Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (Александр Сергееевич Пушкин; 1799~1837), is a famous Russian writer, poet, novelist, founder of modern Russian literature, the main representative of Russian romantic literature in the 19th century, and the founder of realist literature, the founder of modern standard Russian literature, known as the "father of Russian literature", "the sun of Russian poetry" and "bronze knight", representative works include "Ode to Freedom". To Chadayev, To the Sea, etc.
He founded Russian national literature and literary language, and created a model for Russian literature in various fields of literature, such as poetry, novels, dramas and even fairy tales. Pushkin was also hailed by Gorky as "the beginning of everything". Born into an aristocratic family, he began writing poetry as a child and studied at the Imperial Village High School set up by the Government of the Russian Empire to train the children of the nobility. During his studies, he was influenced by the progressive Decembrists and some progressive thinkers. Many of his later poems attacked serfdom and celebrated freedom and progress. In addition to poetry, Pushkin's main works include the novella "The Captain's Daughter", the founder of historical documentary, the novella "Dubrovsky", "Belkin Novels" and so on. Pushkin was persecuted by the Tsarist government for his creative activities. He was killed in a scheduled duel in 1837. His creations had a profound influence on the development of Russian literature and language.
<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" data-track="265" > my name</h1>
What does my name mean to you?
It will die, like the sea lapping at the seawall
The melancholy sound of the waves,
Like the quiet night sound in the dense forest.
It will be on the yellow pages of the commemorative book
Leaving a faint imprint,
It's like using a language that no one can understand
A pattern carved on the tombstone.
What does it mean? It has long been forgotten
In the new fierce wind and waves,
It will not give your mind
Bring pure, tender memories.
But you are in a lonely, sad day,
Please read my name quietly,
And he said, "Someone is missing me,
In the world I live in the heart of a man.
<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" data-track="264" > under the blue sky of their home country</h1>
Under the blue sky of their own homeland
She was haggard, had withered...
Finally withered away, maybe there was one
Young ghosts swirled over my head;
But we have an insurmountable boundary.
I provoked my emotions in vain:
From the indifferent lips came the message of her death,
I listened indifferently and finished.
This is the person I have loved with a fiery heart,
I love so passionately, so deeply,
So gentle, and so depressed,
So crazy, so painful!
Where is the pain, where is the love? In my heart,
For that poor credulous soul,
For the sweet memories of those years that have never returned,
I was neither in tears nor blamed.
<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" data-track="263" >if life deceives you</h1>
If life deceives you,
Don't be sad, don't be anxious!
Calm down on a melancholy day:
Believe it, happy days will come!
The heart is always yearning for the future;
Now it's often melancholy.
Everything is instantaneous, everything will pass;
And what has passed will become a kind nostalgia.
<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" data-track="262" > to Kane</h1>
I remember that wonderful moment,
You appeared before me,
It is like a fleeting phantom,
It is like an elf of pure beauty.
.
In the torment of hopeless sorrow,
In the midst of the noisy illusion,
My ears are long
Ringing your gentle voice,
I'm still asleep
Meet your cute face.
Many years have passed,
Stormy upheaval,
Dispelled the dreams of the past,
So I forgot your gentle voice,
And your elven shadow.
In the backcountry of the poor countryside,
In the dark life of captivity,
My years are passing quietly like that,
There is no devotee, no poetic soul,
No tears, no life,
Nor is there love.
Now the soul has begun to awaken,
Then you appeared before me again,
My heart jumped in ecstasy,
For it, everything is revived,
With the people who love it, with the inspiration of poetry,
With life, with tears,
There is also love.
<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" data-track="97" > imperial memory</h1>
The curtain of a gloomy night
Hanging in a light sleeping heavenly vault;
The valley and the jungle rest in the silent silence,
Distant bushes fell into the fog.
Faintly heard the stream, babbling into the shade;
Breathing softly, is the sleeping breeze on the leaves;
And the lonely moon is like a solemn swan
Swim among the silvery clouds.
The waterfall resembles a string of glass beaded curtains
Flowing down from the rugged rocks,
In the calm lake, the fairies splash lazily
The slight undulating waves;
In the distance, a row of majestic palaces stood quietly
Leaning on a row of round arches, it stretched straight up to the white clouds.
Isn't it here that the gods of the world are at ease?
Isn't this the temple of Minnova in Russia?
Isn't this the NorthernLand's anglia township?
That beautiful view of the Imperial Village Garden?
It was here that the giant eagle of Russia defeated the lion
Return to the idyllic arms and sleep forever.
Oh, and our golden age is gone!
Think of that time, under the kingship of our great empress,
Happy Russia once wore a crown of honor,
Like a flower blooming in silence!
Here, the Russians take every step
both can evoke memories of the past;
As soon as he looked around, he would sigh and say:
"Everything is gone with the Empress!"
So he sat on the green shore with sorrow,
He listened in silence to the blowing of the breeze.
The years that have passed will pass before his eyes,
The praise also came to mind.
He will see: In the midst of the waves,
On solid, moss-covered rocks,
Standing is a monument on which crouches
A young eagle, spreading its wings.
There are also heavy chains and thunderous rockets
Coiled around the majestic stone pillar, around three turns,
Around the foot of the column, the white waves splashed noisily,
Then rest in the sparkling foam.
There is also a modest monument column
Stand upright in the shade of pine trees.
O bank of the Kagur River, what a humiliation it is to you!
My dear motherland, honor to you!
Oh, the giants of Russia, from the haze of war
If you exercise and grow, you will live forever!
Oh, friends and cronies of Catherine the Great,
Generations will pass on to you.
Oh, your age of war,
A witness to the honor of Russia!
You saw Orlov, Rumintev, Suvarov,
The majestic sons of Slavic,
How zeus's thunder was used to seize victory on the battlefield;
The whole world was stunned by their brave deeds.
Jercharvin and Petrov on the sonorous harp
These heroes have been sung before.
But you're gone, unforgettable years!
Another era soon came;
It sees a new war, and the horrors of war,
Suffering has become the fate of mankind.
The untamed hand raised the bloody sword,
It shines with the cunning and recklessness of the emperor;
The world's calamity star rose—burning very quickly
The terrible red light of another war.
Vast fields in Russia
Like a rapids, galloping past the enemy's iron horse.
A dark grassland lies in a deep dream,
The land was swirling with the heat of blood.
Peaceful villages and cities rise up in the fire of the night,
Far and near, the sky is covered with crimson clouds,
Dense forests obscure the people who have taken refuge,
The hoe rusted and lay on the field.
The enemy is charging - without any hindrance,
Everything is destroyed, everything is reduced to ashes.
The endangered descendants of Bélonna turned into ghosts,
There is only an ethereal army.
Or they keep falling into the dark graves,
Or wandering in the forest, wandering in the silent night...
But someone shouted! ...... They walked to the far side of the fog!
Hear the sound of armor and swords! ......
Shudder, exotic Iron Horse!
The descendants of Russia began to march;
Young and old, they all rose up and attacked the violent enemy,
The fire of revenge ignited their hearts.
Shudder, tyrant! Your end is near,
You will see: every soldier is a hero;
They either won the victory or died in the sand,
For Russia, for the sanctity of the temple.
Handsome horses are scrappy,
The valley is full of soldiers,
They row after row, for glory and revenge,
The fire of righteous indignation filled the heart.
They all rushed together toward the terrible feast,
The sword demands capture: the battle roars in the mountains,
In the smoke-filled air, knives and arrows chirped,
Blood splattered on the shield.
The enemy is defeated, Russia is victorious!
The arrogant Gauls fled back;
However, the lord of the Heavenly Court was the tyrant of this hundred battles
It also gave the last glimmer of comfort.
Our first general cannot be here yet
Surrender him—oh, the blood-stained battlefield of Borozino
You have not made the wolf ambitions of the Gauls obey,
Imprison him in the walls of the Kremlin! ......
O Moscow, dear country!
At the brilliant dawn of my life,
How many golden moments have I thrown in your arms,
Don't know sorrow and misfortune.
Oh, you have also faced the enemies of my country,
Blood stained you red, and flames engulfed you,
And I did not sacrifice my life to avenge you,
Only a fire full of anger in vain!
Oh Moscow, the tall buildings!
Where is the flower of my motherland?
The magnificent capital city that once appeared in front of you
Now it's just a wasteland;
O Moscow, your desolate sight has shocked the people of your country!
The mansions of the Tsar and the princes have been destroyed and disappeared,
The fire burned everything and the smoke darkened the golden dome.
The mansions of the rich have also fallen.
Look there, it turned out to be a nest of comfort,
Surrounded by trees and pavilions,
There floats the fragrance of the myrtle, and the bodhi tree is swaying,
Now it's just scorched earth.
On summer nights, that quiet and wonderful time,
There was no more laughter floating there,
The lights of the woods and the shores no longer shine brightly,
Everything is dead, everything is silent.
Forgive me, Queen's City, Russia,
And look at the demise of the invaders.
Today, the right hand of the Creator's vengeance has been added
Their arrogant necks.
Look, the enemy is on the run, and he doesn't even dare to look back,
Their blood flowed non-stop on the snow, like a gushing spring;
Fleeing,—— but encountering hunger and death in the darkness,
Russian swords chased after him from behind.
Oh, you guys were finally taken by Europa
The mighty nation trembled with fear,
Robbers of Gaul! And you fell into the grave.
Oh, the scary, amazing times!
Where have you been, Blonna and lucky darlings?
You have despised jurisprudence, faith and the voice of truth,
You arrogantly want to overthrow all the thrones with your sword,
But it finally disappeared, like an early morning nightmare!
The Russians went to Paris! The vengeful one
What about torches? Bow your head, Gaul!
But what did I see? The Russians smiled conciliatorily,
Give a golden olive as a gift.
In distant places, the war is still raging,
Moscow is as gloomy as the steppes of the northern country,
But what he brought to the enemy was not destruction - it was rescue,
and peace that benefits the earth.
Ah, Russian-inspired singers,
You have sung a mighty army,
Please gather with friends with a fiery heart,
Play your sonorous golden piano again!
Please sing the hero again in your harmonious voice,
Your noble strings will pluck flames out of people's hearts;
Young warriors listen to the praises of your battles,
Their hearts boiled and trembled.
Focus on reading and sleeping, poetic inhabitation
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Facing the sea, look for light with black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "giving voice to grassroots poets" as its mission and carries forward the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of the truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, and the spiritual pleasure of poetry. He has published a collection of poems co-authored by poets, "Spring Warm Blossoms of Reading Sleeping Poems" and "Grass Long Warblers Flying in Reading Sleeping Poems".