The content of the story of Bunin mowers. Bunin, analysis of the work of the scythe, plan. Meaning of the folk song

The narrator recalls how they walked along the high road, and in the young birch forest nearby, the mowers were mowing and singing. It was a long time ago. And the life that everyone lived at that time will never return.

There were fields all around. The old high road, carved with ruts, went into the endless Russian distance. The sun was sinking to the west, a flock of sheep was gray ahead. An old shepherd with a shepherd was sitting on the boundary. It seemed that there was no division into time in this forgotten - or blessed - by God country. And the mowers walked and sang in the midst of this eternal silence, and the birch forest answered just as easily and freely.

The mowers were distant, Ryazan, passing through these lands to earn money, moving to more fertile lands. Carefree and friendly, not burdened by anything, they were “hungry” for work. And they were dressed better than the locals.

A week ago, the narrator rode on horseback and saw them mow in the nearby forest. They came to work in the afternoon: they sweetly drank spring water from wooden jugs and cheerfully ran to the place. The braids were launched at once, playfully. And then he saw their dinner, when they sat near an extinct fire and dragged pieces of something pink out of cast iron. Looking closer, the narrator realized with horror that they ate fly agaric mushrooms. And they just laughed: "Nothing, they are sweet, like chicken."

Now they sang: "Forgive me, farewell, dear friend!" and moved through the birch forest. And the narrator and his companion stood and listened, realizing that they would never forget this afternoon, and most importantly, they would never understand what the beauty of this song was. material from the site

And the charm was in everything - both in the sonority of the birch forest, and in the fact that this song did not exist on its own, but was closely connected with their thoughts and feelings and with the thoughts and feelings of the Ryazan mowers. It was felt that a person was so naive in ignorance of his strengths and talents that one had only to breathe a little, as the whole forest would immediately respond in response to the song. What else was the charm of this song, its inescapable joy with all its supposed hopelessness? The fact that the person still did not believe, and could not believe in this hopelessness. “Oh, yes, all the ways for me, well done, are ordered!” he said, mourning himself sweetly. But they do not weep sweetly and do not sing their sorrows, for whom indeed there is neither way nor road anywhere. “My happiness has sunk,” he sighed, “the dark night with its wilderness surrounds me,” and he was so intimately close to this wilderness, alive for him, virgin and full of magical powers! Everywhere there was a shelter for him, an overnight stay, someone’s intercession, someone’s voice whispering: “Don’t grieve, the morning is wiser than the evening, nothing is impossible for me, sleep peacefully, child!” And from all the misfortunes of a person, according to his faith, birds and forest animals, beautiful, wise princesses, and even Baba Yaga herself rescued. There were flying carpets for him, invisibility caps, milky rivers flowed, semi-precious treasures were hidden, from all mortal spells there were keys of eternally living water. The merciful God forgave for all the distant whistles, sharp, hot knives ...

There was one more thing in this song - this is what we, and they, these Ryazan peasants, knew well, in the depths of our souls, that we were infinitely happy in those days, now infinitely distant - and irrevocable.

For everything has its time, the fairy tale has passed. The end has come, the limit of God's forgiveness.

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Genre of work: story

While in Paris, the writer was very homesick, which prompted him to write this touching work, and a summary of the story "Mowers" for reader's diary took in the best moments.

Plot:

The narration is conducted on behalf of the narrator, who is on his way along one of the big Russian roads. Moving between birch forests and wide steppes, he listens with pleasure to the songs of people with braids coming from afar, who, measuredly pacing across the field, are waiting for the end of the working day.

June is coming to an end. Nature seems to have finally revealed all its charms. The sunset is dazzlingly beautiful. It merged with golden clouds. Against the backdrop of fragrant fields, a shepherd and a flock of sheep rest peacefully.

With a loud booming echo, the words from the songs of men who have made their way to the Oryol places from the distant Ryazan region are carried. In search of fertile plots of land, they together, enjoying their work, go to the goal, along the way extending a helping hand to local hayfields.

Recalling a recent meeting with them, the narrator tells about each of their activities associated with eating in the meadow in the form of fly agaric, mowing, emphasizing their friendliness and hospitality, the originality of rituals and clothing.

Now, having again heard their sonorous voices, the hero feels the merging of their songs with everything that surrounds him. The feeling of happiness overwhelms him from the realization that he is part of his native land, endowed with such a magical beauty of the open spaces. Inhaling the fresh air, he thinks about the peculiarities of the traditions, performance and content of Russian songs.

It was in the process of mowing that the men, resembling heroes, showed real feelings. Continuing to reveal the riddle of the Russian song, the narrator, first of all, turns to the amazing soul of the singers, who, saying goodbye to this land, go to another land. They remember that wherever a person is, there is only one sky everywhere, and Russia is the only home where every bush will shelter from bad weather.

Caressing the ear, the song gradually revealed its content. It was about a world filled with kind people, about the wealth of our country with unique Russian creativity. But everything once goes away, such days remain forever only in memory.

The story of I. A. Bunin "Mowers" teaches us to preserve the traditions of our people, to appreciate the beauty of folk art, the nature of our beloved land. Remember that the moments of happiness that life brings can be unique.

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Posted on 03/09/2018

What is the summary of the story "Mowers" by Bunin Grade 5?

Bunin "Mowers" summary for the reader's diary?

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Vera Kalin-a

2 weeks ago

I.A. Bunin lived far from his native land, so a nostalgic tinge, sadness and longing for his beloved land are present in his works, no matter what he writes about.

Being very far from Russia, in the heart of France, the writer recalls what he once, long ago, had a chance to see and hear. The author of the story recalled a case of how the Ryazan mowers met him on the road. Not only their appearance, their work, but more the impression of how they sang, merging in their choir harmoniously with all the nature that surrounded them then, made a strong impression on Bunin.

It seemed to him that they did not sing, but exhaled a song. And these sounds were so Russian, native, that the writer remembered this incident for a long time and prompted him to think about how fleeting life is and every moment of it.

I admire the author's ability to describe in words everything that was then around: the ant, and the golden sunset, and the song of the mowers. The fact that this will never return, that he himself is a part of this all, this earth, gives a special sadness and gives understanding at a deeper, already philosophical level, of the whole work.

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Enot--Nina

2 weeks ago

The work of I. Bunin "Mowers" tells about the meeting of the author and the men who mowed the grass, about all the experiences of the author that this meeting caused. And also about the emotions that the narrator experienced when he heard the song that the mowers sang.

These were not local men, but nomadic workers. They walked from afar, stopping at different places to help the locals with haymaking. They were strange, unlike the locals in their speech, their clothes, and their habits. For example, they ate boiled fly agarics, considering them tasty.

The most amazing thing about the mowers was their song. This is a kind of hymn to the unity of man and nature, which fascinated the narrator. The song praised various events and adventures, there was a lot of magic and even grief in them. But the main thing that was in the song is happiness. And this happiness was from the fact that they all have a native land that loves and protects them, always helps and always intercedes. And while it is, then there is happiness.

It was a long time ago, in that life that "will not return forever." The narrator was walking along the high road, and in front, in a small birch grove, the peasants were mowing the grass and singing.

The narrator was surrounded by the fields of "middle, primordial Russia."

It seemed that there was no, and there never was, neither time, nor its division into centuries, into years in this forgotten - or blessed - by God country.

The mowers went from afar "through our, Oryol places" to even more fertile steppes, helping to cope with abundant haymaking along the way. They were friendly, carefree and eager to

To work". They differed from the local mowers in their dialect, customs and clothing.

A week ago they were mowing in the woods near the narrator's estate. Passing by, he saw how the mowers "came to work" - they drank spring water, stood in a row and let the scythes in a wide semicircle. When the narrator returned, the mowers were having dinner. He noticed that they were eating "fly agaric mushrooms, terrible for their dope", boiled in a pot. The narrator was horrified, and the mowers, laughing, said: “Nothing, they are sweet, pure chicken!”

Now they sang, and the narrator listened and could not understand "what is the marvelous charm of their song." charm

She was in a blood relationship, which the narrator felt between himself and these simple mowers, one with the nature around them.

And there was also ... the beauty that this homeland, this common home of ours was Russia, and that only her soul could sing like the mowers sang in this birch forest that responded to their every breath.

The singing was like a single breath of a strong young chest. So directly and easily sung only in Russia. The mowers walked, without the slightest effort, "revealing glades in front of them" and exhaled a song in which they "parted with their dear little side", yearned and said goodbye before death, but still did not believe "in this hopelessness." They knew that there would be no real separation as long as there was “native sky” above them, and boundless Rus' around them, spacious, free and full of fabulous riches.

A good fellow cried in the song, and his native land stood up for him, animals and birds rescued him, he received flying carpets and invisibility hats, milk rivers flowed for him and self-collected tablecloths unfolded. He flew out of the dungeon like a clear falcon, and the dense jungle hid him from his enemies.

And there was something else in this song that both the narrator and the mowers felt: endless happiness. These distant days have passed, for nothing lasts forever, "Ancient intercessors abandoned their children ... prayers and spells were desecrated, Mother-Cheese-Earth dried up." The end has come, "the limit of God's forgiveness."

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The narrator was surrounded by the fields of "middle, primordial Russia."

It seemed that there was no, and there never was, neither time, nor its division into centuries, into years in this forgotten - or blessed - by God country.

The mowers went from afar "through our Oryol places" to even more fertile steppes, helping to cope with the abundant haymaking along the way. They were friendly, carefree and "eager to work". They differed from the local mowers in their dialect, customs and clothing.

Now they sang, and the narrator listened and could not understand "what is the marvelous charm of their song." The beauty was in the blood relationship that the narrator felt between himself and these simple mowers, one with the nature around them.

Summary Bunin's story "Mowers"