We believe in victory
Concentrating regiments against us,
The enemy attacked a peaceful country.
White night, the whitest night
Started this black war!
Whether he wants to or not
And he will get his from the war:
Soon even days, not only nights,
They will become, they will become black for him!
(V. Shefner, 1941, June 23, Leningrad)
Parade in the forty-first
Probably, comrades, not in vain,
Admiring the step of the army chased,
Veterans always remember
Another - severe - October holiday.
Moscow was swept by a blizzard,
At the Mausoleum they ate stiffeners,
And there was a war on Red Square -
Tired, in a shot through overcoat.
That battalions went from the front line,
Trench soldiers marched to the parade.
Aerostats in troubled skies
They shook their long heads.
Moats tormented the body of the Moscow region,
Fluffy snow buried the dead,
They squeezed the throat of front-line Moscow
The trenches of the advancing Nazis.
And the battalions marched from the front line,
Trench soldiers went to the parade!
No wonder balloons in the sky
They shook their heads in surprise!
Who can defeat such a people?
Don't forget the forty-first year!
(Yu. Drunina)
3. A. Surkov
Do you remember, Alyosha, the roads of the Smolensk region,
How endless, evil rains fell,
How weary women carried krinki to us,
Pressing, like children, from the rain to their chest,
How they furtively wiped away the tears,
As after us they whispered: - Lord save you! -
And again they called themselves soldiers,
As it was the old tradition in great Russia.
Measured by tears more often than miles,
There was a path, on the hillocks hiding from the eyes:
Villages, villages, villages with graveyards,
As if all of Russia had converged on them,
As if behind every Russian outskirts,
Protecting the living with the cross of their hands,
Having come together with the whole world, our great-grandfathers pray
For their unbelieving grandchildren in God.
You know, probably, after all, the Motherland -
Not a city house, where I lived festively,
And these country roads that grandfathers passed,
With simple crosses of their Russian graves.
I don't know about you, but me with the village
Road melancholy from village to village,
With a widow's tear and a woman's song
For the first time the war on country roads brought.
Do you remember, Alyosha: a hut near Borisov,
For the dead weeping girlish cry,
A gray-haired old woman in a plush cloak,
All in white, as if dressed for death, an old man.
Well, what can we say to them, how could we console them?
But, understanding grief with his woman's instinct,
Do you remember, the old woman said: - Dear,
As long as you go, we'll be waiting for you.
"We will wait for you!" the pastures told us.
"We will wait for you!" the forests said.
You know, Alyosha, at night it seems to me
That their voices follow me.
According to Russian customs, only conflagrations
On Russian soil scattered behind,
Comrades were dying before our eyes
In Russian, tearing the shirt on the chest.
Bullets with you still have mercy on us.
But, believing three times that life is all,
I was still proud of the sweetest,
For the bitter land where I was born
For the fact that I was bequeathed to die on it,
That the Russian mother gave birth to us,
That, seeing us off to battle, a Russian woman
In Russian, she hugged me three times.
(K. Simonov, 1941)
June. Russia. Sunday.
Dawn in the arms of silence.
A fragile moment remains
Until the first shots of the war.
In a second the world will explode
Death will lead the parade alle
And the sun will go out forever
For millions on earth.
A mad flurry of fire and steel
It won't turn back on its own.
Two "supergods": Hitler - Stalin,
And between them a terrible hell.
June. Russia. Sunday.
Country on the verge: to be not to be...
And this terrible moment
We will never forget...
(D. Popov)
On that terrible day, the earth rushed into the sky.
The noise froze the blood in his veins.
June colorful immediately sunk into fiction,
And death, suddenly, pushed aside life, love.
Put on gymnasts and overcoats
Yesterday's boys are the color of the country.
The girls sang farewell songs,
They wanted to survive in the terrible hour of the war.
The war, like a lump, rolled along the roads,
Bringing destruction, hunger, death and pain.
There are very few of them left alive.
Those who took the first, most terrible battle!
They went on the attack for the truth, for the Fatherland,
For peace, for mother and father, for a good home.
To protect from the horrors of fascism
The right to life that collapsed all around.
Lilacs, carnations, tender tulips…
The beginning of summer, life around is in full swing.
Love is alive, wounds have healed,
But this June day is not forgotten!
(T. Lavrova)
The war has begun
1.
Our guns are talking again!
The enemy has attacked. We went to battle!
The pennant of the illustrious fleets,
Like seagulls hovering over the water.
To beat the enemy today is not the first time for us,
So that the bloody trail of his cold,
You, front-line regiments and companies,
Helps the current rear.
As one for the Motherland we stood up,
There are no indifferent between us,
Every ton of steel produced
We strengthen the greatness of victories.
And battles of hot air
From now on it has become a common destiny
We, who keep watch in factories,
And fighters rushing into battle.
Motherland! We swore to you
And walking with your name
By the power of blood, gunpowder and steel
We will win this battle again!
2.
For peaceful happiness in the world
The Soviet people are fighting
And his enemy, who sows the wind,
Lead storm will reap.
We swore to our dear Fatherland
And the oath was kept more than once,
No blood, no happiness, no life
We won't regret now.
Walk on the scorched fields
Heralds of a peaceful country,
Punish with a just sword
Enemies that must die.
Passing the border signs
Bypassing the ambushes and the moat,
Destroy with blades of attack
A nest of brutalized enemies.
We are calm and clear
The Soviet government said.
First report received...
Comrade! The war has begun!
(Yuri Inge, June 22, 1941)
The longest day of the year...
The longest day of the year
With its cloudless weather
He gave us a common misfortune
For all, for all four years.
She made such a mark
And laid so many on the ground,
That twenty years and thirty years
The living can't believe they're alive.
And straightening the ticket to the dead,
All rides one of the relatives
And time adds to the lists
Someone else, someone else...
(K. Simonov)
"The war has begun..."
Stuck in the hearts
A terrible poisoned arrow.
And in the world
Everything has changed.
And anxiety
got up
Over the country.
This news
Covered the sun
Like a black cloud in a thunderstorm.
fields
Suddenly withered
bells
startled
In the awakened forest.
This news
Hit like a bomb.
The wrath of the people
Came up in a wave.
On this day
We swore to the grave
Fight
With the damned war.
On this day
You became a faithful soldier
And you,
A soldier who has fought
People
For the victory in the forty-fifth
From the heart
Thank you they say.
(Miklai Kazakov, translation by A. Akvilev)
Before the attack
When they go to their death, they sing,
And before that
you can cry.
After all, the most terrible hour in battle -
Waiting time for an attack.
Snow mines dug all around
And blackened from mine dust.
Gap -
and a friend dies.
And so death passes by.
Now it's my turn.
Behind me alone
the hunt is on.
Damn forty one year
And infantry frozen in the snow ...
(S. Gudzenko)
Victory Day
Years go by, but the wounds bleed
Inflicted by enemies in battle,
Thank you dear veterans
For my carefree youth!
For the fact that machine guns do not shoot,
That mines do not explode silence,
You were young, not guilty of anything,
Why did fate prepare war for you?
To give us the right to live in this world,
You went to fight, chest on the enemy,
Moms, wives, children were waiting for you at home ...
Keeping the warmth of the native hearth ...
For the stars in the sky to shine for us,
For spring to bloom in the yard,
You fought, and "did not stand up for the price",
But the price is too high...
And every year in the spring, at the beginning of May,
Unites the holiday all over the country,
Whenever I look at you, I don't understand
Why did fate prepare a war for you?!
And tears always rise in a fog,
Ready for a downpour of sadness to flow from the eyes,
Thank you dear veterans
To all of you! Separately for each of you...
Red tulips shine like blood
Assigned to the "Eternal Flame",
Thank you dear veterans
For my carefree youth ...
I will never, believe me, never get tired
Thank you all for your deeds,
Thank you dear veterans
For this chance to live under a peaceful sky!
(Yu. Olefir)
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier!
Oh, how many of them from the Volga to the Carpathians!
In the smoke of battles once dug
Soldiers with sapper shovels.
Green bitter mound by the road,
In which are forever buried
Dreams, hopes, thoughts and anxieties
Unknown defender of the country.
Who was in the battles and knows the edge of the front,
Who lost a comrade in the war,
That pain and rage is fully known,
When he was digging a "trench" for him last.
After the march - march, after the battle - a new battle!
When was the obelisks to be built?!
Board and pencil cores,
After all, that's all that was at hand!
The last "service record" of a soldier:
"Ivan Fomin", and nothing more.
And just below two short dates
His birth and death.
But two weeks of heavy rains
And only dark gray remains
A piece of wet, swollen plywood,
And no last name on it.
Guys are fighting for hundreds of miles.
And here, twenty steps from the river,
Green mound in wildflowers -
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier...
But the Motherland does not forget the fallen!
How a mother never forgets
Neither fallen nor missing,
The one who is always alive for the mother!
Yes, there is no forgetting courage.
That's why dead in battle
The elders in turn call out
Like a warrior standing in line!
And therefore, as a sign of heartfelt memory
Across the country from the Volga to the Carpathians
In living colors and day and night are burning
The rays of the native five-pointed star.
Rays fly solemnly and holy,
To meet in a silent shrug,
Over the ashes of the Unknown Soldier,
What sleeps in the ground in front of the gray-haired Kremlin!
And from the rays crimson, like a banner,
Ringing fanfares on a spring day,
As a symbol of glory, a flame flared up -
Holy flame of eternal fire!
(E. Asadov)
To the unknown soldier
He died from his family away,
We don't know the date of his death...
To the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
Famous soldiers have come...
We still keep this image -
The boy lay tormented by lead,
And there was no military book with him -
She died in battle with him.
Even though we don't know his last name,
He was – we know – faithful to the end.
And we bow our heads in silence
Before the immortal feat of a fighter.
And the friendship of warriors is unshakably holy,
She never dies!
We are at arms brother
They erected a monument for many years!
Let's unite faithful hearts
And let's say, no matter how great the loss, -
Let our fighter have no last name, -
There is a rank of the Russian soldier!
(M. Svetlov)
We are twenty million
From unknown to famous
To slay which years are not free,
No, we did not disappear in pitch smoke,
Where the path, as to the top, was not straight.
We also shoot young wives,
And the boys will act as mothers.
And on Victory Day we get off the pedestals,
And in the windows the light has not yet gone out,
We are all from privates to generals
We are invisibly among you.
The war has a sad beginning day,
And on this day you are drunk with joy.
We are not forgotten by age-old dreams,
And every time at the Eternal Flame
It is your duty to consult with us,
As if in thought bowing his head.
And let care not leave you
Know the will of those who did not return from the war,
And before rewarding someone
And before condemnation of guilt.
All that we defended in the trenches
Ile returned, rushing into the gap,
Protect and protect you bequeathed,
Laying the only lives.
As on medals cast after us,
We are all equal before the Fatherland
We are twenty million unforgotten
The dead who did not return from the war.
Where in the clouds gaping scar rock,
At any hour from the sun to the moon
A memorial bell beats over us
And the wedding rumble pours from above.
And even though the military registration and enlistment offices wrote us off,
But the enemy will have to take into account
That dead soldiers will go into battle,
When the alarm calls for the living.
Be disgusted, hellish year.
But we're ready for the front line
resurrected,
to die once again,
So that not a single living person dies there.
And you should, worrying about a lot,
Before evil, without stepping back,
To our unsullied conscience
Keep a good balance.
Live long, live righteously
Striving the whole world for fellowship
to associate,
And do not blaspheme any of the nations,
Keeping at the zenith own honor.
What names are not on the tombstones!
Their sons left all the tribes.
We are twenty million unforgotten
The dead who did not return from the war.
Falling stars flickering signal call,
And the branches of weeping willows are inclined.
A memorial bell beats over us,
And the wedding rumble pours from above.
(R. Gamzatov, translation by Y. Kozlovsky)
June 22, 1941 Germany crossed the borders of our country. The rate of advance of the troops was 30 km per day. The capture of the city of Leningrad was given a special place. The enemy wanted to capture the coast of the Baltic Sea and destroy the Baltic Fleet. The Germans quickly broke through to the city and from July they began to take out residents and factories located in the city from Leningrad.
At the time of the blockade, there were 2 million 544 thousand civilians in the city, including about 400 thousand children. In addition, 343 thousand people remained in suburban areas (in the blockade ring). In September, when systematic bombardments, shelling and fires began, many thousands of families wanted to leave, but the paths were cut off.
Children, along with adults, starved and froze in besieged Leningrad, extinguished incendiary bombs together with the fighters, worked in factories - they made shells. For courage and courage they were awarded the medal "For the Defense of Leningrad" and the medal "Valiant Labor in the Great Patriotic War".
It's a wonderful time of the year - winter. But she did not please the Leningraders. Due to the lack of fuel and electricity, many enterprises, trams, trolleybuses stopped, heating failed, water pipes froze. The city was running out of food, and there was nowhere to bring them. People began to weaken, to get sick. In 1942, the norm of bread, consisting of dust, pine sawdust and a few grams of rye flour, was 125 grams. “125 blockade grams with fire and blood in half,” wrote the poetess O. Bergolts. Dystrophy spread in the city, people fainted from hunger. They ate everything that came across: soup from grass, jelly from carpenter's glue, mice - everything that was. They even tried to leave a small piece of bread for a long time.
The story "Breadcrumbs" It was during the war, in Leningrad besieged by the Nazis. It is cold and very dark in the store, only a smoke lamp was blinking on the counter at the saleswoman. The saleswoman released the bread. There was a line at the counter on one side. People came up. They held out cards and received a piece of bread, small, but heavy and moist, because there was very little flour in it, but more water and cotton cake. And on the other side of the counter, children crowded. Even in the weak light of the oil lamp, one could see what thin, exhausted faces they had. Fur coats did not fit the guys, hung on them, as if on sticks. Their heads over their hats were wrapped in warm scarves and scarves. Feet - in felt boots, and only there were no mittens on his hands: his hands were busy with work.
As soon as a bread crumb fell on the counter at the seller, who was cutting a loaf, someone's thin, chilled finger hurriedly but delicately glided over the counter, pry off the crumb and carefully carried it into his mouth. Two fingers on the counter did not meet: the guys kept the queue. The saleswoman did not scold, did not shout at the children, did not say: “Do not interfere with work! Get out!" the saleswoman silently did her job: she gave people their blockade rations. People took bread and left. And a bunch of Leningrad guys stood quietly at the other side of the counter, each patiently waiting for his crumbs.
In winter, there were many rats in the city. They attacked half-starved and exhausted old people and children. By this time, there were no cats or dogs left in the city - those who did not die and left were eaten. Rats not only destroyed the already meager food supplies, they were also potential carriers of the plague. monument to the blockade cats. December 3, 1941. Today we ate a fried cat. Very tasty,” a 10-year-old boy wrote in his diary. Nevertheless, some townspeople, despite the severe hunger, took pity on their favorites.
"In the spring of 1942, half-dead from hunger, an old woman took her cat outside for a walk. People approached her, thanked her for keeping him." “In March 1942, I suddenly saw a skinny cat on a city street. Several old women stood around her and crossed themselves, and an emaciated, skeleton-like policeman made sure that no one caught the animal.” "In April 1942, passing by the Barricade cinema, I saw a crowd of people at the window of one of the houses. They marveled at an unusual sight: a striped cat with three kittens lay on the windowsill brightly lit by the sun. When I saw her, I realized that we had survived" .
But the schools continued to operate. It was cold in the classrooms. Everywhere there were stoves "potbelly stoves". Everyone sat in fur coats, hats and mittens. They wrote on old newspapers with pencils. The ink froze in the cold. And after school, the children went to the roof and were on duty there, putting out incendiary bombs or working in the hospital. A notebook remained open on the desk, It didn’t fall out for them to finish writing, to finish reading. When high-explosive bombs and hunger fell on the city. And we will never forget with you, How our peers took the fight. They were only 12, But they were - Leningraders.
Here is what a 12-year-old boy writes… “We study in a bomb shelter. From morning to evening shelling, shelling ... A shell flew into our house and exploded, knocked out all the windows. We blocked the window with plywood and now the house is completely dark. Getting ready for geographic gathering. Today I ate jelly made of carpenter's glue. “Somewhere up there, high-explosives were whistling, shells were exploding, but in our underground it was quiet, warm, light. The radio brought us underground howling sirens. We were having a lesson. The teacher explained new topics to us. I had to memorize and write it down. It became difficult to do. The stoker was not working. Cold. Hands and feet stiffen, ink hardens. The lights went out in the dungeon, we moved to the classroom, where only one window was glazed, and the rest were filled with plywood. In such conditions, the children studied and brightly believed that the day of victory would come.
Food in Leningrad is over. What to feed them? Far beyond the blockade ring there is food - flour, meat, butter. How to deliver them? Only one road connected the besieged city with the mainland. This road was on water. She is like a legend, like a song, like a banner, This road will have no end - it has run forever through memory, has gone through our hearts forever.
Not far from the highway, anti-aircraft installations, wire and minefields are camouflaged to protect the road from fascist soldiers. Not all cars reached the shore, many fell through the ice along with food. Bread to Leningrad, and children to the rear. Only the military road laid on the ice of Lake Ladoga helped people to survive.
Lake Ladoga remained the only way to communicate with besieged Leningrad. Only through the lake could people contact the land. This road was called the Road of Life. But this road was constantly shelled. A lot of blood has been spilled on this road. Today, the Flower of Life monument stands on the road of life. The face of a smiling boy and the words "May there always be sunshine" are depicted on the petals of the flower. Nearby is a plate on which the inscription: “In the name of life and against war. To the children of the young heroes of Leningrad.
The blockade lasted 900 days and nights. A terrible fate befell the Savichev family. Tanya Savicheva was born in 1930, she was only 12 years old when the war was going on. The Savichev family was large and friendly. Father, worked as a baker, baked fragrant and tasty bread. Mother, in the factory. The war has begun. During the war, Tanya kept a diary. This is a small notebook kept by a twelve-year-old Leningrad girl Tanya Savicheva. The book has nine pages, six of which have dates. Six pages - six deaths. "December 28, 1941, Zhenya died ... Grandmother died on January 25, 1942. March 17 - Leka died. Uncle Vasya died on April 13. May 10 - Uncle Lyosha, mother - May 15. The Savichevs died. Everyone died. Only Tanya remained .
The diary of Tanya Savicheva became one of the material evidence of the Nazi atrocities at the Nuremberg trials, and the girl herself became a symbol of the courage of the besieged Leningrad. Dozens of books have been written about her fate, films have been made, Edita Piekha performs "The Ballad of Tanya Savicheva", there is a star named after her. But... few even today know that Tanya was wrong, and not all of the Savichevs died. In such terrible conditions, Tanya's sister, Nina Nikolaevna, survived, who still lives near St. Petersburg.
WE BELIEVE IN VICTORY
Concentrating regiments against us,
The enemy attacked a peaceful country.
White night, the whitest night
Started this black war!
Whether he wants to or not
And he will get his from the war:
Soon even days, not only nights,
They will become, they will become black for him!
Don't dance today, don't sing.
In the late afternoon thoughtful hour
Silently stand at the windows,
Remember those who died for us.
There, in the crowd, among loved ones, lovers,
Among the cheerful and strong guys,
Someone's shadows in green caps
Silently rush to the outskirts.
They can not linger, stay -
This day takes them forever
On the way to marshalling yards
The trains sound their separation.
Calling them and calling them is in vain,
They won't say a word in response
But with a sad and clear smile
Look closely after them.
COURTYARD WALLS
1
I'll look into the familiar courtyard,
Like a forgotten dream.
I haven't been here for a long time
From a young age.
Above the stacks of firewood
Along the damp wall
Fairy world maps
Imprinted.
These walls for many years
They keep on themselves
What the prospect forgot
And I forgot the front.
Signs of happiness and misfortune
The memory of old times -
Baby ball footprints
And the bombings.
Leningrad courtyards,
Forty-first year
bachelor feasts,
The creak of the night gate.
But the shout is calling
Trains trumpet -
Isn't it time from the yard
To the district military enlistment office!
What is crying at the gate
Is the girl alone?
- Believe me, the year will not pass -
The war will end.
How will I return in a year -
Look out the window
We will come with victory
To this old house
Let's get the gramophones
Let's go for wine.
Hello yard, goodbye war.
Forty-fifth year.
Just by the window
Is the girl waiting?
Someone's room in the dark
And the door is closed.
You are her all over the earth
You won't find it now.
Fairy planet maps
Watching from the wall
But on them - a trace of fragments,
Cuneiform of War.
Old courtyard, forgotten dream,
swallows flight,
Tape recorder on the window
Sings about love.
Above the stacks of firewood
Protects the wall
ghost world maps,
Downpours of writing.
And flows into the old yard
Evening light...
Everything is as it was for a long time,
But someone is missing.
Someone's light steps
Lost track
On distant shores
Fairy planets.
Among unknown meadows,
In eternal silence...
Shadows of light clouds
They dance on the wall.
1963
MIRROR
As if by a terrible battering ram
Here half of the house has been demolished,
And in the clouds of frosty fog
A charred wall rises.
More wallpaper torn remember
About the former life, peaceful and simple,
But the doors of all the collapsed rooms
Opened, hanging over the void.
And let me forget everything else -
I can't forget how, trembling in the wind,
Hanging over the abyss wall mirror
At the height of the sixth floor.
By some miracle, it didn't break.
People are killed, walls are swept away, -
It hangs, fate's blind mercy,
Over the abyss of sorrow and war.
Witness of pre-war comfort,
On damp corroded wall
Warm breath and someone's smile
It stores in the glass depth.
Where did she, unknown, go
Ile wanders along the roads
The girl who looked deep into him
And braided braids in front of him? ..
Perhaps this mirror has seen
Her last moment when
Chaos of fragments of stone and metal,
Falling down, thrown into oblivion.
Now it looks both day and night
The face of a fierce war.
In it cannon shots of lightning
And alarming glows are visible.
Now the dampness of the night is choking him,
Fires are blinded by smoke and fire.
But everything will pass. And whatever happens,
The enemy will never be reflected in it!
1942, Leningrad
PARTING
A fragment will hit under the left nipple,
The grass will turn red in the moat...
I will cut my fingers on the stems of sedges,
I'll live for a minute.
A film of unprecedented length will unwind.
Filmed over many years...
And childhood, and youth, and meetings, and dreams -
What kind of frames are not there!
Separations, roads, smiles, at home,
Your own and others' sins...
What an operator gone mad
Did this one shoot nonsense?
But houses will fall into place, and bridges,
Mistakes and maples in bloom
When you appear on the screen
An influx of all the fuss.
You will stand by the blue pensive rivers,
In fields dressed up in spring
So sad, like forever
She came to say goodbye to me.
I'll call out to you: "Honey, wait,
It's not time to say goodbye yet
Call the orderlies, even with a simple thread
Let the doctors sew up the heart.
At least an hour to live, at least a short day -
I don't want darkness so much.
'Cause I couldn't look at you
Why are you saying goodbye?"
1944
HOUSE OF CULTURE
Here, in this House of Culture
There was a hospital in forty-two.
My friend, emaciated and gloomy,
Lying damp in the twilight.
Smokehouses in the hall blinked,
The stove chimed in the corner,
And the bunks stood in rows
On this parquet floor.
I left the dark building
On the snow of the Leningrad winter,
But I knew that we would not see each other.
I said goodbye to my friend
And after many years
I enter this very building,
I bought a ticket for fifty dollars.
Snowflakes from a coat shaking off,
I enter through the mirrored door.
Not caustic carbolic - spirits
It smells festive in here now.
Where the bunks once stood
Where the unknown soldier died
On smooth oak squares
Couples in love glide.
Just me, not in love with anyone,
I walk around the hall
And a cloud of reinforced concrete
The ceiling floats above me.
With what sudden power
Takes by the heart sometimes
Someone else's confirmed happiness
Someone's old trouble!
1962
A shell hit under Kirk-Muol
In the headquarters dugout of the regiment.
They opened us up. Three lie dead
And I'm just a little shell-shocked.
Luck. Since then I've been living and living
Healthy and strong looking.
But what if all this is not in reality,
Was it me who was killed?
What if now the surviving neighbor
I'm being dragged in a drag,
And I dream my dream, lucky delirium
Some twenty years ahead?
A comrade will stumble in a sharp wind,
Swamp water squawks, -
And I suddenly wake up from a push - and die,
And then everything will break.
RETRACTION FROM WHOTTA
Retreat from Wuotta,
Burning houses...
Sitting on the ground without a care
A man who has gone mad.
The world was not worth his attention
And fear is gone forever
And a smile of understanding
On his lips wandered.
He was silent, like a silent Buddha,
Throwing all doubts to the bottom, -
It was very bad for us
And he doesn't care anymore.
I felt sorry for that person
On the night of the departed before dark, -
Not a dead man was and not a cripple,
Only the war took the soul.
RETIRED
Infantry hairdresser
Addicted to wine.
He is not very willing
Remembers the war.
And he deserves to be proud
And peace is deserved,
Only God save
From work like that.
Oh, what a cut!
He cut like clockwork,
Not for boxing, not for polka, -
Everything is zero and zero.
He worked great
I understood what was what -
But not every second
I could come to him.
Ah, infantry, infantry -
Construction material!
In the hills, in the marshes
He lost clients.
Apparently Polish-Canadian
Not for these guys
Underground in raincoats
They sleep for twenty years.
Something makes me sad
You pour me, pour!..
Ah, infantry, infantry,
Queen of the fields!
WATCHMAN
From the house there was a stove,
Yes, a black pipe above it,
Yes, lonely porch
From roughly hewn stones.
The yard is overgrown with wild mint,
And yet on the porch
Sits, as before, shaggy dog
And guards the burnt house.
During the day he is in the forest or in the swamp
Lives, hunting somehow,
But by night you will always find here
His gaze into the darkness.
After all, he himself, probably, understood
That no one will wait
But remembers warm palms
And the voice that called to him.
And at night - from the windbreak,
From the darkness of the forest, from the haze of damp
Someone's step, light and familiar,
He gets imaginative at times.
Silent, lonely and offended,
Willows twisted trunk,
Abandoned pond is still
And thick, like a strong brine.
Sometimes, like a dreamy marvel,
From the darkness of grass, water
The frog floats lazily
Shiny cucumber back.
But the boy came with a twig -
And there is no silence on the pond;
Here is a helmet, overgrown with mud,
He fished from the depths.
Without sadness, without any care
With a mischievous gleaming smile,
He takes the Soviet infantry
Heavy headwear.
Water will scoop up busily -
And listens like water
It flows from a pierced helmet
On the smooth surface of the pond.
About the kind cloudless sky,
About days without loss and adversity,
Trembling like a silver stalk
This stream sings to him.
Sings to him slowly
About how quiet everything is around,
Sings about happy June
And me about something else, about something else ...
RELEASE BIRDS
In the apartment of one communal,
Among other registered persons,
Lives old and sad
A freak who releases birds.
Neighbors at the market often
Meet that weirdo
With a big homemade cage
He stands at the zoo.
From the pay of his poor
Will buy siskins and tits
And out of town goes somewhere
A freak who releases birds.
They float past the carriage windows
Gardens and asphalt highways;
In place of the villages burned
Others, no worse, stand.
Country pines sway,
And the rivers are transparent to the bottom,
And even through the roar of the wheel
Silence is heard on earth.
And yet the soul is not in the right place,
And there is no joy in silence:
Missing, missing, missing
His son was lost in the war.
And here is the nondescript half-station
At the junction of the roadways...
In a swampy place, not a summer cottage,
The line of defense lay.
Find the old man is not the first time
Infantry division rear,
Where the flowers of the field rose
On the mounds of mass graves.
But where to bow his eyes,
Where should his heart go?
Where to find a mound over which
Could he cry to his heart's content?
He removes the rag from the cage,
Then he opens it,
Silent birds are silent
And they do not believe in happiness.
But the wings are light and elastic,
And joy grows on the fly -
In some happy fright
They soar high.
They fly over the green earth,
They fly without roads and borders,
And looks at them tenderly
An old man releasing birds.
When I'm having a hard time -
Reading in the silence of the night
A letter from an unforgettable friend
who was killed in the war.
I read dry as gunpowder,
everyday words,
Rough lines that
To this day, hope lives on.
And everything hasty, evil
Silences, subsides in me.
The past rises to the soul,
As in a sad sublime dream.
This whole world, eternal and new,
I see - as if from a mountain,
And again the triangle is postal
I put it in the box for the time being.
***
Look back for a moment
What's behind us?
There swallows curl
Above the old brick wall
There are children's quarrels
Happiest days in a row
There are clear eyes,
Nobody will let us in.
Just look for a moment -
What were we like in the past?
There in the early morning
We walk down the path together.
We are both beautiful
(When viewed from the current years) -
And both are powerless
1/52 ⠀ The year flows like a ball or a kolobok from one decade to another. ⠀ The kids dismantled the Christmas tree, or rather removed all the decorations from it, and prepared for a trip to the country to plant it. They take care of it daily, water it and collect fallen needles. ⠀ The New Year was celebrated cheerfully and, as always, interesting. Grandfather Frost came, and Klepa the Clown, and the children themselves were in costumes that were changed several times a day. And even the youngest team went to bed by four in the morning, and at the insistence of adults, because by this time they had long wanted to sleep. This meeting of the new year, we found out that plastic toys break perfectly, especially if they are used as balls. We found out so well that by the next holiday we need to replenish the collection of toys. ⠀ Children go to New Year's performances with pleasure, watch performances and receive sweet gifts that they bring home and unpack them with the whole family. Having visited the Kremlin Christmas tree, the main Christmas tree in St. Petersburg in the Mariinsky Palace, in the theaters of the city, they, like real theatergoers, draw conclusions about the performances and actors they like. ⠀ - And I also want to perform on stage, - watching the next of the performances, Lyubasha says. She's four. When she knows so firmly what she wants, I carefully look into her eyes to see my little baby in them. At the same time, she often distorts her already elvish language in order to be small like Little Johnny. Yes, now she does not want to grow up, but wants to be a baby. From time to time. ⠀ Vovochka skips performances, staying at home. And although many of his peers are trying to hatch and look out for what is happening, it seems to me that it is better at home. ⠀ Leo is happy to participate in interactive activities before the performance. When you have a spinning top in your ass, the most beautiful thing is dancing and playing near the Christmas tree, although an interesting action captivates him completely. And then he happily tells me about what he saw. ⠀ The main thing that kids like most about the holidays is the absence of the need to go to kindergarten. It seems that each of them feels good there and, according to the educators, is perfectly adapted, but sometimes we spend our evenings in tears about tomorrow's unwanted trip to this unloved institution. Moreover, each of them wants to be at home with mommy or go to work with her, but it doesn’t matter where mommy goes, just to be with her. And now dad has more days off. So the first week of January pleases everyone with the opportunity to be together. Of course, I am especially pleased. I love when children are happy and I don't want them to cry at all, especially because of the garden. ⠀ And together with Vovochka we sing his favorite song “Lyabo! Lyabo!”, which translated into Russian means “I am a bun! I'm a bun!" and, rolling around the house with balls, we are waiting for each next day that brings us happiness and joy. ⠀
Having concentrated the regiments against us, the enemy attacked a peaceful country. White night, the whitest night Began this terrible war.
June 22, 1941 Germany crossed the borders of our country. The rate of advance of the troops was 30 km per day. The capture of the city of Leningrad was given a special place. The enemy wanted to capture the coast of the Baltic Sea and destroy the Baltic Fleet. The Germans quickly broke through to the city and from July they began to take out residents and factories located in the city from Leningrad.
Look at the map! If the earth is drawn in brown, then it was captured by the Nazis. The fascist swastika is painted on the brown ground. And where the Red Army stands, red stars are painted.
The blockade of Leningrad lasted from September 8, 1941 to January 27, 1944 (broken on January 18, 1943) - 871 days.
The blockade of Leningrad is an unheard of human test of humanity, dignity, love for loved ones, compassion, cordiality. These trials were daily, terrible, because hunger is generally impossible to imagine without experiencing it ...
At the time of the blockade, there were 2 million 544 thousand civilians in the city, including about 400 thousand children. In addition, 343 thousand people remained in suburban areas (in the blockade ring). In September, when systematic bombardments, shelling and fires began, many thousands of families wanted to leave, but the paths were cut off.
More than 100 thousand high-explosive and incendiary bombs fell on Leningrad, the Nazis fired 150 thousand shells.
The enemies wanted to doom as many survivors as possible to a painful death. And take the city with bare hands.
All its inhabitants rose to defend the city: 500,000 Leningraders built fortifications, 300,000 volunteered for the people's militia, the front, and partisan detachments. militia fighters. women's rifle battalion.
The shops of the Leningrad factories were empty. Many workers went to the front. Their wives and children stood by the machines.
These days, a fourteen-year-old boy, Fyodor Bykov, wrote to his father at the front ... “Dear dad! I no longer go to school, but work in a factory. We have a lot of guys in the workshop, we are learning to work on the walls. Our master uncle Sasha says that with our work we will help defend Leningrad from the damned fascists. And my mother also works, only in another workshop where mines are made. Dear Dad! I am hungry all the time, and my mother is also hungry all the time. Because now they give little bread, there is almost no meat at all, and there is no butter. Dear Dad! Beat the fascists! I remain your son, a worker at factory No. 5 Fedor Bykov.
Children, along with adults, starved and froze in besieged Leningrad, extinguished incendiary bombs together with the fighters, worked in factories - they made shells. For courage and courage they were awarded the medal "For the Defense of Leningrad" and the medal "Valiant Labor in the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945".
November came, Ladoga began to gradually become covered with ice. By November 17, the thickness of the ice reached 100 mm, which was not enough to open the movement. Everyone was waiting for frost ... Famine came in Leningrad.
The monstrous famine that claimed the lives of about a million Leningraders is comparable to the worst humanitarian disasters of the 20th century.
Need is truly inventive. Soups were prepared from yeast, which were counted against the norm of cereals, which was based on cards. A bowl of yeast soup was often the only meal of the day for many thousands of people. From the skins of the skins of calves (young calves) found at tanneries, jelly was cooked. The taste and smell of such jelly was extremely unpleasant, but who paid attention to this? Hunger overwhelmed all feelings. In the mills, for many years, layers of flour dust have accumulated on the walls and ceilings. It was collected, processed and used as an admixture for flour. They shook and knocked out every bag that once contained flour. The shake-outs and baggings from the bags were sieved and immediately sent to the bakery. 18 thousand tons of bread surrogates were found, processed and eaten, not counting malt and oatmeal. These were mainly barley and rye bran, cotton cake, mill dust, germinated grain lifted from the bottom of Lake Ladoga from sunken barges, rice husks, corn sprouts, and sack bags.
Take a look at these photos and you will understand how Leningraders lived in the first blockade winter. Such announcements hung in all the bakeries of Leningrad.
The winter of 1942 was especially difficult, there were severe frosts, the water supply system did not work, it was difficult to get firewood. Water was taken directly from the Neva. Without water, without heat, without light, the day is like a black night. Maybe there is no power in the world to overcome all this.
monument to the blockade cats. In the winter of 1941-1942, there were many rats in the city. They attacked half-starved and exhausted old people and children. By this time, there were no cats or dogs left in the city - those who did not die and left were eaten. Rats not only destroyed the already meager food supplies, they were also potential carriers of the plague. December 3, 1941. Today we ate a fried cat. Very tasty," a 10-year-old boy wrote in his diary. Nevertheless, some townspeople, despite the severe hunger, took pity on their favorites.
"In the spring of 1942, half-dead from hunger, an old woman took her cat outside for a walk. People approached her, thanked her for keeping him." “In March 1942, I suddenly saw a skinny cat on a city street. Several old women stood around her and crossed themselves, and an emaciated, skeleton-like policeman made sure that no one caught the animal.” "In April 1942, passing by the Barricade cinema, I saw a crowd of people at the window of one of the houses. They marveled at an unusual sight: a tabby cat with three kittens was lying on the window sill brightly lit by the sun. Seeing her, I realized that we had survived" .
So they buried Leningraders who died of starvation, killed during the bombing. There was no one to make coffins, and there were no cars to take them to the cemetery. The bodies were piled in certain places and taken to the cemetery.
Blockade…. Far as this word From our peaceful bright days. I say it and see again - Hungry dying children. Children, crying for bread, asked, There is no worse torture than this. They didn't open the gates of Leningrad And they didn't go out to the city wall. How entire neighborhoods were deserted, And how trams froze on the tracks, And mothers who are unable to carry their children to the cemetery.
In the besieged Leningrad This girl lived. She kept her diary in a student's notebook. During the war, Tanya died, Tanya is alive in her memory: Holding her breath for a moment, The world hears her words: “Zhenya died on December 28 at 12:30 in the morning of 1941. Grandmother died on January 25 at 3 pm, 1942. . » And in the night, the sharp light of searchlights pierces the sky. At home there is not a crumb of bread, You will not find a log of firewood. You can't get warm from the oil lamp The pencil trembles in your hand, But the heart bleeds out In a secret diary: Leka died on March 12 at 8 o'clock in the morning, 1942. Uncle Vasya died on April 13 at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, 1942.
The gun storm died down, died down, Only the memory now and then Looks intently into the eyes. Birch trees stretch towards the sun, Grass breaks through, And on the mournful Piskarevsky The words suddenly stop: “Uncle Lyosha died on May 10 at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, 1942. Mom - May 13 at 7:30 am 1942. At the planet of our heart Beats loudly, like an alarm. Do not forget the land of Auschwitz, Buchenwald and Leningrad. Meet the bright day, people, People, listen to the diary: It sounds stronger than guns, That silent children's cry: “The Savichevs are dead. All died. Only Tanya remained!
A notebook remained open on the desk, It didn’t fall out for them to finish writing, to finish reading. When high-explosive bombs and hunger fell on the city. And we will never forget with you, How our peers took the fight. They were only 12, But they were - Leningraders. But the schools continued to operate. It was cold in the classrooms. Everywhere there were stoves "potbelly stoves". Everyone sat in fur coats, hats and mittens. They wrote on old newspapers with pencils. The ink froze in the cold. And after school, the children went to the roof and were on duty there, putting out incendiary bombs or working in the hospital.
Food in Leningrad is over. What to feed them? Far beyond the blockade ring there is food - flour, meat, butter. How to deliver them? Only one road connected the besieged city with the mainland. This road was on water. She is like a legend, like a song, like a banner, This road will have no end - it has run forever through memory, has gone through our hearts forever.
Road service workers daily measured the thickness of the ice on the entire lake, but were unable to accelerate its growth. On November 20, the ice thickness reached 180 mm. Horse carts came onto the ice, and then trucks with food ...
Brave warriors died on Ladoga, car drivers, saving Leningraders from starvation. But the road worked. And already on December 25 they announced the first increase in bread.
Only the military road laid on the ice of Lake Ladoga helped people to survive. Not far from the highway, anti-aircraft installations, wire and minefields are camouflaged to protect the road from fascist soldiers. Not all cars reached the shore, many fell through the ice along with food. Bread to Leningrad, and children to the rear.
Here lie the Leningraders. Here the townspeople are men, women, children. Next to them are Red Army soldiers. All their lives They defended you, Leningrad, Cradle of the Revolution. We cannot list their noble names here, So many of them are under the eternal protection of granite. But know, listening to these stones, Nobody is forgotten, and nothing is forgotten. Olga Bergholz.
