It would be a platitude to say that A. S. Pushkin is the greatest Russian poet. But I hope no one is challenging the view that he occupies an outstanding place in Russian literature and culture.
Every summer in June, thousands of people visit the Pskov land. They come here to the village of Mikhailovskoye to the wonderful festival of poetry, to see the places where he lived and worked.
Pushkin is always alive for us, he is the man we all know and love, the greatest of poets. Generations come and go, but Pushkin still remains. We are all grateful to Pushkin for each line of his works. Pushkin is not only a great poet for us. He is the perfect man combining brilliant talent with civil courage. His name is associated with our love for the Motherland, and the best in our life.
Hundreds of new concepts, hundreds of new words have appeared in the language in the years that have passed since his death, but not a single word of his poetry has become obsolete. Everything written by Pushkin continues to live. It has not become something of the past, it does not need any corrections and hardly needs commentary. His feelings and his views still correspond to our own feelings and views.
We admire the great world of Pushkin's poetry as a whole, each of us finding some special lines for ourselves, lines showing his sympathy and respect for his people. The reader cannot imagine his inner world without him.
Our cat Murka was very kind and gentle God's creation. She picked up on the street 2-month-old weakling. From the first moment we met, she gave love and tenderness, joy meowing, rubbing and poking wet muzzle. Purring was so intense incessant, and we decided to call it Murka. A few months later, he turned into a fluffy beauty, she attracted the attention of all suburban cats and no one could stop looking, so it was good. Cat-grace, femininity, kitty, kitty-unconditional love. But her whole nature blossomed into full force when she became a mother. Kitten-girl turned even more fluffy and naughty. Murka did not take her with her caring eyes, he straightened foot all the clumsy movement of his little girl, dragging her by the scruff of the neck everywhere, when I had to teach her the tricks of life in a city apartment. In the morning she woke one or the other, lying on his chest, touching wet nose-to-face, purring softly. And in the evening, when everyone was home, sitting in the hallway at the mirror, she glanced then at us, sitting in the kitchen, then on himself, as if to say languidly, flirty look, "Yes, it's me, that's so beautiful, and you do not You know ?! "
It would be a platitude to say that A. S. Pushkin is the greatest Russian poet. But I hope no one is challenging the view that he occupies an outstanding place in Russian literature and culture.
Every summer in June, thousands of people visit the Pskov land. They come here to the village of Mikhailovskoye to the wonderful festival of poetry, to see the places where he lived and worked.
Pushkin is always alive for us, he is the man we all know and love, the greatest of poets. Generations come and go, but Pushkin still remains. We are all grateful to Pushkin for each line of his works. Pushkin is not only a great poet for us. He is the perfect man combining brilliant talent with civil courage. His name is associated with our love for the Motherland, and the best in our life.
Hundreds of new concepts, hundreds of new words have appeared in the language in the years that have passed since his death, but not a single word of his poetry has become obsolete. Everything written by Pushkin continues to live. It has not become something of the past, it does not need any corrections and hardly needs commentary. His feelings and his views still correspond to our own feelings and views.
We admire the great world of Pushkin's poetry as a whole, each of us finding some special lines for ourselves, lines showing his sympathy and respect for his people. The reader cannot imagine his inner world without him.