This is the house in which. From English children's poetry The House That Jack Built

Who doesn't know "The House That Jack Built"?
This is English folklore, the author of which is lost in the mists of time. This wonderful poem was translated by our poet Samuil Yakovlevich Marshak, and it is in his translation that it is known to all Russians. As you know, translating poems is a complex and delicate matter. For the sake of rhyme and rhythm, some moments have to be skipped, replaced and smoothed out. It's always interesting to compare the original and the translation. Analyzing the original "House...", we can see many curious (albeit quite forgivable) discrepancies. In addition to the changed tense (in the original everything happens in the past, not the present continuous), there are also factual discrepancies. Let's get a look:

In the original, instead of wheat (wheat), malt appears, lying in the house (house), and not in a dark closet (dark larder), as in Marshak’s “House...”. If anyone doesn’t know, malt is a fermentation product from sprouted, dried and coarsely ground cereal grains, from which beer is made
- In the original there is no tit bird (little tomtit), but there is a rat (rat), which constantly eats (ate) the owner’s grain
- Further, in the original there is indeed a cat, which, however, does not scare and threaten (threat and catch) a tit, but kills (killed) the aforementioned unfortunate rat
- The cat is followed by a dog, which just scares (worried) the cat, and does not pull him by the collar (pull him around), although this literary discovery by Marshak is simply brilliant
- Then comes the cow, who really kicked the dog, but she is not completely hornless, but with only one broken horn (with the crumpled horn).

There is no gray-haired strict old lady, but there is a terribly unhappy (all forlorn) unmarried girl (Maiden) who really milks a one-horned cow
- There is no lazy and fat shepherd, instead there is a man in tattered rags (Man all tattered and torn), who kissed the girl, apparently to somewhat dispel her sadness
- Marshak comes next with two roosters, while among the English people after the ragamuffin comes a clean-shaven and trimmed priest (Priest, all shaven and shorn) who married a man in rags, although we don’t know who exactly we'll find out, but let's hope - on the kissed maid
- And now a rooster (Cock) comes onto the stage, albeit alone, and not with a friend, like Marshak (two cocks), but who really crows in the morning (crowed in the morn) and really wakes up the well-groomed priest (waked the Priest )
- And finally, when everything is over for Marshak, in the original the Farmer appears, who sows the very grain from which it all began (sowed the corn).
Thus, the circle is almost complete - the grain that the farmer sows grows, it is processed at the mill and then it ends up in the house that Jack built, where a rat eats it, though not for long, since... However, you remember.

Why am I doing all this? It’s just that recently I really wanted to write a continuation of the Anglo-Marshak “House...”, which I did. I present this timid attempt to your attention.

This is the house that Jack built

And this is wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

And this is a cheerful tit bird that deftly steals wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

Here is a cat that scares and catches a tit, which deftly steals wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

Here is a dog without a tail, who rips a cat by the collar, who scares and catches a tit, who deftly steals wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

And this is a hornless cow, kicking an old dog without a tail, who is shaking the cat by the collar, who scares and catches the tit, who deftly steals the wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

And this is an old woman, gray-haired and stern, who milks a hornless cow, who kicked an old dog without a tail, who pulls a cat by the collar, who scares and catches a tit, who deftly steals wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

And this is a lazy and fat shepherd who scolds a strict cowshed, who milks a hornless cow, who kicked an old dog without a tail, who pulls a cat by the collar, who scares and catches a tit, who deftly steals wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in a house that Jack built it.

Here are two roosters that wake up that shepherd, who scolds the strict cowshed, who milks the hornless cow, who kicked the old dog without a tail, who rips the cat by the collar, who scares and catches the tit, who deftly steals the wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house , which Jack built.

Here is a black hen, with whom two roosters quarreled, who wake up that shepherd, who scolds the strict cowshed, who milks the hornless cow, who kicked the old dog without a tail, who pulls the cat by the collar, who scares and catches the tit, who deftly steals the wheat, who kept in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

And this is a lively and agile chicken, which was born to a black hen, with whom two roosters quarreled, who wake up that shepherd, who is scolding the strict cowshed, who is milking a hornless cow, who kicked an old dog without a tail, who is pulling the cat by the collar, who is frightening and catches a tit, which deftly steals wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

Here is a red-footed goose, who hisses at a nimble chicken, who was born to a black hen, with whom two roosters quarreled, who wake up that shepherd who is arguing with a strict cowshed, who is milking a hornless cow, who kicked an old dog without a tail, who is pulling a cat by the collar, who scares and catches the tit, which deftly steals the wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

Here are five little pigs who dirty the paws of a goose, who hisses at an agile chicken, who was born to a black hen, with whom two roosters quarreled, who wake up that shepherd who is arguing with a strict cowshed, who is milking a hornless cow, who kicked an old dog without a tail, who he pulls the cat by the collar, which scares and catches the tit, which deftly steals the wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

Here is an old farmer who cannot catch the piglets that dirty the paws of the goose, who hisses at the nimble chicken, who was born to a black hen, with whom two roosters quarreled, who wake up the shepherd who quarrels with the strict cowshed, who milks the hornless cow, kicking an old dog without a tail, who rips a cat by the collar, who scares and catches a tit, who deftly steals wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

And this is a huge restive bull who eats the hay that the old man mows, who cannot catch the piglets that dirty the paws of the goose, who hisses at the nimble chicken, who was born to a black hen, with whom two roosters quarreled, who wake up the shepherd who scolds with a strict cowshed, who milks a hornless cow, who kicked an old dog without a tail, who pulls a cat by the collar, who scares and catches a tit, who deftly steals wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

And this is a horse with which a restive bull grazes, who eats hay, which is mowed by an old man, who cannot catch the piglets, who dirty the paws of a goose, who hisses at the nimble chicken, who was born to a black hen, with whom two roosters quarreled, who wake him up a shepherd who quarrels with a strict cowwoman, who milks a hornless cow, who kicked an old dog without a tail, who rips a cat by the collar, who scares and catches a tit, who deftly steals wheat, which is stored in a dark closet in the house that Jack built.

And this is a cheerful girl Natka, who rides a horse, with which a restive bull grazes, who eats hay, who is mowing by an old man, who cannot catch the piglets, who dirty the paws of a goose, who hisses at the nimble chicken, who was born to a black hen, with in which two roosters quarreled, who wake up that shepherd, who quarrels with the strict cowshed, who milks the hornless cow, who kicked the old dog without a tail, who pulls the cat by the collar, who scares and catches the tit, who deftly steals the wheat, which is stored in a dark closet the house that Jack built...

SCENARIO

gaming literary program

“This is the house that Marshak built”

(for the writer’s anniversary)

Developed by: methodologist,

teacher additional education

Eliseeva S.B.

Design and equipment: on the stage there are the necessary decorations, props, in the hall there is an exhibition of children's drawings based on the books of S.Ya. Marshak and the author's books, an interactive board and a computer for demonstrating films, slides, musical equipment, microphones.

The music starts and the presenter comes out

Hello guys, hello adults. We have gathered in this hall not for an occasion, but for a reason. And we have a wonderful occasion, but first...

The phonogram of the beginning of the fairy tale “Cat's House” sounds

Probably, in our hall today, as in our entire country, there are few people who are unfamiliar with these lines, did you recognize...? That’s right, “The Cat’s House” is a fairy tale. And the name of the author of these lines is Samuil Yakovlevich Marshak. The lines written by this wonderful writer are most often the very first lines of poetry in our lives; we have heard them and many others since early childhood. Throughout our childhood and adolescence, Marshak’s works accompany us. This year children's writer- 125 years since birth. This was the reason to gather here and remember his work.

Marshak lived a long and interesting life, and everyone who knew Marshak said that this very name is the personification of kindness, warmth, and sincerity. All his works are confirmation of these reviews.

The main readers of S.Ya. Marshak is children, he loved children very much, Marshak himself was proud that his reader was a growing person:

My special kind of reader:
He can walk under the table.
But I'm glad to know that I know you
With the reader of the year two thousand. (From the memoirs of S.Ya. Marshak)

(On the interactive board there is a portrait, then photo slides from Marshak’s life.)

Where does the writer have such a desire to write for children? Writing is fun, interesting, perky. Maybe because the author himself is from large family, parents were often busy at work. So little Samuel had to entertain his brothers and sisters with fairy tales and poems of his own composition. Moreover, Samuil Yakovlevich began writing poetry at the age of four. By the age of eleven he had already written several long poems. There were many years of study in gymnasiums in Ostrogozhsk, St. Petersburg, Yalta and even abroad - in England at the university.

He began his work in children's literature with picture books for young children.

You are, of course, familiar with such books, which have received the general name “Children in a Cage.” Let's remember them together.

Exercise. Completing the task and checking.

Children are offered cards with poems from this book printed on the right, and pictures of the animals the poems are about on the left. Assignment: connect pictures and text with arrows.

(Properly completed work on the interactive whiteboard.)

Leading: In order to write so funny for children, the writer must have a wonderful talent - the talent of love for children, the talent of understanding the child's soul.

(Marshak’s words are on the interactive board. The presenter reads them.)

“My interest in children arose long before I began to write books for them; without any practical purpose I visited St. Petersburg primary schools and shelters, he loved to come up with fantastic and funny stories for the children, and enthusiastically took part in their games.”

Well, what is a game without counters, etc. S.Ya. Marshak was a very cheerful person and loved children very much, so he tried to create funny works. He came up with funny and funny rhymes for children:

You know one of them for sure. Let's remember her.

(On the interactive board there are illustrations for Marshak’s counting rhymes.)

Exercise. Execution and verification.

Children are offered text rhymes with missing words. Task: insert words.

And now who can tell the writer’s other rhymes.

Children tell

(On the interactive board are photographs of Marshak’s children and family, photographs of his meetings with children and performances in front of children’s audiences.)

S.Ya. Marshak was very concerned about the problems of children; during his years of life, he was in charge of the section of orphanages and colonies in the department of public education, of which a large number were being organized, because the country was dominated by devastation, hunger and homelessness among children. Ragged, hungry orphans spent the night at the stations, and little thieves scurried around the bazaars. It was the 20s of the 20th century, the time Civil War. For such disadvantaged children, orphanages, colonies and shelters are organized throughout the country. But the children not only had to be washed, clothed and fed, they had to be educated and raised so that they would not grow up to be criminals and lazy people, but normal people. But first they need to be interested, and so that the children would not be bored in learning, Marshak composed a funny alphabet and counting.

(Illustrations on the interactive whiteboard.)

Dramatization of poems: “Punctuation Marks”, “Merry Counting”

Leading: Yes, such literacy and numeracy lessons are a pleasure! But Samuil Yakovlevich wanted the children to be not only literate, but also smart, attentive, and observant. I thought that a good assistant in this was a mystery. Let us guess the riddles created by the writer.

He makes noise in the field and in the garden,
But it doesn’t get into the house.
And I'm not going anywhere
As long as he goes. (Rain)

What is before us:
Two shafts behind the ears,
Before our eyes on the wheel
And the nurse on the nose? (Glasses)

We always walk together,
Similar as brothers.
We are at dinner - under the table,
And at night - under the bed. (Slippers)

They beat him with a hand and a stick.
Nobody feels sorry for him.
Why are they beating the poor guy?
And for the fact that he is inflated! (Ball)

Ask me
How I work
Around the axis
I'm spinning on my own. (Wheel)

Its spring and summer
We saw him dressed.
And in the fall from the poor thing
All the shirts were torn off.
But winter snowstorms
They dressed him in furs. (Tree)

Behind the glass door
Someone's heart is beating -
So quiet
So quiet. (Watch)

Blue house at the gate.
Guess who lives in it.
The door is narrow under the roof -
Not for a squirrel, not for a mouse,
Not for the outsider,
Talkative starling.
News is flying through this door,
They spend half an hour together.
News does not stay for a long time -
They fly in all directions (Mailbox)

She got down to business
She squealed and sang.
I ate, I ate Oak, oak,
Broke a tooth. tooth (saw)

She was green, small,
Then I became scarlet.
I turned black in the sun,
And now I'm ripe.
Holding the cane with your hand,
I've been waiting for you for a long time.
You will eat me and the bone
Burrow in your garden. (Cherry)

Under New Year he came to the house
Such a ruddy fat man.
But every day he lost weight
And finally he disappeared completely. (Calendar)

In the Linen Country
Along the Prostynya River
The steamer is sailing
Back and forth.
And behind him there is such a smooth surface -
Not a wrinkle in sight! (Iron)

In a snowy field along the road
My one-legged horse is rushing
And for many, many years
Leaves a black mark. (Feather)

I just keep going,
And if I do, I’ll fall. (Bike)

Even though he didn't leave for a moment
Since your birthday,
You haven't seen his face
But only reflections. (You yourself)

Standing in the garden among the pond
A column of silver water. (Fountain)

In the hut - Izba,
On the hut there is a pipe.
I lit a torch
Placed it on the threshold
There was a noise in the hut,
There was a buzz in the pipe.
The people see the flame,

But it doesn’t simmer. (Bake)

Here is the green mountain
There is a deep hole in it.
What a miracle! What a miracle!
Someone ran out of there
On wheels and with a pipe,
The tail drags behind it. (Locomotive)

From prison one hundred sisters
Released into the open
They take them carefully
Rubbing my head against the wall,
They strike deftly once and twice -
Your head will light up. (Matches)

But of course, the main thing in the writer’s work is poetry and fairy tales: funny, touching, cheerful, instructive, simple, but with great meaning, serious, but filled with humor - the kind that can appeal to everyone, both children and adults.

Children are asked to guess which works the lines are from.

(illustrations on interactive whiteboard )

“A mouse sang in its hole at night:
- Sleep, little mouse, shut up!
I'll give you a crust of bread
And a candle stub.”

(“The Tale of a Stupid Mouse.” Children explain the meaning of the tale in the form of an interview.)

“Instead of a hat, he put on a frying pan as he walked.
Instead of felt boots, I pulled gloves onto my heels...”

(“He’s so absent-minded”)

“Firemen are looking for
The police are looking for
We are looking for photographers in our capital,
They've been looking for a long time, but can't find it
Some guy about twenty years old.”

(“The Tale of an Unknown Hero”)

“This is the house that Jack built.
And this is wheat, which is stored in a dark closet...”

("The house that Jack built"

“The lady was checking in luggage
Sofa,
Suitcase,
Travel bag,
picture,
Kozin,
Cardboard
And a little dog"

("Baggage")(illustrations on the interactive whiteboard)

Dramatization of the poem "Baggage"

Presenter 1. Samuil Yakovlevich Marshak was an unusually educated man . He translated into Russian, knowing perfectly foreign languages, works by R. Burns, and W. Shakespeare, and children's books by D. Rodari, and L. Carroll, and R. Kipling, and for the little ones he translated funny poems of English folk poetry.

(Illustrations of books on the interactive board.)

Presenter's assistants:

"Humpty Dumpty
Sat on the wall
Humpty Dumpty
Fell in his sleep.
All the royal cavalry
All the king's army
Humpty can't, Humpty can't,
Humpty-humpty,
Collect Humpty Dumpty!”

Any of his works can be turned into a real performance, even if it is a large work. Or a short poem.

Dramatization of poetry

- Lisaveta, hello!
- How are you, toothy?
- Things are going well.
The head is still intact.
- Where have you been?
- On the market.
- What did you buy?
- Pork.
- How much did you take?
- A tuft of wool,
The right side was torn off
The tail was chewed off in a fight!
- Who bit it off?
- Dogs!
“Are you full, dear kumanek?”
- I barely dragged my legs!

(“About one student and six units”, excerpt, illustration on the interactive board.)

Leading: Yes, S.Ya. Marshak was and is an excellent children's playwright. He believed that the theater is an excellent educator of young spectators and therefore wrote more than one play, which was successfully staged, is staged and will be staged in children's theaters

“Teremok”, “Cat’s House”, “Smart Things”, “To be afraid of grief is not to see happiness”, “Twelve months”.

Both cartoons and feature films were made based on these plays.

(An excerpt from the film - the fairy tale “Twelve Months” is shown on the interactive board.)

Leading: And Marshak’s plays never become outdated. They live on the school stage to this day.

(Mini-play based on Marshak’s play “Cat’s House” or “The Goat and the Seven Wolves”)

Great ones about poetry:

Poetry is like painting: some works will captivate you more if you look at them closely, and others if you move further away.

Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creaking of unoiled wheels.

The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong.

Marina Tsvetaeva

Of all the arts, poetry is the most susceptible to the temptation to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen splendors.

Humboldt V.

Poems are successful if they are created with spiritual clarity.

The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is usually believed.

If only you knew from what rubbish poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion on a fence, like burdocks and quinoa.

A. A. Akhmatova

Poetry is not only in verses: it is poured out everywhere, it is all around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life emanate from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.

I. S. Turgenev

For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.

G. Lichtenberg

A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. The poet makes our thoughts sing within us, not our own. By telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.

Where graceful poetry flows, there is no room for vanity.

Murasaki Shikibu

I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in the Russian language. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. It is through feeling that art certainly emerges. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

-...Are your poems good, tell me yourself?
- Monstrous! – Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...

Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "Master and Margarita"

We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write in their words.

John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"

Every poem is a veil stretched over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, and because of them the poem exists.

Alexander Alexandrovich Blok

Ancient poets, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. This is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times there is certainly hidden an entire Universe, filled with miracles - often dangerous for those who carelessly awaken the dozing lines.

Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"

I gave one of my clumsy hippopotamuses this heavenly tail:...

Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea, and not a plague!

Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky

Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore, drive away the critics. They are just pathetic sippers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let poetry seem to him like an absurd moo, a chaotic pile-up of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from a boring mind, a glorious song sounding on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.

Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"

Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing more than pure poetry that has rejected the word.

Here's the house
Which Jack built.

And this is wheat

In the house,
Which Jack built.

And this is a nasty fat rat


Which is stored in a dark closet
In the house,
Which Jack built.

Here's the cat. He's terribly proud of himself

That fat gray rat
With the habits of an old sly fox,
Who often steals wheat,
Which is stored in a dark closet
In the house,
Which Jack built.

And here comes the dog - simplicity itself,
But there’s just something that doesn’t like the cat,

Because he is afraid of him like fire
That fat gray rat
With the habits of an old sly fox,
Who often steals wheat,
Which is stored in a dark closet
In the house,
Which Jack built.

And here is a cow without its right horn,
She's a little angry at the dog


Who is terribly proud of himself
Because he is afraid of him like fire
That fat gray rat
With the habits of an old sly fox,
Who often steals wheat,
Which is stored in a dark closet
In the house,
Which Jack built.

And here comes the girl - hard to touch!
She milks the cow without a horn,

Because the dog is simplicity itself
But still he really doesn’t like the cat,
Who is terribly proud of himself
Because he is afraid of him like fire
That fat gray rat
With the habits of an old sly fox,
Who often steals wheat,
Which is stored in a dark closet
In the house,
Which Jack built.

And this is a shepherd, a lazy man and a slacker,
Which is just Monday


Who is a little angry at the dog
Because the dog is simplicity itself,
But still he really doesn’t like the cat,
Who is terribly proud of himself
Because he is afraid of him like fire
That fat gray rat
With the habits of an old sly fox,
Who often steals wheat,
Which is stored in a dark closet
In the house,
Which Jack built.

And this is the priest who performed the wedding on Christmas Eve


In the rye I kissed my touchy one,
Who milks a cow without a horn,
Who is a little angry at the dog
Because the dog is simplicity itself.
But still he really doesn’t like the cat,
Who is terribly proud of himself
Because he is afraid of him like fire
That fat gray rat
With the habits of an old sly fox,
Who often steals wheat,
Which is stored in a dark closet
In the house,
Which Jack built.

And this is a rooster. He sings songs


That shepherd who, although a slacker,
But still, as recently as Monday
In the rye I kissed my touchy one,
Who milks a cow without a horn,
Who is a little angry at the dog
Because the dog is simplicity itself,
But still he really doesn’t like the cat,
Who is terribly proud of himself
Because he is afraid of him like fire
That fat gray rat
With the habits of an old sly fox,
Who often steals wheat,
Which is stored in a dark closet
In the house,
Which Jack built.

And here is the peasant in whose house he lives
The same rooster that sings songs
And this priest doesn’t let him sleep,
Who got married on Christmas Eve before last
That shepherd who, although a slacker,
But still, as recently as Monday
In the rye I kissed my touchy one,
Who milks a cow without a horn,
Who is a little angry at the dog
Because the dog is simplicity itself,
But still he really doesn’t like the cat,
Who is terribly proud of himself
Because he is afraid of him like fire
That fat gray rat
With the habits of an old sly fox,
Who often steals wheat,
Which is stored in a dark closet
In the house,
Which Jack built.

Reviews

Igor,
I'm glad to see you on the main page, regardless of the occasion :))).

Knowing your talent, I think that you could still make the beginning of the poem different from Marshakov’s. And I believe that you will.

Not at all because someone not very smart immediately rushed to accuse you of “plagiarism”. It’s just always interesting to solve a super task, right? :)))

As for Vladislav Sergeev, it’s great that he put your translation on the main page and drew attention to it. For my part, I advise everyone to rush to your page to get high, bathe in English children's poetry, in the poems of Edward Lear, in limericks, etc.

And I don’t completely disagree with you about “virtual” popularity. After all, on the Internet there are the same readers who are no different from real ones :))). Yes, in the virtual the stupidity of all kinds of “krytyks” is more clearly visible (I don’t mean Misha Translator, although I do not agree with a number of his comments). But popularity in the virtual is not virtual popularity at all, but quite real :)). And if 15 thousand people read your poems online, then these are exactly 15 thousand REAL readers. Don't forget about it :)).

After all, ultimately we write for readers. And nothing else. Otherwise - only masturbation :))).

All the best to you and further success.

It's funny, but there was also an option with rice.
Namely - "a fat rat that spoils rice bags..." something like that. But rice is still a bit too Asian.
Imagine, "The House That Zhang Li Built." By the way, this is an excellent topic for a parody - Russian ditties are well known for being adapted into haiku.