Unknown nose flower. Unknown flower. Andrey Platonov. The most beautiful flowers grow from mud

Lived in the light small flower. No one knew that he was on earth. He grew up alone in a wasteland; cows and goats did not go there, and the children from the pioneer camp never played there. Grass did not grow in the wasteland, but only old gray stones lay, and between them was dry, dead clay. Only one wind walked through the wasteland; like a grandfather-sower, the wind carried the seeds and sowed them everywhere - both in the black damp earth and on the bare stone wasteland. In the black good earth, flowers and herbs were born from seeds, and in stone and clay, the seeds died.

And once one seed fell from the wind, and it sheltered in a hole between stone and clay. This seed languished for a long time, and then it was saturated with dew, disintegrated, let out thin hairs of the root, stuck them into stone and clay, and began to grow.

So that little flower began to live in the world. He had nothing to eat in stone and clay; raindrops that fell from the sky descended over the top of the earth and did not penetrate to its root, but the flower lived and lived and grew little by little higher. He lifted the leaves against the wind, and the wind died down near the flower; dust particles fell from the wind onto the clay, which the wind brought from the black fat earth; and in those dust particles there was food for the flower, but the dust particles were dry. To moisten them, the flower guarded the dew all night and collected it drop by drop on its leaves. And when the leaves were heavy with dew, the flower lowered them, and the dew fell down; it moistened the black earthen dust that the wind brought, and corroded the dead clay.

During the day, the flower was guarded by the wind, and at night by the dew. He worked day and night to live and not die. He grew his leaves large so that they could stop the wind and collect the dew. However, it was difficult for a flower to feed on only dust particles that fell from the wind, and still collect dew for them. But he needed life and patiently overcame his pain from hunger and fatigue. Only once a day did the flower rejoice: when the first ray of the morning sun touched its weary leaves.

If the wind did not come to the wasteland for a long time, then it became bad for a small flower, and it no longer had the strength to live and grow.

The flower, however, did not want to live sadly; therefore, when he was quite sad, he dozed off. Yet he constantly tried to grow, even if his roots gnawed at bare stone and dry clay. At such a time, its leaves could not be saturated with full strength and become green: one of their veins was blue, the other red, the third blue or gold. This happened because the flower lacked food, and its torment was indicated in the leaves. different colors. The flower itself, however, did not know this: after all, it was blind and did not see itself as it is.

In the middle of summer, the flower opened a corolla at the top. Before that, it looked like grass, but now it has become a real flower. His corolla was composed of the petals of a simple light color, clear and strong, like a star. And, like a star, it shone with a living flickering fire, and it was visible even on a dark night. And when the wind came to the wasteland, it always touched the flower and carried away its scent with it.

And then one morning the girl Dasha was walking past that wasteland. She lived with her friends in a pioneer camp, and this morning she woke up and missed her mother. She wrote a letter to her mother and took the letter to the station so that it would reach her sooner. On the way, Dasha kissed the envelope with the letter and envied him that he would see his mother sooner than she did.

At the edge of the wasteland, Dasha felt a fragrance. She looked around. There were no flowers near, only small grass grew along the path, and the wasteland was completely bare; but the wind was blowing from the wasteland and bringing a quiet smell from there, like the calling voice of a small unknown life. Dasha remembered a fairy tale, her mother told her a long time ago. The mother spoke of a flower that was always sad for its mother - a rose, but it could not cry, and only in the fragrance passed its sadness.

“Perhaps it is the flower that misses its mother there, as I do,” thought Dasha.

She went to the wasteland and saw that small flower near the stone. Dasha had never seen such a flower before - neither in the field, nor in the forest, nor in the picture book, nor in the botanical garden, nowhere. She sat down on the ground near the flower and asked him:

- Why are you like this?

“I don’t know,” answered the flower.

- Why are you different from others?

The flower again did not know what to say. But for the first time he heard the voice of a man so closely, for the first time someone looked at him, and he did not want to offend Dasha by silence.

“Because it’s hard for me,” answered the flower.

- What is your name? Dasha asked.

“No one calls me,” said the little flower, “I live alone.

Dasha looked around in the wasteland.

- Here is a stone, here is clay! - she said. - How do you live alone, how did you grow out of clay and not die, such a little one?

“I don’t know,” answered the flower.

Dasha leaned towards him and kissed his luminous head.

The next day, all the pioneers came to visit the little flower. Dasha led them, but long before she reached the wasteland, she ordered everyone to breathe and said:

- Hear how good it smells. This is how he breathes.

They wanted the land to become good in the wasteland as well. Then even a small flower, unknown by name, will rest, and beautiful children will grow from its seeds and not die, the best flowers shining with light, which are not found anywhere else.

Pioneers worked for four days, fertilizing the land in a wasteland. And after that they went to travel to other fields and forests and did not come to the wasteland again. Only Dasha came once to say goodbye to a small flower. Summer was already ending, the pioneers had to go home, and they left.

Cartoon based on Andrey Platonov's story "The Unknown Flower". Created by students of the 4th grade at the circle "Your own director"

And the next summer, Dasha again came to the same pioneer camp. All through the long winter she remembered the little flower, unknown by name. And she immediately went to the wasteland to visit him.

Dasha saw that the wasteland was now different, it was now overgrown with herbs and flowers, and birds and butterflies were flying over it. There was a fragrance from the flowers, the same as from that little worker flower.

However, last year's flower, which lived between stone and clay, was gone. He must have died in last autumn. The new flowers were also good; they were only slightly worse than that first flower. And Dasha felt sad that there was no former flower. She walked back and suddenly stopped. Between two narrow stones grew new flower- exactly the same as that old color, only a little better and even more beautiful. This flower grew from the middle of the shy stones; he was lively and patient, like his father, and stronger than father because he lived in stone.

It seemed to Dasha that the flower was reaching out to her, that he was calling her to him with the silent voice of his fragrance.

Andrey Platonovich PLATONOV

UNKNOWN FLOWER

(Fairy tale-true)

There lived a small flower in the world. No one knew that he was on earth. He grew up alone in a wasteland; cows and goats did not go there, and the children from the pioneer camp never played there. Grass did not grow in the wasteland, but only old gray stones lay, and between them was dry, dead clay. Only one wind walked through the wasteland; like a grandfather-sower, the wind carried the seeds and sowed them everywhere - both in the black damp earth and on the bare stone wasteland. In the black good earth, flowers and herbs were born from seeds, and in stone and clay, the seeds died.

During the day, the flower was guarded by the wind, and at night by the dew. He worked day and night to live and not die. He grew his leaves large so that they could stop the wind and collect the dew. However, it was difficult for a flower to feed on only dust particles that fell from the wind, and still collect dew for them. But he needed life and patiently overcame his pain from hunger and fatigue. Only once a day the flower rejoiced; when the first ray of the morning sun touched its weary leaves.

If the wind did not come to the wasteland for a long time, then it became bad for a small flower, and it no longer had the strength to live and grow.

The flower, however, did not want to live sadly; therefore, when he was quite sad, he dozed off. Yet he constantly tried to grow, even if his roots gnawed at bare stone and dry clay. At such a time, its leaves could not be saturated with full strength and become green: one of their veins was blue, the other red, the third blue or gold. This happened because the flower lacked food, and its torment was indicated in the leaves by different colors. The flower itself, however, did not know this: after all, it was blind and did not see itself as it is.

In the middle of summer, the flower opened a corolla at the top. Before that, it looked like grass, but now it has become a real flower. His corolla was made up of petals of a simple light color, clear and strong, like that of a star. And, like a star, it shone with a living flickering fire, and it was visible even on a dark night. And when the wind came to the wasteland, it always touched the flower and carried away its scent with it.

"Perhaps it is the flower that misses its mother there, as I do," thought Dasha.

She went to the wasteland and saw that small flower near the stone. Dasha had never seen such a flower before - neither in the field, nor in the forest, nor in the book in the picture, nor in the botanical garden, nowhere. She sat down on the ground near the flower and asked him:

Why are you like this?

I don't know, replied the flower.

Why are you different from others?

The flower again did not know what to say. But for the first time he heard the voice of a man so closely, for the first time someone looked at him, and he did not want to offend Dasha by silence.

Because it's hard for me, - answered the flower.

What is your name? Dasha asked.

Nobody calls me, - said a small flower, - I live alone.

Dasha looked around in the wasteland.

Here is a stone, here is clay! - she said. - How do you live alone, how did you grow out of clay and not die, such a small one?

I don't know, replied the flower.

Dasha leaned towards him and kissed his luminous head.

The next day, all the pioneers came to visit the little flower. Dasha led them, but long before she reached the wasteland, she ordered everyone to breathe and said:

Hear how good it smells. This is how he breathes.

Andrey Platonovich PLATONOV
UNKNOWN FLOWER
(Fairy tale-true)
There lived a small flower in the world. No one knew that he was on earth. He grew up alone in a wasteland; cows and goats did not go there, and the children from the pioneer camp never played there. Grass did not grow in the wasteland, but only old gray stones lay, and between them was dry, dead clay. Only one wind walked through the wasteland; like a grandfather-sower, the wind carried the seeds and sowed them everywhere - both in the black damp earth and on the bare stone wasteland. In the black good earth, flowers and herbs were born from seeds, and in stone and clay, the seeds died.
And once one seed fell from the wind, and it sheltered in a hole between stone and clay. This seed languished for a long time, and then it was saturated with dew, disintegrated, let out thin hairs of the root, stuck them into stone and clay, and began to grow.
So that little flower began to live in the world. He had nothing to eat in stone and clay; raindrops that fell from the sky descended over the top of the earth and did not penetrate to its root, but the flower lived and lived and grew little by little higher. He lifted the leaves against the wind, and the wind died down near the flower; dust particles fell from the wind onto the clay, which the wind brought from the black fat earth; and in those dust particles there was food for the flower, but the dust particles were dry. To moisten them, the flower guarded the dew all night and collected it drop by drop on its leaves. And when the leaves were heavy with dew, the flower lowered them, and the dew fell down; it moistened the black earthen dust that the wind brought, and corroded the dead clay.
During the day, the flower was guarded by the wind, and at night by the dew. He worked day and night to live and not die. He grew his leaves large so that they could stop the wind and collect the dew. However, it was difficult for a flower to feed on only dust particles that fell from the wind, and still collect dew for them. But he needed life and patiently overcame his pain from hunger and fatigue. Only once a day the flower rejoiced; when the first ray of the morning sun touched its weary leaves.
If the wind did not come to the wasteland for a long time, then it became bad for a small flower, and it no longer had the strength to live and grow.
The flower, however, did not want to live sadly; therefore, when he was quite sad, he dozed off. Yet he constantly tried to grow, even if his roots gnawed at bare stone and dry clay. At such a time, its leaves could not be saturated with full strength and become green: one of their veins was blue, the other red, the third blue or gold. This happened because the flower lacked food, and its torment was indicated in the leaves by different colors. The flower itself, however, did not know this: after all, it was blind and did not see itself as it is.
In the middle of summer, the flower opened a corolla at the top. Before that, it looked like grass, but now it has become a real flower. His corolla was made up of petals of a simple light color, clear and strong, like that of a star. And, like a star, it shone with a living flickering fire, and it was visible even on a dark night. And when the wind came to the wasteland, it always touched the flower and carried away its scent with it.
And then one morning the girl Dasha was walking past that wasteland. She lived with her friends in a pioneer camp, and this morning she woke up and missed her mother. She wrote a letter to her mother and took the letter to the station so that it would reach her sooner. On the way, Dasha kissed the envelope with the letter and envied him that he would see his mother sooner than she did.
At the edge of the wasteland, Dasha felt a fragrance. She looked around. There were no flowers near, only small grass grew along the path, and the wasteland was completely bare; but the wind was blowing from the wasteland and bringing a quiet smell from there, like the calling voice of a small unknown life. Dasha remembered a fairy tale, her mother told her a long time ago. The mother spoke of a flower that was always sad for its mother - a rose, but it could not cry, and only in the fragrance passed its sadness.
"Perhaps it is the flower that misses its mother there, as I do," thought Dasha.
She went to the wasteland and saw that small flower near the stone. Dasha had never seen such a flower before - neither in the field, nor in the forest, nor in the book in the picture, nor in the botanical garden, nowhere. She sat down on the ground near the flower and asked him:
- Why are you like this?
“I don’t know,” answered the flower.
- And why are you different from others?
The flower again did not know what to say. But for the first time he heard the voice of a man so closely, for the first time someone looked at him, and he did not want to offend Dasha by silence.
“Because it’s hard for me,” answered the flower.
- What is your name? Dasha asked.
- Nobody calls me, - said a small flower, - I live alone.
Dasha looked around in the wasteland.
- Here is a stone, here is clay! - she said. - How do you live alone, how did you grow out of clay and not die, such a small one?
“I don’t know,” answered the flower.
Dasha leaned towards him and kissed his luminous head.
The next day, all the pioneers came to visit the little flower. Dasha led them, but long before she reached the wasteland, she ordered everyone to breathe and said:
- Hear how good it smells. This is how he breathes.
The pioneers stood around a small flower for a long time and admired it like a hero. Then they walked around the whole wasteland, measured it with steps and counted how many wheelbarrows with manure and ashes would need to be brought to fertilize the dead clay.
They wanted the land to become good in the wasteland as well. Then even a small flower, unknown by name, will rest, and beautiful children will grow from its seeds and not die, the best flowers shining with light, which are not found anywhere else.
Pioneers worked for four days, fertilizing the land in a wasteland. And after that they went to travel to other fields and forests and did not come to the wasteland again. Only Dasha came once to say goodbye to a small flower. Summer was already ending, the pioneers had to go home, and they left.
And the next summer, Dasha again came to the same pioneer camp. All through the long winter she remembered the little flower, unknown by name. And she immediately went to the wasteland to visit him.
Dasha saw that the wasteland was now different, it was now overgrown with herbs and flowers, and birds and butterflies were flying over it. There was a fragrance from the flowers, the same as from that little worker flower.
However, last year's flower, which lived between stone and clay, was gone. He must have died last fall. The new flowers were also good; they were only slightly worse than that first flower. And Dasha felt sad that there was no former flower. She walked back and suddenly stopped. A new flower grew between two narrow stones, just like the old flower, only a little better and even more beautiful. This flower grew from the middle of the shy stones; he was lively and patient, like his father, and even stronger than his father, because he lived in stone.
It seemed to Dasha that the flower was reaching out to her, that he was calling her to him with the silent voice of his fragrance.

During the day, the flower was guarded by the wind, and at night by the dew. He worked day and night to live and not die. He grew his leaves large so that they could stop the wind and collect the dew. However, it was difficult for a flower to feed on only dust particles that fell from the wind, and still collect dew for them. But he needed life and patiently overcame his pain from hunger and fatigue. Only once a day the flower rejoiced; when the first ray of the morning sun touched its weary leaves.

If the wind did not come to the wasteland for a long time, then it became bad for a small flower, and it no longer had the strength to live and grow. The flower, however, did not want to live sadly; therefore, when he was quite sad, he dozed off. Yet he constantly tried to grow, even if his roots gnawed at bare stone and dry clay. At such a time, its leaves could not be saturated with full strength and become green: one of their veins was blue, the other red, the third blue or gold. This happened because the flower lacked food, and its torment was indicated in the leaves by different colors. The flower itself, however, did not know this: after all, it was blind and did not see itself as it is.

Dasha remembered a fairy tale, her mother told her a long time ago. The mother spoke of a flower that was always sad for its mother - a rose, but it could not cry, and only in the fragrance passed its sadness. “Perhaps it is the flower that misses its mother there, as I do,” thought Dasha.

The flower again did not know what to say. But for the first time he heard the voice of a man so closely, for the first time someone looked at him, and he did not want to offend Dasha by silence.

“Because it’s hard for me,” answered the flower.

- What is your name? Dasha asked.

“No one calls me,” said the little flower, “I live alone.

Dasha looked around in the wasteland. - Here is a stone, here is clay! - she said. - How do you live alone, how did you grow out of clay and not die, such a little one?

“I don’t know,” answered the flower.

Dasha leaned towards him and kissed his luminous head. The next day, all the pioneers came to visit the little flower. Dasha brought them, but long before she reached the wasteland, she ordered everyone to breathe and said: “Hear how good it smells. This is how he breathes.

The pioneers stood around a small flower for a long time and admired it like a hero. Then they walked around the whole wasteland, measured it with steps and counted how many wheelbarrows with manure and ashes would need to be brought to fertilize the dead clay. They wanted the land to become good in the wasteland as well. Then even a small flower, unknown by name, will rest, and beautiful children will grow from its seeds and not die, the best flowers shining with light, which are not found anywhere else.

And the next summer, Dasha again came to the same pioneer camp. All through the long winter she remembered the little flower, unknown by name. And she immediately went to the wasteland to visit him. Dasha saw that the wasteland was now different, it was now overgrown with herbs and flowers, and birds and butterflies were flying over it. There was a fragrance from the flowers, the same as from that little worker flower. However, last year's flower, which lived between stone and clay, was gone. He must have died last fall. The new flowers were also good; they were only slightly worse than that first flower. And Dasha felt sad that there was no former flower. She walked back and suddenly stopped. A new flower has grown between two narrow stones, just like the old flower, only a little better and even more beautiful. This flower grew from the middle of the shy stones; he was lively and patient, like his father, and even stronger than his father, because he lived in stone. It seemed to Dasha that the flower was reaching out to her, that he was calling her to him with the silent voice of his fragrance.

Andrei Platonovich Platonov was born at the end of the 19th century in Voronezh. According to him, his life was devoid of a period of youth, and from childhood he immediately stepped into the adult world. Nevertheless, he considered his fate as happy as tragic.

The writer's childhood passed in a large poor family, and from the age of 13 he had to work with his father so that the family could avoid starvation. By the age of 20, Andrei Platonov had mastered several professions - he worked as a janitor, and a messenger, a lineman railway tracks and meliorator. But his real vocation is journalism.

Platonov's works are distinguished by their depth, realism, bordering on fabulousness, but from this they do not lose their meaning. Many of his works are unknown to the general reader because he was “lucky” to create in Soviet times, when censorship tried to find anti-Soviet seditious thoughts behind every word, and Platonov’s works were just those ornate and ambiguous ones that were forbidden to print. In 1946, the writer was struck off the list of writers for a story about the broken fate of a soldier.

Fairy tale "Unknown flower" - about the plot

The plot of this work by Platonov revolves around a small defenseless seed of a plant that is trying to survive and sprout in an abandoned wasteland, on a lifeless clay soil. And, despite the fact that he has no chance, he still fights, looking for ways to salvation where they should not be.

And the reward for his labors and striving for life is a little girl, who is also lonely and uncomfortable in this world. With its help, the plant acquires the opportunity not only to survive, but also to turn into a flower, to give life to its seedlings.

And this fairy tale by Platonov is filled with hidden meaning, behind a simple, at first glance, plot, the mystery of survival is hidden, which lies in the character of every person, but not everyone manages to reveal and cultivate these qualities in themselves.

"Unknown flower" - the history of the creation of the work

AT last years of his life, already being ill with tuberculosis, Andrey Platonovich wrote a lot about children and for children. But these of his works teetered on the verge of realism and fantasy. However, in The Unknown Flower, fantasy is reduced to a minimum, and the main emphasis is on subtext, on what each of the readers will see in the work, what they will set for themselves as the main thought and meaning.

This fairy tale was written a year before the death of the writer and became a kind of testament for his daughter and for all the children of this generation. In a fairy tale, Platonov raised eternal rhetorical questions - how to live, why to live,