Nikolai Nekrasov's famous poem "There Are Women in Russian Villages" from his 1863 poem "Frost, Red Nose" has inspired numerous adaptations. These humorous and modern versions reflect today's realities while preserving the original's rhythmic structure. From office routines to maternal exploits, from shopping trips to sports, these adapted poems showcase the multifaceted nature of modern women. Our collection features ten original versions of this classic work, which humorously and warmly portray the lives of women in the 21st century. Each version retains the spirit of the original but is filled with relevant content and recognizable situations.
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Modern urban version
There are women in our capitals, With the beautiful name "career", You'll meet them in fashionable stores, In gyms, salons beyond measure. They walk to the office boldly, In heels, with a tablet in hand, And they can handle any task, In a formal business suit. Their look is will and strength, Their gait is confidence itself, The capital has given birth to such, Where each is an entire country. They don't waver in negotiations, In council they keep their word, Nothing will bend their will - They are ready for victory. In the morning they are a tender mother, At noon - a director, a leader, Their whole life is a living program, Where every role is a victory. By sunset - home, on the threshold, Where dinner and children's laughter await, But tomorrow the alarm rings on time - And again they go into battle. They skillfully hide fatigue, Over a cup of coffee in silence, But again they get down to business - With all the strength of a kind soul. Here are the women of our capitals - Not in fairy tales, but here, among us, Beauties, warriors, birds - A word of praise to them at this hour.
A humorous version about shopping
There are women with credit cards, You'll meet them in the shopping arcades, Their gait is light and active, With bags in both hands. She'll stop a galloping horse, Fly into a sale like an arrow, Snag a discount in the store, And buy everything that was just sold. She'll find a promo code in a minute, Choose everything in the app, Navigate through the confusion of the display cases - And snatch what she needs. The line in the fitting room is long - It doesn't bother her at all, She'll rush in first, And come out a little prettier. "Last size" - no problem, She'll ask to get it from the warehouse, They'll find it and bring it - She's always happy with such a customer. The basket is full to the brim, But the discounts justified it all, Among a million rows She found what was only being sold. With bags she goes home, Happy, light, bright, Because happiness lives in shopping - Especially if it's under a brand name. Don't judge her, gentlemen, For the quiet passion of shopping - After all, joy always comes When you allow yourself to fall.
The Modern Mom Version
There are mothers in Russian apartments, with a child, work, and household chores, they can manage the house on air, cook a golden dinner. They'll check homework with the child, have time to go to the gym, and have a subtle conversation with the husband, and manage to feed everyone. In the morning, they wake up sleepy children, pack their backpacks and coats, amid the hustle and bustle of ideas, they can handle it all easily. At work, they're responsible and precise, at lunch, they're on their way to the store, they return home meekly, to once again bear the burden of care. They read them bedtime stories, kiss the little ones on the forehead, without unnecessary tears or publicity, they carry their parental legacy. Illnesses, crises, tears - a mother's breast will endure it all, through life's frosts, it will pave a confident path. Their strength lies not in muscles of steel, but in quiet, persistent work, in the warm embrace of loved ones, in simple daily needs. They don’t erect a monument to them in the city, They don’t write about them in the newspapers, But the world is based on their pride - On their mothers, their worries, their answers.
Office version
There are women in our offices. You'll find them at their monitors, in reports, presentations, and numbers, amid deadlines and conversations. They'll throw out ideas at a meeting, boldly lead a complex project, and their coffee won't be cold by lunchtime. They can handle any task. They'll keep spreadsheets running until midnight, Excel is their natural language, they'll draw diagrams with their own eyes, and their every effort is like a spring. They'll write a letter without a mistake, respond to a client with warmth, a corporate event is no gift to them, but they can handle a celebration too. They'll skillfully resolve conflicts, effortlessly unite a team, and forever stand firm for a common, just cause. Their male colleagues admit: the office can't hold together without them, their hands create the whole world in their familiar workflow. On Friday, exhale and go home, on Monday, back to work. Such is their destiny, their peace—to serve, to work, to be themselves. Here are the women in our offices - Reliable, smart, patient, Among reports, tables and requests They are invariably beautiful.
Fitness version
There are women in gyms, You see them on treadmills, With dumbbells, in the gym, In sneakers on thin legs. They do a hundred squats without effort, Hold the plank for three minutes, Possess remarkable strength, And maintain their shape until dawn. They strictly follow a diet, Count calories per day, Have many workouts, To throw off the shadow of fatigue. On the parallel bars they deftly pull themselves up, On the horizontal bar - higher than everyone, They master any trick - Because for them, sport is a quiet success. They argue with the trainer without fear, They increase the load themselves, They don’t need noise, sweep - Only the goal ahead, like a beacon. They look in the mirror with love, Not for vanity - for work. Beauty is achieved with blood, With sweat, with perseverance, always. They laugh in the locker room, Share recipes, dreams, From the gym they drag themselves home - Happy, alive, alone. Sport is their meditation, an hour for themselves and peace, here everyone is a whole nation - strong, brave, dear.
The blogger version
There are fashionable women on social media, You'll meet them on Instagram and TikTok, With a camera in their free hands, With beautiful makeup and a block. They create content daily, Have millions of subscribers, Live a magical life, And know how to count likes. They write scripts at night, Have mastered editing themselves, Eyes of inspiration burn Over new vibrant shots. They shoot reels with the sunrise, Select music to the beat, They live by the process of filming - The camera is their very being. Brands send them packages, They await collaborations, But they value not the packages - But the fact that they are loved and waited for. Haters are silently blocked, Trolls are not allowed on air, They do not advertise themselves - They simply live and film. Behind the scenes is ordinary life, Fatigue, doubts, tears, But you, viewer, hold on: The screen is always frost-free. This is their quiet strength - To be honest with themselves and with the network, Life is their ink, The camera is their thread and cage.
The freelancer version
There are women who work from home. You'll find them at their laptops in the morning, in comfortable pajamas, familiar to you, with coffee that was brewed yesterday. They'll reply to clients in messengers, deliver projects on time, a flexible schedule is their manager, and home is their workspace. The timer on the desk is ticking, the deadline is just around the corner, but fingers are clicking on the keys—the work is going on by itself. A Zoom call is in the middle of the kitchen, the background is blurred, colleagues don't hear: the kitchen is off-screen, and a cat on the screen—a flash, unforgettable. They calculate taxes themselves, read contracts themselves, they do everything themselves—the accountant, the lawyer, and themselves. A client doesn't pay for a week—they'll remind you calmly, with class, they'll see any goal through without unnecessary scandalous bass. The line between sleep and work has almost disappeared, blurred, but they maintain freedom with care—after all, freedom cost them dearly. They don't need an office anymore, the metro is not their early train, the freelancer is free and friendly with himself outside the office walls and banners.
The version about the traveler
There are women with backpacks over their shoulders, You'll meet them at airports, train stations, With smartphones, maps, dreams, In countries far and small. Selfies against the backdrop of landmarks, Posts about local culture and cuisine, They live without borders and dependencies, Their souls are free and honest. They will get a visa themselves, Book a hostel deftly, They speak foreign words - They learn languages quickly and briskly. They spent the night in a tent in the mountains, They greeted the dawn in the desert, For them, life is not quiet garden beds, But an eternally beckoning ticket. They will sit down to dinner with the locals, They will try everything without looking back, They need the world like a relative - Open, alive, without mystery. They rarely return home, And home for them is the whole world, On the road, their soul is a coin That rolls for many years. You can't hold them back with walls, You can't lock them away, They live between dreams And on the next flight on time. Here are women with a backpack - They are not looking for comfort and armchairs, The whole world is their home, And their path is always interesting.
The version about the student
There are women in our universities. You'll meet them in libraries and classrooms, with notes, books, and jackets, at lectures, seminars, and labs. They'll pass exams with flying colors, write their dissertations in a single night, cope with everything as usual, and bring knowledge to the country. They study paragraphs until midnight, highlight lines with a marker, draw infographics for their reports, and submit all assignments on time. In class, there's an attentive gaze, in cafes, laughter and a sandwich, all five years forward and back—one continuous march. Part-time work—in the evenings, stipend—to the book in their piggy bank, they're not afraid of stress or sleep—they pull everything along a thin thread. They fall in love between exam sessions, become close friends for life, the progression of student years—not even snow can erase. And here she is, a diploma in hand, Ahead lies the road, a calling, Behind her lies that small house where her calling was born. Here are the women of our audiences— Persistent, daring, young, Great stories await them— And the world opens to them from above.
The version about the entrepreneur
There are women with their own businesses, You'll meet them at business meetings, With ideas, plans, and purpose, In elegant, stylish suits. They'll build a company from scratch, Assemble a team of professionals, Take risks without fear of October, And achieve considerable success. They write a business plan on a weekend, Prepare a pitch at three in the morning, Find an investor with soul - Convince him with a look in person. The first failure is not the end, They get up, draw conclusions quietly, The market is difficult, but gave the signal - And again, forward, boldly. They truly value employees, Listen to everyone at meetings, Lead the company to the present - To growth, profit, and success. Taxes, rent, suppliers - They keep everything in mind without spreadsheets, Their business is alive, not lost, It is held together by the strength of their faces. Competitors watch with caution, Partners - with respect, They have gone through it all without publicity - With persistence and inspiration. Here are women with their own business - Braver than others, stronger than many, They go towards their goals skillfully, Along difficult but true roads.