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Гостевая книга

 

 

ВЕЧЕР АНГЛИЙСКОЙ ПОЭЗИИ

для 8—11  классов

Юрьева Мария Иннокентьевна,

МОУ СОШ села Ербогачён, Катангский район, Иркутская область

 

Оформление: 

 

1.    Высказывание “Poetry is for ever”.

2.    Портреты поэтов англоговорящих стран:

·        W. Shakespeare;

·        Robert Burns;

·        Persy Beshe Shelley+имена+годы жизни…

3.    Карта Великобритании;

4.    Магнитозаписи «Английские песни»;

5.    Видеокассета «Шотландский фестиваль танцев в Hyde Park

     в Лондоне».

 

 

I. T.—Good evening, dear teachers, quests, pupils! I am glad to see you. And very 

           pleased to greet you! I invite you to join our poetry party, devoted to the famous

           poets of Great Britain. These words are the symbol of our party: “Poetry is

           forever”.

           Look at this port rail!

·        Who is it ?

·        It is W. Shakespeare;

·        Right!

·        What is he!

·        He is a poet, a writer, a famous dramatist;

·        Is he an American or English (writer) poet?

·        He is an English poet;

·        Good of you!

II.  P1.—W. Shakespeare was born on April 23, 1564, in Stratford—on –Avon. In his

               childhood he went to Grammar School, where he studied Latin besides reading

               and writing, Greek. The school began early in the morning and ended late in

               the evening. So he knew a lot!

               After finishing grammar school he worked a teacher there. At the age of 18 he 

               married Anna Hathaway. He had 3 children Susanna, Hamlet and Judith.

               When he was 21 he left for London, made friends with many actors there.

                Sometimes he worked as an actor. William began to write plays. Soon they

                built (he and his friends) their own theatre and called it “Globe”, the famous

                Globe theatre.

                There was a sign on its door. “All the world is a stage”. Shakespeare wrote 37

                plays, among them are “Hamlet”, “King Lear”, “Macbeth”, “Othello”,

                “Romeo and Juliet”, etc.

“Romeo and Juliet”:

                 (Act II, Scene 2. (Romeo and Juliet are in costumes on the stage).

                  P2 Romeo: He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

                                       But soft! What light through younger windows breaks ?

                                       It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!

                                       Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

                                       Who is already sick and pale with grief,

                                        That though her maid art far more fair than she.

                                        Be not her maid, since she is envious,

                                        Her vestal liberty is but sick and green,

                                        And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.

                                        It is my lady: O, it is my love:

                                        O that she knew she were.

                                        She speaks, yet she says nothing what of that ?

                                        Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

                                        See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.

                                        That I must that cheek.

                  P3 Juliet: O, Romeo, Romeo! Where fore art thou Romeo?

                                   Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

                                   Or, if thou will not, be but sworn my love.

                                   And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

                  Romeo: Shall I hear more or shall I speak at this?

                  Juliet: This’ but thy name that is my enemy.

                              Though art thy self, though not a Montague!

                              What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,

                               Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

                               Belonging to a man! O, be some other name!

                               What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

                                By any other name would smell as sweet. 

                                So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d.

                                Retain that dear perfection which he owes.

                                Without that title, Romeo, doff thy name;

                                And for thy name, which is no part of thee,

                                Take all my self.

                  Romeo: I take thee at thy word.

                                 Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptiz’d.    

                                 Hence forth I never will be Romeo.

                  Teacher: This wonderful love story is about two lovers, Romeo and Juliet.

                  Unfortunately, they died, but they didn’t stop loving each other. They stayed

                  young forever!

                  P3. W. Shakespeare wrote 2 long poems and 154 sonnets.

                P4.  Sonnet 21.

                  So it is not with me as with that Muse,

                  Stirr’d by a painted beauty to his verse,

                  Who heaven it self for ornament doth use,

                  And every fair with his doth rehearse,

                  Making a complement of proud compare

                  With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems,

                  With April’s first-born flowers, and all things rare 

                  That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems.

                  O, let me, true in love, but truly write,

                  And then believe me, my love is as fair

                  As any mother’s child, though not so bright.

                  As those gold candles fixt in heaven’s air:

                  Let them say more that like of hear say well.

                  I will not praise that purpose not so sell.

         Не соревнуюсь я с творцами од,

         Которые раскрашенным богиням

         В подарок преподносят небосвод

         Со всей землёй и океаном синим.

         Пускай они для украшенья строф

         Твердят в стихах, между собой споря,

         О звёздах неба, о венках цветов,

         О драгоценностях земли и моря.

         В любви и слове—правда мой закон,

         И я пишу, что милая прекрасна,

          Как все, кто смертной матерью рождён,

          А не как солнце или месяц ясный.

          Я не хочу хвалить любовь свою,--

          Я  никому её не продаю!

 

Сонет 65.

 

            Pupil 5. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,

                           But sad mortality o’ersways their power,

                           How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,

                           Whose action is no stronger than a flower?

                           O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out

                           Against the wreckful siege of battering days,

                           When rocks impregnable are not so stout,

                           Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?

                           O fearful meditation! Where, alack,

                           Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid?

                           Oh what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?

                           O who his spoil of beauty can forbid?

                           O none, unless this miracle have might

                           That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

             Уж если медь, гранит, земля и море.

             Не устоят, когда придёт им срок,

             Как может уцелеть, со смертью споря,

             Краса твоя—беспомощный цветок?

                       Как сохранить дыханье розы алой,

                       Когда осада тяжкая времён.

                       Незыблемые сокрушает скалы

                       И рушит бронзу статуй и колонн?

             О горькое раздумье! Где, какое

             Для красоты убежище найти?

             Как, маятник остановив рукою,

             Цвет времени от времени спасти?

             Надежды нет. Но светлый облик милый спасут,

             Быть может, чёрные чернила!

 

Сонет 116.

 

               Pupil 6. Let me not to the marriage of true minds

                             Admit impediments. Love is not love

                             Which alters when it alteration finds,

                             Or bends with the remover to remove.

                             O no, it is an ever fixed mark,

                             That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

                              It is the star to every wondering bark,

                              Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

                              Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

                              Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

                              Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

                              But bears it out even to the edge, of doom.

                              If this be error, and upon me proved,

                              I never write, nor no man ever loved.

                Мешать соединению 2 сердец я не намерен.

                Может ли измена любви безмерной положить конец?

                Любовь не знает убыли и тлена.

                Любовь—над бурей поднятый маяк,

                Не меркнущий во мраке и тумане,

                Любовь—звезда, которую моряк определяет место в океане.

                              Любовь—не кукла жалкая в руках у времени,

                              Стирающего розы на пламенных устах и на щеках,

                              И не страшны ей времени угрозы.

                              А если я не прав и лжёт мой стих,--

                              То нет любви и нет стихов моих!

 

Sonnet 25.

 

                 Pupil 9. Let those who are in favour with their stars

                               Of public honour and proud titles boast,

                               Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,

                               Unlooked for joy in that I honour most.

                               Great prices’ favourites their fair leaves spread

                               But as the marigold at the sun’s eye,

                               And in themselves their prid lies buried,

                               Far at a frown they in their glory die.

                               The painful warrior famoused for fight,

                               After a thousand victories once failed,

                               Is from the book razed quite,

                               And all the rest forgot for which he toiled.

                               Then happy I that love and am beloved,

                               Where I may not remove nor be removed.

                  Кто под звездой счастливою рождён—

                  Гордится славой, титулом и властью.

                  А я судьбой скромнее награждён,

                  И для меня любовь—источник счастья.

                      Под солнцем пышно листья распростёр

                      Наперсник принца, ставленник вельможи.

                      Но гаснет солнца благосклонный взор,

                      И золотой подсолнух гаснет тоже,

                   Военачальник, баловень побед,

                   В бою последнем терпит пораженье,

                   И всех его заслуг потерян след.

                   Его удел—опала и забвенье.

                   Но нет угрозы титулам моим пожизненным: любил, люблю, любим.

                   /Перевод С. Маршака/

 

Song by W. Shakespeare.

 

                   Pupil 7. Orpheus with his lute made trees,

                                 and the mountain tops that freeze,

                                 bow themselves when he did sing:

                                 to the music plants and flowers

                                 ever sprung; as sun and showers

                                 there had made a lasting spring.

                                 Every thing that heard him play,

                                 even the billows of the sea,

                                 hung their heads, and then lay by.

                                 In sweet music is such art,

                                 Killing care and grief of heart

                                 fall asleep, or, hearing, die.

                    Pupil 3.

Shall I die? Shall I fly lovers’ baits and deceits sorrow breeding?

Shall I tend? Shall I send,

Shall I sue, and not rue my proceeding?

In all duty her beauty

Binds me her servant for ever.

If she scorn, I mourn,

I retire to despair, joying never.

Умереть? И презреть миражи этой лжи?

 

От напасти убежать? И не знать ни надежд, ни утрат и ни страсти?

Но любовных оков не смогу разорвать никогда.

Мне одно суждено быть слугой её, вечно страдая.

 

                     Pupil 8. This unknown poem by Shakespeare was discovered in 1985, it was analysed on a computer. It’s a beautiful poem about love. William Shakespeare died on the 23 of April 1616. He was buried in the church of Stratford-Upon-Avon. But Sh.’s plays are still popular. Now many people like them. We laugh and cry with Sh’s.

 

                       Teacher. Look at the North of Great Britain and we see the mother land Scotland of the famous Scottish national writer and poet. When we speak of this country

we imagine men in tartan kilts: 1)Porridge in the morning (звучит Шотландская музыка); 2)Sad and monotonous sounds of bag pipes;

By the way, what date is it on Sunday?

                        Pupil 9.             January the 25 th.

It’s Burns Night, his birthday. He was born in Alloway, south-western Scotland, in 1759. He was the eldest of seven children. Burns spent his youth in hard work and poverty. The sources of Burns’ poetry are the life of common people and Scottish folklore.

                        Scotland! A beautiful country that inspired Robert Burns to write so many wonderful poems about its country-side and its people. He felt a special bond with the Highlands and wild lochs.

                        Pupil 10. (На сцене ученик в Шотландском наряде).

                           My heart is in the Highlands,

                           My heart is not here;

                            My heart is in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;

                            Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe.

                            My heart’s in the Highlands, fare well to the North,

                            The birth-place of valour, the country of the worth;

                            Wherever I wonder, wherever I rove,

                             The hills of the Highlands forever I love.

                             Farewell to the mountains high cover’d with snow;

                             Farewell to the straths and green valleys bellow:

                             Farewell to the forests and wild—hanging woods;

                             Farewell to the torrents and loud—pouring floods.

                        Pupil 11. Burns’ name became popular in London and Edinburgh. In his epigrams he criticized upper classes.

                        На Лорда Галлоуэй.

1)     В его роду известных много,

     Но сам он не в почёте.

     Так древнеримская дорога теряется в болоте.

     Тебе дворец не по двору,

     Попробуй отыскать

     Глухую, грязную нору,

     Душу твоей под стать.

2)     Кто честной бедности своей

     Стыдится и всё прочее.

     Тот самый жалкий из людей

     И всё такое прочее.

3)     Настанет день и час пробьёт,

     Когда уму и чести

     На всей земле придёт черёд,

     Стоять на первом месте.

4)     При всём при том,

     При всём при том,

     Могу вам предсказать я,

     Что будет день,

     Когда кругом

     Все люди станут братья!

                        Pupil 12. The last years of Burns’ life wery very hard. On the 21st of July 1796 being 37, Burns died of heart disease, but the name of Robert Burns is still alive. For Scotsmen Robert Burns is a symbol of national pride. Every year on January 25 (on his birthday) Burns night is celebrated not only in Scotland but throughout Britain and Scottich-speaking world. The celebration is usually held in the form of a supper (Burns supper), burns’ poems are recited and there may be Scottish dancing after the meal.

       ВСЕ: May Burns’ memory live forever!

                        Pupil 13. Out over the Forth by R. Burns. Out over the Forth, I look to the North but what is the North and the Highlands to me? The South nor the East gie ease to my breast, the far rolling land or the wide rolling sea! But I look to the West when I gae to rest that happy my dreams and my slumbers may be; for far in the West lives he I loe best, the man that is dear to his baby and me.

                         Pupil 14. Percy Bysshe Shelley.

                         Came of an aristocratic family, but already in a youth he was a fighter for freedom. He lived in Ireland, England, Switzeland, Italy. He wrote much at that time, mostly poems. Shelley’s death was tragic.

                         In his poem “Song to the Men of England” written in 1819 he wrote he expressed his social and political ideas, his protest against capitalists.

                         Pupil 15. Men of England, where fore plough

                                          For the lords lay ye low?

                                          Where fore weave with toil and care

                                          The rich robes your ty rants wear?

                         Люди Англии, зачем

                         Господам служить вам тем,

                         Кто вас давит? Платья ткать,

                         Чтоб тиранов наряжать.

                         Pupil 16. Where fore, Bees of England, forge

                                          Many a weapon, chain and scourge,

                                          That these sting less drones may spoil

                                          The forced produce of your toil?

                         Пчёлы Англии, зачем

                         Цепь и бич ковать, и всем

                         Трутням всячески служа

                         Силу дать для грабежа?

                          Pupil 17. Have you leisure, comfort, calm,

                                           Shelter, food, love’s gentle balm?

                                           Or what is it ye buy so dear

                                           With your pain and with your fear?

                          Кровь и пища есть ли вам?

                          Отдых и любви бальзам?

                          И за что из этих благ

                          Платят ваши труд и страх?

                          Pupil 18. The seed you sow, another reaps;

                                           The wealth you find, another keeps;

                                           The robes ye weave, a no the weas;

                                           The arms уe forge, another bears.

                          Вы сеете, другой пожнёт,

                          Вы копите—другой возьмёт,

                          Вы ткёте ткань—не вам надеть,

                          Куёте меч—не вам владеть.

                          Pupil 19. Sow seed,--but let no ty rant reap;

                                           Find wealth,--let no impostor heap;

                                           Weave robes,--let not the idle wear;

                                           Forge arms,--in your de fence to bear.

                          Ты сей—но пусть не жнёт тиран!

                          Ты грош копи—но прочь обман!

                          Не трутням тките ткань—себе,

                          Вы куйте меч своей борьбе.          (перевод В.Д. Меркурьева).

                           Pupil 20. The poem “The invitation” by P.B. Shelley.

                           A way, a way, from men and towns,

                           To the wild woods, and the downs—

                           To the silent wilderness

                           Where the soul need not repress

                                       Its music, lest it should not find

                                       An echo in another’s mind.

                                       While the touch of Nature’s art

                                       Harmonizes heart to heart.

                           Pupil 21. In his lyrical poem “The Cloud” (1820).

             Written, the poet speaks of Nature, its changes and development.

                                           I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,

                                           From the seas and the streams;

                                           I bear light shade for the leaves,

                                           When laid In their noonday dreams.

                           Pupil 22. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken

                                           The sweet buds every one,

                                           When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast,

                                           As she dances about the sun.

                                           I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

                                           And whiten the green plains under,

                                           And then again I dissolve it in rain,

                                           And laugh as I pass in thunder.

                           Я ливень свежий с морских побережий

                           Дам иссохшим цветам

                           И в знойный день прохладную тень—

                           Уснувшим листьям.

                           Отряхну от крылий росу, чтоб открыли

                           Все ростки нежный глазок,

                           Их спать—дремать укачала мать.

                           Пляской солнцу вслед на Восток

                           Дам граду цеп, чтоб хлестал, свиреп,

                           Убелив поле—несжатым.

                           Его потом я рассею дождём,

                           Смеясь громовым раскатом.

                           Pupil 23.I am the daughter of Earth and Water,

                                          And the nursling of the Sky;

                                          I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;

                                          I change, but I cannot die.

                                          For after the rain, when with never a stain,

                                          The pavilion of Heaven is bare

                                          And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams,

                                          Build up the blue dome of air

                                          I silently laugh at my own cenotaph

                                          And out of the carvens of rain,

                                          Like a child from the womb,

                                          Like a ghost from the tomb,

                                          I arise and unbuild it again.

                            Рождён я, слушай, Влагой и Сушей,

                            Небо вскормило меня.

                            Пройду сквозь туман, берег и океан, меняясь—бессмертно я.

                            Ибо после дождя, когда пуст, блестя,

                            Шатёр небесных высот, и лучи и ветра сберутся с утра

                            Крыш воздуха синий свод.

                            Я, там притаясь и молча смеясь, разрушаю свой кенотаф,

                            Как из лона младенец, из гроба—как тень,

                            Из пещеры дождей восстав.

                                                                                         (перевод В.Д. Меркурьева)

 

The first part was the matical. The second part consists of reciting poems and giving their own translation, and the translations of fam. people.

1) “Oh, Russia, I’m in love with you! 

                             Remember, Russia, you are great

                             Not in the field of battles past

                             But in the green fields full of wheat

                             And forests, gardens, free of dust.

                             I love you deeply, dear land,

                             Your hills and rivers, sand on strand

                             Your songs and dances, lakes and seas

                             Your beasts and fish, birds in trees.

                             Your sunrise in a splendid sight

                              Which gives me always such delight!

                                                                           L.A. Khusainova.

2) “The Sick Rose”

                               W. Blake.

                               O. Rose, thou art (you are) sick!

                               The invisible worm,

                               That flies in the night,

                               In the howling storm,

                                                        Has found out thy bed

                                                        Of crimson joy:

                                                        And his dark secret love

                                                        Does the love destroy.

3) “Leisure”

                    W.H. Davies.

                                What is this life, if full of care,

                                We have no time to stand and stare?

                                 No time to stand beneath the boughs

                                 And stare as long as sheepor cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broard day light,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn, at beauty’s glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

                                  No time to wait till her mouth can

                                  Enrich that smile her eyes began,

                                  A poor life this is, if full care,

                                  We have no time to stand and stare.

4)“Poetry”

                  G.G. Byron

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society, where none intrudes,

By the deep Sea, and music in its roar;

                             I love not Man the less, but Nature more,

                             From these our interviews, in which I steal

                             From all I my be, or have been before,

                             To mingle with the Universe, and feel

                             What I can ne’er express, yet cannot conceal.

                                                        (from “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”, Canto IV).

 

 G i f t s

            J. Thompson

Give a man a horse he can ride,

Give a man a boat he can sail;

And his rank and wealth, his strength and health,

On sea nor shore shall fail.

Give a man a book he can read;

And his home is bright with calm delight,

Though the room be poor in deed.

Give a mane a girl he can love,

As I, o my love, love thee;

And his heart is great with the pulse of Fate

At home, on land, on sea.

 

5) Sukey, you will be my wife.

And I shall tell you why:

I have got a little pig,

And you have got a sty;

                        I have got a dun cow,

                        And you can make good cheese;

                        Sukey, will you marry me?

                        Say “yes”, if you please.

6) For every evil under the sun,

    There is a remedy, or there is none.

    If there be one, try and find it;

    And there be none, never mind it.

    Good night,

    Sleep tight,

    Wake up bright

    In the morning light,

    To do what’s right

    With all your might.

    One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,

    All good children go to heaven,

    Some fly East.

    Some fly West,

    Some fly over the cuckoo’s nest.

7) When I was a little girl.

     1) About 7 years old,

         I hadn’t got a petticoat,

         To keep me from the cold.

1)     So I went to Darling ton,

That pretty little town,

And there I bought a petticoat,

A cloak and a gown.

     3) I went in to the woods

         I built me a kirk,

         And all the birds of the air,

         They helped me to work.

     4) The hawk, with his long claws,

Pulled down the stone,

The dove, with her rough bill,

Brought me them home.

5)     The parrot was the clergyman,

The peacock was the clerk,

The bull finch played the organ,

And we made merry work.

 

Spades for digging,

Pens for writing,

Ears for hearing

Teeth for biting,

                            Eyes for seeing,

                            Legs for walking,

                            Tongues for tasting

                            And for talking.

Man is a fool

When it’s hot

He wants it cool

When it’s cool.

He wants it hot.

He always wants

What he has not.

8)Oh, Russia, I’m love with you!

           Remember, Russia, you are great

           Not in the field of battles past,

           But in the green fields full of wheat

           And forests, gardens, free of dust.

           I love you deeply, dear land,

           Your hills and rivers, sand on strand,

           Your beasts and fish, birds in trees.

           Your sunrise in a splendec sight

           Which gives me always such delight!

                                         /L.A. Khusainova/   

 

     О, Россия, я влюблена в тебя!

            Не в битвах прошедших,

            А в зелёных полях,

            В чистых лесах и садах.

            Я люблю тебя всем сердцем, земля дорогая.

            Твои холма и реки, песчаный берег

            Твои песни и танцы, моря и озёра

            Твоих животных и рыб, пенье птиц на деревьях.

            Твой прекрасный восход солнца,

            Который вызывает восхищение !!!

                                           /Л.А. Хусаинова/

              

 

Teacher. The Arrow and the Song

                                        by H. Longfellow.

1.     I shot an arrow into the air

I fell to earth

I knew not where

For so swiftly it flew

The sight couldn’t follow it in its flight.

2.     I breathed a song into the air

It fell to earth I knew not where;

For who has sight so keen and strong

That it can follow the flight of a song?

3.     Long, long, after wards in an oak,

I found the arrow still unbroken;

And the song from beginning to end,

I found again in the heart of a friend.

Я выпустил стрелу

Когда она упала, я не знаю,

И где найду свою судьбу,

О которой постоянно я мечтаю.

          Надеюсь, что стрела

          Мне точный путь укажет,

          Царевну ли, сердечную

          Подругу и любовь

          И как найти подскажет.

 

Teacher. My Dear school boys and school girls!

                 Thank you for taking an active part.

                 You all get fives.

                  I’m very pleased with you.

                  Thank you for enjoyment.

                  Good luck to you.

                  Good—bye.

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