On June 21, 100 years ago, the poet A.T. was born (1910-1971). Tvardovsky
. Author of the poems “Vasily Terkin”, “Terkin in the Other World”, “Beyond the Distance - the Distance”, “The Country of Ant”, “By Right of Memory”, “House by the Road”. Alexander Tvardovsky has wonderful lyrical works, such as “I was killed near Rzhev”, “I know, it’s not my fault”, etc. Here are some of them.
"......Let the reader be likely
He will say with a book in his hand:
- Here are the poems, and everything is clear,
Everything is in Russian..."
Rural chronicle
***
There's a cliff where I'm playing
Covered himself with sand.
There is a lawn near the barn -
I ran around there barefoot.
There is a river - there I swam,
As it used to be, without breathing,
There I picked green sycamore,
The lashes were woven from reeds.
There is a birch tree half-length,
That birch tree in the yard
Where I once carved
The letters SASHA on the bark...
But throughout the glorious Fatherland
There is no such corner
There is no such land that equals
I didn't care.
***
Young, cheerful, important
The driver is sitting behind the wheel.
And whoever he meets, everyone
He will turn around and look.
A guy is riding, all dressed up
The dust of many villages.
The path is long, the path is good.
Lilacs are blooming in the gardens.
In a Russian embroidered shirt
He passes through a village.
He has a lilac in his pocket,
And also on the cap,
And also behind glass.
And the girl at the well
Modest nods.
The crane creaks and bends,
Water pours onto the sand.
Guy smoothly, carefully
He turned around at the fence.
- Allow me, if possible,
Get your horse watered.
She blushes and laughs,
Leaning over the bucket:
- Why? There will be water
We won't take any money from you. -
Seen you somewhere, I think?...
And the water flows again,
Scattering silver.
Everything is a picture
Well done
From shirt to boots.
He, already getting into the cockpit,
Suddenly he lifts his visor.
On the outskirts of the gate
The gray-haired grandfather opens.
And the girl at the well
Remains
Looks after:
Will it turn around or not?..
***
Stars, what should I do?
To love her like that
What did she say?
Three days have already passed
As she said:
- Love me like that
So that it becomes difficult for you.
Whatever it is for you
Everything in the world is simple,
So that you sometimes want
Jump into the water from the bridge.
So that there is no smoke, no fire,
You weren't afraid.
Love me like that
So that I love you.
Frontline chronicle
***
In a field full of streams,
And on the other side
To the same family, unforgotten
The earth smells like spring.
Hollow water and unexpectedly -
The simplest, field
That nameless grass,
As we have near Moscow.
And, trusting the acceptance,
You might think not
Not these Germans in the world,
No distances, no years.
One might say: is it really
It's true that somewhere in the distance
The wives have grown old without us,
Have the children grown up without us?..
From the lyrics recent years
***
I know it's not my fault
The fact that others did not come from the war,
The fact that they - some older, some younger -
We stayed there, and it’s not about the same thing,
That I could, but failed to save them, -
That's not what this is about, but still, still, still...
Composition
In his latest poems, Tvardovsky no longer speaks on behalf of this or that character, but from the position of a contemporary, wise by experience. This creates a generalized image of a citizen-poet, responsible “for everything in the world.” “The aesthetics of Alexander Tvardovsky comes from the consciousness of the people's ideal. His muse is the voice of the people's conscience. And behind all this there is a firm conviction that the people are not a “mass”, but people, each of whom is an individual worthy of happiness.
Tvardovsky is a continuation of the great tradition of Russian literature. And the nationality of ideals, and the light of humanism, and the readiness to accept everything good as one’s own, and the feeling of open spaces, and the vastness of the distances of spiritual development,” writes V. Ognev. Summarizing what has been said, we should draw the attention of high school students to the fact that Tvardovsky’s poetry is closely connected with Russian classical literature - with Pushkin, Nekrasov, L. Tolstoy. Tvardovsky cherishes the fate of the people. It relies on popular consciousness. He poetizes the wonderful properties of the people's character. Tvardovsky understands that during his time in power the people have become different, much more conscious and enlightened than in old Russia. Recreating the people's system of thought, the character of the common man, the feelings of the peasant, speaking on behalf of the people, relying on the people's point of view, Tvardovsky elevates them. A large place in the poem “Beyond the Distance is Distance” is occupied by appeals to a friend-reader:
* ...I found support in you,
* My friend and supreme judge.
*I am so indebted to that help
* Great - whatever you interpret...
“When you read Tvardovsky,” writes S. Ya. Marshak, “it seems as if the people themselves are talking about themselves, speaking richly, colorfully, generously, sometimes mixing tears with laughter...”1
Tvardovsky is invariably faithful to the theme of high patriotism:
* But throughout the glorious Fatherland
* There is no such corner
* There is no such land that equals
* I didn’t care...
* “There is a cliff where I, while playing...”
The same theme is filled with new content in poems from 1941 to 1945:
* I accept my share like a soldier.
* After all, if we had to choose death, friends,
* That's better than dying for your native land,
*And you can’t choose...
* “Let it be until the last hour of reckoning...”
Poems post-war years imbued with faith in the bright future of the people and love for the Motherland.
* Thank you, my native Earth, my father’s home,
* For everything I know from life,
* What I carry in my heart...
* And a daring impulse to your liking,
* And don’t take up the strength,
* And the right to feat is sacred
* In your name, for glory
* And happiness, Motherland...
* “Thank you, my dear...”
The poet is characterized by a “firm consciousness” of personal involvement in the people’s destiny, the consciousness of a duty honestly performed. The extraordinary simplicity and naturalness of Tvardovsky’s style is nothing more than high poetic skill, which allows the poet not only to penetrate the secret of the people’s perception of the surrounding reality, but also to express it as the people would express it. The poet himself emphasized this feature of his work:
* I am free to speak freely,
* Like the soldier with whom he was in battle,
* With whom I swallowed dust in the suffering of the march
* And whose poet am I...
It should be borne in mind that the apparent simplicity of Tvardovsky’s works is deceptive. He, as a poet of enormous magnitude, does not truly reveal himself deeply immediately, but only after repeated readings and reflection. It is important to pay attention to the many words, familiar and simple, which in Tvardovsky’s poems acquire extraordinary flexibility and ambiguity. For example, the word “earth” means: planet, country, state, Motherland, reality - horizon, piece of land, territory with land, object of labor, soil, plowing...
* And if it were destined
* On the barricades to fall,
* In what land - I don’t care
* For our power only...
* Earth!
* From snow moisture
*It's still fresh.
* She wanders by herself
* And breathes like deja...
* Earth!
* To the west, to the east,
*North and south
* I would fall and hug Morgunok,
* Yes, there are not enough hands
Tvardovsky’s words “distance” and “home” are just as polysemantic; “road”, “fire”, etc. Focusing on a simple colloquial speech, the poet introduces friendly addresses (“brother”, “buddy”, “us”). It is characterized by short, dynamic turns of speech, characteristic of oral speech. spoken language(“guns in your hands and fight”, “but we are our people”, “somewhere there will be an edge”), short aphoristic expressions that read like proverbs.
He was a poet
- ...the truth of things.
Truth that hits right into the soul,
If only it were thicker
No matter how bitter it may be.
In Tvardovsky, two properties came together that mark a national poet: democracy and culture.
His concept of “Motherland” began with a small patch of “inconvenient land,” a piece of land surrounded by hummocks and bushes, on which his father’s house stood. Years and wars wiped out the Smolensk village of Zagorye from the face of the earth, but it remained alive in poetry.
I'm happy that I'm from there
From that winter, from that hut.
And I'm happy that I'm not a miracle
A special, chosen fate...
His gaze is direct and open, usually eye to eye, and calls for reciprocal sincerity. His large figure exuded unfussy dignity. His speeches were characterized by thoughtful simplicity and cheerful slyness, designed for quick mutual understanding. The jokes were right on target, but were rarely malicious.
V. Lakshin
The peculiarity of the personality of the poet Alexander Trifonovich Tvardovsky, according to the statements of everyone who knew the poet, collaborated with him in newspapers, magazines, and met him, is not only that he was a highly educated person, a “voracious reader,” an outstanding literary figure, editor and critic, but and full of dignity and modesty, honesty and purity, sincerity and simplicity, a citizen of his country.
The originality of Tvardovsky’s poetic gift lies in the truth of his depiction of life, in the absence of pomp, in the ability to rise to high pathos without losing touch with the earth, in the mastery of epic storytelling, the depth and spontaneity of feelings, the accuracy of observations, the subtlety of sensations, the masculinity of assessments of reality, the capacity of the word.
This amazing personality and the originality of his work will be revealed to you only if you carefully read his poems and poems, listen to the amazing music of the verses of these works, understand his civic position, intransigence to falsehood and lies, get acquainted with the memories of the underworld, feel the joy empathy with a person, citizen and poet who, long before perestroika, was able to express the deep thoughts and aspirations of the people who suffered in various years of our difficult history, you will be able to enjoy a successful image, a plot sketch in a poem or poem, and the author’s reasoning. But for all this to happen, it is necessary to know both his unique creativity and the characteristics of his personality.
A researcher of Tvardovsky’s work, A. Makedonov, wrote in his article “Real Truth and Life on Earth”:
“Alexander Trifonovich Tvardovsky was born on June 21 (new style) 1910 “on the wasteland farm of Stol-povo,” as the piece of land was called in the papers,” he wrote, “acquired by my father, Trifon Gordeevich Tvardovsky, through the Land Peasant Bank with payment in installments." This farm was “assigned” to the village of Zagorye, Pochinkovsky volost, Smolensk province, later - Pochinkovsky district Smolensk region. A piece of land “sour, podzolic, stingy and unkind.” The brothers tell how hard it was for their father and the entire Tvardovsky family to develop this “unkind” land. How it was finally possible only by the end of the 20s, after many unsuccessful attempts, experiments, searches, to create a more or less successful blacksmithing business on this piece of land, which became an important help in income and an addition to ordinary peasant labor, and the double labor of peasants and artisans people of one family to have their own horse, cow, settle down a little, create an original peasant yard, a small center of labor and culture.
The poet's father, Trifon Gordeevich Tvardovsky (1881 - 1949), was a peasant and blacksmith, with a complex and difficult, in many ways typical, in many ways unusual fate. Mother, Maria Mitrofanovna, née Pleskachevskaya (1888-1965), was also a peasant woman, with even more difficult life, deviating from the usual peasant biographies. Maria Mitrofanovna came from a family of so-called nobles-single-yarders - the impoverished, large (8 children) “nobleman Mitrofan Yakovlevich Pleskachevsky” from the village of Pleskachi, thirty miles from Barsuki. Much about her personality was especially close and dear to Tvardovsky. In his “Autobiography” he wrote: “My mother, Maria Mitrofanovna, was always very impressionable and sensitive... She was moved to tears by the sound of a shepherd’s trumpet somewhere in the distance behind our farm bushes and swamps, or the echo of a song from distant village fields, or , for example, the smell of the first young hay, the sight of some lonely tree, etc.” 1. Trifon Gordeevich was a man of a more stern character, but, like her, literate and a lover of reading. He managed to pick up his home library. “The book was not a rarity in our household. Whole winter evenings We often indulged in reading a book out loud... Father knew a lot of poems from memory... In addition, he loved and knew how to sing...” Main book home reading there were works by Nekrasov - a “cherished book”, which Tvardovsky later recalled and wrote about more than once. The home library also included works by other classics - Pushkin, Lermontov, A.K. Tolstoy, Nikitin, Ershov and even Tyutchev and Fet.
“Back in 1917, in games with a neighboring boy, Sasha learned to read and write,” and began writing poetry “before mastering his first literacy.” “I tried to write down my first poem, denouncing my peers, the destroyers of birds’ nests, not yet knowing all the letters of the alphabet and, of course, having no idea about the rules of versification.”
In 1922, Sasha Tvardovsky apparently graduated from a four-year school in 3 years. Then he studied for a year at the neighboring Yegoryevsk school, which taught two good teachers- Ivan Ilyich and his father Ilya Lazarevich Poruchikov. The lessons of Ivan Ilyich especially influenced him, which Tvardovsky recalled even in Vasily Terkin. The lieutenants also encouraged his poetic experiments.
“Since 1924, I began sending small notes to the editors of Smolensk newspapers. He wrote about faulty bridges, about Komsomol subbotniks, about the abuses of local authorities, etc. Occasionally, notes were published. This made me, an ordinary rural Komsomol member, a significant person in the eyes of my peers and the surrounding residents in general. People approached me with complaints, with offers to write about this and that, to “put so-and-so in the newspaper.” On March 24 - 26, 1926, Tvardovsky already participated in a meeting of the village correspondents of the Smolensk district.
From June 1925, Tvardovsky’s poems began to appear in the Smolensk provincial press.
The years 1925-1927 can be considered the years of formation of the “early Tvardovsky”. At the end of 1927, he was already a delegate to the First Provincial Congress of Proletarian Writers in Smolensk, and in the same year he visited Moscow for the first time. No later than 1926, Tvardovsky had already begun to keep a diary with an amazing desire for a sixteen-year-old teenager not only for knowledge, but also for self-knowledge, for introspection, for a clear life program. It is amazing how intelligent and already peculiar the language this teenager, who has just completed the sixth grade of a village school in one of the remote corners of the village, speaks in his diary. The diary is filled with a weave of dreams, disappointments, searches for a place in life, self-determination, relationships with family, with loved ones, with society. Nearby are notes about reading, about poetry, about the torment of the word, in places reminding oneself with horror about the upcoming work in the forge, about the persistent mental disagreement with his father, about the impossibility of completely devoting himself to literary work.
The situation in the family became more complicated. Differences between “fathers and sons,” typical of many families of that time, also began to appear. The family's attitude towards his work during these years was difficult. “My parents reacted in different ways favorably and in different ways with alarm to the fact that I began to write poetry.”
By the end of 1927, there was a firm decision to leave at any cost. And, according to the recollections of Ivan Tvardovsky, in January or early February 1928, leaving for Smolensk, forever from his native village, on horseback on an early frosty morning, a touching farewell to his mother and brothers.
Since 1927, portrait poems and everyday paintings began to appear with attempts at psychological analysis and introspection. “In the Wilderness” (1926), “The Night Watchman” (1927), and “The Carrier” (1927) were later included by Tvardovsky in his collected works. Two poems “Mother” (1927) became the first significant poetic successes. In them, for the first time, the image of a Russian peasant mother, caring and selfless, which then passes through all of Tvardovsky’s work, is revealed - an image with autobiographical realities and at the same time generalized. Here another cross-cutting theme of his poetry arises - memories, memory - the connection of times, connecting the past with the present and dreams of the future; the connection between the maternal principle and the inner life of all native places, native land- hence the unexpected comparison of the mother with “Russian birch trees in the forest.”
One can notice in the poems of these years some influence of Koltsov, Nikitin, Nekrasov, sometimes - more indirectly - Yesenin, even less often and very indirectly - Mayakovsky. And undoubtedly the general influence of Isakovsky, emphasized later by Tvardovsky himself. In general, the most general traditions of realistic verse, the concrete depiction of the surrounding life, its poetry and prose, prevail.
The years from 1928 to 1933 are the most “experimental” and largely underestimated in Tvardovsky’s work.
Local literary associations, circles, and press organs, which devoted many pages to the work of aspiring writers, became fertile ground for creative searches.
The central theme of Tvardovsky in the thirties was the theme of creative work, community, and interaction between people, starting with the community of the family and ending with the community of the entire Motherland and all life on Earth. And within this community there is a multiplicity of independent paths and crossroads. New poetic means, a combination of freedom and organization of verse, artistic image served the purpose of fully revealing this main topic.
The difficulties of everyday life and creative searches were aggravated by additional problems that arose after difficult events in the Tvardovsky family in 1930-1931. The middle peasant economy, which had just recovered somewhat, was imposed in the spring of 1930 with a firm individual task, which was obviously beyond their strength. What happened next to the family is described in the book by Ivan Tvardovsky. And although Tvardovsky had already lived for two years in Smolensk completely independently, nevertheless this story is in his highest degree touched, and a legend arose about his “kulak origin,” which he managed to officially refute only many years later 2 . Despite all this, the recent “Zagoryevsky guy” managed to gain a foothold in internally strong social and literary positions. He began to be published in the local and then in the central press. Since 1930, he established a more stable life for himself and became a family man. They also expanded their horizons with trips outside the Smolensk region (in 1928 - to Crimea, in 1929 - to Moscow). In 1932 he entered the Smolensk Pedagogical Institute and combined persistent study with continued creative work, collaboration in magazines and newspapers, various trips. All this allowed him to sharply increase his cultural level and poetic skill. The themes of his poems and prose become more diverse. The problems of the “new hut” are being developed in a different, immeasurably more tense environment. For the first time, experiments in large generalizing genres appeared: two poems about collectivization - “The Path to Socialism” (1930) and “Introduction” (1931-1932), the first book of prose - “The Diary of a Collective Farm Chairman” (1931).
The expansion of the range of impressions, the transition to depicting more complex situations in the dialectic of the soul of the author and his characters were also associated with an abundance of new literary impressions. At this time, the poet met such representatives of 20th century poetry as Bunin, Mandelstam, Khodasevich. The author of this article remembers reading together and admiring Bunin’s poems. Mandelstam’s book, published in 1928, as Tvardovsky later recalled, is “part of that poetic school which I went through in my youth, I note this with the most sincere gratitude.” These new impressions did not cancel, but, as it were, supplemented the main initial impressions of Pushkin and Nekrasov, to which Tyutchev was now especially added.
In Tvardovsky’s biography, this was a short period of consolidation and strengthening of his new position as an already all-Union recognized poet in Moscow, after moving there in 1936. In the same year, he entered the Moscow Institute of Philosophy and Literature (IFLI) to continue his education, and successfully graduated in 1939. In 1938 he joined the party. In 1939 there was awarded the order Lenin for literary merits, and in 1941 he received the State Prize of the 2nd degree precisely for “The Country of Ant”. A new circle of communication and friendship was formed, including people such as Marshak, Fadeev, Mikhail Lifshits. (M. Lifshits was a teacher of aesthetics and philosophy at the IFLI, where Tvardovsky studied.)
A large group of poems arose, which Tvardovsky did not publish then, but later included in the editions of his most selected ones: “The alarmingly sad neighing of a horse...” (1934), “Ice drift” (1936), “Five years have passed. Having traveled around the world...” (1936), “It makes noise, making its way through the bushes...” (1936), “Beyond the open window...” (1936), “There is a cliff where I am, playing...” (1936) , “What did he do, what did he think...” (1936), “Pillars, villages, crossroads...” (1936), “And you, so many people...” (1937), “Mothers” ( 1937), “Before the Rain” (1937); in addition, poems that were not published at all during his lifetime: “We went out for the night in the cold...” (1934), “Sudden rain is coming...” (1936), “Hello, peer and namesake...” (1936 ), “It’s easy to remember...” (1938), “My son fell asleep, scattered about...” (1938), “A kindergarten in an open field...” (1940).
In "The Country of Ant" (1934-1936) the motifs developed in lyric poems, received a multifaceted, large-scale generalization. The poem included, along with extreme everyday accuracy, convention, grotesque, and even a fairy-tale element. Both folklore traditions and the traditions of Nekrasov - the “cherished book” of childhood and adolescence - are more widely used in the poem. The progress of work on it deserves special analysis. Here we will only note the intensity of the search and the difficulties that have arisen, which characterize the exactingness of creative personality the author, and the situation of that time. What sharply distinguishes the poem from all the poetic depictions of village life of that time is its wide scope, despite its relatively small volume. Almost all layers of our society of those years are represented here - from the most ordinary people, grassroots to the head of state, people of all ages - from “one hundred and eighteen years old” to small children, many professions, characters, situations that make up the main social and psychological positions of that time in their interaction, often in intense struggle. The most popular, grassroots characters predominate. And for all, even insignificant characters, the poet was able to find salient characteristics, sometimes with two or three strokes, details (for example, the village council chairman he met - with one of his phrases: “Well, well, it’s clear in general”), to show the complexity, versatility of their psychology and behavior.
At the same time, this diversity is extremely concentrated around several main characters, and above all the main character - Morgunka. They are united by a common, although also multifaceted, movement, external and internal plot, a single author's breath and voice.
The external plot is one man’s search for the legendary “country of Ant” for peasant happiness. Within this general structure is a narrower story of the loss of a horse, its search and its rediscovery. In the movement of this double plot scheme, an internal, deep plot unfolds - psychological development both the main character and the collective hero - the entire people entering a special historical turning point in their lives. This is a journey to truth, to authenticity, to new criteria and paths of happiness, to a choice between illusion and reality. The path to truth lies through re-evaluation of habitual ideas. A respected neighbor, with whom you wanted to be on an equal footing, turns out to be a scoundrel. Traditionally thieving gypsies are honest workers and excellent artisans. But in the course of revaluations, the eternal values of peasant traditions, generated by the labor principle, the desire for amateur labor and the right to choose one’s own path to truth, to happiness and goodness, are preserved and reaffirmed. The movement towards truth is also shown as a successful general movement towards a prosperous life. “And that we are moving towards good things” - even the stubbornly hesitant Morgunok has no doubt about this; his hesitations are based not on the denial of new ideals, but on doubt about the possibility of their rapid implementation. At the same time, the poem emphasizes the complexity and diversity of paths and travelers:
And there are many roads in the world.
They lay really and at random,
Walks a lot on the roads -
And there is discord between each other.
The desire for polyphony gives rise to a whole system of collective images that make up polyphony. Separate images, individual voices merge into a single powerful chorus, affirming the common goal of all these travelers, who are “at odds with one another.” This, for example, is the “people” who “stood sideways” on the ferry in the first chapter. Or a broader polyphonic character - the entire gypsy collective farm, juxtaposed with the individuality of Morgunok, and the whole market square becomes a character.
In the lyrics, with the same psychological specificity, the motifs of childhood memory and a new family beginning continued. And there was a desire to return to understanding the path traveled over the past ten years, to one’s own origins (“For a thousand miles ...”, 1938; four poems 1938-1939 - “On the old yard”, “On the Zagorye farm”, “To friends”, "Trip to Zagorje"). Quite “Moscow”, noted and awarded, the poet especially felt the need to return to that Zagoryevsky guy. To return to say goodbye, and, while saying goodbye, still to return - “Hello, hello, dear/Party. And - goodbye...” (“Trip to Zagorye”). There is a direct echo with the theme of “brothers” - “Where are you, brothers, brothers, / My own blood? / We should come together, gather / In the old place again” (“On the Zagorye Farm”). This was associated with the motives of the unity of the small and large Motherland, continuity and kinship. Indirectly connected with this feeling is the appearance of a large cycle of poems about grandfather Danil (1937-1939), which continued the long-standing theme of “grandfathers”, the labor traditions of the people, their love of life, resilience, heroic strength, the “first” labor skill that fit into new life, continued in it. Poems about grandfather Danila are organically connected with further searches for folklore sources.
Two main poems and dozens of poems belong to the peaks of Tvardovsky’s creativity and all of our poetry.
The relative roles of these genres during the war varied.
The main one was the “Book about a fighter” - “Vasily Terkin”. It included, in the words of the poet himself, both lyrics and journalism, anecdote and saying, heart-to-heart talk and a remark to the occasion - an amazing variety of poetic forms of communication with the reader. That’s why the name “Book” arose - from the Book, which since ancient times embodied the entire depth of human wisdom (“Book of Genesis”, “Dove Book”), to beloved board books of his childhood and books generated by a new world. And the younger sister of this poem was another, born some year later and growing up almost simultaneously - “House by the Road”. And the movement of both poems was accompanied by a further movement of poems of various genres - stories and essays in verse, “ballads” in a new understanding and interpretation of this genre, other types of lyrical statements with to varying degrees his activity, right up to the emergence of a new genre, which Tvardovsky himself compared with the “notebook” genre.
During the Great Patriotic War there was an outgrowth of the lyricism of poetry into its unprecedented popular appeal.
The new road again became a road, not only figuratively, but also in the literal sense of the word. This is how “Beyond the Distance, the Distance” arose. In its very first chapters, the problem of one’s own spiritual poetic crisis was revealed, the desire to start something new... And the trip to Siberia also became the path to the truth, through overcoming illusions to understanding own paths and the ways of all the people. Since 1956, a new key formula was born - “We have become fully responsible / For everything in the world.”
The steepness of the new rise was also evident in the poet’s biography. It was during these years that Tvardovsky, more than ever, developed that social and journal activity that the Zagoryevsky teenager so hesitantly dreamed of in his diary. First of all, as the editor of the magazine, which quickly became the most authoritative literary, artistic and social literary magazine of our time, continuing the glorious traditions of Otechestvennye Zapiski and Sovremennik. In correspondence and conversations, the poet more than once complained about the workload of editorial work, but he devoted himself to it without sparing himself. And he showed democracy and a high sense of responsibility in his editorial work.
In 1947-1948, he was the chairman of the Commission for work with young writers of the USSR Writers' Union, took part in various commissions for work with aspiring writers, conducted extensive correspondence with them, etc. Although many “assistant” literary affairs often burdened and interfered with him literary and social work itself, he very actively and willingly participated in the work of literary magazines.
From early 1950 to 1954 and from 1958 to 1969, he was editor-in-chief of the magazine New world" He attached particular importance to his work in the New World. great value. She played a major role in public and literary life country, in the formation of a number of major writers. Indirectly, despite the workload of this work, a new rise in his own creativity was also associated with it. Through this magazine, the circle of close people included A. Dementyev, V. Lakshin, I. Sats, as well as I. Vinogradov, E. Dorosh, A. Kondratovich and others. Heightened feeling responsibility for everything in the world, as during the war years, runs through his entire path until the end of his life. There are clearly two stages in this path.
The will of the man killed near Rzhev still lingers in the poet’s soul. Cruel and fond memory becomes, first of all, a feeling of unpaid debt to the dead, and this feeling reaches an unprecedented lyrical concentration in two short poems. One of them - “I know - it’s not my fault...” (1966) is a masterpiece of our lyrics. Next to him appeared another, complementing it - “They lie, deaf and dumb...” (1966). A peculiar feeling of guilt for the most tragic events, names, dates that are memorable for humanity is also heard in the poem “There are names and there are such dates...” (1966). The completeness of the saint’s memory determines the completeness of responsibility towards her and the completeness of the requirement for oneself to be worthy of this memory.
In the last poems of the poet, time appears both as a destroyer, and as a creator, and as a judge, and as a living interlocutor in the most diverse roles and in dozens of forms.
Again connected with memory is the living process of reviewing the entire path. As a result, the “testament of the early days” and the experience of “your grieved soul” continue to live. It is also a synthesis of the experience of the entire people, its healing infusion. This experience contains all past experience the most terrible struggle for life on Earth; the experience of Vasily Terkin and the soldier killed near Rzhev, and the experience of the poet’s journey beyond the distance into the distance, to Siberia, and the experience of traveling into his soul. The experience of all life on Earth, which is the key to victory over any new “unknown shocks”, which is able to withstand that terrible “main utopia”.
And although the lyrics of recent years, it would seem, did not touch as directly as in previous years, the most pressing topics folk life, its resonance in the poetic and reader's consciousness was enormous and continues to increase. Recognition of this resonance was the awarding of the State Prize to the poet for his book of lyrics in 1971.
Among other poets of the 20th century, Tvardovsky is to the greatest extent a “poet of reality” (as Belinsky understood this term in relation to Pushkin’s poetry). In the conditions of contemporary reality, Tvardovsky’s world was a world of natural norms of life, the utmost correspondence of each person to his destiny. A world of mental health, opposed to poisons and madness, convulsions and agony. The world of positive heroes of poetry in the true and accurate meaning of the word. The complex destinies of this world determined the difficult path of creativity, which was not a continuously ascending line - it had phases of steep ascent, and phases of slower progress, and sometimes hitches. But the very difficulties and zigzags of the poet’s path also reflected the real difficulties of the path of the people and the time, of specific historical experience and its enduring significance.
Tvardovsky's word has had and continues to have a huge influence on the main phenomena and trends of modern poetry, on poets of various generations and directions. His poetic word is perceived as a great national cause, a matter always modern, right up to the distance of future days. The word is the work of the great national poet.”
1 Tvardovsky A. Articles and notes on literature. - M., 1961. - P. 153.
2 The poet's parents were exiled as a family of kulaks.
POET OF NATIONAL LIFE
(literary evening dedicated to the work of A.T. Tvardovsky)
Teacher of Russian language and literature
highest qualification category
secondary school No. 153
Kirovsky district Kazan
Kuzmina Elvira Valentinovna
Literary evening, dedicated to the work of A.T. Tvardovsky, was held with students in grades 7-9 on the 100th anniversary of the birth of the wonderful Russian poet.
In the center of the office there is a table covered with a velvet tablecloth. On the table are the attributes of the life of a front-line correspondent - an old-style camera, a soldier's helmet, a flask, a notebook; portrait of A.T. Tvardovsky, flowers.
Next to the table there is a chair on which lies soldier's overcoat(during the dramatization of the chapter “Death and the Warrior” from the poem “Vasily Terkin”, the student playing the role of Vasily Terkin throws this overcoat over his shoulders).
The whole class is involved in the event: 4 presenters, 8 readers, 16 students who perform roles in skits.
The entire literary composition is accompanied by music in tune with general theme events, and a slide show with fragments from the poet’s life.
On the board are the words of K. Kuliev: “Tvardovsky is an artist with a wise heart and a clear conscience, devoted to poetry until his last breath, a man of great civic courage and honesty.”
Progress of the evening.
Opening remarks teachers.
There are artists whose creative destiny becomes part of the people's destiny. Without their works, it is not only impossible to imagine the stages and paths of development of our literature, but also to deeply understand the features and patterns of development of reality itself. Alexander Trifonovich Tvardovsky belongs to such artists.
It is to this wonderful poet that our literary composition.
It should be recalled that 2010 marks the 100th anniversary of the birth of A.T. Tvardovsky. The entire literary community celebrates this date. We invite you today to remember the facts of life of this amazing person, comprehend the tragic moments of the poet’s life, listen to the poems of A.T. Tvardovsky, kind, sensitive, bright.
The READER reads the poem “There is a cliff where I play…”:
There is a cliff where I play
Covered himself with sand.
There is a lawn near the barn -
I ran around there barefoot.
There is a river - there I swam,
As it happened, without breathing.
There I picked green sycamore,
The lashes were woven from reeds.
There is a birch tree half-length,
That birch tree in the yard
Where I once carved
The letters SASHA on the bark...
But throughout the glorious fatherland
There is no such corner
There is no such land that equals
I didn't care.
A portrait of A.T. appears on the screen. Tvardovsky.
1st presenter.
He was a poet
...the truth of things.
Truth that hits right into the soul,
If only it were thicker
No matter how bitter it may be.
Alexander Trifonovich Tvardovsky was a national poet. Democracy and culture came together in it.
His gaze, direct and open, usually eye to eye, calls for reciprocal sincerity. His large figure exuded unfussy dignity. His speeches were characterized by thoughtful simplicity and cheerful slyness, designed for quick mutual understanding. The jokes were right on target, but they were rarely mean.
2nd presenter.
The peculiarity of the personality of the poet A.T. Tvardovsky, according to the statements of everyone who knew the poet, collaborated with him in newspapers, magazines, and met him, is not only that he was a highly educated person, a “voracious reader,” an outstanding literary figure, editor and critic, but full of dignity and modesty, honesty and purity, sincerity and simplicity, a citizen of his country.
A.T. was born. Tvardovsky in the Smolensk region, in 1910, on June 21, “on the farmstead of the Stolpovo wasteland,” this was the name in the papers of a piece of land acquired by his father Trifon Gordeevich Tvardovsky... This area was quite wild, away from the roads, and his father, a wonderful blacksmith, Soon he closed the forge, deciding to live off the land. But every now and then I had to turn to the hammer: rent someone else’s forge and anvil, working half-and-half (sharing with others).
A poem is sung by a reader "RURAL MORNING» :
The bell rings from the forge,
The sound is ringing down the street.
Given at the well
At the fences, at the gates.
Friendly, morning, healthy
The sound is ringing down the street.
The horseshoe struck loudly,
The ice crunched under the horseshoe;
The stream gurgled under the ice,
Everything around was ringing;
The icicle tinkled subtly,
Developing under the window;
The milk rings in the dishes,
Cattle hit the wall with their horns, -
The ringing comes from everywhere -
The anvil gives the tone.
3rd presenter.
In the life of the family there were occasional glimpses of relative prosperity, but in general life was meager and difficult... The father was a literate man and even well-read in a village way. The book was not uncommon in the house . “We often devoted entire winter evenings to reading a book out loud. My father knew many poems from memory. In addition, he loved and knew how to sing, and even excelled in the church choir from a young age.”
A slide appears on the screen with a portrait of A.T. Tvardovsky’s mother, Maria Mitrofanovna. A beautiful, gentle melody sounds, which either fades or intensifies.
4th presenter.
A.T.'s mother Tvardovsky, Maria Mitrofanovna, in his own words, was always very impressionable and sensitive, not even without sentimentality, to many things that were outside the practical, everyday interests of the peasant household, the troubles and worries of the housewife in a large large family. “She was moved to tears by the sound of a shepherd’s trumpet somewhere in the distance behind our farm bushes and swamps, or the echo of a song from distant fields, or, for example, the smell of the first young hay, the sight of some lonely tree.”
A musical fragment is played, against the background of which a participant in the evening reads a poem by A.T. Tvardovsky "SONG».
I don’t remember and I don’t know
This old song is me.
Well, listen, dear mother,
Mitrofanovna is mine.
Under the needle on the record
A song suddenly grows,
How we went out to eat
Girls, women across the meadow.
So you shuddered, guest,
I see you recognize the song...
Ears of corn hang over the boundary,
Rye is quietly moving in the field.
Lonely in a sultry field
Day you bow, mother.
We need a handful of cornfields,
Go through the blade of grass.
Woman's song. It's a woman's business.
The sickle in your hand becomes heavy.
And the child's cry is timid
Barely audible in the distance.
You sat down, young one,
Under a hot shock.
You forgot yourself, humming
This song is above me.
The field is dull, sleepy, hot
The rye is standing, don’t stop.
...Why are you crying? Is it a pity for the songs?
Or that bitter life?
Or a grown son
What can't you hold to your chest?
There's a machine singing on the table,
And the old mother is silent.
SCENE. (Students play the roles of Tvardovsky A.T., mother, father, teacher).
Tvardovsky: I started writing poetry before I mastered basic literacy.
I remember well that I tried to write down my first poem, denouncing my peers, destroyers of birds’ nests, not yet knowing all the letters of the alphabet and, of course, not having a clue about the rules of versification. There was no mode, no row, nothing of the verse, but I clearly remember that there was a passionate, heart-pounding desire for all this - the mode, the row, and music - the desire to give birth to them, and immediately.
In different ways favorably and differently my parents were concerned about the fact that I began to write poetry .
Father: I really like that my son is a poet. But I know from books that writing does not promise great benefits; there are also writers non-famous, penniless, living in attics and starving. They are often unhappy. And you really want your children to be happy.
Mother: And I feel that something will come of Sasha, he will be famous.
Tvardovsky:
When I was about 13 years old, I once showed my poems to a teacher. Not joking at all, he said:
Teacher: Well, my friend, it’s no good writing like that now. Everything you say is too clear.
Tvardovsky: And how is it necessary? ?
Teacher: But it is necessary that at no point can one understand what and what is being said. These are modern literary requirements. Here, look at the magazines with samples. See how people write! That's how it should be. And you? Everything is clear, transparent as day!
Tvardovsky: For some time I persistently strived for incomprehensibility in my poems. I did not succeed for a long time, and then I experienced, perhaps, the first bitter doubt in my abilities. I remember that I did write something like that, but now I can’t remember a single line from it and I don’t even know what it was about.
1st presenter. Training A.T. Tvardovsky was interrupted, essentially, with the end of rural school. The years appointed for normal and consistent study are gone. As an 18-year-old boy, he arrived in Smolensk, where he could not get a job, since he did not yet have any specialty. I had to accept a pittance of literary earnings as a source of livelihood and knock on the doors of editorial offices. Tvardovsky understood the unenviability of his position, but he could not return to the village, and his youth allowed him to see only good things ahead, in the near future.
2nd presenter. When Tvardovsky’s poems were published in the Moscow “thick” magazine “October”, he came to Moscow. But the aspiring poet was occasionally published, someone approved of his experiments, supported his “childish” hopes, but life did not work out in Moscow either. And A.T. Tvardovsky returns to Smolensk, where he enters Pedagogical Institute. This period coincided with difficult trials for his family: his parents and brothers were dispossessed and exiled. Tragic fate father and other victims of collectivization are described in A.T. Tvardovsky’s poem “By the Right of Memory.” Everything that happened in the village then concerned him most closely in the everyday, social, moral and ethical sense.
A slide appears on the screen with a portrait of brother A.T. Tvardovsky. The poem “BROTHERS” sounds.
About seventeen years ago
We were small kids .
We loved our farm
Your own garden
Your own well
Your own spruce tree and cones.
Father, loving us by the grasp,
He called them not children, but sons.
He planted us on both sides of himself
And he talked to us about life.
Well, sons?
What sons?
How are you, sons?
And we sat with our chests out,
I'm on one side
Brother on the other hand
Like big married people.
But in his barn at night
The two of us fell asleep timidly.
A lonely grasshopper was screeching,
And the hot hay rustled...
We used to be baskets of mushrooms,
They wore them white from the rain.
We ate acorns from our oak trees -
When I was a child, acorns were delicious!..
About seventeen years ago
We loved and knew each other.
What are you doing, brother?
How are you, brother?
Where are you, brother?
On which White Sea Canal?
Tvardovsky: (the words are spoken by a student who plays the role of a poet in all scenes)
These years of study and work in Smolensk are forever marked for me by high spiritual elation. No comparison could exaggerate the joy I experienced then for the first time of being introduced to the world of ideas and images that were revealed to me from the pages of books whose existence I had previously had no idea about. Taking time away from books and studies, I went to collective farms as a correspondent for regional newspapers. He delved into everything that was new system rural life. I wrote articles, kept all sorts of notes, each time noting something new to myself.”
3rd presenter. A serious stage in his poetic creativity became the poem “The Country of Ant”, dedicated to collectivization. With this work, which met with an approving reception from readers and critics, he begins the count of his writings, which can characterize him as a writer. The publication of this book caused significant changes in the poet’s personal life. In 1939 he graduated from MIFLI, published a book of new poems “Rural Chronicle”.
Slides appear on the screen depicting A.T. Tvardovsky as a war correspondent.
4th presenter.
In the fall of 1939, A.T. Tvardovsky was drafted into the army. He took part in the liberation campaign of our troops in Western Belarus. After being discharged, he was soon called up to the reserves and, already in the rank of officer, but in the same position as a special correspondent for a military newspaper, participated in the war with Finland. Months of front-line work in the harsh winter of 1940 to some extent preceded for him the military impressions of the Great Patriotic War. And Tvardovsky’s participation in the creation of the feuilleton character “Vasya Terkin” was, in essence, his main work during the Patriotic War.
Illustrations from A.T. Tvardovsky’s poem “Vasily Terkin” appear on the screen.
1st presenter.
During the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945, the poet worked in front-line newspapers, publishing poems and essays in them. The poem “Vasily Terkin” became very widely known. Main character books - not only Vasily Terkin, but also the people at war. And in the actions and actions of V. Terkin, the moral character of a warring people emerges: endurance, love of jokes, endurance, ingenuity, an open and generous soul, ready to help in any situation.
TVARDOVSKY: (The words are spoken by a student playing the role of a poet)
« The book about a fighter,” whatever its actual literary significance, was true happiness for me during the war years: it gave me a feeling of the obvious usefulness of my work, a feeling of complete freedom to handle poetry and words in a naturally formed, relaxed form of presentation. “Terkin” was for me my lyrics, my journalism, song and teaching, anecdote and saying, heart-to-heart conversation and remark on occasion.
2nd presenter.
And how the fighters waited for the continuation of “Vasily Terkin.” The book inspired, called for heroism, and helped to survive in unbearable situations. The soldiers rewrote the text of the poem, knew it by heart and understood that in each of them there was something from Vasily Terkin himself.
P there are two scenes from the poem by A.T. Tvardovsky "VASILY TERKIN".
1 staging - chapter “About the reward” (5 people participate: V. Terkin, 2 girl friends, 2 boy friends).
No guys, I'm not proud.
Without thinking into the distance,
So I’ll say: why do I need an order?
I agree to a medal.
For a medal. And there’s no hurry.
This would end the war
I wish I could come on vacation
To the native side.
Will I still be alive? - Hardly.
Fight here, don’t guess.
But I will say about the medal:
Give it to me then.
Provide, since I am worthy.
And you all must understand :
The simplest thing is
The man came from the war.
So I came from the stop
To your dear village council.
I came, and there was a party.
No party? Okay, no.
I'm going to another collective farm and to a third -
The whole area is visible.
Somewhere I'm in the village council
I'll go to the party.
(A party is depicted. Cheerful, mischievous music of those years sounds, and two girl friends dance fervently, involving in their dance either a student playing the role of Vasily Terkin, or two boy friends participating in this scene.)
And, showing up for the evening,
At least not proud man,
I wouldn't smoke shag,
I wish I could get Kazbek.
And I would sit, guys,
There, my friends,
Where as a kid I hid it under a bench
Your feet are bare.
And I would smoke a cigarette,
I would treat everyone around me,
And for any questions
I would not answer suddenly.
(Two boy friends enter into dialogue)
Like, what? - Anything happened.
Is it still difficult? - Like when.
Have you attacked many times?
Yes, it happened sometimes.
And the girls at the party
Let's forget all the guys
If only the girls would listen,
How the belts squeak on me.
And I would joke with everyone,
And there would be one between them...
And a medal for this time
This is what I need, friends!
The girl is waiting, at least don’t torment me,
Your words, your glance...
But, let me, in this case
Is the order also okay?
Here you are sitting at the party,
And the girl is the color.
No, said Vasily Terkin
And sighed. And again: - No.
No, guys, what is the order there?
Without thinking into the distance,
I told you I'm not proud
I agree to a medal...
Stage 2 - chapter (abbreviated) “Death and the Warrior” (5 people participate: Vasily Terkin, Death, two orderlies, author).
For the distant hills -
The heat of battle went away,
In the snow Vasily Terkin
Unpicked lay.
The snow under him, covered with blood,
I picked it up in a pile of ice.
Death bowed to the head:
Well, soldier, come with me.
I'm your friend now
I'll take you nearby
White blizzard, white blizzard
I'll cover up the trail with a blizzard.
Terkin trembled, freezing,
There is a snowy bed.
I didn't call you, Kosaya,
I'm a soldier still alive.
Death, laughing, bent down lower:
Full, full, well done,
I know, I see:
You are alive, but not a tenant.
Passing by the shadow of death
I touched your cheeks
And you don’t even notice
That there is dry snow on them.
Don't be afraid of my darkness,
The night, believe me, is no worse than the day...
But why do you need
Do you need it from me personally?
Death seemed to hesitate
Leaned away from him.
I need... such a little,
Well, almost nothing.
We need one sign of consent,
Why are you tired of saving your life?
Why are you praying for the hour of death...
So, will you sign yourself?
Death thought.
Well then, -
Subscribe and rest.
No, fire me. More valuable to yourself.
Don't bargain, dear.
You're still on the decline.-
Death moved to the shoulder.-
Still my lips tightened
My teeth are getting cold...
Look, it's almost nightfall.
The dawn is burning in the cold.
I mean it's shorter for me
And you shouldn't freeze in vain...
I'll be patient.
What are you, stupid!
After all, you’re lying there, everything’s cramped.
I would immediately put a sheepskin coat on you,
May it be warm forever.
I see, you believe. Here come the tears
I'm dearer to you now.
You're lying, I'm crying from the cold,
Not out of your pity.
What from happiness, what from pain -
Doesn't matter. And the cold is fierce.
There was drifting snow in the field.
No, they won't find you...
And why do you need it, think about it.
If anyone picks it up
You'll wish you hadn't died
Here, on the spot, without hassle...
You're kidding, Death, you're weaving a snare -
He turned his shoulder away with difficulty.
I just want to live,
I haven't even lived yet...
And if you get up, it’s of little use, -
Death continued, laughing.
And then you get up - all over again:
Cold, fear, fatigue, dirt...
And melancholy, soldier, in addition:
How is it at home, what's going on with your family?
Now I’ll complete the task -
I’ll finish the German and go home.
So. Let's say. But for you
And what to come home to?
The earth is stripped bare
And looted, mind you...
And with Death to man
It became too much to argue.
He was already bleeding
Frozen. Night was falling...
On one condition of mine,
Death, listen... I'm not averse...
And we are tormented by cruel melancholy,
Lonely, and weak, and small,
He is with a prayer, or with a reproach
He began to persuade:
I'm not the worst and I'm not the best
That I will die in the war.
But at the end of it, listen,
Will you give me a day off?
Will you give me that last day,
On the holiday of world glory,
Hear the victorious fireworks,
What will be heard over Moscow?
Will you give me a little that day
Walk among the living?
Will you give it to me through one window?
Knock on the edge of relatives?
And when they come out onto the porch, -
Death, and Death, is still there for me
Will you let me say one word?
Just a word?
No. I won't give...
Terkin trembled, freezing
There is a snowy bed.
So go away, Oblique,
I'm a soldier still alive.
I will cry, howl in pain,
Die in the field without a trace,
But of your own free will
I will never give up...
The snow rustles, two people approach,
The crowbar clanged against the shovel.
There is still a warrior left,
We won't remove everyone by night...
People look: that’s the thing!
They see: that’s right, the soldier is alive!
What do you think!
Let's take him to the ambulance...
And I thought for the first time
Death, watching from the side:
“Why are they alive?
They are friendly among themselves.
That's why with a loner
You have to be able to cope,
Reluctantly you give a reprieve.”
And, sighing, Death fell behind.
The song “RUSSIAN GUY” is played (performed by students class).
3rd presenter.
At the height of the Great Patriotic War, he wrote the poem “Two Lines” about a boy fighter who was killed in Finland in the winter of 1940:
The reader performs the poem “TWO LINES”
From a shabby notebook
Two lines about a boy fighter,
What happened in the forties
Killed on ice in Finland.
It lay somehow awkwardly
Childishly small body.
The frost pressed the overcoat to the ice,
The hat flew far away.
It seemed that the boy was not lying down,
And he was still running,
Yes, he held the ice behind the floor...
Among great war cruel,
Why - I can’t imagine -
I feel sorry for that distant fate
Like dead, alone,
It's like I'm lying there
Frozen, small, killed
In that unknown war,
Forgotten, small I lie.
And this is not just a painful, cruel memory of something that is actually painful to remember. This is a noble, jealous concern so that in the face of ever new, enormous events, the one who honestly laid down his life in the “unfamous war” will not be forgotten. One of the poems from 1940 says about the hero:
Before he could reach, he was struck down,
But even that step was expensive.
A poem soundsA.T. Tvardovsky “I KNOW, IT’S NOT MY FAULT...” The reading is accompanied by a sad melody.
I know it's not my fault
That others
Didn't come back from the war
The fact that they are
Who is older, who is younger -
Stayed there
And we're not talking about the same thing,
That I could, but failed to save them, -
It's not about
But still, still, still...
A poem by A.T. Tvardovsky is staged "MOTHER OF THE HERO"(2 students participate: mother, postman)
MOTHER:
From a remote village
An old woman's mother writes to the regiment.
Lapteva Olena writes,
He asks to write down the truth.
Describe, reply soon, -
Either simple or customized:
What took so long, son Gregory
Doesn't he write to her? What's wrong with him?
How is he, dear, where is he, blood? -
You can't fall asleep until it's light at night,
Don't forget. - Is he alive and well?
Or anything at all?..
The land is not close, the world is not a home.-
Mother doesn't hear anything.
Or is the post office to blame?
Is it true or not - just to know...
Day after day they go, they pass,
Everyone is guessing about the answer.
It’s like my heart feels lighter,
Then it comes - there is no urine.
Will the cat wash itself?
Will the knife fall to the floor?
Will the snow crunch under the window?
And - not believing - the heart waits.
The hour has come. It was freezing.
I heard from the hallway -
The letter carrier creaked close
Your leather bag.
And in unspeakable anguish
She clasped her hands on her chest.
Pass by, oh dear,
Don't go to the threshold.
POSTMAN:
Here's the letter. Letter about my son.
The pain took my breath away.
I asked for the whole truth,
Is it easy to recognize her?
How to read a letter like this?
Only joy from the first words:
“Your son Laptev, brave warrior,
Alive, and cheerful, and healthy.
We are pleased to inform you today,
What a rare feat he is
Most the highest award
Awarded by decree.
He stands, Hero, on guard,
And on our behalf,
From the regiment, thank you,
To you for your brave son.
We send him greetings, son,
He’ll write it down himself...”
Under the last line even
Signed down: Commissioner...
What has passed - a minute, an hour,
Or has the year gone up in smoke?
There has never been so much happiness
Immediately, suddenly, in one house ,
And it came to the old memory
All that the mother can remember...
Good for the commissioner too
Send this message.
4th presenter.
The life of the people in its many manifestations - such is the beautiful image of Tvardovsky’s muse.
Perhaps, after Nekrasov, whom Tvardovsky, together with Pushkin, considers his mentors and teachers, there has not been such a variety of human characters in Russian poetry. What many types of Russian women populate the poet’s lyrics alone! And, perhaps, the most heartfelt of them is the image of the mother. Now this is a woman listening to a record with a song, as if resurrecting her long-ago youth, now the mother of a fallen hero, now another, just thinking about what her son will grow up to be. This image reaches the peak of drama in the cycle “In Memory of the Mother,” which captures all the complex conflicts of her fate and her filial grief, which has not weakened over the years.
The reader reads a poem by A.T. Tvardovsky « IN MEMORY OF MOTHER" to the sounds of a gentle melody.
We say goodbye to our mothers
Long before the deadline -
Even in our early youth,
Still at my native threshold,
When do we need handkerchiefs, socks
Kind hands will lay them down,
And we, fearing delay,
We are eager for the appointed separation.
The separation is even more unconditional
For them it comes later,
When we talk about filial will
We hasten to notify them by mail
And sending them cards
Some unknown girls
From a generous soul we allow
Love their daughters-in-law in absentia.
And there - behind the daughters-in-law - are the grandchildren...
And suddenly a telegram calls
For the very last parting
That old grandmother's mother .
Slides with portraits of the poet in different years of his life appear on the screen.
1st presenter.
In his work, Tvardovsky truthfully and passionately captured the most important key stages in the life of the people. The nationality and accessibility of his poetry are achieved through a rich variety of means. artistic expression. The poet translated poems from Belarusian, Ukrainian and other languages. His works have been translated into many foreign languages.
It should be said that the look lyrical hero in Tvardovsky's poetry it is directed not so much at nature as from nature - therefore, Tvardovsky does not have so many landscape poems. In the poems “Confession” and “I wish I could live as a solitary nightingale,” nature appears primarily as a sad and affectionate reminder of something dear, left in the distance.
A poem sounds “I WOULD LIVE FOR EVERY TIME AS A LONE NIGHTINGALE.”The reading of the poem is accompanied by a display of landscapes of the Smolensk region.
I wish I could live forever as a lonely nightingale
In this land of grassy roads,
Click loudly line by line,
Prepare cycles of poems for future use.
About the variety of herbs of untouched meadows.
Shepherd's dawns, mushroom grounds.
About kind-hearted bearded foresters.
About springs and evening sunsets
Girlish braids and night dews...
I wish I could live and sing in this reserve,
Away from crowded roads,
Content with the small, short-range echo,
This is happiness. Yes, sorry, not for me.
The heart is completely involved in another,
As if someone has been assigned to him since birth
Take on a difficult task with all your heart,
Fight, rage and get into trouble.
And keep up, straining to the point of passion,
With pain, with anxiety about the present day.
And find restless happiness
Not in yesterday, but precisely in it...
Yes! But I will say: without this path,
Where I leave today's trace,
And without dew on the forest cobweb -
In memory of tender childhood years -
And without another - even an insignificant - blade of grass
Live for me and sing for me? Again - no...
Not because it's a special quirk
I pay tribute in this quiet land.
It’s just that everything that is dear to me is the same to people,
I sing everything that is dear to me.
2nd presenter.
Tvardovsky led a big community service. He was the editor-in-chief of the New World magazine, secretary of the board of the USSR Writers' Union, and vice-president of the European Writers' Community.
Tvardovsky’s poetry is an example of the original creativity of a folk artist, for whom serving the people was the meaning of his whole life, the only true happiness.
To reread Tvardovsky's poems means to relive an entire era of people's life. It is not for nothing that one can say about almost every page of the poet’s books in his words: it “will remind you of something again, which you must never forget.”
In the section for the question, could you write the text of the poem “there is a cliff where I play…” (Tvardovsky) asked by the author Echo voice the best answer is that birch tree in the yard, where I once carved the letters SASHA on the bark... But in all the glorious Fatherland there is no such corner, no such land that is not dear to me.
Reply from 22 answers[guru]
Hello! Here is a selection of topics with answers to your question: could you write the text of the poem “there is a cliff where I play…” (Tvardovsky)
Reply from Quit[active]
There is a cliff where I, while playing, sprinkled myself with sand. There is a lawn near the barn - I ran around there barefoot. There is a river - there I swam, As it happened, without breathing, There I picked green sycamore, Weaved whips from reeds. There is a birch tree half-length,
Reply from Alexandra Sulzhuk[newbie]
There is a cliff where I, while playing, sprinkled myself with sand. There is a lawn near the barn - I ran around there barefoot. There is a river - there I swam, As it happened, without breathing, There I picked green sycamore, Weaved whips from reeds. There is a birch tree half-length,
Reply from Neurosis[newbie]
There is a cliff where I, while playing, sprinkled myself with sand. There is a lawn near the barn - I ran around there barefoot. There is a river - there I swam, As it happened, without breathing, There I picked green sycamore, Weaved whips from reeds. There is a birch tree half-length,
