Semyon Petrovich Gudzenko
From the book of fate. Born in Kyiv, in the family of an engineer and a teacher. In 1939 he entered IFLI and moved to Moscow. In 1941 he volunteered for the front, in 1942 he was seriously wounded. After being wounded, he was a front-line correspondent. He published his first book of poems in 1944 ...
After 1945, when the authorities demanded the chanting of the Victory, the theme severe defeats 1941-1942 was banned. Gudzenko's poems were criticized in the newspaper of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party of Bolsheviks "Culture and Life". Responding polemically to the accusation of "rootless cosmopolitanism", Gudzenko wrote: "And I also have an unchanging, not put on the map, one, my harsh and frank distant province - War."
... Gudzenko died from old wounds. The consequences of a shell shock received at the front were slowly killing him. According to the memoirs of Evgeny Dolmatovsky, recent months the poet's life is new feat, which can rightfully be placed next to the feat of Nikolai Ostrovsky, Alexander Boychenko, Alexei Maresyev: the bedridden poet, who knew for sure that his illness was fatal, continued to be a romantic, a soldier and a builder. Friends gathered at his bedside to talk with him not about ailments and medicines, but about the struggle of the Vietnamese people for their independence, about construction on the Volga and Dnieper, about new inventions and discoveries, and of course, about poetry. In the last months of his life, Semyon Gudzenko, who could no longer write himself, dictated three poems that will undoubtedly be included in the golden fund of Soviet poetry.
The poet's widow subsequently became the wife of Konstantin Simonov.
Primary sources:
Wikipedia,
Megaencyclopedia of Cyril and Methodius
From hospital to poetry
Gudzenko was wounded in the stomach. Yakov Helemsky said: "He has a Pushkin wound."
Pushkin's wound in your time they know how to heal.
Writers came to the hospital, among them - Ilya Ehrenburg.
Someone "discovered" us all.
He "discovered" Gudzenko. In hospital.
We will be thankful to talk about this more than once or twice.
So in the besieged Leningrad - the defense headquarters worked, which was headed by great military people.
Tikhonov's apartment was the headquarters of poetry. Headquarters sleepless Russian poetry, a receptacle of lofty thoughts, chivalrous feelings, an unyielding spirit. Young poets came to this headquarters from the trenches: Sergei Narovchatov, Sergei Orlov, Mikhail Dudin, Georgy Suvorov.
Alexei Surkov and Konstantin Simonov had such a "headquarters" - field, marching - only due to the conditions of the army existence of their chiefs, these "headquarters" did not have a permanent place, they moved along with the Army.
Aleksey Surkov “discovered” Mark Sobol at the front, read his poems by heart, propagandized, printed. He extended his hand - in recognition and help - to Alexander Mezhirov, Semyon Gudzenko, Platon Voronko and dozens of other soldier's poets.
Not in vain - after the war already - Mikhail Lukonin and Semyon Gudzenko together wrote and published a poem (excellent!) About Surkov. Poems were dedicated to him, they wrote about him; one of the dedications - "Do you remember, Alyosha, the roads of the Smolensk region" - has long become a classic of our poetry. And the soldiers' letters went to him not in sacks, but, probably, in wagons.
Remembering Gudzenko, I remember his environment, both peers and elders. This is apparently inevitable. And style, as I understand now (during work), apparently, is born by necessity. The task of the topic. Associative style with digressions, branches ...
... From the hospital to poetry. At the word hospital - I also flash a lot of associations. I remember how in Chelyabinsk, in the evening, in a long unlit corridor former school, there was an evening of poetry. After the excellent performance of Vsevolod Aksyonov - he read Yesenin - there was silence in the hall. No applause. In the semi-darkness of the corridor, a wounded man in a hospital gown got up and said: “Sorry, we can’t clap: we don’t have hands.”
Semyon Gudzenko signed poems with a pseudonym very unusual property: after all, usually poets take for publication some sonorous name, behind which lies the most ordinary, even too simple. But Semyon Gudzenko, who died on February 12, 1953, was actually called ... Sario. He received this name from his mother, but believed that it did not fit the surname.
Gudzenko - in general, a typical poet of the "military" generation. He was born in Kyiv on March 5, 1922, and came from a Jewish family. In 1939, he entered the university - Moscow MILFI, but the war prevented him from finishing his studies. Until 1942 future poet served as a machine gunner, but then was seriously injured, and was forced to retrain as front-line correspondents.
The poems of Semyon Gudzenko were first published in a book only in 1944 (and a year earlier they appeared in the press - they were published by Znamya and Smena), but his talent was noticed much earlier - already in 1941, even before he was from a simple fighter of the Red Army future classic military poetry turned into a journalist. It is curious that the first who drew attention to the talent of Gudzenko was such extraordinary person like Ilya Ehrenburg.
The bibliography of Gudzenko is not so extensive, and today it is not very well known. However, many people remember Budulai's song from the film "Gypsy" - it was written specifically to the verses of Semyon Petrovich.
In addition to poetry, Semyon Gudzenko also wrote memoirs of the war years - "Army Notebooks". You can't tell a lot of interesting things about his life after the war. But it is curious to note that Gudzenko became a character in the production of the Taganka Theater, and Vladimir Vysotsky himself played his role. One of the greatest Russian poets, by the way, generally highly appreciated the work of Gudzenko, and more than once publicly read his poems.
Poembook, 2016
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Many people know the name of Semyon Gudzenko, but few people know what kind of life the poet lived, what works he wrote. And what really was he himself, Gudzenko Semyon Petrovich, short biography which cannot but be of interest to literary critics and lovers of realistic military poetry. If you want to meet a talented, creative and heroic man- then our article is for you. Her hero is Semyon Gudzenko, a biography (briefly) will expand your ideas about a person who is rightfully considered one of the leaders of the poetry of the forties.
Childhood
Back in 1922, at the very beginning of the ringing spring, the future poet was born in the ancient Ukrainian city of Kyiv. Semyon Gudzenko, biography childhood period which is little known, was born in ordinary family. Semyon's father, Pyotr Konstantinovich, was a construction engineer, and his mother, Olga Isaakovna, a Jewess by nationality, worked as a teacher.
Growing up in an educated, cultural atmosphere, Semyon Petrovich Gudzenko, whose biography and work, of course, are based on childhood and youthful impressions, was brought up in love for the sciences, literature, and especially poetry.
Wound
At the age of seventeen, the young man entered the Moscow Institute of Philosophy, Literature and History (MIFLI). However, the war did not make it possible to complete education.
Semyon Gudzenko, biography and life path which changed dramatically in the summer of 1941, in a number of numerous volunteers went to the front. He served honestly and fearlessly, many of his impressions and feelings conveyed in poetic writings.
A couple of months after the outbreak of hostilities, Gudzenko's poems began to be published in army periodicals.
A year later, the young poet was seriously wounded by an exploding mine. As the writer himself later said, he was always afraid mortal wound in the stomach. Better in the arm, leg, shoulder ... But the fragment hit the stomach.
Life after injury
Immediately after treatment and rehabilitation, the courageous poet did not want to retire and began working in a newspaper. Now he is a war correspondent. Semyon Gudzenko, whose biography is inextricably linked with the Great Patriotic War, went on many dangerous business trips. With his own eyes, he saw how Stalingrad, destroyed by the Nazis, was rebuilt, and sang the valor and courage of the common people. He walked the military paths in Hungary and the Carpathians, sharing with his readers a description of picturesque landscapes and a recreation of the feat of ordinary soldiers. He covered the assault and capture of Budapest, telling the reading audience about every inch of the reclaimed land and the Soviet victory.
Creative activity
Semyon Gudzenko, whose biography is inextricably linked with creative activity, wrote talented poems based on military events and impressions. His first collection was published in 1944, a year before the end of the war, and was called "Fellow Soldiers".
Then other poetry collections followed: "Poems and Ballads", "After the March", "Transcarpathian Poems", "Battle".
Semyon Gudzenko, whose poems are imbued with sincere feelings, experienced everything that he described in his works. Therefore it lyric writings impregnated with unprecedented realism and special, courageously sad pain.
The brightest poems
The most vital and poignant works of the poet are his poems "Before the attack" and "The Ballad of Friendship".
The first work with incredible tragedy and truthfulness tells about the feelings and emotions of a fighter before the start of the battle:
"When they go to their death, they sing,
And before that, you can cry.
After all, the worst hour in battle -
Time for an attack."
Yes, the soldiers are afraid and crying, they are also scared and bitter. But they overcome fear, doing their duty:
"The fight was short, and then
They drank ice-cold vodka.
And cut with a knife
From under the nails I am someone else's blood.
How different is this real soldier's life from the idealized one, shown to us - ordinary inhabitants, through rose-colored glasses.
"The Ballad of Friendship" is imbued with lyrical penetration and warmth. Front-line friendship is the strongest and most proven, it is strong and unshakable, it is immediately tested in practice:
"No wonder we cherished friendship,
How infantry guards
Meter of bloody earth
When they take him in battles.
The poetic ballad is extremely reminiscent of lyrical work"On the snow of hospital whiteness", where the feat of a military doctor who shed his young hot blood to save others is conveyed in bright and lively words. selfless act young man regarded as heroic.
The poem "We will not die of old age" tells about the difficult life after the war of those who survived the wounds and injuries. psychological wounds, mental suffering, physical pain do not pass by and cause severe, sometimes even mortal suffering.
Last days
After the war, Semyon Gudzenko, whose biography is replenished with new creative and personal victories, continued to work as a journalist. In the 1950s, his other new lyrical works were published:
- "Far Garrison" (a poem about the daily work of military personnel in Turkmenistan);
- "New lands";
- Pilot's Grave.
The wound received in the fateful year 1942 constantly made itself felt. The disease progressed every month and caused the man a lot of pain and inconvenience.
Knowing that she was deadly, Semyon Petrovich continued to fight for his life. He actively wrote, liked to gather friends around him, tried his best to lead a normal, active lifestyle. The disease caused incredible physical suffering, but it did not make the poet a gloomy hermit or a gloomy recluse. Chained to the bed, slowly, painfully dying, Gudzenko continued to be a cheerful romantic and benevolent person. He talked a lot and was keenly interested in the life of society, new achievements and discoveries, literature and culture of the state.
Even having lost the opportunity to write independently, the poet composed his immortal poems and dictated them. Semyon Gudzenko died in the winter of 1953.
Personal life
The lyricist of military life was married to Larisa Zhadova, daughter of a hero of the USSR, who later reached certain heights in the study of art history and design.
The poet had a daughter, Katya, who was not even two years old when he died. Subsequently, the girl was adopted by Larisa's second husband, Konstantin Simonov. Now Gudzenko's daughter works at Moscow State University and holds the position of head of the department. PhD, she studies oriental studies.
We will not die of old age -
We'll die from old wounds...
Semyon Gudzenko
Semyon Gudzenko (1922-1953)
1942 - approx. ed.).
We will not die of old age -
We'll die from old wounds...
Semyon Gudzenko
60 years ago, on February 12, 1953, the remarkable Soviet front-line poet Semyon Gudzenko died.
Semyon Gudzenko (1922-1953)
From the memoirs of I.G. Erenburg “People, years, life”
It was one of the first spring days (1942 - approx. ed.).
In the morning there was a knock on the door of my room. I saw a tall, sad-eyed youth in a tunic. Many front-line soldiers came to me - they asked me to write about the dead comrades, about the exploits of the company, they brought notebooks taken from the prisoners, they asked why there was a lull and who would begin to attack - us or the Germans. I told the young man: "Sit down!" He sat down and immediately got up: "I will read poetry to you." I got ready for the next test - who then did not compose poems about tanks, about fascist atrocities, about Gastello or about partisans. The young man was reading very loudly, as if he were not in a small hotel room, but on cutting edge where the guns roar. I repeated: "More ... more ..."
Then they told me: "You discovered the poet." No, this morning Semyon Gudzenko revealed to me much of what I vaguely felt. And he was only twenty years old; he didn't know where to go Long hands and smiled sheepishly. One of the first poems he read to me is now well known.
Semyon Gudzenko's poem "Before the attack" is read by Vladimir Vysotsky
From the author. In October 1975, during a tour of the Taganka Theater in Rostov, I happened to see a wonderful performance of The Fallen and the Living. However, on that day, Vysotsky, who usually played the role of Semyon Gudzenko in the performance, was not on stage. He was replaced by another actor - Anatoly Vasiliev. Despite the fantastic "tape" popularity, Vysotsky's face was far from familiar to everyone. Vasiliev played great, skillfully imitating Vysotsky's voice. Judging by the remarks of some viewers after the end of the performance, they did not find the “substitution” ...
From the memoirs of I.G. Erenburg “People, years, life”
I saw the first world war, survived Spain, I knew novels and poems about battles, about trenches, about life in an embrace with death - romantically elevated or revealing - Stendhal and Tolstoy, Hugo and Kipling, Denis Davydov and Mayakovsky, Zola and Hemingway. In 1941, our poets wrote a lot good poems. They did not look at the war from the outside; many of them were threatened with death every day, but no one plucked enemy blood from under their nails with a knife. The bayonet remained a bayonet, the lyre remained a lyre. Perhaps this gave even the most successful poems of those poets whom I knew before the war, a few literary character. But Gudzenko did not have to prove anything, to convince anyone. He went to war as a volunteer soldier; fought behind enemy lines, was wounded. Sukhinichi - Duminichi - Lyudinovo - were for him not a line in the notebook of an employee of a Moscow or army newspaper, but everyday life ...
From the author. "Before his death, he was not timid"- an explanation is required here. This is not about death in war. The poet saw Victory with his own eyes, and fate was pleased to give him eight more peaceful post-war years. But his health was seriously undermined. Weakness, severe headaches. At first they thought it was the consequences of a concussion. But it turned out - worse - a brain tumor.
Shortly before his death, knowing that he was dying, unable to hold a pencil, he dictated his last - beautiful and at the same time - tragic poem:
I came in a hard gray overcoat,
issued to a victorious end,
young, full measure
everything a fighter deserves.
For me, spring has laid herbs,
covered the gardens with greenery,
but again due to a military injury
I have been on the brink of disaster.
My dream was that unstoppably creepy,
it was more sensitive than a dying candle,
saved my life for many days
in white, like paratroopers, doctors.
On the mainland endured
through hospitals wilderness and whiteness,
as if in engulfed Russia,
the first winter, in that war.
Death, as then, stood by,
the deserted, stale snow froze around,
someone quietly raved about Stalingrad,
called the fighters, asked for a lodging for the night.
All my roommates
in snow-white, virgin bandages,
were both in the landing and in the blockade,
and in other awkward places.
We defeated such an enemy -
no one can defeat him
never got sick in the war
and now I'm sick...
And before that, there was ... a meeting of two poets. One of them, Evgeny Yevtushenko, remembered it for the rest of my life:
He was perhaps the most beautiful poet, whom I saw alive: black-browed, with splashing life brown eyes. It was unbelievable that such a person could die at any moment. And he knew it, and many too. Last time I saw him at the Dynamo stadium, in a cap with sparkles, which my favorite football players wore then. He, along with everyone else, was indignant at the judge, enthusiastically jumped up from the concrete bench, and I noticed blue sweatpants and sports sneakers under his gabardine raincoat. Maybe he ran away to football from the hospital?
He noticed me, recognized me, although he had seen me only once before, on the go in the Central House of Artists, and not only did he recognize me, he also quoted my quatrain to me: From the alleys of Samoteka / to his lane / he is in the turmoil of people / takes a walk ...
“Spontaneity-turmoil ... What a rhyme, eh!” – And slyly, in a very Ukrainian way, he winked at me ... He still looks at me like that - with this smiling wink, although there is a sadness in the depths of his eyes - a premonition that the war is inexorably catching up with him ...
... In 1942, Ilya Erenburg noticed 20-year-old Semyon Gudzenko ... After 10 years, Semyon Gudzenko noticed 20-year-old Yevgeny Yevtushenko ... Here, however, there is no mysticism. This is how Russian poetry works. However, wait - "from the alleys of Samoteka - to your lane" is, by chance, not about Volodya Vysotsky, who in the future ... will do a lot of things, including playing Semyon Gudzenko? Anything is possible... However, I seem to have fantasized a little...
In conclusion, I would like to bring fully one poem by Semyon Gudzenko. Usually only the third and fourth stanzas are quoted.
I'm in the garrison club beyond the Carpathians
read about the retreat, read
about how over the dead soldiers
not the angel of death, but the battalion commander sobbed.
And they listened to me as soon as they listen
each other people of a platoon of one.
And I felt like between souls
the spark of my word flashed.
Every poet has a province.
She gave him mistakes and sins,
all petty grievances and offenses
forgives for true verses.
And I also have the same
not entered on the map, alone,
my harsh and frank,
distant province - War...
I would like to draw the attention of readers to the ending of the second stanza:
And I felt like between souls
the spark of my word flashed.
With the spark of his words, his great talent, the Poet connected the souls of people many years ago. Let's hope they don't fade away. Never.
Memorial plaque on the house where S. Gudzenko lived in 1922-1939.
st. Tarasovskaya, 3, Kyiv
SEMYON GUDZENKO. "MY PROVINCE IS WAR" "F Rontoviki in the pockets of their tunics wear strange things. German harmonicas, pipes, officer's patches or bits of lead taken out of their own wounds by the deft hands of a surgeon. These are not talismans. These are things that, like sparks, ignite the memory. And the long true stories begin.
The chronicler who saved in his army notebooks A lot of those " true stories”, although this is tragic ... compared to what he did not have time to write, there was a resident of Kiev, a Ukrainian Jew, a Russian poet Semyon Gudzenko. Sarik, as his friends affectionately called him. At the age of 21, right from the Ifli bench, he volunteered for a motorized rifle battalion, in order, of course, to fight for the USSR along with the shady chestnuts of Kyiv, blue spruces Red Square, and for Pushkin, and Shevchenko, and for Shostakovich.
Will the future Kyiv, Odessa, Kharkov ever be able to give Russian literature as generously as many talented prose writers and poets - from Akhmatova to Chichibabin, as it was when tsarist empire, and in very recent times Soviet Union?
In Ukraine, whose capital city Kyiv was the first cradle of Russia, parallel existence Russian and Ukrainian was natural and mutually enriched them until the time when the Soviet bureaucracy, as always clumsily, and sometimes directly, with an ax, undertook to "lead" this process. But God forbid, if reciprocal vindictiveness towards the Russian language unreasonably prevails, in this “clumsy” innocent, in which Taras Grigorievich himself did not shy away from writing poetry. The independence of states should not destroy the precious mutual influence of cultures in the whole context. And God forbid, if we stop feeling those who fell on the battlefield with fascism, our common heroes, and if they were poets - our common poets.
Gudzenko described his pre-war self in the concept of the future novel: “A provincial in a cowboy shirt and wide canvas trousers. The sleeves are rolled up above the elbows, strong tanned arms are exposed. He came to Moscow from the warm green city of Kyiv. He dreams of being a poet."
From just "dreaming" he begins to "be". “Wisdom comes to a man with shoulders rubbed with a rifle belt, with legs knocked down in campaigns, with frostbitten hands, with a weather-beaten face…”.
It is very curious how the tone of Gudzenko's notes changes after the first-hand story about the gramophone, which he used to call all Germans with contempt "Hans", and after it he never called it that way: "The Internationale". “Six Germans lived in one hut. Three left. Three came. They ordered the hostess to close the window and doors tightly: "Give the gramophone." “Well, she died,” the old woman thought. They played the record loudly. They sat around the table, took out pieces of paper and sang the Internationale. They sang it all. One old man wept. They got up and left. She never saw them again."
However, here, for example, is one recording in which I sighed heavily: it reminded me of myself in the Stalin years, young and sometimes so crooked that one could never straighten up. “Shershunov is a great guy. Also an Inflian, but without a wormhole of bohemia and intelligentsia.”
This is how the young men of that time were brought up - the not so bad word "bohemia" and the noble word "intelligentsia" are directly matched to the word "wormhole".
Semyon Gudzenko mercifully, the war gave another eight years of life after its end and caught up with him in the year of Stalin's death. What kind of poems he would write about Stalin after his death, one can only guess. But still, this name never flashed in his first, perhaps, best book"Fellow soldiers", although in those years it was a rarity. Ilya Ehrenburg in 1943 highly appreciated and even overestimated Gudzenko's abilities: "He belongs to a generation that we do not yet know, whose books we have not read, but which will play a decisive role not only in art, but also in life after the war."
Ehrenburg, for some reason still taken by many for a cynic, was in fact still an idealist of the Inter-Brigade and overestimated Gudzenko and his generation as a whole, because he underestimated the gloomy strength of Stalin. Stalin would never have allowed the young victors, who squared their shoulders, to become masters in their own country. What feelings could have been experienced by those Jews who fought for victory as selflessly as Semyon Gudzenko? They did not believe their own ears, listening to the radio, their own eyes, reading newspapers, but when Mikhoels was killed and the Jewish intelligentsia began to be imprisoned one by one, the undeserved cruel insult gave way to a secret animal fear not just for themselves, but for their loved ones.
The war was the most happy time in the life of this generation of poets, for they were rare years when internal patriotism merged with the state. But could the very young Gudzenko, even having married the daughter of General of the Army Zhadov, feel safe if his guardian-defender Ilya Erenburg himself was under the threat of arrest? At the time when Zoshchenko was being defamed, whom Gudzenko, by his own admission, read with such pleasure in the hospital, he could not even utter a word in his defense - he would have been powdered. The horror was that the former heroes were made cowards. This is the disgusting attitude towards the heroes of the war after the war.With Quiet Gudzenko and many of his front-line comrades got bored, lost their enthusiasm, the bitter taste of truth, became "business trips." But, dying from old wounds, he wrote real poems torn from the depths of his heart: “My life was saved in the middle of the night in white, like paratroopers, doctors.” He was perhaps the most handsome poet I ever saw alive: black-browed, brown eyes brimming with life. It was unbelievable that such a person could die at any moment. And he knew it, and many too. The last time I saw him was at the Dynamo stadium, in a cap with sparkles, which my favorite football players wore then. He, along with everyone else, was indignant at the judge, enthusiastically jumped up from the concrete bench, and I noticed blue sweatpants and sports sneakers under his gabardine raincoat. Maybe he ran away to football from the hospital?
He noticed me, recognized me, although he had seen me only once before, on the move in the Central House of Artists, and not only did he recognize me, he also quoted my quatrain to me: From the alleys of Samoteka / to his lane / he is in the turmoil of people / takes a walk ...
“Spontaneity-turmoil ... What a rhyme, eh!” - And slyly, in a very Ukrainian way, he winked at me ... He still looks at me like that - with this smiling wink, although sadness lurks in the depths of his eyes - a premonition that the war is inexorably catching up with him and will not allow him to fulfill himself as a poet so much, as promised by his first front-line poems.Semyon GUDZENKO
1922 (Kyiv) - 1953 (Moscow)
* * *
Each soldier has a province.
She gave him mistakes and sins,
all petty grievances and offenses
forgives for true verses.
And I also have the same
one mapped,
my harsh and frank
distant province - war.
Before the attack
When they go to death - they sing,
and before that you can cry.
After all, the most terrible hour in battle -
hour of attack.
Snow mines dug all around
and turned black from mine dust.
Gap - and the friend dies.
And so death passes by.
Now it's my turn.
I'm the only one being hunted.
Cursed be the forty-first year -
and infantry frozen in the snow.
I feel like I'm a magnet
that I attract mines.
Gap - and the lieutenant wheezes.
And death passes by again.
But we can no longer wait.
And leads us through the trenches
petrified enmity,
bayonet holed neck.
The fight was short. And then
jammed ice cold vodka,
and cut with a knife
from under the nails I am someone else's blood.
* * *
I was infantry in a clean field,
in trench mud and on fire.
I became an army journalist
in Last year in that war.
But if we fight again...
This is the law:
let me send again
to the infantry battalion.
Be under the command of the elders
at least a third of the way
then I can from those peaks
get into poetry.
* * *
We will not die of old age -
we die from old wounds.
So pour the rum into mugs
trophy red rum!
It has bitterness, hops and aroma
overseas side.
A soldier brought him here
returned from the war.
He saw so many cities!
Ancient cities!
He is ready to talk about them.
And even ready to sing.
So why is he silent?
The fourth hour is silent.
That finger on the table knocks,
then the boot knocks.
And he has a desire.
Is it clear to you?
He wants to know what was here
when we were there...
* * *
On the white snow of a hospital
a military doctor was dying, a military doctor was dying.
Two sappers with bandages leaned over him,
and rough hands touched her shoulder.
Only the birds cry in the silence behind the hills.
Only the two living over the dead are silent.
It was he who treated them in the field medical battalion,
came at night, talked about you,
about military fate, about the next room
and again about ... military fate.
Don't you cry for him girl distant city,
do not cry about your beloved, about your sweetheart.
... One person was not saved by a military doctor -
he lies on the hospital-white snow.
A conversation in a trench (according to the memoirs of a veteran):
“Listen, give me a newspaper for a cigarette…”
“Don’t touch it… I won’t give it to you…
You would honor our Hudzenka ...
I donate my hundred grams to him ... "
"New Newspaper"
№ 41
