Yunna Moritz. Poems for children - Poems - Love - Catalog of articles - Unconditional love. Yunna Moritz - Tales of the Miraculous Tales of the Miraculous Yunna Moritz

Yunna Petrovna Moritz

Yunna Petrovna (Pinkhusovna) Moritz was born on June 2, 1937 in Kyiv into a Jewish family. As Yunna Moritz herself says, “in the year of my birth, my father was arrested on a slanderous denunciation, after several months of torture they found him innocent, he returned, but quickly began to go blind. My father's blindness had an extraordinary effect on the development of my inner vision."

In 1954 she graduated from high school in Kyiv, entered the Faculty of Philology of Kyiv University. By this time, her first publications appeared in newspapers and magazines.
In 1955, Yunna entered the full-time poetry department of the Literary Institute. A. M. Gorky in Moscow and graduated in 1961.

In the summer of 1956, Yunna Petrovna traveled across the Arctic on the Sedov icebreaker. Subsequently, based on the impressions of this trip, in 1961 the first book of the poetess "Cape of Desire" was published in Moscow.

From 1961 to 1970 Yunna Moritz's books were not published. The reason for this was the poems "Fist fight" and "In memory of Titian Tabidze".

About his literary teachers and passions, Yunna Moritz says this: “Pushkin was constantly my contemporary, Pasternak, Akhmatova, Tsvetaeva, Mandelstam, Zabolotsky were my closest companions, and Andrey Platonov and Thomas Mann were my teachers.”
Yunna Moritz is the author of poetry books, including In the Lair of the Voice (1990), Face (2000), This Way (2000), Legally, Hello to the Postman! (2005), as well as books of poems for children (Big Secret for a Small Company (1987), Bouquet of Cats (1997)). Many songs have been written to Yunna Moritz's poems.

Her poems have been translated into European languages as well as Japanese and Chinese.

***

Do not be afraid, please, Dr. Leo!
He will look into the throat of the little animal first
And write out an urgent prescription for the patient:
Medicine pills and a warm word,
Compress, rinse and a kind word.
Mustard plasters, banks and a gentle word -
Not a drop of cold, sharp, evil!
Without a kind word, without a warm word.
Without a gentle word, the patient is not treated.

Water lily

golden saucer
In the blue river
And on the saucer - a bee
With honey in the trunk.

golden bee
In a golden saucer
Drinking river dew
And buzzing about

That as soon as the evening
Come down from the heights
The saucer will turn
In a golden jug.

monster

One day
Shaggy rooster at dawn,
Flying up the fence
He shouted: - Ku-ka-re! ..

Duckling of fear
Rushed after the duck:
Rooster for a duckling -
Creepy scary!

colorful kittens

Tumbling on the roof
Multicolored kittens:
Black, white, gray, red,
Blue and striped.
Even small kittens
Moms don't want to paint
Equally!
What a joy if children
Will they all be the same color?

One hundred fantasies

I roll on the grass
One hundred fantasies in my head.
Dream with me together
There will be not a hundred, but two hundred!

I will catch a sperm whale
If the hook holds.
You catch a hippo
If the net holds up.

sperm whale - in a jar with a lid,
And we walk lightly.
The hippopotamus is clamped under the arm,
Tail and ears in the sand.

And people are running after
From the entrances, from the gates:
Is it a mammoth or a poodle?
"Pureblood Behemoth!"

- Citizen, where are you from?
Is this fish a fish?
What is this strange breed?
- Purebred sperm whale!

A jar with this sperm whale
I'll put it on the window
Visit with this hippo
You will go to me!

Flower

I have a flower.
He could drink the sea.
Give me some water -
He swallows
And it blooms a little!

Dream

It's dark outside.
I'm lying, watching a movie:
Sleep sat on a stool
Embroidering a birdcage
A crocodile is dancing in a cage! ..
How did he get into the cage?
Here we wake up -
Let's figure it out!

Yunna MORITZ

Stories of the miraculous

SCUDGE BUCKET

WITH DIAMONDS OF PURE WATER

It happened that I would not write

Everything for others does not smell of Russia ...

A. S. Pushkin. Delvig Ivan Solomonovich Byron, literary and artistic and socio-political translator from Polish, with his hands clasped at the waist, went for a walk in the alleys of pure spirit on a summer evening. And a slop bucket with diamonds of pure water found him there. And there were half a kilo of diamonds in that bucket or even six hundred grams - by eye.

Very cool people went to this bucket at night - due to the shutdown of the toilet in the mansion, where they were repairing the spirit Silver Age. But due to exceptional circumstances and the classical unity of action, place and time, about which only countless guesses can be built in the mind, the slop bucket with diamonds suddenly descended from the window to the ground through a bundle of sheets the color of wet asphalt. Such a bundle was threaded under the handle of the bucket, and at the moment he landed, it was drawn back into the window like silent noodles.

The bucket, swaying from the inside with its varied content, began to move oscillatingly down the street, slippery after the rain on Thursday.

The pedestrian instantly understood what he was dealing with, because in the last time of the second millennium he was downright pursued by breathtaking successes, indescribable luck and prosperity. After the abomination of desolation and the emptiness of freezing, a shower of miracles suddenly fell upon him. He was completely ready for this downpour a long time ago and was waiting, having endured shudderingly long humiliations and languishing hopelessness in the strain of his exemplary labors.

And now, finally, rightly so, rightly so - one after another, miracles rain down on him, the sky - in diamonds, in the garbage pail - diamonds of pure water. Only now, for the most part, by this time people had become disgusting and hated to him, like cockroaches, it was sickening for him to look at their gloomy, vicious, plebeian faces, and the speech of these faces is just garbage. And worse than that, even in two hundred years there will be no Great Britain here. Great is the acquisition of the face ... Therefore, I.S.

Byron now constantly reads in transport, so as not to look at people and, shielded by reading matter, not to see their faces, such is the reality at the moment.

However, I personally was sent by heaven and ordered to dispose of it! - so thought Byron in the alleys of pure spirit and with respectful gratitude took a slop bucket with diamonds ... Moreover, it must be said that his suffocatingly tiny two-room apartment with low ceilings in a mid-century cooperative brick, in which you and I live and which we we are living with you, dear reader, was chock-full of luxurious antiques from our dumps, from where Byron, with his own hands, extracted marvelous things all his life and restored them himself with impeccable taste, combining chic, erudition and corrosive pedantry.

Arriving home, he immediately removed from the shelf found in the garbage heap, an antique volume found in the garbage heap and personally bound in morocco with gold embossing, also found by him once in the garbage heap. There was a wonderful article explaining in detail and sensibly how diamonds are taken out of a garbage can and returned to them the nobility of “clean water”. Understanding as well as we do that almost a century and a half passed after the publication of this manual, and since then much more modern means and methods have appeared, yet Byron was not flattered by them, but did his job, as was customary in the old days, when happy serfs shone with spirituality , souls doted on the gentleman and have not yet been touched by any corruption, either the language or the mass of human faces.

About a week later, Byron prepared a complete list of acquaintances whose acquaintances may have acquaintances who are interested in pure diamonds with a view to buying them individually and in bulk.

Very many immediately wanted to buy, but for some reason, without fail, in finished products - in rings, bracelets, earrings, belts, tiaras, combs, pins, cufflinks, buckles, cups, covers, frames, binoculars, even in the backs and armrests of chairs, even in a bathroom tile - and so, separately, in the nude, no one wanted. But they all promised to quickly find buyers, believing that it was just - easier than ever and easier than easy, because the most opportune times had come.

It happened that one of the badly brought up suddenly asked:

Where do you get so many?

Then Byron immediately answered them:

Well, you see, due to historical circumstances known to you - would you like a cup of coffee? - In my youth, I wandered for a long time in the regions where these pebbles wrapped in a piece of newspaper could easily plug a bottle with the remnants of vodka. Diamonds lay there underfoot, like lemons in Spain, often they were paid for some work, and I kept them until better times.

After about two months, buyers came in a stream, they took a lot and a lot, in large lots, glasses, cans, buckets. But there were no fewer stones left than before!.. And then, right there, Byron again felt like a loser, who, on the crest of his miracles and heavenly luck, got in touch with the infernal scammer and is now doomed to Sisyphean labor, as in the old days, when nothing worked out. him to roll to a victorious place and he could not in any way show an absolute and obvious ability to exhaust at least one of his problems. Again he was exhausted by a dull feeling of powerlessness, a humiliating torment, endlessly fed by the concentration of the whole organism on a single goal - to see the end, which is the crown.

But the more time, connections, labors and fantasies he spent searching for buyers, and the lower he lowered the price in order to put an end to this business once and for all, the more strongly and inevitably his longing burst and tormented by a presentiment that this business would not end during his lifetime. good!..

Every night Byron counted his pure diamonds. There were just as many of them! .. And he could no longer think of anything else and could not do anything else, although at secular balls and receptions they still sometimes rustled in an enthusiastic whisper: “Here is Byron, Ivan Solomonovich is coming! ..” Sometimes he I terribly wanted to take a walk, walk along that musical street where this slop bucket with diamonds had found him. But the portrait of Fyodor Mikhailovich, which he had once found in a garbage dump in a chic frame, would not let him take a single step in that direction and downright ordered him not to return there in any case, under any pretext and appearance, and in every possible way to bypass that very street. making a hook.

All the more so, it inevitably pulled him there, pushing him in the back with a hellish wave, breathing down the back of his head and dragging him by the legs with a slight tremor. Well, at least don't leave the house! And in order to stop this vicious craving and his bad lack of will, Byron decided to go on a trip around the world. And what to do with endless diamonds of pure water during the absence? Where?!

One very experienced person advised him to take diamonds with him, because they do not glow in suitcases under any x-rays when you go through customs, and they do not ring like metals, and they do not smell like drugs.

A wonderful idea! .. Byron took them with him in a simple suitcase and decided to travel around the world until he was no longer drawn to that suspicious Moscow street.

Three months later, Byron blossomed again. He completely got rid of torture anguish, boring fear and panic obsessions. Byron ate exclusively the gifts of gardens, orchards and the sea. Byron enjoyed museums, theaters, beaches, sailboats, especially opera and horseback riding. He had a very developed sense of beauty, and he even fell in love with a Greek woman whom he met in an olive grove, and then in a lemon one.

One evening, when we had an early morning, Byron went for a walk in the alleys of pure spirit on the other side of the world, whistling "Beauty's Heart" and clasping his hands behind his back. Suddenly, a bunch of wet asphalt-colored sheets jumped out of a luxurious Venetian window, she picked up Byron by the chin and dragged him whole into the window, like quiet noodles. He did not even have time to exhale a cry, he did not understand anything at all, well, nothing at all - it seemed to him that he was simply entangled in some kind of kite launched to fly from earth to sky.

A stuffed bird costs more than a bird! - the last thing Byron heard in this world, but from whom? .. From the air? .. Attention, says the air? .. But the air ran out.

His body was found in the bay. The suitcase disappeared without a trace. His corpse was identified by his hands, folded with a lock on the lower back, and the body was returned to his homeland. Byron was terribly lonely, but someone is constantly looking after his grave, there is always the same bucket, but already covered with wonderful enamel inside and out - and full of flowers.

The window from which this slop bucket with diamonds descended to the ground - I know on which street it is, but I won’t say. I have not yet been ordered to reveal to you this wondrous secret. Outside that window, the spirit of the Silver Age has already been completely renovated and they are spitting through the balcony. In some miraculous way, they got into the possession of a musical sofa, found by Byron in the garbage. Every hour he sings, this sofa, and hear him in all parts of the world.

Yunna Moritz

When you hear the name of the poetess Yunna Moritz, a melody from childhood immediately sounds in your subconscious: “To the sad lowing, to the vigorous growl ...”. We repeat her famous poems “Big secret for a small company” to our children and grandchildren. Yunna Moritz taught children friendship, kindness, love for nature and opened the wonderful world of her poetry. This is probably especially true now, when children's literature is going through a hard time. better times. Modern cartoons and books, unfortunately, with rare exceptions, irritate children's eyes with a riot of colors, and modern heroes and idols: Bratz dolls, strange Teletubbies, shaggy Garfield and other characters - cause bewilderment of parents who want children's cartoons and books not radiated aggression, but on the contrary, they taught children kindness, compassion, love for one's neighbor, for all living things. Just remember the children's songs "A dog can bite", "A big secret for a small company", "Rubber hedgehog", "Baby Raccoon", "Strawberry rain" ... and you will immediately understand that children should grow up on the work of Yunna Moritz.

The poetess composed her first poem at the age of 4:

The donkey stood on a stool,
Donkey ate his pill.
Finally a throat
He got it.

Probably since then, inspiration and the ability to see the world through the eyes of a child have remained with Moritz forever. It's time to open the book of the poetess, for example, "The roof went home" with wonderful illustrations by E. Antonenkov, which will give a starting point for the manifestation of your baby's fantasy and imagination.

The amazing, fabulous world of Yunna Moritz, somewhere even difficult for a child to perceive: with bouquets of cats, a pie composer, a hairstyle carriage, a fog in sour cream - will not leave indifferent either children or adults.

In Yunna's poetry, Moritz is widely represented animal world so necessary for babies at an early age. Goats, cows, goats, dolphins and, above all, the adorable cats of the poetess: a fat cat, a crimson cat, and even a croaking cat. They are all kind, gentle and sweet. The poetess could not do without charming dogs and puppies who “sniff the flowers and sing serenades”, work as a postman and for whom “forget-me-nots bloom in the soul, the clarinet plays in the stomach”.

The poetry of Yunna Moritz is unusually figurative. The images of animate food are amazing and loved: “There were two fried eggs ...”, the food is magical, it can turn into clothes:

"The hat came from a tomato,
The tie came from a cucumber ... "
("Wonderful Things")

Clothing is a separate character in the work of Moritz: shoes "... drink water on the beach." As in the work of any poet, Inna Moritz has images that run through all her poetry. For example, the image of smoke ("House with a chimney"), which warms the sky in winter. This is also a cheerful tasty steam that puffs in the kettle, "... and sometimes it sticks out of the nose like a question mark." Abstract concepts materialize in the most bizarre way, for example, in the poem “So that we all fly and grow”, we learn that thoughts in a child’s head can grow, and if “to be bored in green melancholy ...”, to be lazy, then
“... thoughts turn sour,
And the wings will droop
Like rags
In the abyss of the sea."

It is interesting that all the heroes of Yunna Petrovna Moritz's poems, animate and inanimate, behave like children. The heroes exactly copy their behavior: they tumble, throw their socks under the closet, feel sad, fantasize, fool around, act up. In each poem, we feel the boundless love of the poetess for her heroes and for children in general. That is why the characters are cute and good-natured, mischievous and funny, unusual and even fantastic. In her poetry, the laws of the game, a funny dream, a cheerful confusion operate, when you can invent anything you like, fantasize, compose unprecedented words, go on fun trips with the characters. The indefatigable thirst to make every day, every second a holiday, to extract all the colors, voices, smells makes Yunna Moritz create more and more new characters.

In Yunna Moritz you will not find edification, teachings. The child has every right to be sad, create, fantasize, fool around, be capricious. According to Yunna Petrovna, children need to be brought up with love, sometimes pampered, "they need to be freed from all prohibitions that do not cause physical harm to them and others," and the child must also know that he falls into the world of evil. With her work, the poetess, perhaps, is trying to protect children from this world as much as possible. Moritz's language is always natural, devoid of any false pathos. Moritz's rhythmic and sometimes obviously absurd poems have no age restrictions. The pleasure of reading them and a sea of laughter, even laughter is guaranteed to everyone.

watermelon

He came from Kherson,
From green and blue!
Jumped into the body of the car,
From green and blue!
Ringing at the crossroads
Yellow, red and green.
Waving to a boy in a sailor suit
Vigorous green tail,
And ringing in my head
Rushing watermelon in Moscow!

And watermelon lovers
Everything, including the little ones! -
Catch up with this body
To kiss and hug the best of watermelons,
And lift your tail!

He is redder than all watermelons,
Because from Kherson!
It is tastier than all watermelons,
Because from Kherson!
He especially calls
Because from Kherson!
He's terribly famous
Because from Kherson,
From green-blue
From the Kherson carriage,
From green-blue
On a rainy day
Even sad
It was not a prince who galloped in a carriage,
And beautiful
The most delicious
From watermelons in the world!

Ballad of Chocolate Tricks

Came to the rink
Nicholas with chocolate
And wished to eat
Stealing chocolate.
Clamped Nikolay
Chocolate in a fist
And made a discovery:
"I'm not a fool!"

Your own chocolate bar
holding in a fist,
He overtook everyone
On this day at the rink!
He heard from behind
Flying friends -
Dreamed of looking back
But it was impossible!
Can't with chocolate
Him to part!
And rushed forward
Not willing to give up!

Nikolay breathed,
Like a Ussuri tiger
Kept Nicholas
Olympic Marathon!
Skating rink under silver dust
trembling,
And he chocolate with vanilla
Clamped!

Nicholas could not
Bite the chocolate
He raced
And he only ate it!
And past friends
Like a noisy engine
Letting off steam
Flew like crazy!

Burning Nikolai,
Like a Russian stove
But he overheated -
And a misfire came out:
Chocolate in hand
Boiling like in a saucepan
And pour into the sleeve
Chocolate chips...

And past friends
Nicholas the Beloved
puffs,
rumbles,
Like a chocolate doll!

Vanilla,
Walnut,
Sweet
And sticky
He's running wild
With the stupidest smile
Is it easy
Such a huge chocolate
Stay in the shadow
And look humble?

Roaring Nicholas
On an ice skating rink -
Nikolai is being taken
In a big deli!
Tied with pink ribbon
Box -
Not a truffle cake
Not candy "Korovka"!

The driver is delighted
- Ah, what Chokolay!
- Which Chocolate? -
Outraged Nicholas!
- You were Nicholas, -
The driver says -
And became Chocolate, -
The driver speaks. -
And we, dear,
We wish to admire
such a huge
And live Chocolate!

Worth Chocolay
On a dressy window,
And tells everyone
Its type is chocolate:
Wonderful
Go to the skating rink with chocolate!
Dangerous
Eat chocolate on the sly!
Being greedy is terrible!
Don't need, don't need
And then you turn into a piece
Chocolate!

white daisies

Chamomile hugged
white chamomile,
And stand in an embrace -
Open heart!

summer friends,
white daisies,
You forest fairies
Woven shirts -

They are not afraid of the storm
dusty curl,
They don't need laundry
Ironing and ironing.

Here comes the wind
The dust sighed heavily
But remained white
Chamomile shirt.

Here comes the rain
Became a wet bird
But remained dry
Chamomile shirt.

And again chamomile
I hugged a chamomile
And stand in an embrace -
Open heart!

Nice to drink from a mug
Nice to drink from a cup
On which gently
Daisies hugged!

Ticket to the cottage

The cashier sat by the window
I asked the cashier

Give me a ticket to the cottage
And please surrender
Allow me to carry

Two bears with a cub
And a five year old elephant.

They will live with me in a hut,
Sleep with me on a cot
Wash from the tub
Get better and grow
Two camels with a calf
Two bears with a cub
And a five year old elephant.

Past a heap of ants,
With a jar, with a bowl and a basket,
Barefoot, in shorts,
On swollen sails
They will rush for raspberries
And shake the nuts
Two camels with a calf
Two bears with a cub
And a five year old elephant.

These cute little animals
Though inside - solid chips,
They will sigh mournfully
They will cry silently
If I throw them on the shelf
And I'm going to rest.

Here the cashier pressed the button,
Pierced a stack of tickets
And he said to the whole station:

Train seven, car four!
Sad to live in an empty apartment
Even a small animal
From which the chips come out.
I allow you to carry
Two camels with a camel,
Two bears with a cub
And a five-year-old elephant!

big horse secret

A lot of people think
What they can fly:
A lot of swallows
There are a lot of swans.
And very few people think
What can fly
There are a lot of horses
Four-legged horses!

But only horses
They know how to fly wonderfully, -
Highly
Horses live without the sky
Difficult!

But only horses fly with inspiration!
Otherwise, the horses would have crashed instantly.
Are there flocks of horse swans

A lot of people think
That the horse has no secrets -
Neither big nor small
Not for any company.

And the horse flies and thinks
What is the biggest secret -
This is the flying of a horse,
Non-flying animals flying!

But only horses can fly wonderfully, -
Highly
Horses live without the sky
Difficult!
And are flocks of white-winged swans
Are they sad like packs of white-winged horses?

But only horses
Fly with inspiration!
Otherwise horses
They would crash instantly.
And are flocks of horse swans
Do they sing like flocks of swan horses?

Big secret for a small company

Under the sad moo
Under a cheerful growl,
Under friendly neighing
Is born into the world
Big secret
For the little one
For such a small company,
For such a modest company
Huge such
Secret:
- Oh, if only with someone ...
Ah, if only with someone ...
Ah, it would only be with someone
Talk!

With glasses and without glasses

When I walk
Without glasses,
I'm advancing
On bugs

And I can bite
casket,
Completely accepting it
For a bun!

But with glasses
I never
Didn't sit down
On a sleeping cat

Didn't go out into the garden
Through the window,
Not confused
Mail and movies!

But for that
To see dreams
Glasses for me
Not needed!
And the night is needed
And silence,
And the stars in the sky
And the moon
Need a pillow
And the bed
And need
Don't open your eyes!

At the circus

Acrobat and acrobat -
In the circus arena!
The heart freezes sweetly
And I shake my head!

Drums beat anxiously
The acrobat has gone flying!
Like a swan through the fog
He floats through the air!

And above him, like a blue torch,
Everything sparkles on the fly
Acrobat, in the twilight
Gaining altitude!

He squeezes the ring in his teeth,
And with a smile on your face
Acrobat starts
Tumbling on the ring!

And they fly under the dome!
And will they come back?
But I felt the noose with my hand
Invisibly acrobat.

And from the heights move out smoothly
Under timpani brass ringing
acrobat and acrobat
Making a bow to the public!

Tigers run out with a roar,
And behind the scenes an acrobat
Terry towel
Wipes sweat from forehead!

Spring is coming through the city

Ding! Don!
Ding! Don!
What is that gentle sound?
This is a snowdrop
Smiling through sleep!

This is whose fluffy beam
So it tickles because of the clouds,
Forcing the little ones
Smile from ear to ear?

Whose warmth is this?
Whose kindness
Makes you smile
Bunny, chicken, cat?
And for what reason?
Spring is coming
In the city!

And the poodle has a smile!
And fish in the aquarium
Smiled out of the water
Smiling bird!

So it turns out
What does not fit
On one page
Smile boundless -
How pleasant!
This is the length
That's the width!
And for what reason?
Spring is coming
In the city!

Vesna Martovna Podsnezhnikova,
Vesna Aprelevna Skvoreshnikova
Spring Maevna Chereshnikova!

ship

Where are you sailing boat
And where do you, boat, live?
- I live in the blue sea,
To the shores I swim green.

Yesterday they loaded into my hold
Mustard and sweet raisins
Noodles and beans
Both sugar and salt
And a patch that relieves pain!

And also an elephant and a tigress,
And coffee, and tea, and cinnamon,
Tobacco and sardines
Backpack and boots
And decals!

And there was a place on top
They put a ring in there.
On this ring
Like a flame on a candle
Heart beats and beats

This is a sea talisman
It shines through the mist
To not sit down
With a bang on the rocks
Sailors and captain!

Whoever finds him in the harbor
Go on a long voyage
The seas will be different
Throw anchors in the roadstead,
About this magic ring
Not saying a word...

But no captain
Doesn't swim without a talisman
And not a single talisman
Can't swim without a captain!

Every sea captain
As a child, I found a talisman
But never show anyone
In which pocket he hid it.
If you ask him
Says there's nothing
Even show that the wind is in your pocket,
The wind is calling him!

But no captain
Doesn't swim without a talisman
And not a single talisman
Can't swim without a captain!

Waves roar astern
The storm shaft is foaming,
The stars went out
The clouds hung
Right over your head!

Storm through binoculars and darkness -
What does the sailor see there?
What distinguishes
As long as it pumps
The ship and so on and so forth?

What illuminates him
This pitch darkness?
What a magical beating heart
Like a spark in the smoke?

This is a sea talisman
It shines through the mist
To not sit down
With a bang on the rocks
Sailors and captain!

And if you ask later
What's in your empty pocket
Is the talisman hidden there by chance, -
Every sailor will tell you that the secret
The secret of luck is not that!

See? In an empty pocket
Key with short tail
The match is burning
seed white,
The secret of luck is not that!

Burnt match, eccentric,
Darkness is not dispelled.
key and seed
In difficult times -
Existing, sorry, trifle!

Ah, without a doubt
More or less
All this, apparently, is true!
Will is needed and great skill,
And, captain, a little luck -
Existing, sorry, trifle!

But no captain
Doesn't swim without a talisman
And not a single talisman
Can't swim without a captain!

Favorite pony

When it's cold or hot outside
And the pony rides to work at nine,
Trolleybus from the trolleybus fleet,
Bus from the bus depot
Ready for you at the gates of the zoo,
Bring to the gates of the zoo.

Ponies have long bangs
From soft silk
He is driving a cart
In such regions
Where did mom go
And dad rode
When they were
People like me.
I would day and night
I rode a pony
I would be a grandfather
And he did not part with it!

Where there are elephants and hippos,
Orangutans and other wonders -
Planes fly once a week
Then steamboats sail for a week,
Then the ATVs go for a week,
A pony will take you in half an hour!

Magnificent plane behind the clouds,
And the ships are beautiful every one, -
But it's hard to hug the plane with your hands,
And it's hard to hug the ship,
And the pony is so easy to hug,
And it's so wonderful to hug him!

It happened that I would not write

Everything for others does not smell of Russia ...

Very cool people went to this bucket at night - due to the shutdown of the toilet in the mansion, where they were repairing the spirit of the Silver Age. But due to exceptional circumstances and the classical unity of action, place and time, about which only countless guesses can be built in the mind, the slop bucket with diamonds suddenly descended from the window to the ground through a bundle of sheets the color of wet asphalt. Such a bundle was threaded under the handle of the bucket, and at the moment he landed, it was drawn back into the window like silent noodles.

The bucket, swaying from the inside with its varied content, began to move oscillatingly down the street, slippery after the rain on Thursday.

Byron now constantly reads in transport, so as not to look at people and, shielded by reading matter, not to see their faces, such is the reality at the moment.

About a week later, Byron prepared a complete list of acquaintances whose acquaintances may have acquaintances who are interested in pure diamonds with a view to buying them individually and in bulk.

It happened that one of the badly brought up suddenly asked:

Where do you get so many?

Then Byron immediately answered them:

A wonderful idea! .. Byron took them with him in a simple suitcase and decided to travel around the world until he was no longer drawn to that suspicious Moscow street.

Yunna MORITZ

Stories of the miraculous

Yunna Moritz

"Tales of the miraculous" is Yunna Moritz's short prose of enigmatic power and beauty, her "persistent graphic stories". No one else can tell stories like this. This is a special "book-making and drawing-writing" of the Russian story, in the nature of which there is the expanse of divine freedom.

SCUDGE BUCKET

WITH DIAMONDS OF PURE WATER

It happened that I would not write

Everything for others does not smell of Russia ...

Very cool people went to this bucket at night - due to the shutdown of the toilet in the mansion, where they were repairing the spirit of the Silver Age. But due to exceptional circumstances and the classical unity of action, place and time, about which only countless guesses can be built in the mind, a slop bucket of diamonds suddenly descended from the window to the ground through a bundle of sheets the color of wet asphalt. Such a bundle was threaded under the handle of the bucket, and at the moment he landed, it was drawn back into the window like silent noodles.

The bucket, swaying from the inside with its varied content, began to move oscillatingly down the street, slippery after the rain on Thursday.

And now, finally, rightly so, rightly so - one after another, miracles rain down on him, the sky is in diamonds, in the garbage pail - diamonds of pure water. Only now, for the most part, by this time people had become disgusting and hateful to him, like cockroaches, it was sickening for him to look at their gloomy, vicious, plebeian faces, and the speech of these faces is just a garbage dump. And worse than that, even in two hundred years there will be no Great Britain here. Great is the acquisition of the face ... Therefore, I.S.

Byron now constantly reads in transport, so as not to look at people and, shielded by reading matter, not to see their faces, such is the reality at the moment.

“However, I was personally sent by heaven and ordered to dispose of it!” - so thought Byron in the alleys of pure spirit and with respectful gratitude took a slop bucket with diamonds ... Moreover, it must be said that his suffocatingly tiny two-room apartment with low ceilings in a mid-century cooperative brick, in which you and I live and which we we are living with you, dear reader, was chock-full of luxurious antiques from our dumps, from where Byron, with his own hands, extracted marvelous things all his life and restored them himself with impeccable taste, combining chic, erudition and corrosive pedantry.

Arriving home, he immediately removed from the shelf found in the garbage heap, an antique volume found in the garbage heap and personally bound in morocco with gold embossing, also found by him once in the garbage heap. There was a wonderful article explaining in detail and sensibly how diamonds are taken out of a garbage can and returned to them the nobility of "clean water". Understanding as well as we do that almost a century and a half passed after the publication of this manual, and since then much more modern means and methods have appeared, yet Byron was not flattered by them, but did his job, as was customary in the old days, when happy serfs shone with spirituality , souls doted on the gentleman and have not yet been touched by any corruption, either the language or the mass of human faces.

About a week later, Byron prepared a complete list of acquaintances whose acquaintances may have acquaintances who are interested in pure diamonds with a view to buying them individually and in bulk.

Many people immediately wanted to buy, but for some reason, without fail, in finished products - in rings, bracelets, earrings, belts, tiaras, combs, pins, cufflinks, buckles, cups, covers, frames, binoculars, even in the backs and armrests of chairs, even in a bathroom tile - and so, separately, in the nude, no one wanted. But they all promised to quickly find buyers, believing that this is just the easiest and easiest thing, because the most opportune times have come.

It happened that one of the badly brought up suddenly asked:

- And where do you get so many? ..

Then Byron immediately answered them:

- Well, you see, due to historical circumstances known to you - would you like a cup of coffee? - In my youth, I wandered for a long time in the regions where these pebbles wrapped in a piece of newspaper could easily plug a bottle with the remnants of vodka. Diamonds lay there underfoot, like lemons in Spain, often they were paid for some work, and I kept them until better times.

A wonderful idea! .. Byron took them with him in a simple suitcase and decided to travel around the world until he was no longer drawn to that suspicious Moscow street.

One evening, when we had an early morning, Byron went for a walk in the alleys of pure spirit on the other side of the world, whistling "Beauty's Heart" and clasping his hands behind his back. Suddenly, a bunch of wet asphalt-colored sheets jumped out of a luxurious Venetian window, she grabbed Byron by the chin and dragged him whole through the window, like quiet noodles. He did not even have time to exhale a cry, he did not understand anything at all, well, nothing at all - it seemed to him that he was simply entangled in some kind of kite launched to fly from earth to sky.

- A stuffed bird costs more than a bird! - the last thing Byron heard in this world, but from whom? .. From the air? .. Attention, says the air? .. But the air ran out.

His body was found in the bay. The suitcase disappeared without a trace. His corpse was identified by the hands folded in a lock on the lower back, and the body was returned to its homeland. Byron was terribly lonely, but someone is constantly looking after his grave, there is always the same bucket, but already covered with wonderful enamel inside and out - and full of flowers.

The window from which this slop bucket with diamonds descended to the ground - I know which street it is on, but I won’t say. I have not yet been ordered to reveal to you this wondrous secret. Outside that window, the spirit of the Silver Age has already been completely renovated and they are spitting through the balcony. In some miraculous way, they got into the possession of a musical sofa, found by Byron in the garbage. Every hour he sings, this sofa, and hear him in all parts of the world.

THE SECRET LIFE OF ANGELINA SUKOVA

The ghost was furious. He came to her every night not on his own ...