The landscapes of A. Blok delight with bright colors and emotional content. No exception and "Summer Evening", which is studied in the 6th grade. We suggest that you familiarize yourself with a brief analysis of the "Summer Evening" according to the plan.

Brief analysis

History of creation- the work appeared in 1898 under the impression of a summer spent in an estate near Moscow.

Theme of the poem- a summer evening descending on the countryside.

Composition- Conventionally, the poem can be divided into two parts: an evening landscape and an appeal to the reader. Formally, it consists of three quatrains.

genre- elegy.

Poetic size- iambic tetrameter, cross rhyme ABAB.

Metaphors – “the rays of the sunset lie on a field of compressed rye”, “the grass is embraced by a pink slumber”, “the red disk of the moon”, “rush off ... towards the night and the moon”.

epithets – "last rays", "pink slumber", "uncut grass", "evening silence".

History of creation

"Summer Evening" refers to the early period of A. Blok's work. The history of the creation of the poem is connected with the poet's stay in the family estate near Moscow. Alexander Alexandrovich wrote the work in December 1898, a few months after entering St. Petersburg University. The young man spent the summer of this year at the Shakhmatovo estate. The serene warm days remained in his memory for a long time, and later embodied in a poem.

Topic

The work develops traditional summer motifs for literature. They are closely intertwined with the emotions of the lyrical hero. Through the prism of his perception, the author reveals the theme of a summer village evening.

The background for creating a landscape is a field of rye. And this is not surprising, because for many it is associated with the Russian village. The field is basking in the last rays of the sun, and the grass is already “embraced in a pink slumber”. This color hints at the carefree, cheerful mood of the lyrical hero.

The landscape reproduced by Blok is static, so it perfectly conveys the evening atmosphere. Even the breeze does not disturb nature. Silence reigns around: both the birds and the reapers are silent. The details of the landscape sketch suggest to the reader that the lyrical hero is watching the August evening.

The last quatrain of the poem is addressed to an invisible listener. It is impossible to understand who is its addressee: the reader or the lyrical hero himself. In these lines, the lyrical "I" calls to forget about their sorrows and completely surrender to nature. He seeks to escape from everyday dullness, routine. To do this, you need to forget for a moment about your goals and disturbing thoughts. The last lines suggest that under the mask of a lyrical hero, a carefree young man is hiding, who wants freedom and adventure. Thus, two problems are raised in the third quatrain: spiritual freedom from the vain human life and the unity of man and nature.

In "Summer Evening" the idea is realized that nature gives a person peace and tranquility, and also helps him feel free.

Composition

The composition of the poem is simple. Conventionally, it can be divided into two parts: an evening summer landscape and an appeal to the reader. The first part takes up more lines than the second. Formally, the poem consists of three quatrains, each of which continues the previous one in meaning.

genre

The genre of the poem is elegy. Despite the fact that the work is based on a landscape, philosophical notes are felt. The first quatrains have a pronounced contemplative character. The last lines push you to think about true freedom. The poetic size is iambic tetrameter. A. Blok used the cross rhyme ABAB. The work has both male and female rhymes.

means of expression

The set of expressive means used in the poem is limited. Nevertheless, they are the author's main assistant in reproducing pictures of nature and conveying the mood of the lyrical hero. The text has metaphors- “the rays of the sunset lie on a field of compressed rye”, “grass is embraced by a pink slumber”, “the red disk of the moon”, “rush off ... towards the night and the moon” and epithets- “last rays”, “pink slumber”, “uncut grass”, “evening silence”. The paths are striking in their simplicity, some in their banality. However, this feature does not impoverish the artistic design of the poems. It helps the reader get closer to nature.

The poem is dominated by a calm, smooth intonation. It corresponds to the content, emphasizes the serenity of the surrounding hero of the world. Only the last quatrain is framed as an exclamatory sentence. Such intonation is required by its content and form.

In some lines the poet used alliteration"g", "s", "h", "h": "the last rays of sunset lie on a field of compressed rye". It seems that nature in a whisper reveals some secrets to the lyrical hero.

Poem Test

Analysis Rating

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One day my parents and I went out into the countryside with tents. We really wanted to take a break from the hustle and bustle of the city, so we decided to spend the weekend in the forest. There I noticed something that I had not noticed before - how beautiful a summer evening can be.

Exhausting midday

The heat finally subsides, leaving behind a pleasant warmth. As the sun approaches the horizon, its bright light softens and its shadows lengthen. A light breeze touches the pine branches and bird voices are heard everywhere.

The sky is clear, there is not a cloud on it. Grasshoppers do not stop in the grass, and butterflies flutter through the flowers. Everyone breathes easier, even plants, tired of the heat of a summer day, cheer up, feeling the approach of evening coolness.

As it approaches the horizon, the sun takes on an orange tint and the sky a soft pink. The sunset becomes a real decoration of a summer evening. He gives inexpressible

A range of emotions that are difficult to describe in words. The surrounding world is painted in a variety of rich colors from flaming red to purple. It should be noted that not only the sky is transformed, but also the tops of the trees, even the grass acquires a warmer shade. And purple reflections appear on the surface of the lake.

The air gradually becomes cooler, smells are felt brighter. The wind subsides, and, preparing for sleep, the birds fall silent. Unfortunately, the evening does not last long, soon the night comes into its own, imperceptibly pushing its predecessor. The night dwellers wake up. Crickets begin their concert, which will last until late at night, you can hear the rustle of voles that have come out in search of food, and the hoot of an owl.

I am glad that at this time I was alone with nature and was able to feel and feel all the beauty and depth of the moment. After all, in the hustle and bustle of everyday life, we often miss the simple pleasures of life.

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"Good in summer!" Short story about summer

Good summer! The golden rays of the sun are generously pouring onto the earth. The river runs like a blue ribbon into the distance. The forest is in festive, summer decoration. Flowers - purple, yellow, blue scattered across the clearings, edges.

All sorts of miracles happen in the summer. There is a forest in a green attire, underfoot - a green grass-ant, completely strewn with dew. But what is it? Yesterday there was nothing in this clearing, but today it is completely littered with small, red, as if precious, pebbles. This is a strawberry. Isn't it a miracle?

Puffs, rejoicing in delicious provisions, a hedgehog. Hedgehog - he is omnivorous. Therefore, glorious days have come for him. And for other animals too. All living things rejoice. Birds joyfully flood, they are now in their homeland, they don’t have to rush to distant, warm lands yet, they enjoy warm, sunny days.

Summer is loved by children and adults. For long, sunny days and short warm nights. For the rich harvest of the summer garden. For generous fields full of rye, wheat.

All living things sing and triumph in the summer.

"Summer morning". Short story about summer
Summer is the time when nature wakes up early. Summer mornings are amazing. Light clouds float high in the sky, the air is clean and fresh, it is filled with the aromas of herbs. The forest river throws off a haze of fog. A golden ray of the sun skillfully makes its way through the dense foliage, it illuminates the forest. A nimble dragonfly, moving from place to place, looks attentively, as if looking for something.

It's good to wander through the summer forest. Among the trees above all are pines. The spruces are also not small, but they do not know how to pull their top so high towards the sun. You gently step on the emerald moss. What is there in the forest: mushrooms-berries, mosquitoes-grasshoppers, mountains-slopes. The summer forest is a pantry of nature.

And here is the first meeting - a big, prickly hedgehog. Seeing people, he gets lost, stands on a forest path, probably wondering where he should go next?

"Summer evening". Short story about summer
The summer day is drawing to a close. The sky gradually darkens, the air becomes cooler. It looks like it might rain now, but inclement weather is a rarity in summer. It gets quieter in the forest, but the sounds do not disappear completely. Some animals hunt at night, the dark time of the day is the most favorable time for them. Their eyesight is poorly developed, but their sense of smell and hearing are excellent. Such animals include, for example, a hedgehog. Sometimes you can hear how the turtledove groans.

Nightingale sings at night. During the day, he also performs a solo part, but among the polyphony it is difficult to hear and make out it. Another thing at night. Someone sings, someone groans. But in general, the forest freezes. Nature rests in order to please everyone again in the morning.

Music for happiness - gentle guitar

The first chord is light, a breath of wind, fingers barely touch the strings. A vanishingly quiet sound, E minor, simpler and there is nothing ...
The first snowflake is light, translucent, carried by an almost imperceptible wind. She is a harbinger of snowfall, a scout who first descended to the ground ...

The second chord - the fingers of the left hand are deftly rearranged, the right hand confidently and gently leads along the strings. Down, down, up is simple and gives the simplest sound. Not a blizzard or a storm is being prepared - just a snowfall. There can be nothing complicated in it. Snowflakes begin to fly more often - the advanced detachments of the main forces, sparkling ice stars.

Then the chords replace each other more viscous and affectionately, so that the ear almost does not notice the transition from one sound to another. A transition that always sounds harsh. Instead of a fight - bust. Eight. The intro is played and even if it's not an instrumental that sounds triumphant and joyful during a summer downpour or viscous and bewitching in a blizzard, even if it's just chords put together, the music surprisingly suits the snow outside the window, the white butterflies of winter, the icy tiny stars that all dance, dance their dance in the night sky...

Singing is woven into the music - quiet, the words are indistinguishable, elude perception, interfere with the snowfall and the measured, natural beating of the heart. A clear rhythm and calm power sound in them. There is no end to the song, it just gently intertwines with the dance of snowflakes and quietly leaves, leaving the sky and snow alone...
Cold and darkness hide sounds and movements, reconcile the city with winter...

And the Lord of the Snowfall, having played his part on one of the roofs, gently puts away his guitar, domineering over the elements, into the case. There is snow on his shoulders and on his hair, red cheerful sparks flash and go out - snowflakes reflect the light of distant lights. There is light in the windows of the house opposite. There are people who do not know how to weave the lace of the elements...

The staircase is the usual staircase of a nine-story building. Doors, an elevator that is always occupied by someone, the dim light of a light bulb on the landing ... The Lord of Snowfall walks, holding his guitar, quietly and slowly stepping up the stairs. From the ninth floor to the first, carefully so as not to disturb the warm feeling of relaxed, trusting happiness that comes every time after a game is completed...
And the habitually evil question of the mother who opened the door:
When will you stop playing your games and finally start thinking?
It hits an open soul like a knife. The soft snowy wings given by the fulfillment of the present are breaking, and only misunderstanding and resentment remain.
Why does she hit the sickest person? For what?..

At night, a wild wind blew through the city, mixed with snow. He broke branches of trees, tore wires, covered roads ...
It was the Snowfall Lord's guitar again.