Game of the profession of fairy-tale heroes. Abstract of the quiz lesson "In the world of professions
Since Soviet times, we have become accustomed to perceiving the classics of our literature according to templates someone invented and approved somewhere up there in the now memorable ideological department of the Central Committee of the CPSU. "A step to the left, a step to the right - shooting!" But time puts everything in its place, and today, if you look closely, through the learned ideological clichés, the purely human features of our sincerely beloved classic authors of Russian literature suddenly appear.
This is how it is in the wonderful and well-known excerpt "Once, in a freezing winter season, I came out of the forest ..." from the poem "Peasant Children" by N. A. Nekrasov, you can see a living author.
In the first stanza of the poem, Nekrasov tells us:
"Once upon a time in the cold winter time
I left the forest. There was a bitter frost. "
Let's start with the question: why did N.A.Nekrasov end up in the forest on a very cold winter day? Indeed, in middle lane Russia, where Nekrasov lived, at that time had a continental climate, that is, in very coldy the thermometer dropped below -25 ° С! So what made him leave the warm home comfort and head to the forest in a 25-degree frost? What was he doing there?
The answer is very simple. Nekrasov was a Russian landowner. At the time of Nekrasov, there was private ownership of land in Russia. People who owned land with all the land located on it were called landowners. By the way, along with the land, the landowners also owned the villages that were on their land and the people who lived in them. These people were called serfs and they were, as it were, the slaves of the landowner. On the lands belonging to Nekrasov, vast forests grew, there were fields, meadows, lakes and a river, and Nekrasov, as you know, was an avid hunter. Of course, Nekrasov looked out for game in the winter forest, perhaps specifically for hares, and when he went out to the edge of the forest, he saw a whole load of firewood heading along the road leading from the forest to the village, most likely on a sledge-sledge harnessed to a horse. Nekrasov writes:
“I see, slowly rises up the hill
A horse carrying brushwood. "
Why slow? Yes, because she was loaded with the top!
The first feeling of Nekrasov as an artist is the emotion of the picture he saw:
“And, walking importantly, in a calm calm,
A little man leads the horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin sheepskin coat,
In big mittens ..., and he himself with a fingernail! ".
The "little man" is dressed in a sheepskin coat, he is wearing huge boots and mittens, and although his clothes are clearly large, he is dressed for the weather. Nekrasov admires the "little man". He is full of dignity and awareness of the importance of the work that is entrusted to him! However, the first emotional impression is replaced by concern. Nekrasov was a zealous owner, all the nearest forests belonged to him, and therefore Nikolai Alekseevich suspected unkindness! Rather, it immediately became clear to him that the wood that the peasant was carrying was from his forest! Nikolai Alekseevich politely, but not without irony, greeted the kid in order to clarify the origin of the firewood:
"Great, boy!"
The obviously ironic derogatory reference to the "guy" obviously did not like the "little man", and therefore he boldly replies to the adult mocker:
"Walk past yourself!"
Apparently, the child had never seen the master before. But even taking into account the fact that the kid did not know with whom he was talking, we see in this example that already "at that time" the self-consciousness of the Russian peasantry was very high level! A six-year-old peasant peasant immediately rebuffs an adult who is ironic about him! Maybe already in this episode, remarkably described by the poet, one can see the sprouts of future Russian revolutions unnoticed by Nekrasov, who is concerned about the safety of his property ?!
Nekrasov, such a bold answer from the little boy, of course, hurt:
“It’s painfully you are formidable, as I can see!”,
And he immediately, not in the eyebrow, but in the eye asks the boy who drove the horse and sleigh:
"Where did the firewood come from ?!"
A naive kid, in a childishly ingenuous and even edifying way, answers:
“It’s obvious from the forest.
You hear your father chopping, but I'm taking it away! "
But Nikolai Alekseevich, of course, heard that
"The ax of a woodcutter was heard in the forest."
It is clear to Nekrasov that there is a blatant theft. His serfs in broad daylight chop his own forest for firewood.
Let's note that cutting down the master's forest without permission was a criminal offense! True, liberal-minded landowners could limit themselves to their own domestic methods of education, for example, flogging in the stables. A violator of the law, a thief-cutter, was brought by force to the stable. His pants were pulled off, exposing the back of the body below the back. They tied them to a wooden bench with a rope face down and beat them with reins or whips on the exposed part of the body. The number of blows was appointed by the master-master and depended on the level of liberalism of the landlord. Whipping was, without a doubt, a harsh and humiliating measure of punishment, but it could not even be compared with the several years of hard labor in Siberia, which a serf could receive for cutting down the master's forest in court according to the Criminal Code. Russian Empire!
So, Nekrasov finds out from the kid that he is obviously taking out stolen firewood from the forest, that is, he is an accomplice in a criminal offense! But Nekrasov is also a people's poet-liberal, that, sympathizing with the hard lot of the Russian peasantry, he begins to find out what life circumstances forced his serf and his young son to commit a criminal offense:
"Does your father have a big family?"
And when the boy replies:
“The family is big, but two people
There are only men: my father and I ... ",
Nikolai Alekseevich bitterly realizes that there are only two “men” in the lumberjack's family, and the rest of the “women” are probably his wife-mother and numerous daughters, girls, that is, practically, only parasites! In addition, there seems to be only one horse in the family! How to warm and feed such a crowd in the fierce Russian cold without breaking the law ?! Nekrasov thinks in his mind that the losses from one stolen wagon of the forest are small, especially since he sees one dead wood loaded on the baby in the sleigh. But just in case, Nikolai Alekseevich learns the basic personal data of the boy:
“What is your name? - "Vlasom".
- Why are you a year old? - "The sixth passed ..."
Now he, and at the same time his father, can be easily found, if need be.
In the soul of Nekrasov there is a fierce struggle between the feudal landlord and the liberal poet! I would like to think that Nekrasov decides not to detain the kid red-handed, and he will continue on his way home:
"" Well, dead! " - shouted the baby in a bass voice,
He pulled by the bridle and walked faster. "
We are not aware of the legal and / or extrajudicial consequences of this meeting for the cutter and his son, but the feelings that overwhelmed Nekrasov's soul were embodied in a poem that made his name known to all of Mother Russia for a hundred years. huge number children and adults, and subsequently all Russian-speaking citizens of the immense USSR, the cultural successor of the Russian Empire. After all, the poem "Once, in the freezing winter ..." was included in the Russian language anthology and was studied without fail by all children in the 250 millionth USSR!
This is how it turns out, a chance meeting in the forest and a long folk memory of the compassionate (how you want to believe it!) Master-poet!
…Once upon a time in the cold winter time,
I went out of the forest; there was a bitter frost.
I look, slowly rises up the hill
A horse carrying brushwood.
And, walking importantly, in a calm calm.
A little man leads the horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin sheepskin coat,
In large mittens ... and himself with a fingernail!
- Hey, boy! - "Go by yourself!"
- Painfully you are formidable, as I can see!
Where do the firewood come from? - “From the forest, no doubt;
Father, do you hear, chops, and I take away. "
(A lumberjack's ax was heard in the forest.)
- Does your father have a big family? -
“The family is big, but two people
There are only men: my father and I ... "
- So there it is! What is your name? -
"Vlasom".
- Why are you a year old? - “The sixth passed ...
Well, dead! " - shouted the baby in a bass.
He pulled by the bridle and walked faster ...
Analysis of the poem "A Little Man with a Marigold" by Nekrasov
The greatest poet Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov represents the golden age of Russian literature. He was a nobleman, so he could feel the hard lot of the peasant people. At that time, the peasants did not climb out of poverty and worked hard to feed their families. All this he showed in his poem "Little Man with a Marigold", which became part of the poem "Peasant Children". He writes about the difficult fate of a family in which there are many children and only two males. This is a father and son of six years old.
For a greater experience of work little boy, the writer imagined a frosty winter. It was wild cold. So he uses the amplification method to impress the readers. No matter how cold it was, the hero of the poem worked indefatigably. Through conversation, we understand that a boy must be very responsible for his family. Even though it was terribly cold, the child did an excellent job.
The description of the boy, Vlas, shows that he is dressed like an adult, wearing large mittens and boots. He has already been in the forest many times to help his father, therefore he is very respectful of work, takes all cares with dignity. He became an adult early and is proud that he is also part of the main thing in the family. He knows how to ride a horse and deftly controls it, knows all the commands that she must follow.
The description of the boy looks very reverent, with great tenderness. The author, as if admiring his hero. All words to describe it are selected with special warmth, felt with kindness and tenderness. But he also uses irony, calling him "little man." This reflects the true character of the boy. Vlas, in his actions and reasoning, seems to everyone a real man. He knows what to do, has all the necessary skills. All actions are carried out with great confidence, without any unnecessary haste.
Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov always writes very softly, tenderly, with special trepidation about the image of children. Small children play an important role in his writing.
Everything the poet writes about can be easily imagined and understood. Village life, hunger, poor family. This is the description that reveals life in a peasant family.
Nikolai Nekrasov has a large number of poems about the difficult life of children. Sometimes so many problems fall on them that even adults cannot cope with them the way children do. This deserves a lot of respect in our world.
From the poem peasant children
Once upon a time in the cold winter time,
I went out of the forest; there was a bitter frost.
I look, slowly rises up the hill
A horse carrying brushwood.
And, marching importantly, in a calm calm,
A little man leads the horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin sheepskin coat,
In big mittens ... and with a fingernail himself!
- Great, boy! - "Go by yourself!"
- Painfully you are formidable, as I can see!
Where do the woods come from? - “From the forest, no doubt;
Father, do you hear, chops, and I take away. "
(A lumberjack's ax was heard in the forest.)
- Does your father have a big family?
“The family is big, but two people
There are only peasants: my father and I ... "
- So there it is! And what is your name? - "Vlasom".
“Why are you a year old?” “The sixth passed ...
Well, dead! " - shouted the baby in a bass voice,
He pulled by the bridle and walked faster.
****************************************
Sasha
In winter twilight nanny's fairy tales
Sasha loved. In the morning in a sleigh
Sasha sat down, flew like an arrow,
Full of happiness, from the icy mountain.
The nanny shouts: "Don't kill yourself, dear!"
Sasha, driving his sled,
Rides merrily. On full run
A sled on one side - and Sasha is in the snow!
The braids will be knocked out, the fur coat will be disheveled
Shakes off the snow, laughs, dove!
Not to grumble and gray-haired nanny,
She loves her young laugh ...
Frost-Voivode
It is not the wind that rages over the forest,
Streams did not run from the mountains, -
Frost-voivode patrol
Bypasses his possessions.
Looks - are the blizzards good?
Forest paths brought
And are there any cracks, cracks,
And is there no bare ground?
Are the pines tops fluffy,
Is the pattern on oak trees beautiful?
And are the ice floes tightly shackled
In waters great and small?
He walks - walks through the trees,
Crackling in frozen water
And the bright sun is playing
In his shaggy beard ...
Climbing a large pine tree,
He hits the twigs with a club
And I remove myself to myself,
Sings a boastful song.
"Blizzards, Snows and Fogs
Always obedient to the frost
I will go to the okyany seas
Build palaces out of ice
I think - the rivers are big
I will hide under yoke for a long time
I will build ice bridges
What the people will not build.
Where are the fast, noisy waters
Recently flowed freely -
Pedestrians passed today
The carts with the goods passed ...
I am rich, I do not count the treasury,
And all the good is not scanty;
I take away my kingdom
Into diamonds, pearls, silver ... "
**********************************************
Before the rain
The mournful wind drives
A flock of clouds to the edge of heaven
The broken spruce groans,
The dark forest whispers dully.
On a stream, pockmarked and motley,
A leaf flies behind a leaf,
And a stream dry and sharp
A chill builds up.
Twilight falls on everything;
Swooping down from all sides,
With a scream, the air is spinning
A flock of jackdaws and crows.
Above the carriageway taratajka
The top is lowered, the front is closed;
And "go!" - standing up with a whip,
The gendarme shouts to the driver ...
*****************************************
It is convenient in Europe, but the homeland of the weasel
Incomparable to nothing. Returning home,
I'm in a hurry to get into the cart from the stroller
And march on the hunt! Not a bad day
Under the autumn sun native picture
New to the unaccustomed eye ...
O mother Russia! you greet son
So tender that your head is spinning!
Your men kicked me out
Beasts from the woods all day
And at night my return path was illuminated
The fires of your villages.
*********************************************
I asked myself a strange question: why do we, writers (at least science fiction writers), always write about who work our characters? Well, okay, in the days of my youth, in the now defunct USSR, the place of work determined a lot in the personality of the hero - in fact, it was belonging to a certain class. Or caste if you like.
Remember the movie "Spring"? The director misunderstood the essence of the caste of scientists, deciding that they are brahmanas, hermits. With what weirdos in velvet hats and beards were shown there, what else could he think? I myself would have thought that they are all beyond good and evil in the understanding of an ordinary person, in the workplace they are only engaged in hoarding tapas and eradicating trishna. It is hard to imagine that a sunbeam catcher, a serious scientist, comrade Nikitin could become interested in a plump journalist with painted eyes (and why did Cherkasov not look that, um, unconventionally oriented?). But the artist Verochka can. Roshchin is from her caste, the caste of frivolous, singing and wearing makeup. And he would rather catch a squirrel than a bunny.
Nikitin put the director on the mind, explained what and how to shoot, got ready to marry him, in a word, brought him to the path of spirituality. And all because brahmansa, thinker. If she were like Vera, from the operetta, nothing good would come of their novel. Except, perhaps, a dozen immortal comedies and lifelong marriage.
V Soviet times if not marriage policy, then the spiritual life was regulated by the profession only in this way. And I had to put a lot of effort, describing how a person expands the framework allotted to him by the place of work. Reading combiners, singing waiters, dancing fish inspectors and other "Volga-Volga" in the books acquired a wonderfully comical look. Although what's funny is that a person fills his free time not alcohol, and amateur performances? However, in Soviet times, this was hard to believe.
But nowadays, everything is so mixed up, thanks to the Internet, that the class-caste boundaries have been erased. Not only a hobby, but also a lot of new professions, what a person earns for a living, sometimes you do not understand. He says "I am a crisis manager" - but in fact it turns out that he is an accountant. And why did the good old accounting profession fail to please the public? And here you go. You read what crisis management is - yes, it's just a song: “It is used both in extreme circumstances associated with natural disasters and accidents, and to regulate problems in the business world. Its main principles can be formulated as follows: compassion, openness, truthfulness, timeliness, prevention. " Straight dear mother. A professional, one might say, mother.
Although most likely this is a creature that surfs the Internet and in work time sticks out in social networks. In the same way as his wards who fell into crisis. A certain character is required, but ... ideally. But in fact, that is a crisis manager, that is a coach, that is a teambuilder - they all share the same job characteristics.
I can still understand the differences between, say, a manufacturer of values and spirit values. And then the majority of writers, before starting to produce spirituality, managed to try several professions, where the output was the most material product. And it is unlikely that a writer who all his life does what he writes, knows this very life very well. Exceptions are rare. Contemplation, multiplied by imagination, gives an abundance of illogism and super-conclusions.
So, what does the name of the hero's profession do? What changes in a character if you say: he is a broker? Health, of course, immediately gets minus one hundred - an ulcer, hemorrhoids and sleep disorders are provided. Or he is a bad broker, indifferent to the result. Or he is the hero of the romantic comedy "Ask Cindy", who is primarily Charlie Sheen, who can do everything, including leading a women's column in a soap-glossy magazine and living with two chicks at once. The main heroes of romcoms do not have hemorrhoids.
Rather, it is not the profession that matters, but the same caste: gold collar, white collar, blue collar. By the way, there are also brown, gray, pink collars and housewives. I marked the sphere - and you don't have to specify either the position or the place.
Sometimes it seems to me that more about a person says what computer game he plays. I don’t understand games (and I don’t play any), but for the next generations this hobby is sometimes more important than the specialty received at the university. On which they most likely did not work for a day. It is difficult these days to find a job as a philosopher after graduating from a philosophical one. Nobody believes a man of about twenty-five that he is a ready, professional philosopher. Even on the internet.
Again, the question comes up: is it necessary to explain where the person studied? Sometimes study leaves a greater imprint on the personality than the entire work biography. And a person is proud of a diploma from a prestigious university all his life, sitting peacefully in the wilderness and breeding rabbits for sale.
In the women's detective story, back in the 90s, a stereotyped image of a "free profession detective" was formed: the ladies conducting the investigation, all as one, had a relaxed work schedule. For the most part, they turned out to be journalists with a lot of free time (the authors would have known what a race and time pressure it really is); writers who write who knows what is unknown when (and who live on unprecedentedly huge fees); photographers whose photos were bought(in the 90s there was a fear of how many people wanted to buy a photo for a lot of money); artists (these generally violated all the laws of gravity of the economy).
From the last century to this day, SF has shamelessly invented genetically determined professions - psionics, bionics, socionics, electronics ... Just born - and immediately to the machine. And why pull something, anyway, sooner or later you will find yourself there. And there is no need to prescribe the image, the profession will say everything for the author. Although there may be discrepancies. I would read about socionics-sexual maniac. So that from those who came to him for typing, take out the whole soul, slowly and voluptuously.
Particularly admirable is the clear, as if on view, explanation of who worked with whom in earthly life, in the genre of the hit. Even though this life is three paragraphs, and her skills are of little use to anyone where GG will still become the king-magician-warrior of light. Eagerness to tie up past life with the afterlife looks like attempts to galvanize the corpse by justifying. Well, except that for the announcement, these data are suitable. Light elf, former security guard. Queen of the Amazons, former secretary. Ninja Monk, Former Geography Teacher. Magic tanker, former tanker, hit in the tank.
And after all, in the end, the character of the character has to be clarified, prescribed, revealed and developed, otherwise labor characteristic it will work out. Squire Trelawney. Dumb, greedy, gluttonous, lazy, cowardly, arrogant. There is no character. Not married". And in the cartoon he was completely different - bold, democratic, energetic and inventive! All the characteristics lie, one people's love is true ...
So it turns out that the profession falls on the hero as a shortcut. And the reader begins to plant on beans what professional deformations and professional qualities must certainly be present in the nature of a person of this specialty ... real life only after ten, if not twenty years of work experience, the profession begins to rebuild the psyche. And before that, our hero changed his job - and as there was nothing.
Yesterday's graduate or student in to a greater extent is under the influence of mom and dad and friends from real life and tyrnet than under the influence of colleagues. Describing silent for twenty years, it is easier to show it through hobbies and favorite games than through sitting in the office. To me, as a writer (and reader) of the old school, the definitions of playing a tank and playing an elf are not very clear - but such details can be clarified with young consultants who understand the hectic life of gamers (or who live this life). The question remains the same: what is a profession for a person of the third millennium - a way to make money? social environment? class affiliation? personality formation factor?
It is clear that the answer is different in each specific case. My characters have work that is life's work (like the pastry chef Damelo), then there is nothing to call (like the family woman Katya), that meeting place that cannot be changed (the heroes of "A World without a Face" are colleagues). But to tell exactly how they worked, and in what positions, and how their bosses were spreading rot / how they were spreading rot to subordinates - thank you. Only if the storyline follows from the story. And whatever book you open, the story will certainly begin with a story, which is not sadder in the world - about awakening and getting ready for work and school. In detail! With cries from the heart about how GG is not appreciated or understood either at work or at the university! That is why he will not miss this world in where he is now taken, practically alive to heaven.
Less and less often, the writer thinks about such things: why, in fact? What the hell is this and that detail in the book? What am I going to learn from it? This is how the template is formed: lo-but-but. The public is used to knowing about the character who he is, office mold, a whip with a mop, or a socialite with a microphone. As if in the manner of behaving, thinking, communicating, it is not clear what kind of flight the bird is. Is the audience used to having a characteristic on the side of the character in front of the story, like in a game? Let him get out of the habit. Literature is another art form. What we, writers and readers, have practically forgotten about.
