This is pretty much what literature class in Russia used to be like. I added English subtitles for understanding. The jerk Lizudova (which is her last name) recites a famous revolutionary poem by M. Gorky. Meanwhile people are coming in late to class and the mean teacher tells them to put their school journals on the table - a school journal is an official document tracking students' progress, grades, as well as tardies, functioning dually as a planner.
Translation is mine since I couldn't find a good one, but it might be hard to follow, so I'm including it in plain text below the video.
Above gray plains of the ocean, wind collects rainclouds together. In between the clouds and ocean proudly soars the stormy petrel, a black lightning bolt resembling.
With one wing the wave crest touching; as an arrow flying upward: he cries out - and rainclouds hear joy in this bird's daring calling.
In this cry is storm's desire! Strength of anger, flame of passion, and the certainty of victory hear the rainclouds in this calling.
Seagulls weep before the storm - they weep and toss themselves around, even to the ocean's depths to go to hide their fear they're willing.
And the loons, the loons groan also - to the loons is unattainable the living battle's pleasure: striking thunder causes fear.
Silly pinguin shyly hides his stubby body in the shorerocks. Just the proud stormy petrel rockets bravely and freely above gray and foamy oceans.
Even darker, even lower clouds lower toward the ocean, and waves sing, and rise up to the heights where thunder rocks to meet them.
Thunder rumbles. Waves in foam of anger weep, with wind competing. See how it engrasps a flock of waves with its embrace unyielding, how it throws them aground in wild fury on the shorerocks, into dust and splashes breaking those ocean's emerald masses.
Soars and cries the stormy petrel, a black lightning bolt resembling, as an arrow piercing rainclouds, ocean's foam with his wings tearing.
Here he scampers like a demon, like a proud black storm's demon, he is laughing, he is sobbing... of the rainclouds he is laughing, of the joy thine he is sobbing.
Thunder's anger - a sharp demon, long the weariness he senses, he is certain that won't hide the clouds sunlight - no, they won't!
Wind is howling... Thunder striking...
With blue flames blaze hoards of rainclouds 'bove the abyss of the ocean. Waters catch the lightning's arrows and beneath the waves they snuff them. Just like fiery snakes there slither in the oceans, disappearing, the reflections of the lightning.
"Storm! Soon comes the storm upon us!"
Thus the proud stormy petrel boldly soars amongst the lightning 'bove the oceans bellowing anger. Crying is a victory's prophet.
"Stronger come the storm upon us!"
