If you’d like to say “I am tired” in Spanish, you’d say “Estoy cansado.” This refers to someone being physically tired. If you’re trying to say “I am fed up,” you’d use “Estoy harto.” To talk about different people being tired, you’d simply conjugate the verb “estar.” Let’s take a look:
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they%20are%20tired
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están cansados
Dictionary
Examples
Pronunciation
Phrases
they are tired(
they
ar
tay
-
uhrd
)
A phrase is a group of words commonly used together (e.
g once upon a time).
phrase
1. (to be weary)
a. están cansados
They just ran a marathon, and it looks like they are tired.Acaban de correr un maratón, y parece que están cansados.
2. (to desire sleep)
a. tienen sueño
Poor kids, they haven't slept all night. They are tired.Pobrecitos, no durmieron toda la noche. Tienen sueño.
Copyright © Curiosity Media Inc.
Examples
Phrases
cansado | |
I am tired | estoy cansado |
I am very tired | estoy muy cansado |
they're | |
they went | fueron |
they are happy | son alegres |
Who are they? | ¿Quiénes son? |
they go | |
they said | dijeron |
Are you tired? | ¿Estás cansado? |
they want | quieren |
where are they from | de dónde son |
I was tired | estaba cansado |
they died | murieron |
where are they | dónde están |
they are called | se llaman |
they lived happily ever after | vivieron felices para siempre |
they came | vinieron |
they are from | ellos son de ellas son de |
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In the morning I went to meet the Congress delegates. In Benicarlo, on the seashore, on the verandas of the tourist pavilion, they were offered breakfast.
The Spaniards strained every effort, prepared an excellent menu, served beautifully, put up excellent wines. Around flowers, blue sea, abundance and elegant beauty of the Levant. “Where is the war? guests are amazed. Solid lyrics, heaven on earth. [161]
Acquaintances, friends from all over the world get out of the cars and greet. Parisians, Americans, Balkans, Russians. They are tired but excited. They eagerly look around, ask the Spanish "old-timers", Ludwig Renn, Ralph Bates, Ehrenburg, Nordal Grieg, catch the details, listen jealously to the conversations, so as not to miss the most important thing. Some are pathetically excited Mühlenshtepn, González Tunon, Vishnevsky, they demand to immediately put a rifle or something in their hands so that they immediately run to fight. Others perceive everything around only in a tragic aspect Anna Zegers, Andre Shamson, the Portuguese Cortesao, the Englishman Spender. The third group, the most balanced, slowly, like divers from their writer's suits, look at the Spanish whirlpool and stock up on impressions for the future.
These are Tolstoy, Erich Weinert, Julien Benpda, Fadeev, Marhvitsa, Moussinac. The fourth perceive the congress and the situation around it only in terms of public service, they are concerned about their speech, the course and order of meetings, transcripts, newspaper reports.
One of the delegates brought a book by André Gide, his second book about the USSR. I leafed through this already open Trotskyist abuse and slander. He does not hide this openly names prominent Trotskyists and anti-Soviet figures who "kindly" provided materials. And these materials are a mixture of demagogically twisted newspaper clippings and old counter-revolutionary anecdotes.
The Congress opened this morning, officially and solemnly, in the City Hall, which is now the seat of Parliament. Prime Minister Juan Negrin opened the congress with a short welcoming speech. He was answered on behalf of the writers by the oldest delegate, Martin Andersen Nekse. The old man did not take into account the solemnity of the situation.
All the way, in the car, in the dust, in the tropical heat, he was shaking in a black frock coat, in a tight starched shirtfront, with a black tie. Here, at the official ceremony, he appeared in an unbuttoned shirt without a collar, with gray hairs on his broad, decrepit chest. The cameramen [162] were disappointed, but the audience applauded the lively, simple words of good old Nekse. Negrin invited him to the presidium and, having handed over the chairmanship, left.
Alvarez del Vayo, member of the Writers' Association, participated in the first congress, in Paris, as a Spanish immigrant. Now he received his delegate card, but he greeted the participants of the congress as a general military commissar.
Our soldiers in the forward trenches are learning to read and write. They took an oath not one illiterate among them. They are your allies. They read in the trenches the fiery words of Romain Rolland and Heinrich Mann. They respond to fraternal calls with their blood.
The Spanish people want to win and they will win. He recaptured the enemy from Madrid and from Pozoblanco.
Koltsov, chairman of the Soviet delegation, briefly answers Alvarez del Vayo on behalf of the congress. Ovation for the Soviet Union. Hall sings "Internationale".
The chairman of the Spanish Alliance, Jose Bergamin, speaks about the culture of his country:
The main concern of the writer connection with other people. In this regard, the roots of its existence. This is the meaning of his life and work. The connection of the writer with other people occurs in time, and it is carried out by the word. The word is fragile, and the Spanish people call the dandelion the flower whose life depends on breathing, the "human word". The fragility of human words is undeniable. Our great poet Cervantes said about the word: "It should be with one foot on the lips, the other between the teeth." The word is not only the raw material we work on, it is our connection to the world.
This is an affirmation of our loneliness, and at the same time a denial of our isolation ... In the feeling of the integrity of time, in the feeling of moving forward, in the revolutionary consciousness of this movement, this connection of the past with the present and the present with the future the affirmation of the people as a person and a person as a people ... All Spanish literature of the past is evidence of popular aspirations, impulses of the Spanish people towards the future. All the richness of Spanish culture, which has always been popular culture, comes from the organic connection of the creators of culture with the aspirations of the people ... Look back at the heights of Spanish popular culture Cervantes, Quevedo, Saint [163] Teresa, Calderon, Lope de Vega. You will see how lonely they are and at the same time how much they have grown into the thickness of the people. They are the voice of the people. All Spanish literature is written in the blood of the Spanish people. Lope de Vega said: "Blood screams truth in silent books.
" The same blood now screams truth in silent victims. The blood screams in our Don Quixote, the immortal Don Quixote. It is the eternal affirmation of life against death. That is why our people, true to their humanitarian traditions, took up the fight against death. In the unforgettable July days, he justified his words with his blood. The Spanish people are now saving human values, primarily brotherhood, against human selfishness.
The same day the government celebrated the congress with a dinner on the beach, in the Las Arenas restaurant. Here everything was more at ease, however, also with speeches. Minister of Education Jesus Hernandez spoke, then Ludwig Renn, Tolstoy, Ehrenburg, Malraux. Writers sat interspersed with ministers and military men, got acquainted, talked and chatted. Anna Segers really liked the thick, good-natured Spaniard with glasses, witty and funny, and who also spoke amazing German. He gave her references and quick, lively descriptions of the Spaniards who were sitting at the table.
"And what is your position here?" Anna asked affectionately, narrowing her short-sighted eyes. “I am here the chairman of the Council of Ministers, I spoke at your congress today,” answered Negrin.
At the end of the dinner, to applause, the belated part of the congress arrived directly from Barcelona. English writers were denied passports by their government. Malraux undertook to smuggle this group and several German emigrants without much formality to Spain. Now, not without effect, he led his clients into the hall. To the noise and applause, he whispered, winking at me boyishly: "The smugglers greet you."
During the night, the city was heavily bombed, possibly on the occasion of the congress. The delegates were in a dead sleep after the journey and the day's experiences. So they could sleep through everything. I ordered the telephone operator of the Metropol to immediately wake up my entire delegation and solemnly led them to the basement. Sirens howled, anti-aircraft artillery fired incessantly, the sound as if torn apart by huge pieces of canvas.
Muffled [164] explosions of bombs were heard from afar. "What is it?" I asked in the tone of a hospitable host. Everyone was excited and very pleased. Vishnevsky asked what the weight of the bomb was. But I didn't know what weight they were. God knows how much they weigh. Tolstoy said that it doesn't matter what weight, it's important that these are bombs. He was gorgeous in crimson pajamas here in the cellar.
I fell asleep in a good mood. Still, it took place, this damn congress, no matter how they intrigued against it.
Everything is going well.
Julien Benda, Dutch writer Brouwer, Malcolm Cowley, Argentinean Gonzalez Tunon, Mexican Mansisidor spoke today.
Anna Segers spoke about German writers who lost their homeland and found it in the trenches of Madrid, among the German fighters of the International Brigades.
Tolstoy spoke about freedom and culture.
He said:
Never will mankind exchange the freedom of liberated labor for the labor camps of fascism.
Mammoths and rhinoceros, cave bears were, it seemed, where as mighty. In the caves of the Pyrenees, the genius of man left an immortal image of the world of monsters he had conquered. Doesn't this alone give us cause for great optimism? They say that great art does not coincide with revolutionary epochs. Art that reflects the bitterness of disappointment, the art of daydreaming that finds no home in this life, negative art has so far seemed to coincide with times of social and political calm ... But that was. These are things of the past. Treasures of the arts and humanitarian thought are our heritage... We are the generation of the great frontier, when the old world, before collapsing forever, snarls like a seasoned wolf on four sides. We are building the art of revolution, the art of the new man. Let it seem to the sophisticated people of the West still raw, technically imperfect, but a new humanism boils and beats with refreshing moisture. It is raised by the masses. It is their art.
It is humane. And our readers, precisely in the name of greatness of the concept of "art", deprived, for example, such a stylist as Andre Gide, of the title of a national writer. Soviet art [165] is realistic, like the earth under a bright sun; this art is realistic, like that stern woman walking along the furrow, heroic, like a fighter who gives his life for the happiness of his homeland, optimistic, like youth. This art is popular because it is created by the creative impulses of the masses of the people.
Today the congress moved in a large caravan from Valencia to Madrid. On the way, one car, in which Malraux, Ehrenburg, and Kelyin were traveling, ran into a truck with shells. Almost had a disaster.
In the village of Minglanilla, the delegates dined with the peasants. Touching, hot scenes of fraternization played out. In the evening, near Madrid, in a garden on the outskirts of the city, General Miahi's adjutant met and greeted the congress.
Excited, nervous, the writers settled into the deserted Victoria Hotel, which had been tidied up for such a special occasion.
Cannons thundered at night. The Congress did not sleep, people wandered from room to room, listening anxiously. But their cannons roared: yesterday the republican troops broke through the front at Villanueva de la Cañada, they are attacking Brunete and Quijorna! On a happy day we came here.
In the morning the congress is sitting in the auditorium. Madrid put to shame the bustling Valencia, they organized everything very sensibly and efficiently. The work environment here is different, taut, clear, less official, more revolutionary. There are many military, fighters and officers, Spaniards and internationalists in the public places. The delegates are looking for their countrymen, talking happily, giving gifts, cigarettes, clothes, food.
René Black, Argentinian Iturburu, Chilean Romero, Willy Bredel, Vsevolod Vishnevsky, Vladimir Stavsky, Ludwig Renn, Nordal Grieg performed today.
In the middle of the meeting, a delegation from the trenches suddenly entered the hall with the news of the capture of Brunet and with a banner that had just been taken from the Nazis. An indescribable jubilation ensued. [166]
I don't see Madrid at all. I rush through the streets in a car and do not have time to notice anything. Has the city changed in these months?
At the evening session, most of the speakers spoke Spanish. Therefore, he was transferred to the huge hall of the Goya cinema so that the people of Madrid could listen.
Maria Teresa presided, very solemn and touching. She gave the floor to the divisional commander and writer's Alliance member Gustavo Durán, and then to me.
I was worried for the first time I had to give a long speech in Spanish.
I said:
On my way to this congress, I asked myself, what is it, in essence, this: a congress of donquixotes, a literary prayer for the sending down of victory over fascism, or another international battalion of volunteers in glasses? What and to whom can this congress and discussions of people armed only with their own word give? What can they give here, where metal and fire have become arguments, and death is the main evidence in the dispute?
From the most ancient times, as soon as the art of thought expressed in words arose, until today, the writer asks: who is he a prophet or a jester, a commander or a drummer of his generation? The answers were always different, sometimes triumphant, sometimes devastating.
In the country in which we now find ourselves, in Spain, writers learned both the insults of humiliation and the highest honors for themselves and for their craft. There are countries where writers are considered something like hypnotists. There is one country where writers participate in the administration of the state, just like cooks, for that matter, just like everyone else who works with their hands or their heads.
If writers have experienced many seductions and delusions in assessing their role in society, this is partly to blame for the special nature of their profession. The work of a writer, his products are almost never anonymous. The author's name, his individuality, even the smallest one, officially serves as an object of public demand and is an integral element in judging the quality of a book. When a worker, for example, produces matches or a peasant produces grain, he can put into his work all [167] his individuality and all his personal skill, his whole soul, and yet the fruit of his work will be anonymous, it will be just matches or grain.
If a writer has produced at least ten, even colorless, even meaningless and careless lines, he signs them with his name, and this is considered normal, it is almost necessary, and the fewer lines are written, the less they can say, the more necessary it becomes under them the signature of the author.
In part, this created a false theory of “expression” among writers of different epochs and different peoples, which theory, changing its appearance and terminology, always boiled down to what the writer has inside himself, perhaps somewhere between the liver and the kidneys , some mysterious gland, which, like the "philosopher's stone" of the old alchemists, by itself produces the precious substance literature. According to the theory of "expression", the whole task of the writer is to find the greatest power in deciphering himself, for which he should go deeper into himself, isolate himself from extraneous influences, let the miraculous gland work out its own syrup of art.
I am inclined to think that there are no people in this room, in this congress, with whom to argue about the theory of "expression.
" The creative and social path of each of those present here, before it brought him here, to the heroic anti-fascist Madrid of 1937, had long ago delivered him from such illusions. You and I have long been convinced and verified a thousand times that our writerly feelings and moods are not born from within, but express the state of minds of peoples and classes, their aspirations and hopes, their disappointments and anger.
Our wonderful friend Romain Rolland expressed this strengthened sense of the writer's connection with society in the following words:
“What is new here is not that the great artists harbingers sing of the sun before it rises, but that the day finally dawns, that a bridge has been built between the dream of art and social action. Now the dream of art is no longer woven from mere foresight, it is created from material life. It is carried out in reality. We have a new, never experienced sense of security. We are no longer people walking on water.
When Wagner created [168] his "Tristan", he did not hope to ever find a public in Europe that could listen and understand him, and he wrote, they say, for the imaginary public of Rio de Janeiro ... The geniuses of art were forced to create for oneself, simultaneously with advanced works, the illusion of foreseeing the future of the people, who will recognize their song in these works. Now these people exist. We are no longer alone. We create together. Even if the role of the great artist will always be to stay ahead of the existing stage, to see the fullness of what is currently only outlined, he still belongs to the same century as other teams of workers. And they all build together according to one plan, just as the peoples once built cathedrals.
In our era, what is the standard of conduct for an honest writer who is aware of his connection with society and his class? How can it better serve the working people?
Is it necessary to give advice to the train driver or entertain the passengers in order to make them endure the length of the journey? Or jump out of the car and push the train on a steep slope?
You know that the temperament and sincerity of a number of anti-fascist writers led them to participate directly in this civil war as volunteers.
Some, still at home, locked their manuscripts in a closet and went straight away as soldiers of the International Brigades of the Spanish People's Army. Others came here with good intentions to watch and write, but seeing the war, seeing the danger to the Spanish people, interrupted their literary work and took up arms.
There is some debate about this: how should a writer show himself in contact with the Spanish Civil War? Of course, those who argue that a writer must fight against fascism with the weapon he knows best, that is, with his word, are right. Byron did more with his life for the liberation of all mankind than with his death for the liberation of Greece alone. But there are moments when the writer I'm talking about some is forced to become the protagonist of his work himself, when he cannot trust fictional, even if only by himself, heroes. Without this, the thread of his creativity is interrupted, he feels that his heroes have gone ahead, and he himself is left behind.
But of course, writers must participate in the struggle primarily as writers. [169]
Our friend Ludwig Renn on Guadalajara walked under the fire of Italian machine guns in front of the first row of German anti-fascists, commanded with a pencil in his hand. But captured German fascist pilots admitted that Ludwig Renn's book "After the War" was circulating around the German squadron in Seville like a forbidden fruit. Many of us should follow the example of André Malraux, who gave the Spanish people an anti-fascist squadron and now gives an anti-fascist novel.
But to help these people, it is not at all necessary to fight at the front or even come to Spain. You can participate in the fight, being in any corner of the globe. The front stretched very far. It comes out of the trenches of Madrid, it goes through the whole of Europe, through the whole world. It crosses countries, villages and cities, it passes through noisy meeting halls, it winds silently through the shelves of bookstores.
The main feature of this unprecedented battle front in the struggle of mankind for peace and culture is that you will not find anywhere now a zone in which someone who longs for silence, tranquility and neutrality could take refuge.
During the last month I saw people in Europe who called themselves materialists and ultra-left revolutionaries, who argued the need for a compromise with Hitler, I saw Basque Catholic priests who, along with the troops of their people, next to the communists, went on the attack on the Italian fascist legions that received the blessing of the Vatican.
Republicans, anarchists, Marxists, Catholics, simply non-partisan people all have a place in the ranks of fighters against the common enemy fascism. There is no place only for those who want to believe or believe in any possibility of compromise with this enemy. And here, no matter how deeply the thought of capitulation or collusion is hidden, no matter how complex political, philosophical or artistic constructions it is covered, it will still come out, it will still expose itself.
Say a hundred thousand words about anything, praise, criticize, admire, cry, analyze, generalize, give ingenious comparisons and amazing characteristics, anyway this is the logic of our time [170] you must say yes or no to fascism "!
Peace among nations has become indivisible, and the struggle for peace among nations has become indivisible. For us, the people who have adopted the Soviet Constitution, American, French, and even Spanish parliamentarism are far enough away. But we believe that all this is on the same side of the line. On the other side stand Hitler's tyranny, the heartless lust for power of the Italian dictator, Trotskyist terrorism, the insatiable rapacity of the Japanese militarists, Goebbels' hatred of science and culture, Streicher's racial frenzy.
There is nowhere to hide from this line, nowhere to hide neither in the first line of fire, nor in the deepest rear. It is impossible to say: “I do not want either one or the other”, just as it is impossible to say: “I want both”, “I am generally against violence and generally against politics”.
Least of all can a writer say this. Whatever book he writes, whatever it is written about, the reader penetrates into it to the most hidden lines and finds the answer: “for” or “against”.
This truth was best confirmed by the example of André Gide. By releasing his book, full of dirty slanders against the Soviet Union, this author tried to maintain an appearance of neutrality and hoped to remain in the circle of "left" readers. In vain! His book immediately got to the French fascists and became, together with the author, their fascist banner. And what is especially instructive for Spain, realizing the sympathy of the masses for the Spanish Republic, fearing to incur the wrath of readers, André Gide placed in a dead corner of his book a few slurred words approving the Soviet Union for its attitude towards anti-fascist Spain. But this disguise did not deceive anyone. The book was reprinted in its entirety in a number of issues of Franco's main organ "Diario de Burgos". They recognized their own!
Therefore, we demand an honest answer from the writer: with whom is he, on which side of the battle front is he? No one has the right to dictate the line of conduct to the artist and creator.
But anyone who wants to be known as an honest person will not allow himself to walk either on the other side of the barricade. It became life threatening and reputation deadly.
You know that for us, the writers of the Soviet country, the problem of the writer's role in society has long been solved [171] quite differently than in the capitalist countries. From the moment the writer said "yes" to his people building socialism, he becomes a full-fledged progressive creator of a new society. With his works, he directly affects life, pushes it forward and changes it. This makes our position high, honorable, but difficult and responsible. Our writer Sobolev said, and there is some truth in this, that the Soviet country gives the writer everything except one thing: the right to write badly. The growth of our reader sometimes overtakes the growth of the writer. The author needs to strain all the mental, creative forces, so as not to be behind his readers, not to lose their trust and just attention.
We will not trade our position for any other easier position. We are proud of our responsibility and the difficulties we are experiencing, because never before in history has a writer been entrusted with a higher honor by the people, with the help and assistance of the state, to educate tens of millions of people with art, to form the soul of a person in a free, socialist society.
... Is it necessary to explain the position of Soviet writers, as well as of our entire people, in relation to the struggle in Spain? With pride for our country, we Soviet writers repeat Stalin's words: "The liberation of Spain from the oppression of the fascist reactionaries is not a private affair of the Spaniards, but the common cause of all advanced and progressive mankind."
We are proud of these words, not only because they themselves were the most authoritative call to everything honest that exists in the world, to support the Spanish people, but also because when our people speak, it is not only words, but also deeds.
Our country knows this, Spain knows this.
The anti-fascist character and composition of the participants in our congress makes it unnecessary to tell its delegates about the need to fight fascism. But this struggle itself, the very defense of culture against its worst enemy, is not yet carried on vigorously enough. Our Association has not yet convinced a fairly broad circle of writers of the breadth of its base and program, of its determination and energy in the struggle for the defense of culture. Attack has always been the best form of defense. The civil war and the victory of the peoples of Russia, the dictatorship of fascism in [172] Germany and Italy, the civil war in Spain made the writers of these countries fighters and comrades-in-arms of their peoples in the struggle for their freedom and culture. Writers of France, England, North and South America, Scandinavia, Czechoslovakia, members of our congress, ask your colleagues and fellow craftsmen: what are they waiting for? For the enemy to take them by the throat, so that they have the same situation as here, when German bombers and Italian artillery smash beautiful, clean, cheerful Madrid? Are they waiting for the enemy to approach London, Stockholm, Prague in the same way?
I will never forget the terrible November days here in Madrid, when writers, artists, scientists, and among them the old and sick, with children, left their homes, their studios and laboratories in trucks, just not to fall into the hands of the enemy, just not to surrender to Hitler, Mussolini, Franco.
Then the militiamen of the 5th regiment, the fighters of the People's Army some of them semi-literate peasants with care and love took them away from danger, as the most precious, like the country's gold fund.
Madrid defends itself against the fascist beast. It is bloody, exhausted, this wonderful city, but it is free and even extends its noble and modest hospitality to us, writers of the whole world.
But the danger to Madrid is not yet over. Half of Spain is trampled under the boots of the fascist conquerors. They try to keep going, they will go if they are not stopped. Criminal inaction and so-called non-intervention will continue to encourage their brutal insolence. At Endeye, near the Spanish frontier, I saw the frontier markers of the French Republic, scratched by German machine-gun bullets. Fascism grabs the world by the throat. The decisive historical hours are approaching.
Writers and all honest intellectuals of the world! Take your seats, raise your visor, don't hide your faces, say "yes" or "no", "for" or "against"! You will not hide from the answer! Please answer soon!
And to you, noble and touching Spanish people, to you, bloody knight of a sad image, to you our thoughts and strength.
We will be with you, and, like you, we believe that your once-bent back will never again bow before the oppressor, that you will never again allow the lamp of your freedom to be extinguished [173]. Don Quixote said: "Post tenebras spero lucem" "I hope for light after darkness."
...Pale, emaciated Gustav Regler was led out by the arms and seated in a chair. In dead silence, in a quiet but firm voice, he read, in Spanish, three sheets:
A blow and my heart sank. Spain disappeared somewhere, everything plunged into the darkness of a nameless night. But soon consciousness returned to me, and I again saw the real Spain in front of me. Six fighters in blue shirts fussed around me in the forest. One held my hand, the other supported my head so that the sun illuminated my face. The third one gently stroked my legs, the other tried with a trembling hand to find a place under the torn clothes from where the blood was flowing in order to stop it. They all tried hard to calm me down.
"Nothing, comrade, nothing."
The whistle of a new projectile is heard from afar. The fighters bow their heads and, to the sound of a shell rushing past, continue to repeat their own: "Nothing, comrade, nothing."
They are trying to calm a wounded, blood-drenched comrade. They conjure death that wants to enter my body. They form a wall around me, over which a roaring projectile flies. This is the Spain that can overcome death, because her faith is strong. This Spain should be a model for the whole world.
Here is a campus fighter who, after a fierce battle, refuses to rest until he has taken his wounded comrade to safety. Here are the inhabitants of Cuatro Caminos, they were not afraid of the bombardment, they rushed to pick up victims who were under the ruins of houses.
To this people we owe the strengthening of our faith in the proletariat.
Now, in the presence of the best Spanish and international writers, I would like to address those who are absent, those who hesitate, those who believe that a policy of neutrality and non-intervention is possible at the present moment when the Spanish people have entered a decisive phase in the struggle for the freedom of the world.
We must tell these absent or vacillating writers not to talk to the enemies of the people, the people who bombarded the civilian population of Madrid last night. To those who hesitate, I must say that the Spanish proletariat is no longer the [174] weak boy it used to be, that it has already learned to defend its rights, to secure its future by its own efforts. You must stand next to him. That is why we are all Spaniards now. There is no other struggle, no other solution... All for Spain, comrades!
André Malraux was the last to speak. Heated applause accompanied his speech. He spoke about the international solidarity of the workers.
Egon Erwin Kisch, Maria Osten, Sigvard Lund, Agniya Barto, Denis Marion performed in the morning.
All the last days Bergamin carried in his hands and fiddled with André Gide's new book. He then conferred with the Spaniards and the South Americans. At the end of the morning session, he demanded the floor.
He said:
I speak on behalf of the entire Spanish delegation. I also speak on behalf of the Delegation of South America, writers who write in Spanish. I hope that I also speak for all the writers of Spain. Here, in Madrid, I read André Gide's new book about the USSR. This book is insignificant in itself. But the fact that it appeared during the days when the fascists were shelling Madrid gives it a tragic significance for us. We all stand for freedom of thought and criticism. This is what we are fighting for. But André Gide's book cannot be called free, honest criticism. This is an unjust and unworthy attack on the Soviet Union and Soviet writers. This is not criticism, this is slander. Our days have shown the high value of the solidarity of people, the solidarity of the people. The two peoples are soldered in solidarity in the days of difficult trials, the Russian people and the Spanish people. Let us silently pass by the unworthy behavior of the author of this book. May the deep, contemptuous silence of Madrid follow André Gide and be a living reproach to him!
This ended the Madrid meetings of the Congress of Writers.
Oksana Andreeva, Spanish teacher.
I studied French at school and learned Spanish for my own pleasure as an adult. Then I also tried to master English - it did not work out. Spanish, I think, is much easier. It has a lot in common with the Russian language: almost the same intonations, the way verbs are conjugated, many words (about half) are just similar. If you do not immediately understand, then you can guess from the context.
My first profession is an architect. At some point, I became interested in Latin American literature and culture. I was struck by the architecture and technology of ancient civilizations. So, through interest in literature and Latin American culture, I came to learn Spanish. I really wanted to learn how to read Spanish-language works in the original, and I learned. Later I lived in Spain for a while and wrote articles about Spanish culture.
And when I returned, it turned out that my profession as an architect is already less in demand than before. In addition, it requires constant movement in different directions: you have to run around objects, go to construction markets. As the years go by, it gets tiresome. And then I thought, why don't I teach Spanish?
It turned out that Spanish has become very popular in Russia. This is one of the most widely spoken languages in the world, it is spoken not only in Spain, but also in Latin America. Many people want to own it. Someone, like me, is interested in culture, someone travels or works in the tourism industry. Someone buys property in Spain. The shops sell fruits from Latin America, and it’s easier to negotiate their deliveries in Spanish. In a word, it is promising.
How to motivate children to learn Spanish? I use a communicative technique, it is understandable and close to children, because quite recently they have mastered their native language precisely through communication.
Children rely much more on intuition than adults. During the lesson, I gesticulate a lot, draw, trying to semantize the meanings of new words, provoking children to create their own images and associations.
Before working at the Ark, I taught the language to adults. But adults, unlike children, are more rational, having lost the habit of using intuition, often from the very beginning require an explanation of grammar. It is often more difficult for an adult to speak another language, he thinks all the time about the rules of speech, and not about expressing his thoughts, complicating his communicative task.
Children like to play, make or guess riddles. I am not in a hurry with the translation, I propose to guess, approximately, as in “Guess the melody”. I raise my hand and greet, the children immediately begin to greet me in Spanish. I point at myself and say what my name is, and then I ask them a question, everyone answers what their name is. Why translate things that are so understandable? It remains only to match the word with the action and remember.
Almost always, one of the children instantly guesses the meaning of the Spanish word, and after them it immediately becomes clear to everyone else. But if it's hard to guess, I, of course, translate. I don't torture children.
At the lessons we get acquainted with the culture of Spain and Latin American countries. Starting from the second year, I offer students to read unadapted texts that their Spanish peers like to read. Grammatically, these texts are quite complex. Working with non-adapted text begins with the semantization of the story, first I need the story to be clear to everyone, I tell it by gesticulating, showing images, drawing something on the board. Children with passion guess the meaning of each phrase. Only after the meaning of the text is clear, I show the text itself. And the first thing we do is build a visual vocabulary. Then there are several different stages of working with the text, this is copying in parts, and finding verbs in a certain tense, and practicing pronunciation using audio prompting of the original recording (the guys read the text into a recorder, trying to imitate the intonation of the announcer).
The final stage is a test in which the most difficult thing is to answer questions about the content of the text. I am tremblingly waiting for this moment, because if I could not reveal the meaning of the text, then the test will be incomprehensible to the children. But the guys asked me only one question, “Are we to answer in monosyllables or in common sentences?”
Actually, I am confused by the fact that I am not a professional linguist. Therefore, I am constantly learning. I attend pedagogical courses at the Instituto Cervantes and trainings for language teachers in Spain. I take part in conferences of educators concerning other areas of teaching, for example, how to establish contact with a student, how to respond to difficult situations.
In the Pereletny Ark, I taught Russian to foreign children, using the same methodology as in Spanish. I believe that it is the basis of teaching any language. But, unfortunately, in our country there are very few manuals and books on this technique.
Teaching aids have to be invented and made by myself. And in this area, everything turns out much more slowly than we would like. Both for me and for my students. New textbooks are now appearing, which are gradually approaching the desired form, but I have not yet found one that I would like to work fully. Many do not have enough pictures, large print, audio. Children need a special presentation of the material. A good textbook is very important in motivating a child, it should be pleasant and interesting for him to open a book.
School work is an exciting process, the school year flies by in an instant, children's energy speeds up the perception of this time. We're just starting the year and it's time to get ready for the holidays. And there is always something going on. This spring, we went with a group of students to intensive conversation courses to communicate with native speakers. We had a rich cultural and educational program, including attending a lesson in a Spanish school.
We were together with the Spanish children in an English lesson. For me, this is one of the highlights of our trip. Their teacher prepared a common task for all of us: each asked his interlocutor about something interesting, and then told the class about what he learned. Spanish students have come up with several games to practice English. Ours made their proposals. And everyone practiced Russian, Spanish and English together. It was a lot of fun!
And suddenly, in the midst of our trip, Spain announced a force majeure situation in connection with the coronavirus pandemic. We've been locked up for the last three days. After returning home, they observed two weeks of strict isolation. I am very glad that no one got sick, but during the trip I was worried that this could happen.
Immediately after our arrival, studies began at the Ark, and immediately at a distance. It was quite a stressful period and difficult. I had to spend a lot of time in front of the monitor.
Quarantine is one way or another, a long-term stressful situation for everyone.
We talked a lot about this with our school psychologist. I am very grateful to her and everyone who shared their experiences and feelings. It helps to stop thinking that you are the only one so strange. It turned out that for some reason, many needed perfumes at a distance, even those who, leaving the house at normal times, do not use them. Missed the smells. I wanted adventures, extraordinary actions, unexpected meetings. When we find ourselves in an unusual situation, we look for non-standard solutions. To diversify the monotonous passage of time in quarantine, I decided to paint the ceiling and sewed two bags. I don't think it will turn into my hobby, but at that moment, it helped a lot to relieve stress.
As for studies, according to my observations, the level of progress has leveled off. The top students and leaders slowed down a bit. Maybe because more time passes between the action and the result, there is not enough positive reinforcement: I was the first to understand, answer, and do.
