few images of children - the heroes of Prishvin's works - Vasya Veselkin from the story of the same name is especially memorable. The narrator taught his dog Zhulka how to hunt, first teaching him about chickens. I taught him how to stand and stretch so that the dog would not touch the birds. The village where the action took place was located on the banks of the Moscow River, so residents were not allowed to keep waterfowl, so as not to pollute the water. But one resident still kept geese.

One day the birds were swimming along the river. Zhulka rushed into the water and began to chase the birds. The geese were screaming and fluff was flying like snow over the river. It was impossible to stop Zhulka. Then Vitka appeared with a gun, the owner’s son. Suddenly, someone’s hand pushed Vitka, and the shot went past the carnage. This is how the dog was saved. The Savior had to be thanked. But how to find it? The narrator went to school. But no one there admitted to a noble deed. The teacher advised him to write an essay about this incident, indicating the exact number of geese. There were eight of them. The next day the essay was read, everyone especially liked the part where the behavior of geese was described. Let's see how this story ended (Appendix 3).

Scene

Teacher. Tell me, my friend, how many geese were there?

Narrator. Eight geese, Ivan Semyonich!

U. No, there were fifteen of them.

R. Eight, I affirm: there were eight of them.

U. And I claim there were exactly fifteen of them, I can prove it; If you want, let’s go to the owner now and count: he had fifteen of them.

U. I confirm there were fifteen geese!

Veselkin. It’s not true, there were eight geese!

A. So the friend rose up for the truth, all red, curly haired, excited.

This was Vasya Veselkin, bashful, shy in his good deeds and fearless in upholding the truth. This boy not only saved the dog, but also showed modesty by hiding his gratitude. Vasya Veselkin will also move on to Prishvin’s novel “The Thicket of Ships.” Here he will become a soldier defending the freedom and beauty of the Motherland.

Prishvin has a wonderful fairy tale “ Pantry of the sun" The main characters are children, Nastya and Mitrasha. They have come a difficult path to humanity. This will be the topic of another magazine.

INSTEAD OF AN EPILOGUE

To my young friends

On the screen is a portrait of M.M. Prishvin. The writer's voice sounds against the background of music.

“My young friends! We are the masters of our nature, and for us it is a storehouse of the sun with great treasures of life. Not only do these treasures need to be protected, they must be opened and shown.

Needed for fish clean water- We will protect our water bodies. There are various valuable animals in the forests, steppes, and mountains - we will protect our forests, steppes, and mountains.

For fish - water, for birds - air, for animals - forest, steppe, mountains. But a person needs a homeland. And protecting nature means protecting the Motherland.”

References

Netopin, S.M. Forget-me-nots by Prishvin [Text] / S. Netopin// Magazine “Fatherland” No. 11. M.: T and O, 2007. – 18 – 21 p.
Prishvin, M.M. Pantry of the sun [Text]: M.M. Prishvin. – M.: Children's literature, 2005. – 171 p.
Prishvin, M.M. Stories [Text]: M.M. Prishvin. Cheboksary: Chuvash Book Publishing House, 1981. –192 p.
Prishvin, M.M. Favorites [Text]: M.M. Prishvin. Kemerovo: Kemerovo Book Publishing House, 1979. – 128 p.
Zurabova, K.N. The forest spread its banks like hands - and a river came out... [Text] / K.N. Zurabova // Teacher's newspaper No. 7, 2008. – p.

Current page: 4 (book has 4 pages in total)

"XII"

Now it remains for us to tell a little about all the events of this big day in the Bludov swamp. The day, no matter how long it was, was not quite over when Mitrash got out of the elani with the help of Travka. After the intense joy of meeting Antipych, the businesslike Travka immediately remembered her first hare race. And it’s clear: Grass is a hound dog, and her job is to chase for herself, but for her owner, Antipych, catching a hare is all her happiness. Having now recognized Mitrash as Antipych, she continued her interrupted circle and soon found herself on the hare’s exit trail and immediately followed this fresh trail with her voice. Hungry Mitrash, barely alive, immediately realized that all his salvation would be in this hare, that if he killed the hare, he would start the fire with a shot and, as had happened more than once with his father, he would bake the hare in hot ashes. After examining the gun and changing the wet cartridges, he went out into the circle and hid in a juniper bush.

You could still clearly see the front sight on the gun when Grass turned the hare from the Lying Stone onto Nastya’s big path, drove him out onto the Palestinian road, and directed him from here to the juniper bush where the hunter was hiding. But then it happened that Gray, having heard the renewed rutting of the dog, chose for himself exactly the same juniper bush where the hunter was hiding, and two hunters, a man and his worst enemy, met. Seeing the gray muzzle some five steps away from him, Mitrash forgot about the hare and shot almost point-blank.

The gray landowner ended his life without any suffering.

Gon was, of course, knocked down by this shot, but Travka continued her work. The most important thing, the happiest thing was not the hare, not the wolf, but that Nastya, hearing a close shot, screamed. Mitrasha recognized her voice, answered, and she instantly ran to him. After that, soon Travka brought the hare to her new, young Antipych, and the friends began to warm themselves by the fire, prepare their own food and lodging for the night.

"x x x"

Nastya and Mitrasha lived across the house from us, and when in the morning a hungry cattle roared in their yard, we were the first to come to see if any trouble had happened to the children. We immediately realized that the children had not spent the night at home and, most likely, got lost in the swamp. Little by little, other neighbors gathered and began to think about how we could help the children if they were still alive. And just as they were about to scatter across the swamp in all directions, we looked: the hunters for sweet cranberries were coming out of the forest in single file, on their shoulders a pole with a heavy basket, and next to them was Grass, Antipych’s dog.

They told us in every detail about everything that happened to them in the Bludov swamp. And they believed everything: an unprecedented harvest of cranberries was evident. But not everyone could believe that a boy in his eleventh year could kill an old cunning wolf. However, several of them, who believed, went to the indicated place with a rope and a large sled and soon brought the dead Gray landowner. Then everyone in the village stopped what they were doing for a while and gathered, and then not only from their own village, but even from neighboring villages. How much talk there was! And it’s hard to say who they looked at more – the wolf or the hunter in a cap with a double visor. When they took their eyes off the wolf, they said:

– But they laughed and teased “Little Man in a Bag”!

And then, unnoticed by everyone, the former “Little Man in a Bag”, however, began to change and over the next two years of the war he grew taller, and what a guy he turned out to be - tall, slender. And he would certainly become a hero Patriotic War, but the war is just over.

And the Golden Hen also surprised everyone in the village. No one reproached her for greed, like we did; on the contrary, everyone approved of her and that she wisely called her brother on the beaten path and that she picked so many cranberries. But when evacuated Leningrad children from the orphanage turned to the village for all possible help for sick children, Nastya gave them all her healing berries. It was then that we, having gained the girl’s trust, learned from her how she suffered privately for her greed.

Now all we have to do is say a few more words about ourselves: who we are and why we ended up in the Bludovo Swamp. We are scouts of swamp riches. Since the first days of World War II, they have been working on preparing the swamp for extracting fuel from it - peat. And we found out that there is enough peat in this swamp to operate a large factory for a hundred years. These are the riches hidden in our swamps!

Afterword

If nature could feel gratitude to man for penetrating into her secret life and singing its beauty, then first of all this gratitude would fall to the lot of the writer Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin.

Mikhail Mikhailovich was the name for the city. And in those places where Prishvin was “at home” - in the guards’ guardhouses, in the fog-shrouded river floodplains, under the clouds and stars of the Russian field sky - they called him simply “Mikhalych”. And, obviously, they were upset when this amazing man, memorable at first sight, disappeared into the cities, where only swallows nesting under iron roofs reminded him of the vastness of his crane homeland.

Prishvin’s life is proof that a person should always strive to live according to his calling: “According to the dictates of his heart.” This way of life contains the greatest common sense, because a person who lives according to his heart and in complete harmony with his inner world is always a creator, enricher and artist.

It is unknown what Prishvin would have created if he had remained an agronomist (this was his first profession). In any case, he would hardly have revealed Russian nature to millions of people as a world of the most subtle and luminous poetry. He just didn't have enough time for it. Nature requires a close eye and intense internal work to create in the writer’s soul a kind of “second world” of nature, enriching us with thoughts and ennobling us with the beauty seen by the artist.

If we carefully read everything written by Prishvin, we will be convinced that he did not have time to tell us even a hundredth part of what he saw and knew so perfectly.

For such masters as Prishvin, one life is not enough - for masters who can write a whole poem about every leaf flying from a tree. And an innumerable number of these leaves fall.

Prishvin came from the ancient Russian city of Yelets. Bunin also came from these same places, just like Prishvin, who knew how to perceive nature in organic connection with human thoughts and moods.

How can we explain this? It is obvious that the nature of the eastern part of the Oryol region, the nature around Yelets, is very Russian, very simple and essentially poor. And in this simplicity and even some severity lies the key to Prishvin’s literary vigilance. In simplicity, all the wonderful qualities of the earth appear more clearly, and the human gaze becomes sharper.

Simplicity, of course, is closer to the heart than the lush shine of colors, the sparklers of sunsets, the boiling of stars and the varnished vegetation of the tropics, reminiscent of powerful waterfalls, entire Niagaras of leaves and flowers.

Prishvin's biography is sharply divided into two. The beginning of life followed the beaten path - a merchant family, a strong life, a gymnasium, service as an agronomist in Klin and Luga, the first agronomic book “Potatoes in field and garden culture.”

Essentially, Prishvin's life changed so dramatically because of his love for the Russian language. He went out in search of the treasures of this language, like its heroes " Ship thicket“We went in search of a distant, almost fabulous ship grove.

After the north, Prishvin wrote his first book, “In the Land of Unfrightened Birds.” Since then he has become a writer.

All of Prishvin’s further creativity seemed to be born in wanderings around home country. Prishvin set out and traveled all over Central Russia, the North, Kazakhstan and the Far East. After each trip there appeared new story, then a story, or just a short entry in a diary. But all of these works by Prishvin were significant and original, from a precious speck of dust - a diary entry, to a large stone sparkling with diamond facets - a story or story.

You can write a lot about each writer, trying to the best of your ability to express all the thoughts and feelings that arise in us when reading his books. But it’s difficult, almost impossible, to write about Prishvin. You need to write him down for yourself in treasured notebooks, re-read from time to time, discovering new treasures in every line of his prose-poetry, going into his books, as we go along barely noticeable paths into a dense forest with its conversation of springs, trembling of leaves, fragrance herbs - plunging into various thoughts and states characteristic of this person with a pure mind and heart.

Prishvin thought of himself as a poet “crucified on the cross of prose.” But he was wrong. His prose is much more filled with the purest juice of poetry than other poems and poems.

Prishvin’s books, in his own words, are “the endless joy of constant discoveries.”

Several times I heard from people who had just put down a book by Prishvin they had read, the same words: “This is real witchcraft!”

From further conversation it became clear that by these words people understood the difficult to explain, but obvious, inherent only to Prishvin, charm of his prose.

What is his secret? What is the secret of these books? The words “witchcraft” and “magic” usually refer to fairy tales. But Prishvin is not a storyteller. He is a man of the earth, “the mother of the damp earth,” a participant and witness of everything that happens around him in the world.

The secret of Prishvin's charm, the secret of his witchcraft, lies in his vigilance.

This is the vigilance that reveals something interesting and significant in every little thing, that under the sometimes boring cover of the phenomena surrounding us sees the deep content of earthly life. The most insignificant aspen leaf lives its own intelligent life.

I take Prishvin’s book, open it at random and read:

“The night passed under a large, clear moon, and by morning the first frost had settled. Everything was gray, but the puddles did not freeze. When the sun appeared and warmed up, the trees and grass were bathed in such heavy dew, the spruce branches looked out from the dark forest with such luminous patterns that the diamonds of our entire land would not have been enough for this decoration.”

In this truly diamond piece of prose, everything is simple, precise and everything is full of undying poetry.

Take a closer look at the words in this passage, and you will agree with Gorky when he said that Prishvin had the perfect ability to impart through flexible combination simple words an almost physical palpability to everything he depicted.

But this is not enough. Prishvin’s language is a folk language, precise and figurative at the same time, a language that could only be formed in close communication between Russian people and nature, in work, in great simplicity, wisdom and tranquility folk character.

A few words: “The night passed under the big clear moon” - absolutely accurately convey the silent and majestic flow of the night over the sleeping huge country. And “the frost lay down” and “the trees were covered with heavy dew” - all this is folk, living and in no way overheard or taken from a notebook. This is your own, your own. Because Prishvin was a man of the people, and not just an observer of the people, as, unfortunately, often happens with some of our writers.

The earth is given to us for life. How can we not be grateful to the person who revealed everything to us? simple beauty of this land, whereas before him we knew about it unclearly, scatteredly, in fits and starts.

Among the many slogans put forward by our time, perhaps such a slogan, such an appeal addressed to writers, has a right to exist:

“Enrich people! Give everything you have until the end, and never reach out for a return, for a reward. All hearts are opened with this key.”

Generosity is a high quality in a writer, and Prishvin was distinguished by this generosity.

Days and nights come and go on earth, full of their fleeting charm, the days and nights of autumn and winter, spring and summer. Among the worries and labors, joys and sorrows, we forget the strings of these days, now blue and deep as the sky, now silent under the gray canopy of clouds, now warm and foggy, now filled with the rustle of the first snow.

We forget about the morning dawns, about how the master of the nights, Jupiter, sparkles with a crystalline drop of water.

We forget about many things that should not be forgotten. And Prishvin in his books, as it were, turns back the calendar of nature and returns us to the content of each lived and forgotten day.

Prishvin is one of the most original writers. He is not like anyone else - neither here nor in world literature. Perhaps this is why there is an opinion that Prishvin has no teachers or predecessors. This is not true. Prishvin has a teacher. The only teacher to whom Russian literature owes its strength, depth and sincerity. This teacher is a Russian people.

The writer accumulates an understanding of life slowly, over the years, from youth to adulthood, in close communication with the people. And the vast world of poetry that the ordinary Russian person lives with every day is also accumulating.

Prishvin’s nationality is integral, clearly expressed and unclouded by anything.

In his view of the earth, of people and of everything earthly, there is an almost childlike clarity of vision. A great poet almost always sees the world through the eyes of a child, as if he were really seeing it for the first time. Otherwise, huge layers of life would be tightly closed from him by the state of an adult - who knows a lot and is used to everything.

Seeing the unusual in the familiar and the familiar in the unusual – this is the quality of real artists. Prishvin owned this property entirely, and owned it directly.

The Dubna River flows not far from Moscow. It has been inhabited by humans for thousands of years, is well known and is depicted on hundreds of maps.

It flows calmly among groves near Moscow, overgrown with hops, among hills and fields, past ancient cities and villages - Dmitrov, Verbilki, Taldoma. Thousands and thousands of people visited this river. Among these people there were writers, artists, and poets. And no one noticed anything special in Dubna, anything peculiar to it, worthy of study and description.

It never occurred to anyone to walk along its banks, as along the banks of a yet undiscovered river. Only Prishvin did this. And the modest Dubna sparkled under his pen among the fogs and smoldering sunsets, like a precious geographical find, like a discovery, like one of the most interesting rivers in the country - with its own special life, vegetation, the only landscape peculiar to it, the life of the riverine inhabitants, history, economy and beauty.

Prishvin's life was the life of an inquisitive, active and simple man. No wonder he said that “the greatest happiness is not to consider yourself special, but to be like all people.”

Prishvin’s strength obviously lies in this “to be like everyone else.” “To be like everyone else” for a writer means the desire to be a collector and exponent of all the best that these “everyone” live with, in other words, how his people, his peers, his country live.

Prishvin had a teacher - the people and there were predecessors. He became only a complete exponent of that trend in our science and literature, which reveals the deepest poetry of knowledge.

There is an abyss of poetry in any area of human knowledge. Many poets should have understood this long ago.

How much more effective and majestic the theme of the starry sky, beloved by poets, would become if they knew astronomy well!

It’s one thing - a night over forests, with a faceless and therefore expressionless sky, and a completely different thing - the same night when the poet knows the laws of motion of the stellar sphere and when the black water of autumn lakes reflects not just any constellation at all, but the brilliant and sad Orion .

There are many examples of how the most insignificant knowledge opens up new areas of poetry for us. Everyone has their own experience in this regard.

But now I want to talk about one case when one line from Prishvin explained to me a natural phenomenon that until then seemed random to me. And she not only explained it, but also recalled it with clear and, I would say, natural beauty.

I have long noticed in the vast water meadows on the Oka that in some places the flowers seem to be collected in separate lush clumps, and in some places among ordinary grasses a winding ribbon of solid identical flowers suddenly stretches. This can be seen especially well from a small U-2 plane, which flies into the meadows to pollinate lakes, hollows and swamps from mosquitoes.

For years I observed tall and fragrant ribbons of flowers, admired them, but did not know how to explain this phenomenon.

And in Prishvin’s “Seasons” I finally found an explanation in a line of amazing clarity and charm, in a tiny passage called “Rivers of Flowers”:

“Where spring streams rushed, now there are streams of flowers everywhere.”

I read this and immediately realized that rich stripes of flowers grew precisely where hollow water rushed through in the spring, leaving behind fertile mud. It was like a flower map of spring flows.

We had and still have magnificent scientist-poets, such as Timiryazev, Klyuchevsky, Kaigorodov, Fersman, Obruchev, Przhevalsky, Arsenyev, Menzbier. And we had and still have writers who managed to introduce science into their stories and novels as an essential and picturesque quality of prose - Melnikov-Pechersky, Aksakov, Gorky. But Prishvin occupies a special place among these writers. His extensive knowledge in the field of ethnography, phenology, botany, zoology, agronomy, meteorology, history, folklore, ornithology, geography, local history and other sciences was organically included in the books.

They weren't dead weight. They lived in him, continuously developing, enriched by his experience, his powers of observation, his happy ability to see scientific phenomena in their most picturesque expression, in small and large, but equally unexpected examples.

In this matter, Prishvin is a master and a free master, and there are hardly any writers equal to him in all of world literature.

Knowledge exists for Prishvin as a joy, as a necessary quality of work and that creativity of our time, in which Prishvin participates in his own way, in the Prishvin way, as a kind of guide, leading us by the hand to all the amazing corners of Russia and infecting us with love for this wonderful country.

The conversations that arise from time to time about the right of a writer to paint nature seem completely idle and dead to me. Or rather, about some extent of this right, about the doses of nature and landscape in certain books.

According to some critics, a large dose of nature is a mortal sin, almost a retreat of the writer into nature from reality.

All this is scholasticism at best, and obscurantism at worst. Even a child can understand that a sense of nature is one of the foundations of patriotism.

Alexey Maksimovich Gorky encouraged writers to learn Russian from Prishvin.

Prishvin's language is precise, simple and at the same time very picturesque in its colloquialism. It is multi-colored and subtle.

Prishvin loves folk terms, which by their very sound convey well the subject to which they relate. It’s worth reading at least “The Northern Forest” carefully to be convinced of this.

Botanists have the term “forbs.” It usually refers to flowering meadows. Forbs are a tangle of hundreds of diverse and cheerful flowers, spread out in continuous carpets along the floodplains of rivers. These are thickets of carnations, bedstraw, lungwort, gentian, tributary grass, chamomile, mallow, plantain, wolf's bast, drowsiness, St. John's wort, chicory and many other flowers.

Prishvin’s prose can rightfully be called “a variety of herbs of the Russian language.” Prishvin’s words bloom and sparkle. They are full of freshness and light. They rustle like leaves, they mutter like springs, they whistle like birds, they ring like the fragile first ice, and finally they lie down in our memory in a slow formation, like the movement of stars over the edge of a forest.

It was not without reason that Turgenev spoke about the magical wealth of the Russian language. But he, perhaps, did not think that there was still no end to these magical possibilities, that each new real writer will increasingly reveal this magic of our language.

In Prishvin’s stories, short stories and geographical essays, everything is united by a person - a restless, thinking person with an open and courageous soul.

Prishvin writes about a person, as if squinting slightly from his insight. He is not interested in superficial things. He is interested in the essence of man, the dream that lives in everyone’s heart, be it a lumberjack, a shoemaker, a hunter or a famous scientist.

To pull his innermost dream out of a person - that is the task! And this is difficult to do. A person hides nothing as deeply as his dream. Perhaps because she cannot stand the slightest ridicule and, of course, cannot stand the touch of indifferent hands.

Only a like-minded person can trust your dream. Prishvin was such a like-minded person among our unknown dreamers. Just remember his story “Shoes” about the top shoemakers from Maryina Roshcha, who decided to make the most elegant and lightest shoes in the world for women in communist society.

Everything created by Prishvin and his first works - “In the Land of Unfrightened Birds” and “Kolobok” and subsequent ones - “Calendar of Nature”, “Pantry of the Sun”, his numerous stories and, finally, the finest, as if woven from the morning light of spring water and quietly speaking Ginseng leaves - all this is full of the beautiful essence of life.

Prishvin confirms it every day. This is his great service to his time, to his people and to our future.

Mikhail Mikhailovich’s prose contains many thoughts about creativity and writing. In this matter he was as insightful as in his attitude towards nature.

It seems to me that Prishvin’s story about the classical simplicity of prose is exemplary in its fidelity of thought. It's called "Writer". The story involves a conversation between a writer and a boy-helper about literature.

This is the conversation. The shepherd says to Prishvin:

- If only you wrote the truth, otherwise you probably made it all up.

“Not all,” I answered, “but there is a little.”

– That’s how I would write it!

– Would everything be true?

- All. I would like to take it and write about the night, how the night passes in the swamp.

- Well, how about it?

- And that’s how it is! Night. The bush is big, big near the barrel. I’m sitting under a bush, and the ducklings are hanging, hanging, hanging.

Stopped. I thought - he is looking for words or waiting for images. But he took out a pity and began to drill a hole in it.

“And that’s what I imagined,” he answered, “it’s all true.” The bush is big, big! I sit under it, and the ducklings all night - hang, hang, hang.

- It’s too short.

- What are you talking about! – the shepherd was surprised. - All night long, hang, hang, hang.

While imagining this story, I said:

- How good!

- Is it really bad? - he answered.

We are deeply grateful to Prishvin. We are grateful for the joy of each new day, which turns blue at dawn and makes the heart beat young. We believe in Mikhail Mikhailovich and together with him we know that there are still many meetings and thoughts and magnificent work ahead and sometimes clear, sometimes foggy days when a yellow willow leaf flies into the calm waters, smelling of bitterness and chill. We know that a ray of sunshine will definitely break through the fog and this pure, fabulous light will light up underneath it with light, pure gold, just as Prishvin’s stories light up for us - as light, simple and beautiful as this leaf.

In his writing, Prishvin was a winner. I can’t help but remember his words: “If even the wild swamps alone were witnesses of your victory, then they too will flourish with extraordinary beauty - and spring will remain in you forever.”

Yes, the spring of Prishvin’s prose will remain forever in the hearts of our people and in the life of our Soviet literature.

K. Paustovsky

Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin

Green noise

Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin

If nature could feel gratitude to man for penetrating into her secret life and singing its beauty, then first of all this gratitude would fall to the lot of the writer Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin.

Mikhail Mikhailovich was the name for the city. And in those places where Prishvin was “at home” - in the guards’ guardhouses, in fog-shrouded river floodplains, under the clouds and stars of the Russian field sky - they simply called him “Mikhalych”. And, obviously, they were upset when this amazing man, memorable at first sight, disappeared into the cities, where only swallows nesting under iron roofs reminded him of the vastness of his crane homeland.

Prishvin's life is proof that a person should always strive to live according to his calling: “According to the dictates of his heart.” This way of life contains the greatest common sense, because a person who lives according to his heart and in complete harmony with his inner world is always a creator, enricher and artist.

If we carefully read everything written by Prishvin, we will be convinced that he did not have time to tell us even a hundredth part of what he saw and knew so perfectly.

For such masters as Prishvin, one life is not enough - for masters who can write a whole poem about every leaf flying from a tree. And an innumerable number of these leaves fall.

Prishvin came from the ancient Russian city of Yelets. Bunin also came from these same places, just like Prishvin, who knew how to perceive nature in organic connection with human thoughts and moods.

Essentially, Prishvin's life changed so dramatically because of his love for the Russian language. He went in search of the treasures of this language, just as the heroes of his “Ship Thicket” went in search of a distant, almost fabulous ship grove.

After the north, Prishvin wrote his first book, “In the Land of Unfrightened Birds.” Since then he has become a writer.

All of Prishvin’s further creativity seemed to be born in wanderings around his native country. Prishvin set out and traveled all over Central Russia, the North, Kazakhstan and the Far East. After each trip, a new story appeared, then a novella, or just a short entry in the diary. But all of these works by Prishvin were significant and original, from a precious speck of dust - a diary entry, to a large stone sparkling with diamond facets - a story or story.

Prishvin thought of himself as a poet “crucified on the cross of prose.” But he was wrong. His prose is much more filled with the purest juice of poetry than other poems and poems.

Prishvin's books, in his own words, are “the endless joy of constant discoveries.”

Several times I heard from people who had just put down Prishvin’s book they had read, the same words: “This is real witchcraft!”

From further conversation it became clear that by these words people understood the difficult to explain, but obvious, inherent only to Prishvin, charm of his prose.

The secret of Prishvin's charm, the secret of his witchcraft, lies in his vigilance.

I take Prishvin’s book, open it at random and read:

In this truly diamond piece of prose, everything is simple, precise and everything is full of undying poetry.

Take a closer look at the words in this passage, and you will agree with Gorky when he said that Prishvin had the perfect ability to impart, through a flexible combination of simple words, almost physical perceptibility to everything that he depicted.

But this is not enough. Prishvin’s language is a folk language, precise and figurative at the same time, a language that could only be formed in close communication between Russian people and nature, in work, in the great simplicity, wisdom and tranquility of the people’s character.

A few words: “The night passed under the big clear moon” - accurately convey the silent and majestic flow of the night over the sleeping huge country. And “the frost lay down” and “the trees were covered with heavy dew” - all this is folk, living and in no way overheard or taken from a notebook. This is your own, your own. Because Prishvin was a man of the people, and not just an observer of the people, as is the case

State educational institution

« High school No. 7 Novopolotsk"

Life according to the dictates of the heart.

Mikhail Prishvin

Performed by:

Dyakov Ivan Vladimirovich ,

student of grade 3 "B"

Supervisor:

Galetskaya Irina Nikolaevna ,

teacher I steps

general secondary education

Novopolotsk, 2013

Introduction .………………………………………………………………………………………………….……………….. 3

Main part

1. Original writer Mikhail Prishvin……………………… 4

2. Lessons from nature ………………………………………………………………………… 5

3. Sharp turn………………………………………………………………………… 5

4. Real miracles in Prishvin’s stories…………..………… 6

5. Poems about nature. Secrets of mastery………………………... 7

6. “To protect nature means to protect the Motherland” ……….… 7

Conclusion ..……………………………………………………………………………………………………………. 9

List of sources used.………………………………………………………….... 10

INTRODUCTION

Mikhail Prishvin is not a children's writer, but he has works written about children, addressed to children, interesting and useful specifically for children.

Prishvin occupies a special place among scientific writers. His extensive knowledge in the field of ethnography, botany, zoology, agronomy, history, folklore, geography, local history and other sciences was organically included in his books.

“I write about nature, but I myself only think about people,” Prishvin asserted. The theme of nature in the writer’s work turns into the theme of the Motherland, the motive of goodness and love into the motive of patriotism.

With my work I will try to prove that loving nature means loving the Motherland, and protecting nature means protecting the Motherland.

Field of study: Russian literature.

Subject of research : literary creativity M.M. Prishvina.

Project goal : explore whether love for nature can mean love for the Motherland.

Hypothesis : Only by loving, and not admiring, can you save and protect this amazing world– nature. Protecting nature means protecting the Motherland.

Project objectives :

get acquainted with some information from the life of M.M. Prishvin;

learn to see, hear, love nature, penetrate its secrets.

MAIN PART

Original writer Mikhail Prishvin

I'll start my story with these words:

"Old man"

All his life he wandered through the forests

Derevev knew the language,

An old man I know.

He always knew ahead

Among the pines and oak forests,

Where the sweetest berry grows

And where there are plenty of mushrooms.

No one could convey it like that

The beauty of fields and rivers,

And so tell about the forest

How is this man...

M. Tsuranov

If nature could feel gratitude to man for penetrating her secret life and singing her beauty, then first of all this gratitude would fall to Prishvin.

This is what Konstantin Paustovsky said about Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin.

This year marks the 140th anniversary of the birth of Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin, a writer who could write a whole poem about every leaf flying from a tree.

The original writer was also an agronomist, a local historian, an ethnographer, an experienced hunter, a gamekeeper, and a phenologist.

An agronomist is a specialist in the field of agriculture.

A huntsman is a professional hunter.

A local historian is a specialist in the study of the history and geography of a particular area.

Phenologist is a specialist who studies patterns in the life of animals and plants in connection with the changing seasons.

An ethnographer is a specialist who studies the material and spiritual culture of peoples.

Lessons from nature

Prishvin's biography is sharply divided into two. The beginning of life followed the beaten path - a merchant family, a strong life. Prishvin was born in the Oryol province and spent his childhood here. In the middle of a huge park stood an old wooden house. The Prishvin family had five children. My father died very early. We didn't live well.

The peasant Gusyok taught the future writer to understand many of the secrets of nature. “The most important thing I learned from him... is the understanding that all birds are different, and hares, and grasshoppers, and all animal creatures, just like people, are different from each other.”

He studied at a gymnasium, a real school, a polytechnic in Riga, and a university in Leipzig.

Received the specialty of an agronomist. Marvelous. But Prishvin’s first book was the agronomic book “Potatoes in Field and Garden Culture.”

At the same time, Mikhail Mikhailovich wrote a collection of stories for children, “Matryoshka in Potatoes.”

Flip flop

It would seem that everything is going smoothly in the everyday sense. And suddenly - a sharp turning point. Prishvin quits his service and goes on foot to the north, to Karelia. With a knapsack, a hunting rifle and a notebook. He is writing a book about this journey.

The first book is about the Russian North, “In the Land of Unfrightened Birds.”

Peru Prishvin also owns:

"Adam and Eve"

« Worldly Cup»,

"Bright Lake"

"Black Arab"

"Ginseng",

"Forest Drops"

"Nature Calendar"

"Golden Meadow"

"Pantry of the Sun"

"Phacelia"

"Eyes of the Earth"

Mikhail Mikhailovich was not only a children's writer - he wrote his books for everyone, but children read them with equal interest. He wrote only about what he himself saw and experienced in nature.

For example, to describe how the spring flood of rivers occurs, Mikhail Mikhailovich builds himself a house on wheels from an ordinary truck, takes with him a rubber folding boat, a gun and everything he needs for a lonely life in the forest, goes to the place where the Volga River floods and observes there How the largest animals, moose, and the smallest, water rats and shrews, escape from the water that floods the land.

The writer Prishvin was the oldest driver in Moscow. Until he was eighty, he drove the car himself, inspected it himself, and asked for help in this matter only in the most extreme cases. Mikhail Mikhailovich treated his car almost like a living creature and affectionately called it “Masha”. On it the writer left the city in search of untouched nature.

Real miracles in Prishvin's stories

“Miracles are not like in fairy tales about living water and dead water, but real ones, as they happen everywhere, and at every minute of our lives, but often we, having eyes, do not see them, having ears, we do not hear them,” - This is how a man who knew everything about nature and understood its language wrote - Mikhail Prishvin.

The author gives his “heroes” voices and habits. Even trees and plants in Prishvin’s descriptions become alive: dandelions, like children, fall asleep in the evenings and wake up in the mornings; Like a hero, a mushroom emerges from under the leaves, the forest whispers.

In Prishvin’s books I found such vivid comparisons and epithets:

powder, like... (powder)

the rays of the sun are like... (fire in the snow)

morning, like...(undiscovered land)

dew like...(small beads)

meadow by the river, like ... (honeycomb)

morning (sunny and dewy, single, silver)

leaves (pale yellow, tender, fragrant, shiny, trembling)

dew (cold)

leaf surface (smooth, velvety)

Poems about nature. Secrets of mastery

Prishvin called his landscape sketches poems. Listen:

“I thought a random breeze moved an old leaf, and it was the first butterfly that flew out. I thought it was a shock to my eyes, but it turned out to be the first flower.”

“The forest spread its banks as if with its hands - and a river came out.

In the forests I love rivers with black water and yellow flowers on the banks; blue rivers flow in the fields and there are different flowers near them.”

On a farm in the Tula province, during threshing, Prishvin began to write down remarkable words, first on a matchbox, then on a piece of birch bark. Then he moved on to systematically recording unusual figures of speech in a special notebook. Thus, the famous “Verbal Storeroom” was gradually compiled, which he valued so much that during a fire in Yelets, he threw himself into the fire after it, at the risk of his life, when all his property burned down.

One day, Alexei Tolstoy found Prishvin at work: he had spread his coat under him and was lying on the floor in an empty room. There were notes, thin strips, and long ribbons laid out around him. Alexei Tolstoy found this method of work funny: “What are the tapes for?” Prishvin explained how he uses them: on thin strips of paper, glued into one long strip, many words, sayings, and beliefs were written down. Prishvin was rolling tapes onto rollers. Rolling from one roller to another, he could easily find the right word.

Mikhail Prishvin lived to be 80 years old.

“To protect nature means to protect the Motherland”

“The Motherland, as I understand it,” Prishvin wrote in his diary, “is not something ethnographic or landscape that I now lean towards. For me, the Motherland is all that I now love and fight for.”

Man is part of nature. He will cut down forests, pollute rivers and air, destroy animals and birds - and he himself will not be able to live on a dead planet.

That’s why Prishvin addressed us, the children:

Fish need clean water - we will protect our reservoirs. There are various valuable animals in the forests, steppes, and mountains - we will protect our forests, steppes, and mountains.

For fish - water. For the bird - the air, for the beast - the forest, steppe, mountains. But a person needs a homeland, and protecting nature means protecting the homeland.”

CONCLUSION

The writer believed that the richer a person’s spiritual world, the more he sees in nature, because he brings his experiences and sensations into it. Prishvin called this ability to judge nature “by itself” “kinship attention.”

Prishvin was disgusted by superficial admiration of the life of nature. He called people simply admiring nature “summer residents.” The writer encourages us to be able to distinguish between these two feelings - admiration and love. Prishvin's life is proof that a person should always strive to live according to his calling, “according to the dictates of his heart.”

The memorial monument to the writer in Moscow depicts the Sirin Bird, the mysterious bird of happiness, sitting on a ledge. Spreading his wings, throwing his head back. She sings, merging in song with herbs, flowers, animals, birds - everything that Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin loved so much in his life.

LIST OF SOURCES USED

Bastrygina, N.N. Oral journal "Good Writer". About the life and work of M.M. Prishvin (Literature at school, No. 11, 2011. P.40-42)

Dubrovskaya, A.I. children about writers: A manual for teachers primary classes general education school 3rd ed. / A.I. Dubrovskaya. – Mn.: Theseus, 2004. – 176 p. (p.47 – 50).

K. Zurabova. - Heartfelt thoughts of Mikhail Prishvin/Journal Preschool education No. 8, 2003 (p. 77-84)

Korotkova, M.S. Four-legged friends of the “hunting writer”. Based on children's and hunting stories by M.M. Prishvin (Literature at school, No. 3, 2011. P.41-44):

Liperovskaya, S.I. For magic word. Life of Mikhail Prishvin // Children's literature, Moscow, 1964, 191 p.

Lomova Tatyana Mikhailovna “M.M. Prishvin. "Seasons". P.108-110 (Journal of Literature in School. No. 3, 1996). WITH.

Solovey, T.G. – Let’s discover Prishvin’s wealth. (Magazine Literature Lessons. No. 12, 2007. – P. 14

If nature could feel gratitude to man for penetrating her secret life and singing its beauty, then first of all this gratitude would fall to the lot of the writer Mikhail Mikhaloyvich Prishvin.
Mikhail Mikhailovich was the name for the city. And in those places where Prishvin was “at home” - in the guards’ guardhouses, in fog-shrouded river floodplains, under the clouds and stars of the Russian field sky - they called him simply “Mikhalych.” And , obviously, were upset when this amazing man, memorable at first sight, disappeared into cities where only swallows, nesting under iron roofs, reminded him of the vastness of the “crane homeland.”
Prishvin’s life is proof that a person should always strive to live according to his calling, “at the behest of his heart.” This way of life contains the greatest common sense, because a person who lives according to his heart and in complete harmony with his inner world will always creator, enricher and artist.
It is unknown what Prishvin would have created if he had remained an agronomist. In any case, he would hardly have opened Russian nature to millions of people as a world of the finest and brightest poetry. He simply would not have had enough time for this. Nature requires a close eye and intense internal work to create in the writer’s soul a kind of “second world” of nature, enriching us with thoughts and ennobling us with the beauty seen by the artist.
...
Prishvin’s biography is sharply divided into two. The beginning of his life followed the beaten path - a merchant family, merchant life, gymnasium, service as an agronomist in Klin and Luga, the first agronomic book “Potatoes” in field and garden culture.”
It would seem that everything is going smoothly and naturally in the everyday sense, along the so-called “official path.” And suddenly there is a sharp change. Prishvin quits his service and goes on foot to the north, to Karelia, with a knapsack, a hunting rifle and a notebook.
Life is at stake. Prishvin does not know what will happen to him next. He obeys only the voice of his heart, the invincible attraction to be among the people and with the people, to listen to their amazing language, to write down fairy tales, beliefs, and omens.
...
You can write a lot about each writer, trying to the best of your ability to express all those thoughts and feelings that arise in us when reading his books. But it is difficult, almost impossible, to write about Prishvin. You need to write him down for yourself in treasured notebooks, re-read from time to time, discovering more and more new treasures in every line of his prose and poetry, going into his books, as we go along barely noticeable paths into the dense forest with its conversation of springs, the trembling of leaves, the fragrance of herbs, plunging into various thoughts and states characteristic of this pure mind and the heart of a person.
Prishvin thought of himself as a poet, “crucified on the cross of prose.” But he was wrong. His prose is much more filled with the purest juice of poetry than other verses and poems.
Prishvin's book, in his own words, is “the endless joy of constant discoveries.”
Several times I heard from people who had just put down the book by Prishvin that they had read, the same words: “This is real witchcraft!”
...
What is his secret? What is the secret of these books? The words “witchcraft”, “magic” usually refer to fairy tales. But Prishvin is not a storyteller. He is a man of the earth, “the mother of the damp earth”, a participant and witness of everything that happens around him in world.
The secret of Prishvin's charm, the secret of his witchcraft, is his vigilance.
This is the vigilance that reveals something interesting and significant in every little thing, that, under the sometimes boring cover of the phenomena surrounding us, sees the deep content of earthly life. The most insignificant aspen leaf lives its own intelligent life.
...
Generosity is a high quality in a writer, and Prishvin was distinguished by this generosity.
Days and nights come and go on earth, full of their fleeting charm, days and nights of autumn and winter, spring and summer. Among the worries and labors, joys and sorrows, we forget the strings of these days, sometimes blue and deep, like the sky, sometimes silent under a gray canopy of clouds, sometimes warm and foggy, sometimes filled with the rustle of the first snow.
We forget about the morning dawns, about how the master of the nights, Jupiter, sparkles with a crystalline drop of water.
We forget about many things that should not be forgotten. And Prishvin in his books, as it were, turns back the calendar of nature and returns us to the content of each lived and forgotten day.
...
The Prishvin nationality is integral, sharply expressed and unclouded by anything.
In his view of the earth, people and everything earthly, there is an almost childlike clarity of vision. The great poet almost always sees the world through the eyes of a child, as if he really sees it for the first time. Otherwise, huge layers of life would be tightly closed from him by the state of an adult - knowledgeable and accustomed to everything.
To see the unusual in the familiar and the familiar in the unusual - this is the property of real artists. Prishvin owned this property entirely, and owned it directly.
...
K. Paustovsky.
Preface to the book by M. Prishvin “Pantry of the Sun”.
I advise everyone to read it, those who haven’t read it, and those who have read it, re-read it again.
I don’t know, but I find myself in it and in the description of Prishvin’s personality. His ideas and view of the world are very close to me.