What do you think?
Rate this book
Wiersze dla dzieci
Klasyczne wiersze Juliana Tuwima dla namłodszych, ilustracje przedstawiającą ich interpretacje przez najmłodsze pokolenie polskich ilustratorów.
140 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1988
4 people are currently reading
24 people want to read
About the author
Julian Tuwim
215 books56 followersJulian Tuwim (September 13, 1894 – December 27, 1953), known also under the pseudonym "Oldlen" when writing song lyrics, was a Polish poet of Jewish descent, born in Łódź, Congress Poland (then, part of the Russian Empire). He was educated in Łódź and in Warsaw where he studied law and philosophy at the Warsaw University. In 1919 Tuwim co-founded the Skamander group of experimental poets with Antoni Słonimski and Jarosław Iwaszkiewicz. He was a major figure in Polish literature, known especially for his contribution to children's literature. He was the recipient of a prestigious Golden Laurel of the Polish Academy of Literature in 1935.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews
January 22, 2019
Wszyscy wiemy, jak trudnym wyzwaniem dla tłumacza jest oddać w pełni specyfikę dzieła - zwłaszcza w przypadku poezji - nie zatracając przy tym jego oryginalności, stylu, metafory, rytmu i kontekstu.
Niewielu zdolnych jest osiągnąć to, czego dokonał pan Marek Kazmierski, który podejmując się translacji poezji jednego z najwybitniejszych - o ile nie najwybitniejszego! - polskich poetów Juliana Tuwima sięgnął wyżyn kunsztu translatorskiego.
Sposób w jaki tłumacz operuje na materiale wyjściowym, przy całkowitym zachowaniu rytmiki, wymowy i, przemawiającym niemal z każdego wersu, ogromnym szacunku dla oryginału, to czysta perfekcja. Trudno wyjść z podziwu, w jakim stylu tłumacz wychodzi obronną ręką z najbardziej nawet "karkołomnych" i - wydawałoby się - wręcz niemożliwych do przełożenia wierszy Tuwima (moim faworytem w tej materii jest przekład "Pana Tralalińskiego", tu: "About Sir Ooh-LaLa")!
To wydanie wierszy będzie z pewnością cenne obopólnie - dla najmłodszych, chcących doszlifować swoją umiejętność operowania językiem angielskim w pięknej formie, oraz dla dzieci anglojęzycznych, które wreszcie będą miały szansę poznać twórczość naszego wybitnego poety - twórczość, której tłumaczenie niczego nie ujmuje, a nawet - pokusiłbym się o stwierdzenie - ją wzbogaca!
Dodać trzeba, że wydanie uzupełniono o prześliczne ilustracje Ha-Gi (Anny Gosławskiej-Lipińskiej), ilustratorki pamiętanej nie tylko przez rodziców, ale też dziadków obecnego pokolenia dzieci, które zdobiły swego czasu oryginalne zbiory wierszy dla Dzieci Juliana Tuwima i czasopismo "Świerszczyk". Z pewnością również im serce zabije szybciej, kiedy sięgną po to przepiękne, dwujęzyczne wydanie wierszy ukochanego poety najmłodszych (i niżej podpisanego, który już do najmłodszych nie należy)!
Polecam gorąco!
P.S. Tłumaczenia wierszy Juliana Tuwima, Jana Brzechwy i innych poetów możecie znaleźć również w wykonaniu samego autora przekładów na jego profilu w serwisie https://www.facebook.com/mjkazmierski, oraz na stronie https://www.poetryonsong.org/
Niewielu zdolnych jest osiągnąć to, czego dokonał pan Marek Kazmierski, który podejmując się translacji poezji jednego z najwybitniejszych - o ile nie najwybitniejszego! - polskich poetów Juliana Tuwima sięgnął wyżyn kunsztu translatorskiego.
Sposób w jaki tłumacz operuje na materiale wyjściowym, przy całkowitym zachowaniu rytmiki, wymowy i, przemawiającym niemal z każdego wersu, ogromnym szacunku dla oryginału, to czysta perfekcja. Trudno wyjść z podziwu, w jakim stylu tłumacz wychodzi obronną ręką z najbardziej nawet "karkołomnych" i - wydawałoby się - wręcz niemożliwych do przełożenia wierszy Tuwima (moim faworytem w tej materii jest przekład "Pana Tralalińskiego", tu: "About Sir Ooh-LaLa")!
To wydanie wierszy będzie z pewnością cenne obopólnie - dla najmłodszych, chcących doszlifować swoją umiejętność operowania językiem angielskim w pięknej formie, oraz dla dzieci anglojęzycznych, które wreszcie będą miały szansę poznać twórczość naszego wybitnego poety - twórczość, której tłumaczenie niczego nie ujmuje, a nawet - pokusiłbym się o stwierdzenie - ją wzbogaca!
Dodać trzeba, że wydanie uzupełniono o prześliczne ilustracje Ha-Gi (Anny Gosławskiej-Lipińskiej), ilustratorki pamiętanej nie tylko przez rodziców, ale też dziadków obecnego pokolenia dzieci, które zdobiły swego czasu oryginalne zbiory wierszy dla Dzieci Juliana Tuwima i czasopismo "Świerszczyk". Z pewnością również im serce zabije szybciej, kiedy sięgną po to przepiękne, dwujęzyczne wydanie wierszy ukochanego poety najmłodszych (i niżej podpisanego, który już do najmłodszych nie należy)!
Polecam gorąco!
P.S. Tłumaczenia wierszy Juliana Tuwima, Jana Brzechwy i innych poetów możecie znaleźć również w wykonaniu samego autora przekładów na jego profilu w serwisie https://www.facebook.com/mjkazmierski, oraz na stronie https://www.poetryonsong.org/
January 1, 2025
Najukochańszy zbiór wierszy, wydanie 12 „Naszej Księgarni“ z 1987 r.
May 20, 2013
Idealny powrot w strony dzieciece, kiedy babcia czy mama czytaly przy lozku i kiedy naiwnie byles zdania, czlowieku przyszly, ze wszystko wyjdzie na dobre.
March 5, 2017
Children’s Poetry.
The three different translations of "Lokomotywa":
The Locomotive
1.
A big locomotive has pulled into town,
Heavy, humungus, with sweat rolling down,
A plump jumbo olive.
Huffing and puffing and panting and smelly,
Fire belches forth from her fat cast iron belly.
Poof, how she's burning,
Oof, how she's boiling,
Puff, how she's churning,
Huff, how she's toiling.
She's fully exhausted and all out of breath,
Yet the coalman continues to stoke her to death.
Numerous wagons she tugs down the track:
Iron and steel monsters hitched up to her back,
All filled with people and other things too:
The first carries cattle, then horses not few;
The third car with corpulent people is filled,
Eating fat frankfurters all freshly grilled.
The fourth car is packed to the hilt with bananas,
The fifth has a cargo of six grand pi-an-as.
The sixth wagon carries a cannon of steel,
With heavy iron girders beneath every wheel.
The seventh has tables, oak cupboards with plates,
While an elephant, bear, two giraffes fill the eighth.
The ninth contains nothing but well-fattened swine,
In the tenth: bags and boxes, now isn't that fine?
There must be at least forty cars in a row,
And what they all carry — I simply don't know:
But if one thousand athletes, with muscles of steel,
Each ate one thousand cutlets in one giant meal,
And each one exerted as much as he could,
They'd never quite manage to lift such a load.
First a toot!
Then a hoot!
Steam is churning,
Wheels are turning!
More slowly - than turtles - with freight - on their - backs,
The drowsy - steam engine - sets off - down the tracks.
She chugs and she tugs at her wagons with strain,
As wheel after wheel slowly turns on the train.
She doubles her effort and quickens her pace,
And rambles and scrambles to keep up the race.
Oh whither, oh whither? go forward at will,
And chug along over the bridge, up the hill,
Through mountains and tunnels and meadows and woods,
Now hurry, now hurry, deliver your goods.
Keep up your tempo, now push along, push along,
Chug along, tug along, tug along, chug along
Lightly and sprightly she carries her freight
Like a ping-pong ball bouncing without any weight,
Not heavy equipment exhausted to death,
But a little tin toy, just a light puff of breath.
Oh whither, oh whither, you'll tell me, I trust,
What is it, what is it that gives you your thrust?
What gives you momentum to roll down the track?
It's hot steam that gives me my clickety-clack.
Hot steam from the boiler through tubes to the pistons,
The pistons then push at the wheels from short distance,
They drive and they push, and the train starts a-swooshin'
'Cuz steam on the pistons keeps pushin' and pushin';
The wheels start a rattlin', clatterin', chatterin'
Chug along, tug along, chug along, tug along! . . . .
----------
2.
The locomotive’s standing at the station,
Huge, heavy, it drips perspiration –
Oily lubrication.
It stands and wheezes, it groans and gnashes
Its boiling belly stuffed with hot ashes:
Arrrgh, what torture!
Phew, what a scorcher!
Panting and puffing!
Hissing and huffing!
It’s barely gasping, it’s barely breathing,
And still its fireman more coal keeps on heaping.
To it were coupled wagons of iron and steel
Massive and heavy, they weighed a great deal
And crowds of people in each one of these,
And one’s full of cows, another of – horsies,
A third one with passengers, every one fat,
Sitting and eating sausagey snacks.
The fourth was packed with crates of bananas.
The fifth one contained – six large grand pianos.
In the sixth a large cannon, cor! what a whopper!
Each of its wheels chocked up right proper!
The seventh, oaken wardrobes and chairs.
The eighth an elephant, giraffe and two bears.
The ninth, fattened pigs – no spare spaces,
The tenth full of trunks, baggage and cases,
Wagons like these – another forty remain,
Not even I could tell you what they contain.
But if a thousand strongmen gathered right here,
And each one would eat a thousand burgers a year,
And each one of them strained with all of his might,
They couldn’t shift this colossal weight.
Suddenly – WHISTLE!
Suddenly – bustle!
Steam – eruption!
Wheels – in motion!
Slowly at first, like a tortoise just waking
Strains the engine, every single joint aching.
But it jerks at the wagons and pulls with great zeal,
It turns, and it turns, wheel after wheel.
It gathers momentum and takes up the chase
As it thunders and hammers and speeds up the pace.
And where to? And where to? And where to? Straight on!
By rail, by rail, by bridge, now it’s gone –
Through mountains and tunnels, through meadows and woods
It’s rushing, it’s rushing to bring on the goods,
It’s knocking out rhythms like banging a drum
DUM-buDUM, DUM-buDUM DUM-buDUM-DUM!
It’s gliding so smoothly – no effort at all,
No engine of steel, just a little toy ball,
No massive machine, all panting and puffing
But a plaything of tin, that weighs next to nothing.
From where does it, how does it, why does it rush?
And what is it, who is it, gives it a push?
That makes it go faster, all thrashing and hissing?
It’s steam’s scalding power that keeps the train moving.
It’s steam, piped from boiler to a piston that glides
Back and forth pushing rods that turn wheels on both sides,
They’re striving and driving, the train keeps on bumping,
‘Cause steam keeps the pistons a-pumping and pumping,
Producing a rhythm so pleasing to some:
DUM-buDUM, DUM-buDUM DUM-buDUM-DUM!
(Translation copyright Michael Dembinski 2008)
------------------
3.
Stands at the station: a locomotive,
Heavy, humungous, and sweating-as-if—
A succulent olive.
It stands and it chugs, and shakes like a jelly,
As fire explodes from its overheated belly:
Kaboom - how it screams!
Boom - how it sizzles!
Puff - how it steams!
Uff - how it fizzles!
Now hardly a gasp, barely it breathes,
Yet still-more coal the stoker into it feeds.
The cars? Already connected and sealed,
Big and heavy, made of iron or steel,
And packed into each: people—as space allows,
And in that one a horse, in this one a cow,
The third is devoted entirely to fatties,
Sitting and eating pork sausage and patties.
And the fourth is filled with ripe bananas,
And in the fifth are six pianos,
In the sixth, a cannon rests! How huge it seems!
Under every wheel a strong steel beam!
In the seventh, oak tables and chairs,
In the eighth an elephant, two giraffes and a bear,
In the ninth—plump hogs ready to be ate,
In the tenth—trunks, chests, cases and crates,
And of these cars, there are forty or more,
So that even I don’t know what each one stores.
But I know this: if one thousand athletes,
Each having consumed a thousand pieces of meat,
Strained until their tendons frayed,
Still, they couldn’t lift it all—that’s how much it weighs!
Suddenly – a whistle!
Suddenly – a toot!
Steam – kaboom!
Wheels – they’re on-the-move!
First
s l o w
like a turtle
drowsy
she budged
mechanical drudge
along the tracks she nudged
half-sleeping.
Jerk go the cars, she labours to pull them,
Wheeled revolutions, rotations, swelling rpm,
Acceleration—and she’s outpacing,
Rumbles and roars, thumping, she’s racing!
To somewhere? To somewhere! To somewhere ahead!
Just like'a? Just like’a? Just like a thoroughbred!
Through forests, through tunnels, through mountains she climbs,
And hurries, and hurries, to make it on time,
Rocking and smacking and beating like so:
Beat so so, beat so so, beat so so, beat so so,
So smooth-like and lightly, simply spinning her wheels,
More like a rubber ball than steel,
Less heavy machine, breathless and panting,
Than joyful, a toy, a trifle made of tin.
But how does it why does it from where does it come?
And what is it who is it that pulls it along?
As it speeds and it growls and it exhales explosions?
The answer, of course: steam sets it in motion,
Steam from the boiler that powers the pistons,
which transfer that force to the wheels and assist
in the roll and the pull and the train’s now in full-swing,
for so long as the steam keeps those pistons a’pumping.
And the wheels, they beat just like so:
Beat so so, beat so so, beat so so, beat so so!…
The three different translations of "Lokomotywa":
The Locomotive
1.
A big locomotive has pulled into town,
Heavy, humungus, with sweat rolling down,
A plump jumbo olive.
Huffing and puffing and panting and smelly,
Fire belches forth from her fat cast iron belly.
Poof, how she's burning,
Oof, how she's boiling,
Puff, how she's churning,
Huff, how she's toiling.
She's fully exhausted and all out of breath,
Yet the coalman continues to stoke her to death.
Numerous wagons she tugs down the track:
Iron and steel monsters hitched up to her back,
All filled with people and other things too:
The first carries cattle, then horses not few;
The third car with corpulent people is filled,
Eating fat frankfurters all freshly grilled.
The fourth car is packed to the hilt with bananas,
The fifth has a cargo of six grand pi-an-as.
The sixth wagon carries a cannon of steel,
With heavy iron girders beneath every wheel.
The seventh has tables, oak cupboards with plates,
While an elephant, bear, two giraffes fill the eighth.
The ninth contains nothing but well-fattened swine,
In the tenth: bags and boxes, now isn't that fine?
There must be at least forty cars in a row,
And what they all carry — I simply don't know:
But if one thousand athletes, with muscles of steel,
Each ate one thousand cutlets in one giant meal,
And each one exerted as much as he could,
They'd never quite manage to lift such a load.
First a toot!
Then a hoot!
Steam is churning,
Wheels are turning!
More slowly - than turtles - with freight - on their - backs,
The drowsy - steam engine - sets off - down the tracks.
She chugs and she tugs at her wagons with strain,
As wheel after wheel slowly turns on the train.
She doubles her effort and quickens her pace,
And rambles and scrambles to keep up the race.
Oh whither, oh whither? go forward at will,
And chug along over the bridge, up the hill,
Through mountains and tunnels and meadows and woods,
Now hurry, now hurry, deliver your goods.
Keep up your tempo, now push along, push along,
Chug along, tug along, tug along, chug along
Lightly and sprightly she carries her freight
Like a ping-pong ball bouncing without any weight,
Not heavy equipment exhausted to death,
But a little tin toy, just a light puff of breath.
Oh whither, oh whither, you'll tell me, I trust,
What is it, what is it that gives you your thrust?
What gives you momentum to roll down the track?
It's hot steam that gives me my clickety-clack.
Hot steam from the boiler through tubes to the pistons,
The pistons then push at the wheels from short distance,
They drive and they push, and the train starts a-swooshin'
'Cuz steam on the pistons keeps pushin' and pushin';
The wheels start a rattlin', clatterin', chatterin'
Chug along, tug along, chug along, tug along! . . . .
----------
2.
The locomotive’s standing at the station,
Huge, heavy, it drips perspiration –
Oily lubrication.
It stands and wheezes, it groans and gnashes
Its boiling belly stuffed with hot ashes:
Arrrgh, what torture!
Phew, what a scorcher!
Panting and puffing!
Hissing and huffing!
It’s barely gasping, it’s barely breathing,
And still its fireman more coal keeps on heaping.
To it were coupled wagons of iron and steel
Massive and heavy, they weighed a great deal
And crowds of people in each one of these,
And one’s full of cows, another of – horsies,
A third one with passengers, every one fat,
Sitting and eating sausagey snacks.
The fourth was packed with crates of bananas.
The fifth one contained – six large grand pianos.
In the sixth a large cannon, cor! what a whopper!
Each of its wheels chocked up right proper!
The seventh, oaken wardrobes and chairs.
The eighth an elephant, giraffe and two bears.
The ninth, fattened pigs – no spare spaces,
The tenth full of trunks, baggage and cases,
Wagons like these – another forty remain,
Not even I could tell you what they contain.
But if a thousand strongmen gathered right here,
And each one would eat a thousand burgers a year,
And each one of them strained with all of his might,
They couldn’t shift this colossal weight.
Suddenly – WHISTLE!
Suddenly – bustle!
Steam – eruption!
Wheels – in motion!
Slowly at first, like a tortoise just waking
Strains the engine, every single joint aching.
But it jerks at the wagons and pulls with great zeal,
It turns, and it turns, wheel after wheel.
It gathers momentum and takes up the chase
As it thunders and hammers and speeds up the pace.
And where to? And where to? And where to? Straight on!
By rail, by rail, by bridge, now it’s gone –
Through mountains and tunnels, through meadows and woods
It’s rushing, it’s rushing to bring on the goods,
It’s knocking out rhythms like banging a drum
DUM-buDUM, DUM-buDUM DUM-buDUM-DUM!
It’s gliding so smoothly – no effort at all,
No engine of steel, just a little toy ball,
No massive machine, all panting and puffing
But a plaything of tin, that weighs next to nothing.
From where does it, how does it, why does it rush?
And what is it, who is it, gives it a push?
That makes it go faster, all thrashing and hissing?
It’s steam’s scalding power that keeps the train moving.
It’s steam, piped from boiler to a piston that glides
Back and forth pushing rods that turn wheels on both sides,
They’re striving and driving, the train keeps on bumping,
‘Cause steam keeps the pistons a-pumping and pumping,
Producing a rhythm so pleasing to some:
DUM-buDUM, DUM-buDUM DUM-buDUM-DUM!
(Translation copyright Michael Dembinski 2008)
------------------
3.
Stands at the station: a locomotive,
Heavy, humungous, and sweating-as-if—
A succulent olive.
It stands and it chugs, and shakes like a jelly,
As fire explodes from its overheated belly:
Kaboom - how it screams!
Boom - how it sizzles!
Puff - how it steams!
Uff - how it fizzles!
Now hardly a gasp, barely it breathes,
Yet still-more coal the stoker into it feeds.
The cars? Already connected and sealed,
Big and heavy, made of iron or steel,
And packed into each: people—as space allows,
And in that one a horse, in this one a cow,
The third is devoted entirely to fatties,
Sitting and eating pork sausage and patties.
And the fourth is filled with ripe bananas,
And in the fifth are six pianos,
In the sixth, a cannon rests! How huge it seems!
Under every wheel a strong steel beam!
In the seventh, oak tables and chairs,
In the eighth an elephant, two giraffes and a bear,
In the ninth—plump hogs ready to be ate,
In the tenth—trunks, chests, cases and crates,
And of these cars, there are forty or more,
So that even I don’t know what each one stores.
But I know this: if one thousand athletes,
Each having consumed a thousand pieces of meat,
Strained until their tendons frayed,
Still, they couldn’t lift it all—that’s how much it weighs!
Suddenly – a whistle!
Suddenly – a toot!
Steam – kaboom!
Wheels – they’re on-the-move!
First
s l o w
like a turtle
drowsy
she budged
mechanical drudge
along the tracks she nudged
half-sleeping.
Jerk go the cars, she labours to pull them,
Wheeled revolutions, rotations, swelling rpm,
Acceleration—and she’s outpacing,
Rumbles and roars, thumping, she’s racing!
To somewhere? To somewhere! To somewhere ahead!
Just like'a? Just like’a? Just like a thoroughbred!
Through forests, through tunnels, through mountains she climbs,
And hurries, and hurries, to make it on time,
Rocking and smacking and beating like so:
Beat so so, beat so so, beat so so, beat so so,
So smooth-like and lightly, simply spinning her wheels,
More like a rubber ball than steel,
Less heavy machine, breathless and panting,
Than joyful, a toy, a trifle made of tin.
But how does it why does it from where does it come?
And what is it who is it that pulls it along?
As it speeds and it growls and it exhales explosions?
The answer, of course: steam sets it in motion,
Steam from the boiler that powers the pistons,
which transfer that force to the wheels and assist
in the roll and the pull and the train’s now in full-swing,
for so long as the steam keeps those pistons a’pumping.
And the wheels, they beat just like so:
Beat so so, beat so so, beat so so, beat so so!…
March 10, 2025
Klasyka w pięknym wydaniu. Coś wspaniałego.
September 17, 2016
Плаче младата Славейка в клонестия ясен,
че й обеща Славейко да вечерят в осем.
Как държи на свойта дума, как е точен само!
А сега е единайсет и още го няма!
Всичко чака и изстива: росна супа с мравки,
седем пълнени комара в сос от незабравки,
скакалец на скара с горски хлад за гарнитура
и десерт — зефирна торта във лунна глазура.
Ясно — някой го е дебнал! И го е нападнал!
Пухчето му е оскубал, гласчето — откраднал!
Дроздът ще е — стар разбойник — с неговото ято.
Пухът — нищо — ще порасне. Гласът — той е злато!
Ето го и сам Славейко — подсвирква, подскача…
„Ти си свиркаш! Ти си хвъркаш! Пък аз тука плача…“
А Славейко сладко пее: „Прости ми, женичко!
Радостен съм, пеш се върнах — и това е всичко!“
("Закъснял Славейко")
***
Веднъж през юли
син сняг захвана.
Измяука Шаро,
лавна Писана.
Литнаха крави
да търсят зрънце.
Запя в небето
зелено слънце.
Гнезда си свиха
рой пеперудки.
И всичко трая
две-три минутки.
Така си беше.
Мисля обаче,
че бях притворил
малко клепачи.
Щом ги отворих
и моментално
всичко си стана
съвсем нормално.
Но оттогава,
честно говоря,
често забравям
да ги отворя.
("Чудно, странно")
September 16, 2016
Детски усмивки :)
February 25, 2024
Закъснял Славѐйко
Плаче младата Славѐйка в клонестия ясен,
че ѝ обеща Славѐйко да вечерят в осем.
Как държи на свойта дума, как е точен само!
А сега е единайсет и още го няма!
Всичко чака и изстива: росна супа с мравки,
седем пълнени комара в сос от незабравки,
скакалец на скара с горски хлад за гарнитура
и десерт – зефирна торта във лунна глазура.
Ясно – някой го е дебнал! И го е нападнал!
Пухчето му е оскубал, гласчето – откраднал!
Дроздът ще е – стар разбойник – с неговото ято.
Пухът – нищо – ще порасне. Гласът – той е злато!
Ето го и сам Славѐйко – подсвирква, подскача…
„Ти си свиркаш! Ти си хвъркаш! Пък аз тука плача…“
А Славѐйко сладко пее: „Прости ми, женичко!
Радостен съм, пеш се върнах – и това е всичко!“
Плаче младата Славѐйка в клонестия ясен,
че ѝ обеща Славѐйко да вечерят в осем.
Как държи на свойта дума, как е точен само!
А сега е единайсет и още го няма!
Всичко чака и изстива: росна супа с мравки,
седем пълнени комара в сос от незабравки,
скакалец на скара с горски хлад за гарнитура
и десерт – зефирна торта във лунна глазура.
Ясно – някой го е дебнал! И го е нападнал!
Пухчето му е оскубал, гласчето – откраднал!
Дроздът ще е – стар разбойник – с неговото ято.
Пухът – нищо – ще порасне. Гласът – той е злато!
Ето го и сам Славѐйко – подсвирква, подскача…
„Ти си свиркаш! Ти си хвъркаш! Пък аз тука плача…“
А Славѐйко сладко пее: „Прости ми, женичко!
Радостен съм, пеш се върнах – и това е всичко!“
May 23, 2012
Jeszcze nigdy nie czytało mi się tak dobrze wierszy. Myślę, że to głównie zasługa bardzo znanych wierszy z dzieciństwa, ale w połączeniu z nowoczesnymi, ładnymi ilustracjami, które naprawdę się miło ogląda. Rewelacyjna książka, chociaż format być może jest zbyt niewygodny dla dzieci. Ponadto jest dość ciężka, ale poza tym idealna dla dziecięcej kolekcji i nie tylko.
Read
December 18, 2023Wnowienie klasycznego wydania – fleszbeki z dzieciństwa i łezka w oku. Te ilustracje <3 Wiadomo, niektóre wiersze dziwnie/niedobrze się zestarzały, ale i tak super było przeczytać je na głos córce - i ze swoim własnym, dorosłym aparatem krytycznym w głowie.
December 30, 2018
Wznowienie klasycznego wydania z ilustracjami Olgi Siemaszko z 1954 roku.
November 9, 2022
Прекрасні дитячі вірші, які не треба навіть перекладати українською, щоб маленький читач все зрозумів.
April 16, 2021
Wiersze jak to wiersze - jedne ciekawsze, inne mniej.
Uważam, że warto przeczytać i niektóre zgłębić :) Polecam dla dzieci wczesnoszkolnych :)
Uważam, że warto przeczytać i niektóre zgłębić :) Polecam dla dzieci wczesnoszkolnych :)
Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews