Sleepy blow to Bunin. Analysis of the response "Sleepy stroke" Bunina Bunina pure sleepy stroke

After the offense, they came out of the brightly and hotly illuminated far on the deck and the handrails sounded. Vaughn flattened her eyes, put her hand to her cheeks, laughed with a simple, charming laugh, - everything was miraculous in her little woman, - and said:

- I call p'yana ... I started crying from the depths of the hole. Did you get the sounds? Three years ago, I didn’t suspect about your reasoning. I don’t know, de vie sat down. In Samara? Ale is still cute. Tse in me the head is confused, chi mi turn around?

In front of it was dark and fire. From the twilights they beat in the guise of a strong, soft wind, and the fires rushed off to kill: the steamboat with a volzky dandy abruptly described a wide arc, podbіgayuchi to a small pier.

The lieutenant took his hand, lifted it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of smear. And blissfully and terribly my heart froze when thinking, like, maybe, mіtsna and swaggering out all under light linen cloth after a whole month of lying under the hot sun, on the hot sea sand (she said, sho їde from Anapi).

Lieutenant proburmotiv:

- Let's go...

– Where? - She asked zdivovano.

- At my pier.

Vin proclaimed. Vaughn put her hands up to her hot cheeks again.

- Divine...

- Zіyemo, - repeating Vіn stupidly. - I bless you...

“Ah, work as you wish,” said the woman, turning in.

The steamboat, which had exploded, hit the darkly illuminated pier with a soft thud, and the stink almost fell one on one. A rope flew overhead, then it blew back, and the water boiled with a noise, they made similar faces ... The lieutenant rushed after the speeches.

Through the thick stink of the stink, they passed the sleepy desk, went to the deep, hub-deep, squeak and the slug of the force into the sawn-down vіznichâ passage. A gentle slope near the mountain, in the midst of slightly crooked light, a soft saw on the road, looking unskinned. Ale, the axle rose, swayed and crackled with a brukіvka, the axis seemed to be a square, the presence of the city, the tower, the warmth of the smells of the nighttime summer county... . rozhevіy kosovorottsі in a frock coat unhappily taking speeches and pіshov on their trampled feet in advance. They went up to a great, alya terribly suffocating, hotly fried during the day by the sun of the room with white drooping fireflakes on the windows and two unburned candles on the mirror, - and only a little, but they went away and the lackey having repaired the door, the lieutenant rushed so eagerly to her and resentment suffocated so unselfishly. What a lot of fates they predicted then, tsyu khvilina: not having tried anything like that for all my life, neither one nor the other.

About the tenth early morning, sleepy, hot, happy, with the ringing of the church, with the bazaar on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of sleep, dogty and newness of all that folding and odorous, which smells of the Russian land of the city, there, tsia little unimpressive woman, so and not she said her name, zhartom called herself a beautiful unknowing woman, she went. They slept little, ale vranzі, vyyshovshi from-for the screen blew a lizhka, for five khvilin vmshivsya and draped, she was fresh, like at seventeen rokіv. Chi zbentezhena bula won? No, not too much. Like before, she was simple, cheerful, and - already feisty.

- Ni, ni, lyuby, - she said at the beginning of the journey, and far away at once, - u, you will be guilty before the advancing steamboat. If we go at once, then everything will be zipped. I'll be unacceptable. I give you my word of honor that I call not those who could think of me. If there was nothing similar to those that were trapilos, I didn’t have it, it won’t be anymore. It’s like blackouts have come over me… Abo, vіrnіshe, my insults have been taken away on the kshtalt of a sony blow…

The lieutenant seemed to be easily after her. At a light and happy soul, they drove to the pier, - just before the exit of the horny "Litaku", - with all the kisses on the deck and the ice, I managed to gather on the way down, which was already demolished back.

So it's easy, without turbo and turning to the hotel. However, things have changed. The room without her was given as if I was calling someone else, lower for her. Vіn bvsche spovneniy it - and empty. It was wonderful! It still smelled of kind English cologne, there was still a half-drinking cup on the tray, and there was no more ... rooms.

- Amazing goodies! - Having said vіn ugolos, laugh and look, that tears are welling up on the eyes of yogo. - “I give you my word of honor, that I’m not the ones who you might think ...” And I already went off ... Stupid woman!

The screen was tucked away, not yet tidied up. I’m sorry, I just don’t have the strength to marvel now at my bed. Having started a її with a screen, having started a veil, so that not a bit of a market talk and the creak of wheels, lowering more fіranki, sіv on the sofa ... So, the axis and end of this “road fit”! Vikhala - and now it’s already far away, to sit, mother, by the glassy white salon on the deck and marvel at the majesty, shining under the sun, the river, on the flesh of the flesh, on the yellow line, on the very distant waters of that sky, on the whole whole worldless expanse ... I vibach, and now for good, naviki. “Because now, can you chat?” - “I can’t, - thinking wine, - I can’t come to this place, no matter what, no way, no man, no trinity girl, all її sim'ya and all її wonderful life took off!” And the place was created for him as a special, sacred place, and a thought about those who live like this in their new self-same life, often, maybe, guessing yoga, guessing the vipadkova, such a swedkoplinna zustrich, but it’s not possible this thought zvivuval and struck Yogo. Ni, what can not be! It would have been wild, unnatural, implausible! - І vіn vіdchuv such a bіl і such inconsistency of your faraway life without it, that you hooted it, rozpach.

"What is it in the bіsa! - having thought of wine, getting up, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to marvel at the lightly behind the screen. - What is it with me? trapilos? Really, what a sleepy stroke! First of all, how can I spend now, without her, the whole day in this wilderness? "

Vіn sche remember її all, with the least її peculiarities, remembering the smell of її zasmagi and linen cloth, її mіtsne body, lively, simple and cheerful sound її voice... in a new way it’s strange, but now the head was all the same tse friend, I’m feeling new - those sticks, unknowingly, I didn’t know what, until the stench was all at once, what kind of guilt you could not show in yourself in a moment, repairing at once, like you were thinking , only a little more familiarity, and about whom no one else, no one could tell now! - “And the smut,” thinking wine, “you can’t say even more! And how to work, as if to live this endless day, with tsim spogada, with tsim inseparable borosh, at tsimu god-forgotten little place over that syayuchoy Volga, for її taking її tsey rozhevy steamboat!

It was necessary to speak up, if you could take it, tell yourself, go somewhere. Vіn rіshuche pulling on the cap, narrowing the stack, shvidko proyshov, rattling with spurs, empty corridor, vtіk steep descents to the pіd'їzd ... So, where to go? Bilya pid'izdu standing vіznik, young, near the spritnі pіdіvtsі, and calmly smoking a cigarette, obviously, looking for a coke. The lieutenant, looking at the new one ruined and wondering: how can you sit so calmly on the goats, smoke and burn but forgive, bezturbotnym, baiduzhim? “Mabut, only I am the only one so terribly unhappy in every place,” - thinking wine, straight to the bazaar.

The bazaar has already risen. Walking through the fresh pus, among the carts, among the carts with ogirkas, among the new bowls and miners, and the women, who were sitting on the ground, vied with each other, yogic, took the miners in their hands and knocked, tinkled their fingers, showing their goodness, the men sang yogo, they shouted to yoma, “Os is the first grade of cucumber, your honor!” Everything was so stupid, stupid, like it was in the bazaar. We were sleeping at the cathedral, we were sleeping loudly, merrily and loudly, with the sight of the embroidered binding, we were sweating for a long time, circling the small, hot and zanedbanim garden on the shaved mountain, over the boundless light-steel width of the river... the jacket was so hot that it was impossible to bump into them. The surroundings of the cap were wet in the middle in the sweat, the appearance was falling ... -the same. I sighed brightly, and having washed the badilla with ice. Everything was good, everyone was feeling worldly happiness, great joy, inspiring in these specialties and in all the smells of the market, in all the unknown place and in the old povitovom hotel there was out, this joy, and at the same time the heart was simply torn to pieces. Vіn drank a little glass of gourd, zakushuyuchi light-salted ogіrki with krop and vіdchuvayuchi, scho vіn, not zaslyuyushisya, died tomorrow, yakby could be like a diva turn її, spend one more day with her, spend only sweat, just talk, let's talk їі and we want to bring, perekonati, like a wine it hurts and shoveled to love її ... Need to bring it? Need to reconsider? Vіn not knowing the present, but it was necessary to live.

- Well, the nerves were walking around! - Having said wine, pouring a glass of burner.

Vіdsunuv vіd yourself badilla, having drunk black cava and starting to smoke and it's hard to think: what are you going to work now, how will you wake up that rapt, unspoofed cohan? Ale pozbutisya - vіn tse vіdchuvav already chewed - it was impossible. And I raptomly reappeared quickly, taking a cap and a stack, powering, de mail, quarrelly pishov there with a telegram phrase already ready in my head: “Now, my life is forever, to the grave, yours, in your power.” - Ale, going to the old tovstostіn budinku, de bula mail and telegraph, chirping with zakhom: knowing the place, you live, knowing that there is a man and a trieric donka, but not knowing no names, no names of її! Vіn kіlka razіv її її pro tse yesterday at dinner and in hotels, and she laughed and said:

- And what do you need to know who I am? I am Maria Marivna, the princess from overseas... Why don't you kill me?

There was a photographic showcase on the rose. For a long time, marveling at the great portrait of such a military man in thick epaulettes, with swollen eyes, with a low neck, with completely miraculous sideburns and broad breasts, heavily embellished with orders ... How wildly, how stupidly, everything is terrible everyday life, zvichayne, if the heart is hostile, if the heart hostile. - so, it’s hostile, I’m now sensible, - with a terrible “drowsy blow”, over great love, over great happiness! Vіn glancing at the friends of the bridegrooms - a young man in a long frock coat and a white coat, haircuts with a zhachk, who pulled up at the front with a hand with a maiden at a wedding gazі, - shifting his eyes to a portrait of a garnished lady with a student card. zadrіstyu all tsim nedomim yoma, not suffering people, becoming strained to marvel at the air of the street.

- Where to go? What work?

The street was called empty. The budinki were the same, white, double-topped, merchants, with great gardens, and it seemed that there was no living soul in them; white thick drank lying on brukivtsi; And everything stuck together, everything was flooded with hot, half-moisty and radiant, but here there is no aimless sun. In the distance, the street rose, stooped and pressed against the bezkhmarny, siri, svіdbliskom skyscrapers. Whom had a pivdenne, guess what Sevastopol, Kerch ... Anapa. It was especially unbearable. First lieutenant, with his head bowed, squinting in the light, staring at his feet, stumbling, stumbling, spurring on the spur, straightening back.

Turning back to the hotel on the floor of the brokenness, I didn’t make a majestic transition here near Turkestan, near the Sahara. Vіn, picking up the rest of your strength, uveyshov to your great and empty number. The number of letters has already been taken care of, the relief of the remaining traces of її, - only one hairpin, stuffed by her, lay on the bedside table! Vіn having taken off the tunic and looking at himself in the mirror: the guise of yogo, - the splendid officer's guise, sіre in the form of zasmagi, with the bright whiskers, which burned out in the sun, and in the blaky white eyes, in the zasmagi, which were built more now, God's wake, - little now virazne. the white thin shirt with the standing starched commissar was young and deeply unhappy. Vіn lie down on the lizhko, on the back, laying the sawed-down shoes on the shaft. Winds were vіdchinenі, fіranki omitted, and a light breeze hour after hour puffed them up, blowing spicy hot air winds near the room and all the light-bearing and sovsіm now stale, mute, waveless world. Vіn lying, putting his hands under the sweatshirt, and sawingly marveling in front of him in space. Then we clenched our teeth, flattened our hips, vigilantly, like tears rolling down their cheeks, and, having fallen asleep, and if I flattened my eyes again, the evening sun was already red-cheeked behind the franks. The wind subsided, it was stuffy and dry in the room, like a spirit oven... On the first day and the first day, they guessed so, why the stench was ten years old.

Vіn not hastily getting up, not hastily vmivsya, raising the fіranki, calling and sleeping the samovar and rahunok, drinking tea from lemon for a long time. Then I ordered to bring a messenger, to make speeches, sitting in a cab, sitting on the ore, which won, giving the lackey a full five rubles.

- And it seems, your honor, that I brought you this night! - having cheerfully said to the vіznik, take hold of the vіzhki.

If they went down to the pier, it was already blue over the Volga, a blue summer night, and yet a rich variety of different-coloured lights were rosy along the river, and the lights hung on the pair of pairs of steamboat, scho pidbigav.

- Yakraz delivering! – having said the viznik in a fearful way.

The lieutenant and you gave five karboventsiv, having taken a ticket, passed to the pier ... So, just like a teacher, there was a soft knock at the berth and a little zamorochennya in the cunning under the feet, then, as soon as the cat started, the noise began to boil and died drive forward under the wheels of the steamboat, which is why you leaned back. ... And it was superbly pleasant, good in the sight of the wealthy people of that steamboat, which was already sparkling bright and smelling of the kitchen.

The dark summer dawn was fading far ahead, gloomy, sleepy and drowsily bouncing near the river, which de-not-de shone with three-stranded breeches in the distance below her, following the dawn, and pouring and pouring back into the fire, rising in the dark.

The lieutenant sat under the overhang on the deck, feeling himself ten years old.

Seaside Alps. 1925

Ivan Bunin

sleepy stroke

Lieutenant proburmotiv:

- Let's go...

– Where? - She asked zdivovano.

- At my pier.

Vin proclaimed. Vaughn put her hands up to her hot cheeks again.

- Divine...

- Zіyemo, - repeating Vіn stupidly. - I bless you...

“Ah, work as you wish,” said the woman, turning in.

sleepy stroke
warning
read read V.Zozulin

Bunin's concept of the kokhannya is rozkryvaє i rozpovid "Sonyachny blow", written in the Maritime Alps in 1925.
Tsey tvir, like on me, typical for Bunin. In the first place, it was awakened just like that, like a lot of other roses, and a little experience of the hero, in the life of such a person he felt great.
Otzhe, rozpochinaetsya zustrіchchyu on the ship two people: a man and a woman. Between them blame the mutual potyag, and the stench rages on the litter of love calls. Having prokinivshis urantsi, the stench behaves like this, nothing happened, and it’s not enough to “out” somewhere, having left one “yogo” alone. You know, why don’t you mess around, don’t give the desired meaning to the sound, but ... it’s wonderful to start dating the hero ... fates". Emotionally rozpovіd іє іє є є є є є ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї є ї є ї ї ї ї ї ї ї є ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї ї є ї ї ї є ї ї ї є ї ї є ї ї є ї є їm є єm їm zdobuєmo schashy? mitі, do they stink apart?
The rozpovid is called "Sonyachny blow". What can the name mean? It is created as if it were a mitt, raptly hostile, and here - and desolation of the soul, which is dragging behind itself, suffering, unhappiness. This is especially striking, as if to set the cob of that end of advice.
The number of details of the description is low, as well as the scene of the performance of the lieutenant and the clerk help us to understand the author's idea. Naygolovnіshe, scho mi vіdkrivаєmo for myself, having read the rozpoіd "Drowsy blow", - in the kohannya, as he describes Bunin in his creations, in the daily future. Yoga heroes can never get happiness, the stink of the condemnation of suffering. "Sonyachny Strike" once again reveals the Bunin's concept of kokhannya: "Having fallen in love, we die...".

Ivan Oleksiyovich Bunin
Russian writer: prose writer, poet, publicist. Ivan Oleksiyovich Bunin was born on August 22 (after the old style - July 10) in 1870 near Voronezh, in a similar manner a nobleman, who lay down to the old noble family.
Literary popularity before Ivan Bunin came in 1900 after the publication of the "Antonov's apple" in the world of propaganda. In 1901, the collection of verses "Falling Leaves" came from the illustrious symbolist "Scorpion". For this collection and for the translation of the poem by the American romantic poet G. Longfellow "The Song of Hiawatha" (1898, written in 1896), the Russian Academy of Sciences Ivan Oleksiyovich Bunin was awarded the Pushkin Prize. In 1902, the publishers of "Knowledge" wrote the first volume of works by I.A. Bunina. 1905 to the fate of Bunin, who is alive at the hotel "National", becoming a witness of the Chest slaughter insurrection.

Rest of the Rocks the writers passed from the villains. Ivan Oleksiyovich Bunin died near Paris. At night from 7 to 8 leaf fall in 1953, the fate, for two years after that, was gone: wine died quietly and calmly, alas, sleep. The novel by L.N. Tolstoy "Resurrection". Pokhovaniy Ivan Oleksiyovich Bunin at the Russian cavern Saint-Genev'ev-des-Bois, near Paris.
In 1927-1942 Galina Mykolayivna Kuznetsova, a friend of the Bunin family, who became a deep friend of Ivan Oleksiyovich's favoritism, wrote a number of memoirs ("Grassky Shchodennik", the article "In Memory of Bunin"). The USSR has the first collection of works by I.A. Bunina lived only after his death - in 1956 roci (five volumes in the Library "Vognik").

Bunin Ivan Oleksiyovych

sleepy stroke

Ivan Bunin

sleepy stroke

I know p'yana... Did you get the sounds? Three years ago, I didn’t suspect about your reasoning. I don’t know, de vie sat down. In Samara? Ale is still cute. Tse in me the head is confused, chi mi turn around?

Lieutenant proburmotiv:

Zidemo...

Kudi? - she slept zdivovano.

At my pier.

Vin proclaimed. Vaughn put her hands up to her hot cheeks again.

Divine...

Zіyemo, - repeating vin stupidly. - I bless you...

Ah, work as you wish, - said the woman, turning in.

Through the thick stink of the stink, they passed the sleepy desk, went to the deep, hub-deep, squeak and the slug of the force into the sawn-down vіznichâ passage. A gentle slope near the mountain, in the midst of slightly crooked light, a soft saw on the road, looking unskinned. Ale, the axis rose, swayed and crackled along (the bridge, the axis like a square, the presence of the city, the watchtower, the warmth and smells of the nighttime summer county... the old, naked lackey at the rozhevіy kosovorotsі and in the frock coat, unhappily taking the speeches and pіshov on their trampled feet in advance, went up to the great, ale terribly suffocating, hotly roasted by the sun during the day, with white drooping flanks on the windows and two unburned candles on the candles. the footman having closed the doors, the lieutenant rushed at them so violently, and the insults choked so unselfishly into a kiss, that richly fates guessed then tsyu khvilina: not a single thing of the kind was not seen for all the life of either one or the other.

About the tenth early morning, sleepy, hot, happy, with the ringing of the church, with the bazaar on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of sleep, breath and smell of all that foldable, odorous, which smells of Russian land, there, tsia little unimpressive woman, so and not she said her name, zhartom called herself a beautiful unknowing woman, she went. They slept little, ale vranzі, vyyshovshi from-for the screen blew a lizhka, for five khvilin vmshivsya and draped, she was fresh, like at seventeen rokіv. Chi zbentezhena bula won? No, not too much. Like before, she was simple, cheerful, and - already feisty.

Nі, nі, darling, - she said at the beginning of the journey, they fared at once, - u, you will be guilty before the advancing steamboat. If we go at once, then everything will be zipped. I'll be unacceptable. I give you my word of honor that I call not those who could think of me. There was nothing similar to those that trapilos, I didn’t have it, it won’t be bigger. It’s as if the blackout has come over me ... Abo, vernishe, my insults were taken away by the kshtalt of a sony blow ...

The lieutenant seemed to be easily after her. At a light and happy soul, they reached the pier, - just before the entrance of the horny Letaka, - with all the kisses on the deck, and the ice, he managed to converge on the descend, which was already demolished back.

So it's easy, without turbo and turning to the hotel. However, things have changed. The room without her was given as if I was calling someone else, lower for her. Vіn bvsche spovnenie her - and empty. It was wonderful! It still smelled of English cologne, there was still an unfinished cup on the tray, but there was no more ... The lieutenant's heart was clenched with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to smoke and, caressing himself on freebies with a stack rooms.

Amazing benefit! - Having said vіn ugolos, laugh and look, that tears are welling up on the eyes of yogo. - "I give you my word of honor, that I am not those who you might think ..." And already she went ... Silly woman!

The screen was tucked away, not yet tidied up. I’m sorry, I just don’t have the strength to marvel now at my bed. Having started a її with a screen, having started a veil, not a bit of a market talk and the creak of wheels, lowering the white fіranki, sіv on the sofa ... So, the axis and end of this "road fit"! Vikhala - and now it’s already far away, to sit, maybe, by the glassy white salon on the deck and marvel at the majesty, shining under the sun, the river, on the serpentine flesh, on the yellow line, on the distant blue waters of that sky, on the whole whole worldless expanse of the wild. .. I vibach, and now forever, naviki. - Bo de OK now mozhut zustrіtisya? - "I can’t, having thought about it, I can’t come to this place, no matter what, a man, a three-way girl, the whole motherland and all the wonderful life!" And the place was created for him as a special, sacred place, and a thought about those who live like this in their new self-same life, often, maybe, guessing yoga, guessing the vipadkova, such a swedkoplinna zustrich, but it’s not possible this thought zvivuval and struck Yogo. Ni, what can not be! It would have been wild, unnatural, implausible! - І vіn vіdchuv such a bіl і such inconsistency of your faraway life without it, that you hooted it, rozpach.

"What the devil! - having thought wine, vodyachis, again starting to walk around the room and trying not to marvel at the lightly behind the screen. - But what is it with me? special and what was the best thing to do? True, just like a sleepy blow! First smut, how can I spend now, without her, the whole day at this wilderness?

Vіn sche remember її all, with the least її peculiarities, remembering the smell of її zasmagi and linen cloth, її mіtsne body, lively, simple and cheerful sound її voice... in a new way it is superficial. , but now it’s still the same friend’s head, I’m feeling new - they are more biased, unreasonable, I didn’t feel like it was familiar, until the stench was all at once, what kind of guilt you can’t reveal in yourself in a moment, repairing at once, like thinking wine, only comedy . familiarity, and no one could tell about it now, no one could tell now! - "And the smut, having thought of wines, you won’t say anything else! And how to work, how to live this endless day, with these thoughts, with these unrecognizable borosny, from which God-forgotten little place over that very Volga, for which you have taken away її Tsey rozhevy steamboat!

sleepy stroke
warning
read Eduard Toman

The rest of the writer's life passed by the villains. Ivan Oleksiyovich Bunin died near Paris. At night from 7 to 8 leaf fall in 1953, the fate, for two years after that, was gone: wine died quietly and calmly, alas, sleep. The novel by L.N. Tolstoy "Resurrection". Pokhovaniy Ivan Oleksiyovich Bunin at the Russian cavern Saint-Genev'ev-des-Bois, near Paris.
In 1927-1942 Galina Mykolayivna Kuznetsova, a friend of the Bunin family, who became a deep friend of Ivan Oleksiyovich's favoritism, wrote a number of memoirs ("Grassky Shchodennik", the article "In Memory of Bunin"). The USSR has the first collection of works by I.A. Bunina lived only after his death - in 1956 roci (five volumes in the Library "Vognik").