Question

Напишите сочинение по английскому в 150 слов на тему "Я был на родине Есенина"

Answer 1

The theme of the Motherland in the work of Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin.
But I love you, the Motherland is meek!
And for what, I can not solve.
(S. Yesenin)
In the work of many literary figures throughout the history of Russia, one of the central places was given to the Motherland. After all, the Motherland is a comprehensive concept. This is where you were born. This is the land in which you live. This and all the open spaces that surround you, that is, forests, fields, rivers, mountains, steppes - all this is the Motherland. A poet who has not said a word about his homeland is not a poet. Since it is simply impossible to remain indifferent to your country, to your Fatherland, whatever it may be. One cannot fail to see the shortcomings of one's country, but at the same time one cannot but notice all that beauty that is hiding from us at every step. After all, every affectionate word, even the smallest trifle, said about his native country, is so pleasant to its inhabitant. Reading the poems of Sergei Yesenin, you can see that in the center of his work is precisely his homeland. He chants every grain of sand, every blade of grass, every pebble of his native land.
For each person, the Homeland begins from the place where you were born, where you grew up and spent your childhood. The village of Konstantinovo was such a place for the poet. More than once he turns to his piece of the globe in his poems:
Beloved Land! Heart dreaming
Scyrds of the sun in the pubic waters.
I would like to get lost
In the greens of your bells.
Yesenin always aspired to his homeland, to the village. He scooping up new strengths, gained energy, freed himself from the accumulated worries among the pictures sweet to his heart.
I'm here again, in my own family,
My land, thoughtful and gentle!
Curly Dusk Over the Mountain
Hand waved snow-white.
Often in his poems the image of his native home in Konstantinovo pops up:
I loved this wooden house.
Terrible power glowed in the logs
Our stove is somehow wild and strange
I forgot on a rainy night ...
This house still stands there. It now houses the Esenin Museum.
But the Motherland is endless for Yesenin. She has no boundaries. For the poet, the forest is the homeland, the field is the homeland, the river is also the homeland. The boundless expanses of Great Russia are sweet to him:
About Russia - Raspberry Field
And the blue that fell into the river
I love to joy and pain
Your lake longing.
In every poem Yesenin feels love for the motherland. It is expressed not abstractly, but specifically, in visible images, through paintings of the native landscape.
I love the homeland.
I really love my homeland!
Although it contains the sadness of willow neighing.
Pleased to me pigs stained faces
And in the silence of the night ringing voice of toads.
The poet sees the bright colors of Russian nature: in many of his poems about the Motherland. Russia appears in different colors. Now it is crimson, now blue, now white, now blue. Indeed, color for Esenin meant a lot. Each shade had its own specific meaning.
“Rus is blue” - in blue, he has hidden the vast boundless expanses of his native land. Immediately there is a feeling of freedom and freshness.
The poet shows all the beauty and charms of his native country through nature.
Oh, forest, dense dregs!
Oh, the fun of snowy fields! ...
So I want to close my hands
Above the tree thighs willow.
Yesenin is close and inseparable from him all those paintings that surround him everywhere. Whether it is a field with no end or edge, a river gurgling in the forest coolness, or a small tree that attracted the poet. He admires sunrises and sunsets, clouds slowly floating across the sky, the sun playing with its rays. Yesenin is ready to forget about everything and just look and look at all the beauties that are sometimes hidden from our eyes:
Good for autumn freshness
Soul - shake the apple tree
And watch it cut over the river
Water blue sun plow.
Sergei Alexandrovich can not exchange his homeland for any other in the world. As we know, he traveled to Europe. At that time, the situation in Russia was not the best. The poet saw this, he saw devastation, poverty, hunger and all the many calamities that, one after another, fell on the heads of the Russians. And what? Almost every day he wrote home, to Russia, finding this his only outlet. In each of his letters he poured out his feelings, poured out his longing in his homeland. Here is an excerpt from his letter from America: “They eat and drink here, and again the foxtrot. I haven’t met a person yet and I don’t know where it smells. In a terrible fashion, Mr. Dollar, spitting on art is the highest music hall. Let us beggars, let us be hungry and cannibalism, but we have a soul, which we have

Answer 2

I have always been captivated by the enchanting verses of Sergei Yesenin, one of Russia's greatest poets. Recently, I had the opportunity to visit his homeland, immersing myself in the rustic beauty of the countryside where he was born. As I walked through the serene landscapes and picturesque villages, I could sense the spirit of Yesenin whispering through the wind.

In the village of Konstantinovo, where Yesenin spent his childhood, I visited the humble wooden house that sheltered his dreams and aspirations. Standing there, I felt a profound connection to the poet's past, imagining him scribbling lines of poetry and finding solace in nature's embrace.

Wandering along the meandering banks of the Oka River, I discovered the very inspiration that breathed life into Yesenin's verses. The gentle flow of the water mirrored the rhythmic cadence of his words, and the rustling leaves seemed to echo his musings. It was as if nature itself had become his muse, painting vivid imagery and tender emotions onto the canvas of his poetry.

As I delved deeper into Yesenin's world, I encountered the complexities of his soul. The contrasting shades of light and darkness within his verses reflected the dichotomy of his existence. Amidst the serene landscapes, I discovered traces of melancholy and longing, an expression of his inner turmoil and the tumultuous times he lived in.

Visiting the poet's final resting place in the quiet village of Vologda, I paid my respects to his immortal spirit. Surrounded by the serene stillness of the cemetery, I couldn't help but reflect on the profound impact Yesenin's words continue to have on generations of readers.

My journey to the homeland of Sergei Yesenin was a pilgrimage of sorts, an endeavor to understand the man behind the poetry. It allowed me to witness the landscapes that nurtured his creativity, and to breathe in the same air that once filled his lungs. Standing there, I felt an overwhelming gratitude for the legacy he left behind, a testament to the power of words to transcend time and touch the depths of the human soul.