On October 14, 1941, a terrible tragedy occurred at the Tikhvin railway station, which claimed the lives of several hundred Leningrad children fleeing the city besieged by the Nazis.
According to the recollections of Tikhvin residents, the morning of that fateful day was especially warm and sunny. On the tracks at the Tikhvin station there were trains with wounded women and children evacuated from Leningrad, wagons with ammunition and tanks with fuel. These children seemed to be already far from war, hunger and the horrors of the blockade: only a few kilometers remained, and they were in Vologda, on Mainland, in safety. You will no longer need to sit in a bomb shelter for days, starve, freeze, freeze in fear at the sound of a siren...
But at around 9 am, enemy planes appeared in the sky: about 100 bombers were approaching the railway station. The enemy, without threat to himself, dropped high-explosive and incendiary bombs on the heads of defenseless people: there were no means at the station at that time air defense, capable of stopping the raid.
A huge fire started, trains caught fire, fuel tanks and wagons with ammunition exploded. Station workers, ordinary residents, firefighters and Red Army soldiers showed real heroism, rescuing those in trouble, carrying children and the wounded from burning trains. It was impossible to approach the station for several hours: the flames were raging there, shells were exploding, pieces of wood and metal were scattered over several kilometers.
“The children were badly burned, they crawled and hobbled, dying in pain, from station to city, and there were not enough people and carts to help them...”
“Alive, remember! Here are the children of Leningraders, mercilessly killed by the war,” reads the inscription on one of the slabs of the old cemetery in Tikhvin, where the bodies of little Leningraders, whose childhood was cut short by the war, rest in a mass grave.
How many of them died that day in the terrible, bloody meat grinder perpetrated at the station by German pilots is still unknown exactly.
On that day, Tikhvin lost all his firefighters.
They were already far from the blockade -
Leningrad children transported to the rear.
Somewhere there, behind the artillery shelling, there are rumbles,
The howl of sirens, the knock of anti-aircraft guns in the spotlight,
Tired of bomb shelter basements,
Darkened houses, lifeless masses,
Whispers of mothers on the anxious platform of the station:
"Everything will be fine, and there is no need to be afraid!..."
And then the path through Ladoga, engulfed in a storm,
The waves, like a battering ram, hit the barges with acceleration.
Finally, a solid shore - already behind the blockade!
And again the transfer, and again into the carriages.
They were already far from the blockade,
The rescued children were breathing more and more calmly,
And the wheels clattered: “No need to be afraid!
There is no need to be afraid! We go! We go!"
The train stopped, panting, at the Tikhvin station.
The locomotive uncoupled and went to drink water.
Everything around, as in a dream, was peaceful and quiet...
Only suddenly there was a prolonged cry outside the windows: “Air!”
"What's happened?" – “Raid. Come out quickly!..” –
“How was the raid? But we’re far from the front...” –
"Get the children out of the carriages quickly!.."
And the fascist had already dumped the load around the corner.
And again the whistle and howl tore at the children’s souls,
Like at home, in a nightmarish whirlwind of anxiety.
But now the children were not in a solid basement,
And they are completely defenseless, open to death.
The explosions formed a wall to the side, behind the houses.
Joy timidly broke through fear: “Past! Past!”
And the soul again fell to hope, like to a mother -
After all, she is somewhere nearby, inaudibly, unseen...
And over the station again it whistles, howls, presses,
Bombs are getting closer to children, knowing no mercy.
They are already eager to join the children's team.
“Mom!.. You said: there is no need to be afraid!..”
There is at the Tikhvin cemetery, old, green,
Place of memory of fallen battle heroes.
Here, in the days of military glory, banners bow,
A gun salute breaks the minute of silence.
And on the other side in a modest mass grave
The Leningrad children who died here are sleeping.
And the flowers say that they have not been forgotten,
That we cry for them even in the new century.
Let us remain silent near them, gritting our teeth stubbornly,
Let us read again and again the mournful text of the obelisk,
And suddenly you hear voices: “Mom! Mom!”
Come, take us away from here! We're close!.."
(A. Molchanov)
| Return to date October 14 |
Comments:
To the question I really need a poem about the war. given by the author Asya evil the best answer is Robert Rozhdestvensky
(excerpt from the poem "210 steps")
There was a school... Uniform for growth,
Shooting in the morning, drill in vain...
Semi-annual accelerated release -
And on the buttonholes there are two head-to-toe...
The train was moving through lengthy Russia,
I went to war through the flickering birches.
"We will defeat them! We will defeat them!!"
We will prove it to them!!! " - the locomotive hummed.
In the vestibule, toiling against the ringing arrows,
All drafty,
He grew up along the way, this boy -
Thin neck, erect ears.
Only in a dream, having occupied a shelf,
In the maddened tobacco smoke
He forgot about everything for a short time
And he smiled. He dreamed
Something open and blue -
The sky, or maybe a sea wave...
Tanks. And immediately heart-rending: “For battle!”
That's how they met - he and the war.
The air was filled with a hum, a buzz,
The world was broken, it was distorted,
It seemed like a mistake, a vision,
A terrible, monstrous mirage,
Only the vision did not pass...
Following the tanks, at the bridge,
Dusty guys in gray uniforms
They walked and shot from the stomach.
The sleepers stood up and the embankment swayed.
There is nothing visible except the fire.
As if the planet was ending
Where the enemies were now advancing,
As if she was getting smaller...
Cringing from nearby grenade explosions,
Shy, lost and numb
A lieutenant was lying in a dirty ditch...
The boy was lying in the middle of Russia,
All its arable fields, roads and aspens...
What are you doing, platoon commander? Shall we prove it? Can we handle it?
Here he is - a fascist. Prove and master!
Here he is - a fascist. Frantic and powerful
His famous steel howls.
I know it's almost impossible
I know it’s scary, but still, get up!
Stand up, Lieutenant! Do you hear them asking for this?
Re-emerging from nothingness,
Your house, permeated with sunlight,
City, Fatherland, Your Mother!
“Get up, lieutenant!” - the expanses conjure,
Mountains and rivers, snow and flowers,
Tender asks the girl with whom
So I couldn’t meet you!
A distant high school asks,
Became a hospital since September.
Get up! Courtyard Football Champions
They ask you, their goalkeeper!
The villages, smelling of smoke, are asking
The sun is ringing like a bell in the sky,
Gagarin asks from the future!
If you don't rise, it won't fly!
Your unborn children are asking,
History asks... And then
The lieutenant stood up and walked across the planet,
Shouting out of order: “Come on!”
He stood up and walked towards the enemy, as if blindly.
My back immediately became wet.
The lieutenant stood up... and came across a bullet,
Big and solid, like a wall...
He shuddered as if from the winter wind...
He fell slowly, like a chant...
He fell for a long time. He fell instantly.
He didn't even have time to shoot.
And for him there came a complete
And endless silence...
I don’t know how this battle ended.
I know how this war ended.
He's waiting for me beyond the inevitable.
I see him night and day:
A skinny boy who only managed to
Stand under fire
and walk under fire...
Answer from 22 answers[guru]
Hello! Here is a selection of topics with answers to your question: I really need a poem about the war.
Answer from Mansion[guru]
BARBARY Moussa Jalil.
They and the children drove the Mothers
And they forced me to dig holes,
And they stood there, a bunch of savages,
And they laughed in hoarse voices.
Lined up at the edge of the abyss
Powerless women, skinny guys.
The drunken major has arrived
And with gloomy eyes he looked at the doomed...
The muddy rain was noisy
In the foliage of neighboring groves,
And on the fields, clothed in darkness,
And the clouds descended over the earth
Chasing each other furiously
NO! I won't forget this day.
I will never forget forever.
I saw rivers crying like children.
How Mother Earth cried in rage
I saw with my own eyes,
Like the mournful sun, washed with tears,
It fell through the clouds onto the fields,
The last time the children were kissed
Last time...
The neighboring forest was noisy.
It seemed like he was going crazy now
Its foliage raged angrily.
The darkness was thickening around,
I saw a powerful oak tree suddenly fall.
He fell, letting out a heavy sigh,
The children suddenly became frightened
They clung to the Mothers, clinging to the hems,
And there was a sharp sound of a shot.
Breaking the curse
What came out of the woman alone.
Sick little boy
He hid his head in the folds of his dress
Not yet an old woman -
She looked full of horror,
How can she not lose her mind?
I understood everything, little one understood everything.
"Hide me Mommy, you don't have to die"
He cries and like a leaf,
Can't stop shaking.
The child that is dearest to her.
Mother bent down and picked up the child
She pressed it to her heart, directly against the muzzle.
“I, Mom; I want to live, no need, Mom.
Let me go, let me go, what are you waiting for? "
And the child wants to escape from his hands
And the crying is terrible, and the voice is thin
And it pierces your heart like a knife.
-Don't be afraid, my boy,
Now you can breathe freely.
Close your eyes, but don't hide your head,
So that the executioner doesn't bury you alive.
Be patient, son, be patient.
It won't hurt now...
And he closed his eyes, and the blood ran red down his neck
A thin ribbon writhing
Two lives fall to the ground, merging,
Two lives and one love.
Thunder struck, the wind whistled in the clouds,
The earth began to cry in deaf anguish.
And how many tears are hot and flammable
My land, tell me, what's wrong with you?
You have often seen human grief,
But have you experienced it at least once?
Such a shame and such barbarity.
My land, your enemies are destroying you,
But raise the banner of great truth higher
Wash its lands with bloody tears
And let the rays pierce him,
Let them destroy mercilessly
Those barbarians, those savages,
That the blood of children is swallowed greedily
Blood of our Mothers.
Answer from Prostetsky[newbie]
It seemed cold to the flowers
and they faded slightly from the dew.
The dawn that walked through the grass and bushes,
searched through German binoculars.
A flower, covered in dewdrops, clung to the flower,
and the border guard extended his hands to them.
And the Germans, having finished drinking coffee, at that moment
they climbed into the tanks and closed the hatches.
Everything breathed such silence,
it seemed that the whole earth was still asleep.
Who knew that between peace and war
Only about five minutes left!
I wouldn't sing about anything else,
and would glorify my journey all my life,
if only a modest army trumpeter
I sounded the alarm for these five minutes.
Answer from Aiza Galbatsova[newbie]
N. Nekrasov
Listening to the horrors of war,
With every new casualty of the battle
I feel sorry for not my friend, not my wife,
I'm sorry not for the hero himself...
Alas! the wife will be comforted,
And a friend best friend will forget;
But somewhere there is one soul -
She will remember it to the grave!
Among our hypocritical days
And all sorts of vulgarity and prose
I've spied the only ones in the world
Holy, sincere tears -
Those are the tears of poor mothers!
They will not forget their children,
Those who died in the bloody field,
How not to pick up a weeping willow
Of its drooping branches...
Answer from Eurovision[guru]
Anatoly Molchanov. Tikhvin, October 14, 1941
They were already far from the blockade -
Leningrad children transported to the rear.
Somewhere there, behind the artillery shelling, there are rumbles,
The howl of sirens, the knock of anti-aircraft guns in the spotlight,
Tired of bomb shelter basements,
Darkened houses, lifeless masses,
Whispers of mothers on the anxious platform of the station:
“Everything will be fine, and there is no need to be afraid!...”
And then the path through Ladoga, engulfed in a storm,
The waves, like a battering ram, hit the barges with acceleration.
Finally, a solid shore - already behind the blockade!
And again the transfer, and again into the carriages.
They were already far from the blockade,
The rescued children were breathing more and more calmly,
And the wheels clattered: “No need to be afraid!
There is no need to be afraid! We go! We go! "
The train stopped, panting, at the Tikhvin station.
The locomotive uncoupled and went to drink water.
Everything around, as in a dream, was peaceful and quiet...
Only suddenly there was a prolonged cry outside the windows: “Air!”
“What happened?” – “Raid. Come out quickly!..” –
“How was the raid? But we are far from the front...” –
"Get the children out of the carriages quickly!.."
And the fascist had already dumped the load around the corner.
And again the whistle and howl tore at the children’s souls,
Like at home, in a nightmarish whirlwind of anxiety.
But now the children were not in a solid basement,
And they are completely defenseless, open to death.
The explosions formed a wall to the side, behind the houses.
Joy timidly broke through fear: “Past! Past!”
And the soul again fell to hope, like to a mother -
After all, she is somewhere nearby, inaudibly, unseen...
And over the station again it whistles, howls, presses,
Bombs are getting closer to children, knowing no mercy.
They are already eager to join the children's team.
“Mom!.. You said: there is no need to be afraid!..”
There is at the Tikhvin cemetery, old, green,
Place of memory of fallen battle heroes.
Here, in the days of military glory, banners bow,
A gun salute breaks the minute of silence.
And on the other side in a modest mass grave
The Leningrad children who died here are sleeping.
And the flowers say that they have not been forgotten,
That we cry for them even in the new century.
Let us remain silent near them, gritting our teeth stubbornly,
Let us read again and again the mournful text of the obelisk,
And suddenly you hear voices: “Mom! Mom!”
Come, take us away from here! We're close!.. "
Answer from Maria Sholokhova[guru]
DEATH OF A FIGHTER.
I hear the whistle of a bullet, my chest is burning,
I see a ray of sunshine through my eyelashes,
No, I don’t believe that he was killed...
After all, my life is now a dream.
I smell the earth,
The battlefield is softer than feathers,
I shout to the guys: “I’m alive!
And I see the sky is blue.
Don't close your eyelids to me
After all, I smell, hear, see everything,
Not very clear, like in a dream
And the sky seemed to get closer.
And the body is lighter. I'm soaring!
Battle, battle - a forgotten mirage.
I see night, dawn, dawn,
But I’m still alive, I’m not dead.
CALL OF THE ANCESTORS, 41st.
Blockade, 41st year,
Winter, the frost is fierce,
Someone will die today
It will fall on the pavement...
In thin hands 120 grams
Or cake or bread...
The candle burns in the evening
Under the Leningrad sky.
But the strength of spirit cannot be broken
With a weakened body,
They just needed to live
While the war was raging.
And now it’s in our blood
That pain and memory of ancestors,
The fire of their hearts has not gone out,
But it rarely flares up.
The shadows of our great-grandfathers live in us,
We don't need more...
And our comfort is a little disturbing
That old blockade
It's like a call from silence,
Calls for posterity:
"Wake up from the turmoil, tradesman,
Hear my quiet call."
Concert script
dedicated to the 70th anniversary of the Great Victory
Music teacher MBOU NOSH No. 11 Gurova I.Yu.
Novorossiysk 2015
The song "Holy War" is played.
1 Student :
1941 promised a warm, carefree summer for children, they could swim and relax. The guys passed their exams, graduated from school, and were planning to go to college. But none of this was destined to come true, the war began
At dawn on June 22, 1941, one of the most long days in the year, Germany went to war against the Soviet Union.
Song “Four days before the war” (girls ensemble)
2 Student:
People shed blood in battles:How many thousands will die in a day!Smelling the scent of prey, close,Wolves prowl all night long.
Song “I flew like an angel and saw the smoke of battles”
1 Student :
Men went to the front to fight, women continued to work,
day and night in factories and factories: sewing overcoats, knitting warm ones
mittens, socks, baked bread... And they also wrote letters to the soldiers,
who were told about their home, how they expected victory and
returning home their sons, brothers, husbands...
2. Student: .
And our soldiers, in between battles, remembered their home,
someone wrote a letter. Many families still have soldiers'
triangle letters. Like these ones.
3. Student:
Hello, dear Maxim!
Hello, my beloved son!
I'm writing from the front line,
Tomorrow morning - back into battle!
We will drive out the fascists,
Take care, son, mother,
Forget sadness and sadness.
I will return victorious!
I will finally hug you.
Goodbye. Your father.
3.Song “The movie is on, the platoon is fighting.”
1.Student:
Any war is a huge emotional wound in human hearts, and especially in children's hearts. They endure various battles hundreds of times more difficult. During the war years it is very difficult, but especially for children. After all, childhood is a time of carefree fun, blue skies above your head. And what does it feel like for the guys when they could die at any moment? It's very scary.
Poem “Tikhvin, October 14, 1941”, author Molchanov A.V.
They were already far from the blockade -
Leningrad children transported to the rear.
Somewhere there, behind the artillery shelling, there are rumbles,
The howl of sirens, the knock of anti-aircraft guns in the spotlight,
Tired of bomb shelter basements,
Darkened houses, lifeless masses,
Whispers of mothers on the anxious platform of the station:
"Everything will be fine, and there is no need to be afraid!..."
And then the path through Ladoga, engulfed in a storm,
The waves, like a battering ram, hit the barges with acceleration.
Finally, a solid shore - already behind the blockade!
And again the transfer, and again into the carriages.
They were already far from the blockade,
The rescued children were breathing more and more calmly,
And the wheels clattered: “No need to be afraid!
There is no need to be afraid! We go! We go!"
The train stopped, panting, at the Tikhvin station.
The locomotive uncoupled and went to drink water.
Everything around, as in a dream, was peaceful and quiet...
Only suddenly there was a prolonged cry outside the windows: “Air!”
"What's happened?" - "Raid. Come out quickly!.." -
“How was the raid? But we are far from the front...” -
"Get the children out of the carriages quickly!.."
And the fascist had already dumped the load around the corner.
And again the whistle and howl tore at the children’s souls,
Like at home, in a nightmarish whirlwind of anxiety.
But now the children were not in a solid basement,
And they are completely defenseless, open to death.
The explosions formed a wall to the side, behind the houses.
Joy timidly broke through fear: “Past! Past!”
And the soul again fell to hope, like to a mother -
After all, she is somewhere nearby, inaudibly, unseen...
And over the station again it whistles, howls, presses,
Bombs are getting closer to children, knowing no mercy.
They are already eager to join the children's team.
“Mom!.. You said: there is no need to be afraid!..”
There is at the Tikhvin cemetery, old, green,
Place of memory of fallen battle heroes.
Here, in the days of military glory, banners bow,
A gun salute breaks the minute of silence.
And on the other side in a modest mass grave
The Leningrad children who died here are sleeping.
And the flowers say that they have not been forgotten,
That we cry for them even in the new century.
Let us remain silent near them, gritting our teeth stubbornly,
Let us read again and again the mournful text of the obelisk,
Come, take us away from here! We're close!.."
2.Student:
War veterans are our conscience and honor,
Our pride and glory that is!
And I believe the country will never die,
While at least one patriot is alive on earth!
The grandson puts carnations at the granite slab,
He will not yet understand my quiet sorrow!
How I wish he never knew war,
I just remembered that my great-grandfather defended the country!
Song “Tell me, father, how the sky cries about those killed in that war.”
3.Student:
Children and war are two incompatible concepts. No one can tell how a seven-year-old girl felt, before whose eyes her sister and brother were torn apart by a bomb. What was a hungry ten-year-old boy thinking about in besieged Leningrad, boiling a leather shoe in water, looking at his dead relatives?
Poem by a girl from besieged Leningrad N.V. Spiridonova
Night. Air raid warning.
How terrible is the Messerschmitt howl.
Our anti-aircraft guns are hitting, but there are a lot of planes -
We can't sleep. It's an unequal battle.
We move to the same bed
And mom sits at our feet,
“They’ll kill us, so together,” he says, “let’s wait.”
But then the radio cleared the alarm.
Suddenly my brother says: “I’m hungry,
Mom, give me at least a tiny bit from tomorrow's share."
“That bread is for tomorrow, I can’t touch it”
And he asks everything, without ceasing:
"And if a German kills us with a bomb,
And the bread will remain in the cupboard?"
And mom: “Well, if he doesn’t kill,
Where can I get you bread for tomorrow, children?
That bread for tomorrow. I can not. I'm not giving it".
She hugged her brother tightly to her chest,
And tears rolled down my cheeks.
As if she were to blame for us.
1.Student:
Do you know, father,
How you are honored here!
Do you know, father,
How the fireworks rejoice!
Do you hear, father,
How they sing your glory,
How victorious “Victory Day” sounds in the ranks!
Song "May, spring and happy faces."
1. Student:
The sun is shining on Victory Day
And it will always shine for us.
Our grandfathers were in fierce battles
They managed to defeat the enemy.
We will be brave like our grandfathers
Native land we will protect
And the bright sun of Victory
We won't give it to anyone.
2Student:
To protect the Fatherland,
You have to become strong and dexterous,
And always be only the first -
I want to become a soldier!
Song "My Army"
3Student:
Difficult to learn, easy to fight.
We will fight any enemy.
We will show you our courage,
And we are not afraid of difficulties.
Dance "Apple"
A poem about Novorossiysk “Nord-Ost swirled the breakers, Nord-Ost swept away the sands” by Y. Drunina.
Dance "Novorossiysk"
1. Presenter:
How beautiful Russia is
On this bright May morning!
Birds are flying outside the window,
The foliage shimmers like mother-of-pearl.
We give carnations to veterans,
Remembering brave fighters.
We will not forget the great feat,
The feat of our grandfathers and our fathers.
Song "Victory Spring of '45"
During the days of war
The eyes of a seven year old girl
Like two dimmed lights.
More noticeable on a child's face
Great, heavy melancholy.
She is silent, no matter what you ask,
Joking with her–
is silent in response.
It's like she's not seven, not eight,
And many, many bitter years.
(A. Barto)
Man
My father was called to the front.
And for this reason
I have to live from now on
As a man should.
Mother is always at work.
The apartment was empty.
But in a man's house
There's always something to do.
Buckets full of water.
The apartment has been swept.
Washing dishes is easy -
There's not a drop of fat on her.
Coupons from three cards
They give me a haircut at the grocery store.
Breadwinner and breadwinner.
Man. The eldest in the house.
I'm sincerely sure
That he became a substitute for his father.
But in that distant life,
Blessed, pre-war,
Father didn't study
Things like this.
Mother replaced father.
I help my mother.
(V. Berestov)
Boys
The boys left with greatcoats on their shoulders,
The boys left - they bravely sang songs,
The boys retreated through the dusty steppes,
Boys died, where - they themselves did not know...
The boys ended up in terrible barracks,
Fierce dogs were chasing the boys.
They killed boys for running away on the spot,
The boys did not sell their conscience and honor...
The boys did not want to give in to fear,
The boys rose to attack at the sound of the whistle.
In the black smoke of battles, on sloping armor
The boys were leaving, clutching their machine guns.
The boys - brave soldiers - have seen
Volga - in forty-first,
Spree - in '45,
The boys showed for four years,
Who are the boys of our people?
(I. Karpov)
Children's shoe
Listed in the column
With pure German precision,
It was in the warehouse
Among adult and children's shoes.
His book number:
"Three thousand two hundred and nine."
"Children's shoes. Worn.
Right shoe. With a patch..."
Who repaired it? Where?
In Melitopol? In Krakow? In Vienna?
Who wore it? Vladek?
Or the Russian girl Zhenya?..
How did he get here, into this warehouse?
Damn on this list
Under serial number
"Three thousand two hundred and nine"?
Wasn't there another one?
There are roads in the whole world,
Except the one by which
These baby feet have arrived
To this terrible place
Where they hung, burned and tortured,
And then in cold blood
Were the clothes of the dead counted?
Here in all languages
They tried to pray for salvation:
Czechs, Greeks, Jews,
French, Austrians, Belgians.
The earth has absorbed here
The smell of decay and spilled blood
Hundreds of thousands of people
Different nations and different classes...
The hour of reckoning has come!
Executioners and murderers - on your knees!
The judgment of nations is coming
Following the bloody trail of crimes.
Among hundreds of clues -
This children's boot has a patch.
Taken from the victim by Hitler
Three thousand two hundred and nine.
(S. Mikhalkov)
ten year old man
Criss-cross blue stripes
On the windows of shrunken huts.
Native thin birch trees
They look anxiously at the sunset.
And the dog on the warm ashes,
Smeared in ash up to the eyes,
He's been looking for someone all day
And he doesn’t find it in the village...
Throwing on an old zip coat,
Through the gardens, without roads,
The boy is in a hurry, in a hurry
According to the sun–
due east.
No one on a long journey
Didn't dress him warmer
Nobody hugged me at the door
And he didn’t look after him.
In an unheated, broken bathhouse
Passing the night like an animal,
How long has he been breathing
I couldn’t warm my frozen hands!
But never on his cheek
No tears paved the way.
Must be too much at once
His eyes saw it.
Having seen everything, ready for anything,
Falling chest-deep into the snow,
He ran to his fair-haired
Ten year old man.
He knew that somewhere nearby,
Howl maybe behind that mountain,
Him as a friend on a dark evening
The Russian sentry will call out.
And he, clinging to his overcoat,
Relatives hearing voices,
Will tell you everything you looked at
His childish eyes.
(S. Mikhalkov)
Scary tale
Everything will change around.
The capital will be rebuilt.
Children awakened by fright
Will never be forgiven.
Fear will not be forgotten,
Furrowed faces.
The enemy will have to do it a hundredfold
You will have to pay for this.
I will remember his shelling.
Time will count in full
When he did what he wanted
Like Herod in Bethlehem.
A new, better century will come.
Eyewitnesses will disappear.
The torment of little cripples
They won't be able to forget.
(B. Pasternak, 1941)
"Not" and "Neither"
Smolensky told me
Boy:
- In our village school
It was a lesson.
We passed through the particles
"Not" and "neither".
And in the village there were Krauts
During these days.
Our schools were robbed
And at home.
Our school has become naked,
Like a prison.
From the gate of the neighbor's hut
Angular
A German was looking through our window
Hourly.
And the teacher said: “The phrase
Let me,
To meet in it right away
"Neither" and "not."
We looked at the soldier
At the gate
And they said: "From retribution
NO damn fascist
WILL NOT leave!"
(S. Marshak)
War
It's very cold in the classroom
I breathe on the pen,
I lower my head
And I write, I write.
First declension -
Feminine starting with "a"
Immediately, without a doubt,
I deduce - “war”.
What's most important
Today for the country?
In the genitive case:
No—what?—“war.”
And behind the howling word -
Mom died...
And the battle is still far away,
So that I can live.
I send curses to the “war”,
I only remember the “war”...
Maybe for me as an example
Choose “silence”?
But we measure it by “war”
Nowadays life and death
I'll get "excellent" -
This is also revenge...
About the “war” he is sad,
That's a proud lesson
And I remembered him
I'm here forever.
(Lyudmila Milanich)
History lesson
The war is still raging nearby,
At night the whole city goes dark,
We find a machine gun in the attic,
During breaks we light gunpowder.
Family breadwinners, messengers,
Frozen enough in the queues,
Ogoltsy sat at their desks
And dream listeners have plenty.
The glare on the walls trembles merrily:
Candle and twilight joy.
And, thank God, the dictation was cancelled.
No electricity - well, no need!
Today the world will be a little mixed up,
Its mysterious shadows are growing...
You treasured high words
For these semi-fairytale moments:
— The Nepryadva flowed to the Don, and for a thousand years
Nobody knew that there was such a river...
Peresvet is dying on the field,
And Mamai’s cavalry retreats.
(E. Portnyagin)
The major brought the boy on a gun carriage...
The major brought the boy on a gun carriage.
Mother died. The son did not say goodbye to her.
For ten years in this and this world
These ten days will count towards him.
He was taken from the fortress, from Brest.
The carriage was scratched by bullets.
It seemed to my father that the place was safer
From now on there is no child in the world.
The father was wounded and the cannon was broken.
Tied to a shield so as not to fall,
Holding a sleeping toy to your chest,
The gray-haired boy was sleeping on the gun carriage.
We walked towards him from Russia.
Waking up, he waved his hand to the troops...
You say there are others
That I was there and it’s time for me to go home...
You know this grief firsthand,
And it broke our hearts.
Who ever saw this boy,
He won't be able to come home until the end.
I must see with the same eyes
With which I cried there in the dust,
How will that boy return with us?
And he will kiss a handful of his soil.
For everything that you and I treasured,
The military law called us to battle.
Now my home is not where we lived before,
And where he was taken from the boy.
(K. Simonov)
A barefoot boy in a cap
A barefoot boy in a cap
With a thin shoulder knot
I made a halt on the road,
To snack on dry rations.
A crust of bread, two potatoes -
Everything has a harsh weight and count.
And, like a big one, there are crumbs from the palm of your hand
With great care - into the mouth.
Headlong for passing cars
They carry dusty sides.
The man looks, thinking.
- Son, must be an orphan?
And on the face, in the eyes, it seems -
Annoyance is a long-standing shadow.
Anyone and everyone is talking about the same thing,
And how can they not be too lazy to ask?
Looking into your face seriously,
He still hesitates to open his mouth.
- Well, orphan. - And immediately: - Uncle,
You'd better let him finish smoking.
(A. Tvardovsky)
I won't forget
I came from afar,
I came back from the war...
Now I'm learning to become a turner,
We need turners.
Now I'm standing
At the machine
And I remember my mother,
She called me
Son
And warm,
Checkered scarf
She loved to cover.
I won't forget
How the mother was led
I heard her scream
In the distance...
Little brother was
Still alive
He fought
Called my father
Bayonet
Fascist sentry
Pushed him
From the porch.
I won't forget
How the mother was led
Her scarf flashed
In the distance...
(A. Barto)
Returned...
We haven't seen dad
A long time ago,
Since then
Like on the streets
It became dark...
Mom needs to work
Evening shift
Mom left
She entrusted Lena to me.
Lenka and I are alone
We stay in the apartment.
Suddenly a military man comes in
In a green uniform.
-Who did you come to? —
I asked the major.—
Mom from work
Will not be back soon.
Suddenly - I look -
He rushes to Lenka,
Picked her up
He sat me down on my knees.
He's bothering me too
Without end:
- What are you doing, son?
Don't you recognize your father?
I hug the major
I don't understand anything:
-You don't look like dad!
Look - he's younger! —
I took the portrait out of the closet -
Look - there's my dad!
He laughs at me:
- Oh, Petka, my dear!
Then he started
Toss Lenka -
I was afraid:
It hits the wall.
(A. Barto)
Boy from the village of Popovki
Among the snowdrifts and funnels
In a village destroyed to the ground,
The child stands with his eyes closed -
The last citizen of the village.
Scared white kitten
A fragment of a stove and pipe -
And that's all that survived
From my former life and hut.
White-headed Petya is standing
And cries like an old man without tears,
He lived in the world for three years,
And what I learned and endured.
In his presence they burned down his hut,
They drove mom away from the yard,
And in a hastily dug grave
The murdered sister lies.
Don't let go of your rifle, soldier,
Until you take revenge on the enemy
For the blood shed in Popovka,
And for the child in the snow.
(S. Marshak)
During the blockade days we never found out...
In the days of siege
We never found out:
Between youth and childhood
Where is the line?
We're in forty-three
Medals were given out
And only in forty-fifth -
Passports.
And there is no problem in that...
But for adults
Having already lived for many years,
Suddenly it's scary
That we won't
Neither older nor more mature,
What then...
(Yu. Voronov)
Boy from the siege
I couldn't cry loudly from hunger,
You don't remember any of this
They found you half alive in the rubble
Girls from the air defense squad.
And someone shouted: “Girls, take it!”
And someone lifted him carefully from the ground.
They put a stale slice of bread in their hand,
They wrapped it up and brought it to the company.
Growling a little at such an invention,
Their commander, although he was very strict,
I entered you as a soldier in the ranks,
As they say, for boiler rations.
And the girls, coming straight from their shift,
They sat down, surrounding your bed,
And you are the newfound word “mother”
I still didn’t know which one to name.
(I. Rink)
Dreams of a besieged boy
On the windows - boring crosses...
And the cannonade doesn’t stop for days,
And bright boyish dreams
They lead me through my grandfather's garden.
I really want to touch you with my hand
To apple transparent ripe skin,
See smiles and peace again
On the faces of hurrying passers-by!
I really want my mom to
As before, she laughed contagiously,
Explosion-scarred land
I took a swim in the flower dew again!
A light paper kite with a breeze
Rush up into the open sky.
And eat - excitedly!
Down to the crumbs!
Entirely!
A loaf of delicious-smelling bread!
(Dream Svetlana )
Children in Auschwitz
Men tortured children.
Smart. On purpose. Skillfully.
They did everyday things
They worked and tortured children.
And this every day again:
Cursing, swearing for no reason...
But the children didn’t understand
What do men want from them?
For what - offensive words,
Beatings, hunger, growling dogs?
And the children thought at first
What kind of disobedience is this?
They couldn't imagine
What was open to everyone:
According to the ancient logic of the earth,
Children expect protection from adults.
And the days went by, as terrible as death,
And the children became exemplary.
But they kept beating them.
Also.
Again.
And they were not absolved of guilt.
They grabbed people.
They begged. And they loved it.
But the men had "ideas"
Men tortured children.
I'm alive. I'm breathing. Love people.
But life can be hateful to me,
As soon as I remember: it happened!
Men tortured children!
(
Naum Korzhavin)
They and their children drove their mothers away...
They drove the mothers with their children
And they forced me to dig a hole, but they themselves
They stood there, a bunch of savages,
And they laughed in hoarse voices.
Lined up at the edge of the abyss
Powerless women, skinny guys...
No, I won't forget this day,
I will never forget, forever!
I saw rivers crying like children,
And Mother Earth wept in rage...
I heard: a powerful oak suddenly fell,
He fell, letting out a heavy sigh.
The children were suddenly seized with fear -
They huddled close to their mothers, clinging to their hems.
And there was a sharp sound of a shot...
- I, mother, want to live. No need, mom...
(Musa Jalil)
Doll
Much has faded from memory now,
but a trifle, a trifle, lives:
lost girl doll
on crossed iron tracks.
Steam from locomotives above the platform
swam low, leaving for the plain...
Warm rain whispered in the birches,
but no one noticed the rain.
The echelons then went to the east,
walked silently, without light and water,
full of sudden and cruel,
bitter human misfortune.
The girl screamed and asked
and tore from her mother’s hands,—
she seemed so beautiful
and this doll suddenly became desirable.
But no one gave her toys,
and the crowd, hurrying to board,
the doll was trampled by the heating
into liquid flowing mud.
Little one won't believe death
and she won’t understand the separation...
So at least with this tiny loss
the war reached her.
There is nowhere to escape from a strange thought:
this is not a toy, not a trifle,—
this may be a childhood memory
on crossed iron tracks.
(V. Tushnova, 1943)
They were already far from the blockade -
Leningrad children transported to the rear.
Somewhere there, behind the artillery shelling, there are rumbles,
The howl of sirens, the knock of anti-aircraft guns in the spotlight,
Tired of bomb shelter basements,
Darkened houses, lifeless masses,
Whispers of mothers on the anxious platform of the station:
"Everything will be fine, and there is no need to be afraid!..."
And then the path through Ladoga, engulfed in a storm,
The waves, like a battering ram, hit the barges with acceleration.
Finally, a solid shore - already behind the blockade!
And again the transfer, and again into the carriages.
They were already far from the blockade,
The rescued children were breathing more and more calmly,
And the wheels clattered: “No need to be afraid!
There is no need to be afraid! We go! We go!"
The train stopped, panting, at the Tikhvin station.
The locomotive uncoupled and went to drink water.
Everything around, as in a dream, was peaceful and quiet...
Only suddenly there was a prolonged cry outside the windows: “Air!”
"What's happened?" – “Raid. Come out quickly!..” –
“How was the raid? But we’re far from the front...” –
"Get the children out of the carriages quickly!.."
And the fascist had already dumped the load around the corner.
And again the whistle and howl tore at the children’s souls,
Like at home, in a nightmarish whirlwind of anxiety.
But now the children were not in a solid basement,
And they are completely defenseless, open to death.
The explosions formed a wall to the side, behind the houses.
Joy timidly broke through fear: “Past! Past!”
And the soul again fell to hope, like to a mother -
After all, she is somewhere nearby, inaudibly, unseen...
And over the station again it whistles, howls, presses,
Bombs are getting closer to children, knowing no mercy.
They are already eager to join the children's team.
“Mom!.. You said: there is no need to be afraid!..”
There is at the Tikhvin cemetery, old, green,
Place of memory of fallen battle heroes.
Here, in the days of military glory, banners bow,
A gun salute breaks the minute of silence.
And on the other side in a modest mass grave
The Leningrad children who died here are sleeping.
And the flowers say that they have not been forgotten,
That we cry for them even in the new century.
Let us remain silent near them, gritting our teeth stubbornly,
Let us read again and again the mournful text of the obelisk,
And suddenly you hear voices: “Mom! Mom!”
Come, take us away from here! We're close!.."
(A. Molchanov)
Ballad of a Doll
The barge accepted the precious cargo -
The children of the blockade sat in it.
The faces are not childish, the color of starch,
There is grief in my heart.
The girl clutched the doll to her chest.
The old tugboat left the pier,
He pulled the barge towards distant Kobon.
Ladoga gently rocked the children,
Hiding the big wave for a while.
The girl, hugging the doll, dozed off.
A black shadow ran across the water,
Two Messerschmitts fell into a dive.
Bombs, baring their sting fuses,
They howled angrily in a deadly rush.
The girl pressed the doll harder...
The explosion tore the barge apart and crushed it.
Ladoga suddenly swung open to the bottom
And it swallowed up both old and small.
Only one doll floated out,
The one that the girl pressed to her chest...
The wind of the past shakes the memory,
In strange visions, it disturbs you in your sleep.
I often get big eyes
Those who remained on the Ladoga bottom.
Dreaming as if in a dark, damp depth
A girl is looking for a floating doll.
(A. Molchanov)
In memory of Leningrad children who died at Lychkovo station
There are places on earth whose names are like shackles,
They keep in memory what remains in the sad distance.
Lychkovo became such a place of sorrow and brotherhood for us -
A small village on the edge of Novgorod land.
Here on a cloudless July day in 1941
The enemy, coming from the sky, bombed the passenger train -
A whole train of Leningrad children, twelve carriages,
Those that the city wanted to keep in these quiet places.
Who could have imagined in Leningrad in the alarming June
That the fascists will so quickly find themselves on the other side,
That children are sent not to the rear, but towards the war,
And cars with crosses will hang over their trains?..
They could see through their sights that there were no soldiers, no guns,
only children are running away from the carriages - dozens of children!..
But the pilots calmly and accurately bombed the vehicles,
Grinning with his malicious Aryan grin.
And boys and girls rushed around the station in fear,
And the crosses loomed ominously on their wings,
And dresses and shirts flashed among the flames,
And the earth and bushes bled with childish flesh.
Screams and crying were drowned out in the roar, roar, and noise of the Junkers,
Someone, dying himself, tried to save another...
We will never forget this tragedy.
And we will never forgive the fascist killer pilots.
How can you forget how the children were collected piece by piece,
To be buried in a mass grave, like fallen soldiers?
how over them, without shame, and the men wept
And they swore revenge... Is it possible to forgive all this!
In Rus' there is no foreign grief, no foreign misfortune,
And the Lychkovites considered the misfortune of the Leningraders to be theirs.
But who wouldn’t be touched by the murder of defenseless children?
There is no pain worse than seeing children suffer.
Sleeping in eternal sleep in Lychkovo cemetery
in a humble grave
Leningrad children are far from home and mothers.
But the Lychkov women replaced their mothers.
Giving warmth to their cold bodies,
Covering the grave of innocent sufferers with flowers,
Weeping bitterly over them in the days of sorrow and glory of the country
And keeping the whole village dear and bitter memory
About complete strangers, unknown, but still family.
And they erected it in Lychkovo on the square, near the station,
A mournful monument to the children who died in the damned war:
In front of a torn block is a girl,
as if amidst explosions, on fire,
In mortal horror, she pressed her trembling hand to her heart...
(They say that at low tide her drop of bronze ran like a tear
And it remained on the left cheek - until the end of days.)
And trains run along the rails. Stop - Lychkovo.
passengers rush to see the monument, ask questions,
Embed every word of a terrible story into your heart,
So that the entire country does not forget the Lychkov pain, does not forgive
(A. Molchanov)
Flower of Life
Along the Road of Life - smoothed, straightened,
Flooded with asphalt - a stream of cars rushes by.
On the left, on the mound, looking towards the sun
They are greeted by a white stone Flower.
In the imperishable memory of the children under siege
On sacred ground he is forever raised,
And to the warm hearts of all children in the world
He is addressed with a call to Friendship and Peace.
Brake, driver! Hold on, people!
Come closer, bowing your heads.
Remember those who will not grow up,
Those who overshadowed the city with their children's hearts.
Birches whisper along the Road of Life,
The gray hair is shaggy by the daring breeze.
Don't be ashamed, people, and don't hide your tears,
The stone Flower cries with you.
How many of them died - young Leningraders?
How many will not hear the thunder of peaceful thunderstorms?
We clench our teeth so as not to burst into tears.
We don't have enough tears to mourn everyone.
They were buried in mass graves.
It was a siege ritual, like war, cruel.
And we didn’t bring them flowers then.
Let the Flower bloom here now in their memory.
It has grown through stones that are stronger than centuries,
Raised a white petal above the forest.
To the entire Russian land, to the entire earthly planet
This white stone Flower is visible.
(A. Molchanov)
In memory of the 13 million children who died in World War II
Thirteen million children's lives
Burned in the hellish flames of war.
Their laughter will not spray fountains of joy
To the peaceful blossoming of spring.
Their dreams will not take off in a magical flock
Over serious adults
And in some ways humanity will lag behind,
And in some ways the whole world will become poorer.
Those who burn clay pots,
They grow grain and build cities,
Who take care of the land
For life, happiness, peace and work.
Without them, Europe immediately aged,
For many generations there is a lack of crops
And sadness with hope, like a forest burning:
When will the new undergrowth begin to grow?
A mournful monument was erected to them in Poland,
And in Leningrad - a stone Flower,
So that it stays in people's memories longer
The past wars have a tragic outcome.
Thirteen million children's lives -
Bloody trail of the brown plague.
Their dead eyes reproachfully
They look into our souls from the darkness of the grave,
From the ashes of Buchenwald and Khatyn,
From the glare of Piskarev's fire:
“Will the burning memory really cool down?
Will people really not save the world?
Their lips were parched in their last cry,
In the dying call of their dear mothers...
Oh, mothers of countries small and great!
Hear them and remember them!
(A. Molchanov)
Poems about the postwoman
She's not fifteen. Girl.
She is short and very thin.
Letter carrier, postwoman,
Nicknamed Nyurka-trouble.
In the heat and in the slush, in a blizzard with cold
With a leather bag at the ready
Nyurka needs to deliver mail
Five villages around.
Two little brothers at home
My mother has been sick for almost a year.
Thank God, my father writes from the front -
They wait and believe that he will come.
He will come and everything will be as before,
Like in a distant, distant yesterday.
Just don’t deprive me, God, of hope...
And it's time to go to work again.
For the kids - potatoes in the oven,
She has a bag at the ready in the morning.
And what about being hungry... It’s easier to run
Five villages around.
In the villages there are old people and children,
Women are in the field, now sowing, now reaping.
The postwoman will be noticed in the distance
And they wait with heartfelt anxiety.
The triangle is alive! Luck!
If a gray government envelope -
They will be silent, they will scream, they will cry...
And the white light will fade in the eyes...
It will pinch the girl's heart
From human grief and troubles...
This bag is too heavy
If there is trouble there, hello.
The black news is a funeral,
A series of bitter grief.
Letter carrier, postwoman
Without guilt they gave a name - Trouble.
Still a young girl,
Only the braids are full of gray hair.
Letter carrier, postwoman,
Spreading news from the war.
(T. Chernovskaya)
Vasily Vasilievich
In the great Russian forge behind the stone mountain
It's standing, humming, and the license plate factory is working.
Vasil Vasilievich arrives there just before dawn
And he cheerfully commands: “Get to work, turner!
There is probably no better turner in the entire Urals.
With light blue eyes, with a curly head
The rear guard is working and trying.
Newspaper photographers run to take pictures of him.
No one can overtake Vasil Vasilich.
A finished part is obtained in a minute,
A medal of distinction is hung on his chest.
The girls admire him, come up and are silent,
But he doesn’t even look back, doesn’t look at the girls.
Rumors about him go beyond the mountains beyond the Ural Mountains,
But he works for himself and doesn’t raise an eyebrow.
Vasily Vasilich is only thirteen years old.
Hello, Vasil Vasilievich, accept our greetings!
(B. Laskin, 1944)
Soldiers' laundresses
You shared with us
Not easy
Weekdays of the hike,
Soldiers' laundresses
Spring of '45.
Yesterday's schoolgirls
Mom's daughters
It's been a long time
You rinsed
Handkerchiefs for dolls?
And here, at the troughs,
In the hospital yard
With your own little hands
In washing soap
Before the abrasions of the patients
On corroded skin
You wash it off
With a tough soldier's
Clothes
Bloody sweaty
Clay
Great hike
Soldiers' laundresses
Spring of '45.
Here you are in front of me
You stand there tired.
Heaving
Smoky foam
In the trough...
And the first
Peaceful
Blue sky -
You'll hardly forget this
Aren't your hands
Was it washed?
(N. Dorizo)
My sister
It was ordinary
She is still yesterday.
Now a military sister,
Military sister.
They gave it to my sister at the warehouse
Big boots.
In one boot - we saw -
Two legs fit.
The leg is small - embarrassed
They say in the warehouse.
And they gave me cloth
Overcoat to the very toes.
Everyone tried on her overcoats,
But there is no less.
And they didn’t believe their sister there,
That she is seventeen years old.
She has a white pigtail
Yesterday it was still there.
My little sister is brave
Even though she is so small in height.
When I flew over the rooftops,
There is an enemy above our house -
She's always with the boys
She climbed into the attic.
The fire was noisy over the city,
The huge house was shaking.
She stood proud
With fire hose.
Into the smoking ruins
Flew like an arrow
Digged up the wounded
She carried it to the shelter.
Now my sister is a scientist,
Military sister,
She is wearing an overcoat with shoulder straps,
It's time for my sister to go to the front.
She gave a dress as a gift
She gave hers to me.
Mom's tears are rolling down:
- You are too small!
But the heart, as a rule,
It hurts for little ones. —
Sister adjusted the belts
And quietly says:
- Why did you hang your head?
I, mom, am on duty -
And adds cheerfully: -
I'll grow up at the front!
(Z. Alexandrova)
(From "Murzilka" during the war years.)
I'll sing for you, dear
Blue-eyed girl
Less than nine years old...
The song flows gently, loudly
For hospital white.
And under the sounds of overflows
Someone's brothers and fathers
They remember a happy home,
More fighters ask to sing.
“I will sing,” in response, girl,—
Bowing my head low,—
Here, the funeral has come to us...
But I believe: dad is alive!
Maybe one of you by chance
Have you met your dad anywhere?
Somewhere there, on the far side,
Did you fight with your dad?”
And it's like they're to blame
The fact that they are still alive
Suddenly all the soldiers withdraw
From a girl's little glance. Military life
An oath sounded...
The wind carried it.
Trench smell - the whole world smells like them...
And the first power accumulated
In boyish, trusting lips.
They were not burned by a bitter kiss.
Not a sweet kiss at the hour of the moon.
And the Morshansk light from the shag,
Received from the palm of the sergeant major.
...When he fell, having met an evil bullet,
Face to the ground, lips moving,–
More tender and selfless than a kiss,
The Earth probably didn’t know.
(V. Turkin)
Pre-war waltz
I saw you at a school party
I accidentally asked you to dance,
And my heart trembled involuntarily,
Only your glance caught a glimpse.
Then the night was not enough for us -
You were able to captivate me so much,
What I saw only with clear eyes,
Yes, I only heard sweet speech.
It seemed that happiness would last forever
Here our hearts are related,
And it was so carefree together,
Not knowing fate until the end.
Suddenly the rumble of planes and explosions
They broke the silence for a moment.
At the first call from the front
He left to fight in the war.
And the peaceful summer ended,
Everything around was in ruins.
The war has separated us blindly
From home, family and friends.
The shells flew exploding
Death awaited at every turn.
But remembering our school waltz,
He hit the enemy more and more furiously.
I kept smelling her
Pressing it to your face.
And quietly whispered:
- Come back soon!
This is how he helped himself and his father.
He didn’t let anyone wear it.
And so it hung there throughout the war.
And her son smelled it,
As if he was praying;
- I'll wait for dad!
Yes, I will bring dad back!
And then it came - that Victory,
Everyone believed in it until the end.
And the boy waited!
And dad is back!
And he hugged dad and
Met my father!
And all because there was
Padded jacket, which
It gave so much heat.
Do you want to believe it?
Believe it or not -
But dad will come back
She helped!!!
(T. Shapiro)
