Municipal educational institution
MOU "Ulkan secondary school number 2"
Collection of poems about the war
Content:
Poems of the poets of Siberia …………………………… 4 pages
War poems set to music ... ... ..... 5p
Poems by unknown authors …………………… .6 pages
Poems of famous poets ……………………… ... 7p
About war
Not to find a man on earth
Who has not heard about this war.
It was a terrible time
These years have burned down in flames.
Those bloody, forties
We will forever remember and honor,
How the young fighters fought,
How they wanted to protect
My homeland, faith and truth
From the capture of a fascist country.
This is an honor for a simple soldier:
"Die, but save Russia!"
And they, who knew no fear,
All who could fight went to the front,
They understood: “This is how it should be,
we need to rebel for Russia! "
Those efforts were not in vain
Victory lit up the country
Hoisted our flag on the Reichstag
We will not forget that spring.
Years have flown by, seven dozen have passed,
But you remember those years of trouble
Bow to the veterans, say thank you
For a free life without war.
Pokusina Lyubov, grade 8a
Soldier's widow
She does not sleep, the widow of a soldier
Does not sleep at night - waiting for her husband,
He died in the war once,
She hopes to come.
The gate creaked softly
And my heart sank in my chest
Perhaps his death was a mistake?
And he believes: he must come.
A young boy, beardless,
He left the fascists boldly to beat,
Blue-eyed, glorious, fair-haired,
He always asked to keep love.
The widow does not sleep even at dark night
Dating hours recalls
A widow's love is enormous
She does not forget him.
Didn't forget at work
When in a row, for 10 days
They picked the potatoes together,
Over the years, only love is stronger.
Well, at least, what news,
Or at worst a dream
Why is this fate to me?
He was quite young, after all!
We didn't even have time for the kids
To give birth to my beloved,
I sit and wait, as if in a cage,
My destiny is to love and wait.
Forgive my beloved that you died
Whispering before death: "You live!"
Why is my fate,
Burn out at night from love?
And wait, and believe, and longing
Fill all your nights
Where in our thoughts is only you and me,
The widow's lot is to wait for the soldier.
A soldier to wait and know not to believe
Already, of course, will not come
So many years since the Victory Day
Soldier's widow - waiting for her husband
*****
Veterans do not grow old in soul,
They still keep in their hearts
Pain and bloody wounds in the heart
Those soldiers who did not come from the war.
That Russia was defended by themselves,
Granite will preserve their names,
Know, we remember you by name,
That none of you are forgotten here.
And today this monument
We are walking like relatives before,
And bowing their heads low
We pay tribute to you.
Every year there are fewer and fewer of you
We keep the memory of you in our hearts,
For those killed in Russia and Poland
We remember and adore you.
For your great and glorious feat,
We will light the eternal fire again
We honor your memory today
Again we go to this monument
Potapova Albina, social educator
Poems of the poets of Siberia
*****
Deciding fate with a swift attack,
the sergeant went into the frenzy of fire ...
And suffocated, blackening the earth,
with his saliva a fascist dog.
Years will pass, a line in the name of good
will open - no time to blame
and accept the dull pain in the heart,
to strengthen courage and courage in a soldier.
A formidable song called for a feat,
opening mighty wings in battle,
flew like a bird into the heights of the sun!
And soon he, knowing the mortal risk,
I came home to my native Novosibirsk,
took off his helmet, froze, a light-faced warrior. There are burnets, a tiny flower
mastered the winds of the polonaises.
Light on the sidelines: thinned out.
But the world can be remade
in an unequal but desperate order.
Your spirit is beautiful with freedom:
where life boils, where the sky is prasin,
Boris Bogatkov
*****
Tempered Siberian harsh climate
not only us - and tanks, stones, cereals.
Sometimes the rain is so-and-so washed the forest,
that the wounds are easier, the step is more fun.
Let the sunset need us
let behind the fire of war and evil,
we got a lot of bitter smoke,
and youth entered the sketches as ashes.
Is it in a dream? - they beat the guns harshly,
like the piles of tomorrow
and the sparrows explode over the garden,
and the river will stir up to the bottom ...
We'll probably get used to the silence
but - "memory will not sleep!" - not for war.
Leonid Reshetnikov
*****
When the green lights are on
In the snows of his native Vasyuganya,
When it sparkles with a blue edge
Frost-tight days.
When the eyes stick together from books,
Read by a sobering wound
when on a snowy battlefield
Death walks alone, and do not sleep!
He, a warrior, there, in Trigorskoye,
Near the Mountains, a brown plague in defiance,
saves the glory of the Russian firmament!
He is there - bowed down, where the imperishable dust, -
forgetting for a moment himself, war and fear,
your private, Russia, - Smerdov.
Alexander Smerdov
*****
A scorched platoon buried itself in the ground.
And silence. Premonition of an attack.
And the clouds crushed like trucks,
soldiers lying - how soon forward?
"Hearts Take Off". Let the enemy rush
on the day, death-shot signs!
Now the knives will flash in the terrible darkness!
And dry in his throat ... And the smoke tears him ...
The rocket exploded in the night, and after it -
hiding in a raging fire
fighters running a shaft unstoppable ...
A tornado will rise and bleed ...
Alive will look back: dawn is coming,
and the good age stands indestructible.
Georgy Suvorov
War poems set to music
In the dugout
Fire beats in a small stove,
On the logs there is tar, like a tear,
And the accordion sings to me in the dugout
About your smile and your eyes.
The bushes whispered to me about you
In the snow-white fields near Moscow.
I want you to hear
How my voice longs alive.
You are far, far away now.
There is snow and snow between us.
It's not easy for me to give up to you,
And to death - four steps.
Sing, harmonica, in spite of the blizzard,
Call the lost happiness.
I'm warm in a cold dugout
From your unquenchable love.
Alexey Surkov
He didn't come back and fight
Why is it all wrong? Everything seems to be as always:
The same sky is blue again
The same forest, the same air and the same water,
Only he did not return from the battle.
Now I do not understand who was right among us
In our disputes without sleep and rest.
I didn't start to miss him just now,
When he didn't come back from the fight.
He was silent out of place and sang out to the beat,
He always talked about something else,
He didn't let me sleep, he got up at sunrise,
And yesterday he did not return from the battle.
What is empty now is not about that conversation.
Suddenly I noticed - there were two of us.
It's like a bonfire has blown out for me,
When he didn't come back from the fight.
Today spring has escaped, as if from captivity.
I called out to him by mistake: "Friend, stop smoking." And in response - silence: he did not return from the battle yesterday.
Our dead won't leave us in trouble
Our fallen as sentries.
The sky is reflected in the forest, as in water,
and the trees are blue.
We had enough space in the dugout,
Time flowed for us - for both.
All alone now. It only seems to me:
I didn’t return from the battle.
Vladimir Vysotsky
Goodbye boys
Ah, war, what have you done, mean:
Our courtyards have become quiet,
Our boys raised their heads -
They have matured for the time being,
On the threshold they barely loomed
And they left, after the soldier - the soldier ...
Goodbye boys!
Boys,
Try to go back.
No, don't hide you, be high
Spare no bullets or grenades
And do not spare yourself, and yet
Try to go back.
Oh, war, what did you mean, you did:
Instead of weddings - parting and smoke,
Our girls dresses are white
They gave it to their sisters.
Boots - well, where can you get to from them?
Yes, green wings epaulettes ...
Don't give a damn about gossips, girls.
We'll settle scores with them later.
Let them talk that you have nothing to believe in,
That you go to war at random ...
Goodbye girls! Girls,
Try to go back.
Poems by unknown authors
*****
In a harsh year, we ourselves became stricter,
Having lost everything and finding again.
Remembering the order of the dear Motherland.
And we promised them: we will defend!
Yes, we will defend the dear birches,
No matter how much the soul wants to rest,
Harsh, masculine our business
We will - and with honor - to the end!
*****
Black clouds are creeping
Lightning is scurrying in the sky.
In a cloud of flying dust
The trumpets are singing the alarm.
Fight a gang of fascists
The Motherland is calling for the brave.
The bullet is afraid of the brave
The bayonet does not take a bold one.
Airplanes rushed up,
The tank formation moved.
With the song of the infantry companies
We went out for the Motherland into battle.
The song is a winged bird -
The brave ones cries out to the hike.
The bullet is afraid of the brave
The bayonet does not take a bold one.
We will cover with the glory of the immortal
In battles, their names.
Only brave heroes
The joy of victory is given.
The brave strives for victory
The bold road ahead.
The bullet is afraid of the brave
The bayonet does not take a bold one.
*****
A veteran has passed away
But from insults, not from wounds,
Where is the country in which he lived
What did he defend, what did he love?
He lived hard during the life of the one
To him now: "Who are you?"
"You can buy medals!"
How could he forgive such a thing?
The country goes the other way
He doesn't need a handout
Lived without money to gray hair,
And he did without cars.
And the old wounds hurt
He remembers the faces of those guys
That went to war
Without seeing the first spring.
And now the old people are leaving,
Sometimes from pain and longing,
Although there are grandchildren and a family,
They are your story!
*****
The price of victory. Do you know what the price of victory is ?!
And how many lives did the war claim ?!
Great-grandfathers and grandfathers fought for us.
What is the reward? Pain and orders ...
The price of victory is souls on crucifixes,
And the faces of wives, washed in tears.
Fathers and brothers gone forever.
Everyone who returned in zinc coffins ...
The price of victory is proud Russia.
The price of victory is the invalids of the Great Patriotic War.
In concentration camps, violent violence.
Now veterans have dreams instead.
Do you know what the price of victory is ?!
And how many souls did the war take away ?!
The war that brought only trouble to everyone
For many, everything that was taken away.
The price of victory is orders and wounds.
Missing relatives' lives.
And what do we pay our veterans with ?!
Once a year we only remember them ...
Each of them is a cripple of the first group -
All dreams are in the burns of the soul, in scars.
When they carried corpses on their backs,
Bombs were flying at them from a height.
And everything that they have in this world is
Medals and buying up a handful of coins.
Now I swear and God is my witness
Sometimes they have no money for bread.
Those veterans, those gray-haired grandfathers,
You take care of them with your heart and soul.
Now you know that the price of victory is
This is our world, our sleep and our peace.
*****
Like a dark forest silenced by rain
And, oddly enough, it seems younger,
Having lost everything and finding again.
Among the gray-eyed, strong-shouldered, dexterous,
With a soul like the Volga at a high-water hour,
We made friends with the sound of a rifle
Remembering the order of the dear Motherland.
The girls did not accompany us with a song,
And with a long look, dry from longing,
The wives held us tight to their hearts,
And we promised them: we will defend!
Yes, we will defend the dear birches,
Gardens and songs of the grandfather's country,
So that this snow, which has absorbed blood and tears,
Burned out in the rays of an unprecedented spring.
No matter how much the soul wants to rest,
No matter how thirsty hearts may be,
Harsh, masculine our business
We will - and with honor - to the end!
Poems by famous poets
HOMELAND
Touching three great oceans
She lies, spread out the cities,
Covered with a grid of meridians
Invincible, broad, proud.
But at the hour when the last grenade
Already carried in your hand
And in a short moment you need to remember at once
All that we have left in the distance
You don't remember a big country
Which one you have traveled and learned
You remember your homeland - such
How you saw her as a child.
A piece of land crouching against three birches,
A long way for the line
A small river with a creaky carriage,
Sandy shore with low willow stands.
This is where we were lucky enough to be born
Where for life, until death, we found
That handful of earth that is good
To see in her the signs of the whole earth.
Yes, you can survive in the heat, in the thunderstorm, in the frost,
Yes, you can go hungry and cold
Go to death ... But these three birches
During life, you can not give to anyone.
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 be credited to him.
He was taken from the fortress, from Brest.
The carriage was scratched with 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 smashed.
Tied to a shield, so as not to fall
Clutching a sleeping toy to my chest,
The gray-haired boy was asleep on the gun carriage.
We went to meet him from Russia.
Waking up, he waved his hand to the troops ...
You say there are others
That I was there and I must go home ...
You know this grief by hearsay
And it cut our hearts off.
Who once 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 come back with us
And kiss a handful of her earth.
For everything that you and I held dear
The military law called us to battle.
Now my home is not where they used to be
And where he was taken from the boy.
Wait for me and I will come back
Wait for me and I will come back,
Just wait really hard.
Wait for sadness
Yellow rains.
Wait, wait when it snows
Wait when it's hot.
Wait when others are not expected
Forgetting yesterday.
Wait when from distant places
Letters will not come
Wait until you get bored
With the one who waits together.
Wait for me and I will come back,
Now everyone is out of spite
Who did not wait for me, let him,
Say "Lucky!"
Do not understand by those who did not wait
Like a tide of fire
You saved me with your expectation!
How I survived, we will know
Only you and me.
You just knew how to wait
Like no one else!
Konstantin Simonov
Zinka
We lay down by the broken spruce
We are waiting for it to start to brighten.
It's warmer under the greatcoat
On chilled, damp ground.
You know, Yulka, I'm against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
Somewhere in the apple backwoods
Mom, my mom lives.
Do you have friends, darling,
I only have one.
Spring is raging beyond the threshold.
It seems old: every bush
A restless daughter is waiting.
You know, Yulka, I'm against sadness,
But today she doesn't count ...
We barely got warm
Suddenly an unexpected order: "Forward!"
Again next to me in a damp overcoat
The light-haired soldier walks.
It got bitter every day
They walked without rallies and banners.
Surrounded by Orsha
Our battered battalion.
Zinka led us to the attack,
We made our way through black rye
On funnels and gullies,
Through mortal lines
We didn't expect posthumous glory
We wanted to live with glory.
Why in bloody bandages
Is the light-haired soldier lying?
Her body with her greatcoat
I covered, clenching my teeth,
Belarusian winds sang
About Ryazan wilderness gardens.
You know, Zinka, I'm against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
Somewhere in the apple backwoods
Mom, your mom lives.
I have friends, darling
She had you alone.
Smells in the hut of sourdough and smoke,
Spring is raging beyond the threshold.
And an old lady in a colorful dress
I lit a candle near the icon.
I don't know how to write to her,
So that she does not wait for you ...
YOU MUST!
Turning pale
Gritting my teeth to a crunch,
From the native trench
One
You gotta break away
And parapet
Slip under fire
Should.
You must.
Though you'll hardly come back
At least "Don't you dare!"
The battalion commander repeats.
Even tanks
(They're made of steel!)
Three steps from the trench
Are burning.
You must.
Because you can't pretend
In front of,
What you don't hear in the night
How almost hopeless
"Sister!"
Someone there
Under fire, screaming ...
Julia Drunina
«
May the memory of the people preserve
The stories of those people who were in that War,
And if from the verses suddenly "the heart hurts"
And the memory of the past at that time will return -
Then don't be on fire for your native country! "
Lines scorched by war
Purpose of the event:
Give an overview of prose and poetry during the Great Patriotic War, get acquainted with fragments of the biography of writers and poets of the Second World War.
Tasks:
1. Introducing students to the riches of Russian literature, which opens the most tragic pages of the history of our Motherland;
2. Development of students' abilities of aesthetic perception and evaluation of works of literature, as well as the phenomena of life reflected in them;
3. Education of high moral qualities of the individual, patriotic feelings, the formation of a humanistic worldview of students.
Event progress
The melody sounds"Farewell of a Slav"
Host: Good afternoon, dear viewers! Today, on the eve of the Victory Day celebrations, we remember those who fought, who wrote about the war, who died in the name of peace and freedom.
Host: Although more than half a century has passed since the Victory Day, but time has no power over the memory of people of different generations. The feat of the soldiers and the feat of the working people who forged victory in the rear will never fade. Remain in the ranks and poems of that time, and works, and songs that inspired the soul of a soldier during the war years. And it could not be otherwise. Literature is not only a mirror of life, it is life itself.
Leading:
The brightest, most summer day of the year
Longest day of the twenty-second.
Children slept, apples ripened in the garden ...
We remember, we remember it again!
Leading:
We remember this night and this hour
The explosion that the sun extinguished in a pitch roar,
Through inept bandages oozing,
The blood of the people turned red that June.
(Performance of the song"Clouds in blue" ... The waltz is danced by couples to the song.)
Leading:
Did you promise us to die, Motherland?
Life promised, love promised, Motherland!
Are children born for death, Motherland?
Did you want our death, Motherland?
Quietly said: "Get up to the rescue ... Motherland"
Ved .: This day began not with a quiet dewy dawn, but with the roar of bombs, the whistle of bullets and the rattle of steel. June 22, 1941. War. On this day, the writers of Moscow gathered, as if on a military alert, for a rally. A. Fadeev, A. Zharov, V. Lebedev-Kumach made short speeches.
Slide (photo by Fadeev)
A student comes out (Fadeev):
The writers of the Soviet country know their place in this decisive battle. Many of us will fight with a weapon in our hands, many will fight with a pen. (walks away, sits at the writing table)
Ved: The pen was equated with a bayonet, poetry put on a front overcoat and stepped into battle.
Leading:
Above the ground, the war rushed
It was like fire on the ground
Soaked the earth with blood,
And molten metal
Spilled three meters.
Leading:
Our mothers cry, and our peers are silently sad.
We did not know love, we did not taste the happiness of crafts,
We got the hard fate of soldiers for a long time.
A guy and a girl come out.
(Melody"Where does the Motherland begin"
The girl reads a verse.Goodbye Boys B. Okudzhava
The guy reads a verse."Wait for me" K. Simonov)
Host: The Great Patriotic War against Nazi Germany was sacred, liberating, nationwide. Victory was brought closer not only by men. Delicate, fragile girls and women also took on the brunt of the war. Women knew how not only to wait, but also to stand at the bench, raise children, and fight.
Host: They say: “The war does not have a woman’s face,” but women went to the front. They helped the wounded, brought shells, they were snipers, pilots ... They were soldiers. Veronika Tushnova became a nurse.
Their word was also a weapon. Anna Akhmatova, Olga Berggolts ... They knew their poems, waited ...
(Reading a poem by O. Berggolts"I've never been a hero" )
Host: Yulia Vladimirovna Drunina. A girl from an intelligent Moscow teaching family, she wrote poetry since childhood.
Slide (photo, words)
A student comes out (Julia Drunina):
At the age of 17, I volunteered for the front right from school, worked as a nurse in a hospital. Then he became a medical instructor in an infantry battalion. She fought in the infantry, in the artillery. She was wounded and awarded the medal "For Courage" and the Order of the Red Banner. In 1944, I was demobilized for disability after another concussion.
Although I have been writing since childhood, I felt like a poet in 1944. The first collection of poems was published in 1945 in the Znamya magazine, of course, the poems were about the war.
(Poem by Yu Drunina"Didn't cry" )
(Poem"Zinka" Yuri Drunina is recited by heart by roles)
2 girls
In memory of fellow soldier - Hero of the Soviet Union Zina Samsonova.
1. We lay down by the broken spruce,
We are waiting for it to start to brighten.
It's warmer under the greatcoat
On chilled, damp ground.
You know, Yulka, I'm against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
Somewhere in the apple backwoods
Mom, my mom lives.
Do you have friends, darling,
I only have one.
Spring is raging beyond the threshold.
It seems old: every bush
A restless daughter is waiting.
You know, Yulka, I'm against sadness,
But today she doesn't count ...
We barely got warm
Suddenly an unexpected order: "Forward!"
Again next to me in a damp overcoat
The light-haired soldier walks.
2.It got bitter every day,
They walked without rallies and banners.
Surrounded by Orsha
Our battered battalion.
Zinka led us to the attack,
We made our way through black rye
On funnels and gullies,
Through mortal lines
We didn't expect posthumous glory
We wanted to live with glory.
Why in bloody bandages
Is the light-haired soldier lying?
Her body with her greatcoat
I covered, clenching my teeth,
Belarusian winds sang
About Ryazan wilderness gardens.
3. - You know, Zinka, I am against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
Somewhere in the apple backwoods
Mom, your mom lives.
I have friends, darling
She had you alone.
Smells in the hut of sourdough and smoke,
Spring is raging beyond the threshold.
And an old lady in a colorful dress
I lit a candle near the icon.
I don't know how to write to her,
So that she does not wait for you ...
Host: It's not a woman's business to kill, but then, in 1941, very young girls went to the front, by hook or by crook besieging the military enlistment offices, adding a year or two to themselves, rushing to the front line. Boris Lvovich Vasiliev wrote about such girls.
A student comes out (B. Vasiliev):
I was born in Smolensk into a family of military personnel. He was not going to be a military man, he dreamed of becoming a historian, but the war crossed everything out. On July 8, 1941, I, a ninth-grade volunteer, arrived at the front as a member of a fighter battalion. He took part in the battles for his native Smolensk, near Vyazma. After the war, he began to professionally study literature. The stories "Encounter Battle", "Tomorrow Was the War" were written, and the first story "The Dawns Here Are Quiet" immediately received recognition from readers.
Scene from the novel by B. Vasiliev"The Dawns Here Are Quiet" .
Kiryanova spoke briefly: she said "I listen" twice and assented five times. Sergeant Major:
Build people.
Completed, Comrade Chief.
Build, there is nothing to say. One has hair, like a mane, to the waist, the other has some papers in his head. Warriors! Scale the forest with such, catch the Germans with machine guns! And they, by the way, have some birthmarks, sample 1891 fraction of the 30th year ...
At ease!
Zhenya, Galya, Liza ... The foreman frowned:
Wait, Osyanina! We are going to fish for the Germans - not fish. So that at least they knew how to shoot, or something ...
They know how.
Vaskov wanted to give up, but caught himself:
Yes, here's another. Maybe someone knows German?
I know.
What am I? What am I? It is necessary to report!
Fighter Gurvich.
Oh-ho-ho! How do they say - hands up?
Hyundai hoh.
Exactly, - the foreman waved his hand. - Come on, Gurvich ...
These five lined up. Serious, like children, but there seems to be no fear yet.
We go for two days, so we must count. Take dry rations, cartridges ... five clips each. Refuel ... Well, eat, then, is dense. Shoe like a human being, put yourself in order, get ready. For everything - forty minutes.
The rest of the time the foreman devoted to a small lecture, which, in his opinion, introduced the fighters to the course of the matter:
Do not be afraid of the enemy. He is walking along our rear, which means that he is afraid himself. But don't let him get close, because the enemy is still a healthy man and is armed specially for close combat. If it really happens that he is next to him, then you better hide. Just don't run, God forbid: getting into someone running from a machine gun is a pleasure. Walk only in twos. Do not lag behind and do not talk on the way. If the road comes across, how should you proceed?
We know, - said the redhead. “One is on the right, the other is on the left.
Secretly, - said Fedot Evgrafych. - The order of movement will be as follows: in front - the head patrol in the composition of a junior sergeant with a soldier. Then a hundred meters away - the main core: I ... - he looked around his squad, - with an interpreter. A hundred meters behind us - the last pair. Walk, of course, not close, but at a distance of visibility. In the event of an enemy or something incomprehensible ... Who can scream like an animal or like a bird there?
They giggled, fools ...
I'm asking seriously! In the forest, you can't give signals with your voice: the German also has ears. They fell silent.
I can, - Gurvich said timidly. - According to the donkey: and-a, and-a!
Donkeys are not found here, - the foreman remarked with displeasure. - Okay, let's quack study. Like ducks.
He showed it, and they laughed. What they suddenly became amused, Vaskov did not understand, but he himself could not help smiling.
(Dance "At the Halt" or"Song of tourists" from the opera Molchanov "The Dawns Here Are Quiet")
Host: Yuri Vasilievich Bondarev. In June 1941, Yura Bondarev was a little over 17 years old. Like all peers, he was eager to go to the front.
Slide (photo)
A student comes out (Yu. Bondarev):
I completed a crash course at an artillery school and already in 1942 fought at Stalingrad.
The novel Hot Snow, written in 1969, is just about these events: about the battles on the outskirts of Stalingrad artillery battery. Based on this novel, a feature film was shot under the same name. In 1945, after another wound, I was demobilized. In my book Moments, I wrote: “The war has already become history. But is it? For me, one thing is clear: the main participants in history are people and time. Not forgetting time means not forgetting people, not forgetting people - it means not forgetting time. To be historical is to be modern. "
(Watching an excerpt from the movie"The battalions are asking for fire" )
(Reading a verse by R. Rozhdestvensky"It was November" .)
Host: Viktor Petrovich Astafiev is a Siberian. Orphanage. In 1942 he volunteered for the front.
Slide (photo)
Pupil (Astafiev):
I fought in the artillery, was a signalman, a driver, an artillery reconnaissance officer. He took part in the battles at the Kursk Bulge, liberated Ukraine, Poland, was seriously wounded, contused, in 1945 he was demobilized. I always felt guilty towards those who did not live, did not love. He told his truth about the war in the stories: "The Merry Soldier", "So I Want to Live", in the terrible monumental novel "Cursed and Killed".
Host: V.P. Astafyev wrote not about the victorious immortal people, but about the "ordinary" man in the war, who retains kindness and love in himself in the hellish conditions of the monstrous, incinerating element of war.
Host: They are. Young soldiers, carried on their shoulders the main hardships of the war. Such as the simple Russian soldier Vasily Terkin - the hero of Tvardovsky's poem.
(Vasily Terkin enters the stage)
Terkin:
So I came from a stop
To his native village council.
I came, and here is a party.
No partying? OK. No,
I'm on another collective farm, and on the third
All the districts in sight
Somewhere in this world
I'll get to the party.
Host: And love in war? In war, feelings were even sharper, more piercing, because the soldier never knew how long his happiness would last.
Leading:
I do not know which outpost
Suddenly I will be silent in tomorrow's battle,
Dying, I will remember again
The girl I love
The one that did not have time to kiss.
(Scene from the work of M. Karim"Pardon" .)
(The song is playing"Echo" )
Host: Many modern poets write about war. Among them is Vladimir Semenovich Vysotsky. He was a child when the war began. He grew up in a military family, and therefore knew a lot about the war. Vysotsky carried the war theme throughout his life.
Host: Vladimir Vysotsky himself explained it this way: “... why do I have a lot of war songs? Why do I so often turn to the military topic? .. First, we must not forget about it. War will always excite - it is such a great victory that covered our land for four years. Secondly, I have a military family ... "
Host: “The songs of Vysotsky about the war are, first of all, the songs of very real people ... Strong, tired, courageous, kind. Such people can be entrusted with their own lives and the Motherland. Such will not fail. This is how the most significant, the highest concepts pass from parents to children ... ”(R. Rozhdestvensky)
(The ensemble of girls plays the song of V. Vysotsky"On mass graves ..." )
Ved. Vsevolod Bagritsky - died at the age of 19 near Leningrad, writing down the story of a political instructor.
Pavel Kogan - died at 23 near Novorossiysk, heading a reconnaissance group.
Nikolai Mayorov - killed in a battle in the Smolensk region at the age of 23
Mikhail Kulchitsky - died at 23 at Stalingrad.
Semyon Gudzenko - died of wounds.
Host: Human memory. Time has no power over her. And no matter how many years and decades have passed, the people of the Earth will return to our Victory again and again.
(The song is playing"Cranes" , slides of the heroes of the Sov. Union of the Mishkinsky district)
Leading:
We remember you soldiers
Even if not all names are known,
But the wars of that cruel clamor
Will not stop at all times.
Leading:
Having drunk the cup of suffering all the way down,
You passed away young
But in our memory at all times
Stay alive forever.
Leading:
No, time has no power over us
He cannot kill our grief.
We wash your ashes with tears
Learning to be grateful.
Host: Literature about the war is a tribute to the memory of the feat of the Russian people, the feat of the Russian soldier. We must pass on this baton of memory to the next generations.
(The poem is read by a student of grade 3"I paint people" )
I paint people
I paint the grass
I paint everything
What's around in reality.
I paint at home
And gardens in the moon.
I paint everything
What will I see in a dream.
I do not want to paint
Explosions from bombs.
Don't cry
Nobody in my picture.
We will not let our planet be offended.
"Yes!" - flowering gardens
“No!” - we say to the war.
Target: the formation of the patriotic consciousness of the young generation on the basis of the heroic events of history by means of literary education.
Tasks:
To deepen the knowledge of students on the history and literature of the period of the Great Patriotic War;
To foster a sense of gratitude to veterans for the Victory in the Great Patriotic War; cultivate courage, patriotic feelings
Equipment: multimedia equipment; presentation "Lines scorched by the war ...."; book exhibition "Poetry of the front years"
Event progress
The song "In the front-line forest" is performed by Natalia Podolskaya.
1st presenter
Every year the heroic and tragic years of the Great Patriotic War are farther away from us. This war was one of the most difficult tests that our country withstood with honor. The feat of the soldier who stood to death and the feat of the toiler who forged this victory in the rear will never be forgotten.
2nd presenter
It is our duty to keep the memory of this feat, respect for perseverance, courage, selfless love for our Fatherland and pass it on to future generations.
1st presenter
And the dead, the voiceless,
There is only one consolation:
We fell for the Motherland,
And she is saved.
Our eyes are dim
The flame of the heart is extinguished
On the ground in practice
They are not calling out to us.
2nd presenter
We have our own fighting
Do not wear orders.
All this to you, alive,
We are one joy,
That it was not for nothing that they fought
We are for the Motherland,
Let our voice not be heard -
You must know him.
The song "Cranes" is played (verses by Rasul Gamzatov translated into Russian by Naum Grebnev, composer Yan Frenkel performed by a student of the lyceum)
A minute of silence.
1st presenter
June. The sunset was leaning towards the evening,
And the sea was overflowing on a warm night.
And the ringing laughter of the guys was heard,
Not knowing, not knowing grief.
June! Then we did not know yet
Walking from school evenings,
That tomorrow will be the first day of war
And it will end only in the forty-fifth, in May.
The song "From the heroes of the past" (from the film "Officers") is performed by Vasily Lanovoy.
2nd presenter
The war is 1000 km from Brest to Moscow, 1600 km from Moscow to Berlin. By train - less than two days, and our soldiers, where on their bellies, where crawling ... - in four years. War - 27 million people. 19 thousand people a day, 793 people per hour, 13 people per minute.
1st presenter
Four years - 1418 days and nights, 34,032 hours! You need to know and remember about this. And if now we announce a minute of silence for each, the country would be silent for 32 years.
Alshevskaya A. V. with a speech about front-line writers (presentation). The melody of the song "Eh, roads" sounds.
Reader
Poetry as an art form capable of a quick emotional response, in the very first months and even days of the war, created works that were destined to become epoch-making.
Already on June 24, 1941, a poem by V.I. Lebedev-Kumach "The Holy War".
The editor-in-chief of Krasnaya Zvezda, Dmitry Ortenberg, describes the history of the appearance of this poem as follows:
Let's urgently get poems in the room!
Having received the assignment, he began to call the poets. Accidentally ran into Lebedev-Kumach:
- Vasily Ivanovich, the newspaper needs poetry.
- When?
- Today is Sunday. The newspaper comes out on Tuesday. Poems must certainly be tomorrow.
- There will be ...
The next day, Lebedev-Kumach, as promised, brought a poem to the editorial office. It began like this:
Get up, the country is huge
Get up to fight to the death
With a dark fascist force,
With a cursed horde.
Soon the composer Aleksandrov wrote music to these poems. And on June 27, the Red Army ensemble sang the song for the first time at the Belorussky railway station in the capital in front of the soldiers going to the front.
The song "Sacred War" is played (a video about the war is shown to the song).
During the war years, this song sounded everywhere. Under her sounds, the first echelons went to the front, she accompanied the soldiers on the march, in the wartime and hard life of the rear.
The rallying, inspiring role of this song was largely determined by the fact that the harsh truth was told about the war in it. She was imbued with a sense of the severity of the trials that befell our people.
Reading poems
S. Voronin "Mom"
(students read line by line)
Hello mother!
I miss you.
I would like to snuggle up to you ...
I want to eat homemade cabbage soup
And sleep in your bed.
I want to see all my friends
And neighbors, and girls too,
Run pigeons on the rooftops
Once again, you and dad would be younger.
... tomorrow I will be in reconnaissance behind enemy lines.
Don't be afraid - I'm not scared at all ...
Wait for me, dear ...
I am your son. And I miss you terribly.
Mom, do you remember the sweater, my blue sweater ...
Darn it, please ...
I will return and you and I will go again
along the wide streets ...
Mama!!!
Reader
The most famous poem, perhaps, is "Wait for me" by K. Simonov. I wondered why this poem was so popular. People of different generations know and love him. And, it seems to me, I understood what the secret of his undying popularity is: in the place of the lyrical hero of this poem, each soldier could put himself and turn with the words "wait for me" to his girlfriend, beloved, mother. After all, the soldiers in the war lived in the memory of their home, dreamed of meeting their loved ones, and they so needed to be expected. And today, when the guys go to the army, they dream about the same, though, perhaps, they are embarrassed to say about it aloud.
K. Simonov "Wait for me"
Wait for me and I will come back.
Just wait really hard
Wait for the sadness
Yellow rains
Wait for the snow to sweep
Wait when it's hot
Wait when others are not expected
Forgetting yesterday.
Wait when from distant places
Letters will not come
Wait until you get bored
To everyone who is waiting together.
Wait for me and I will come back,
Do not wish good
To everyone who knows by heart
It's time to forget.
Let the son and mother believe
That there is no me
Let friends get tired of waiting
Sit by the fire
Drink bitter wine
In commemoration of the soul ...
Wait. And with them at the same time
Don't rush to drink.
Wait for me and I will come back,
To spite all deaths.
Who did not wait for me, let him
He will say: - Lucky.
Do not understand, who did not wait for them,
As among the fire
By their expectation
You saved me.
How I survived, we will know
Only you and me, -
You just knew how to wait
Like no one else.
Mikheenko T. L. reads M. Jalil's poem "Barbarism"
During the following stories, there is a presentation of "Bells of Khatyn"
1st presenter
In the newspaper "Sovetskaya Belorussia" there was a message about one of the executioners of Khatyn, Grigory Vasyur. Vasyura, the killer of Belarusian children, was awarded a medal for his diligence. Only recently (about 20 years ago) his "merits" were revealed, although after the war he was tried for cooperation with the Germans and sentenced to 25 years in forced labor camps. But they were released under an amnesty.
2nd presenter
In 1986, in Minsk, the tribunal of the Belarusian Military District pronounced him an exceptional punishment. After the verdict was passed, Vasyura appealed with a petition for pardon: "I ask you to give me, a sick old man, the opportunity to live out my already short life with my family at large."
1st presenter
But did he think about those who also wanted to live with their families, but burned down in the fire ?! About those for whom the bells of Khatyn ring day and night ... Who left us, alive, the words on black marble: “Good people, remember: we loved life, the Motherland, and you, dear ones. We burned alive in the fire. Our request is to everyone: let pain and sorrow become strength and courage, so that you can perpetuate peace and tranquility on earth, so that life does not die anywhere and never in a whirlwind of fires. "
2nd presenter
186 Belarusian villages, burned down together with the inhabitants, were left to us by the Nazis. They are called "sisters of Khatyn".
People's memory ... it carefully preserves the names and deeds of those who defended the freedom and independence of the Motherland during the Great Patriotic War. Thousands of monuments have been erected in their honor on the territory of Belarus, museums have been opened, streets are named after them.
2nd presenter
It is impossible to forget the great calamities that the war has brought to our country, our people. We know at what cost the Victory was won, and we will always remember those who gave their lives for their Motherland.
Reader
Joseph Utkin (died 1944). "From a letter"
When I see how slain
My neighbor falls in battle,
I do not remember his grievances,
I remember about his family.
It seems to me involuntarily
Its deceptive comfort.
... He's already dead. It doesn't hurt him
And they will also be killed by a letter!
Reading poems
I. Utkin. "If I don't come back, dear ..."
If I don't come back darling
I do not heed your tender letters,
Do not think that this is another.
That means ... damp earth.
This means the oak trees are unsociable
They are sad over me in silence,
And such separation from the beloved
You will forgive me with your homeland.
Only to you I will listen with all my heart.
Only you and I was happy:
Only you and the native land
I loved you with all my heart, you know.
And until the oaks are unsociable
They will not bow over me, dozing,
Only you will be my love
Only you and native land!
Yuri Drunin. "Bandages"
The fighter's eyes are filled with tears,
He lies, spring-loaded and white,
And I have to adhered bandages
Tear it off with one bold movement.
In one move - this is how we were taught.
With one movement - only this is pity ...
But meeting the gaze of terrible eyes,
I did not dare to move.
For the bandage I generously lila peroxide,
Trying to soak it without pain.
And the paramedic became evil
And she repeated: "Woe to me with you!
So to stand on ceremony with everyone is a disaster.
And you only add torment to him. "
But the wounded were always marked
Fall into my slow hands.
No need to tear the adhered bandages
When they can be removed with almost no pain.
I understood it, you will understand too ...
What a pity that the science of kindness
You can't learn from books at school!
F. Lipatov. "The dust did not settle ..."
The dust did not settle
Chadil Berlin by fire.
With a heavy gait
Armored and unarmored
Walked right through houses and sidewalks
Confident Victory these days.
And the squares were like landfills,
Where were the fascist crosses taken?
Charred stick standards
They stuck out like bony fingers.
And here it is - a holy date,
Filled with happiness to the brim.
The soldiers were shooting up enthusiastically,
Not feeling tired of fighting.
There were still shadows of loss
But the neighbor hugged the neighbor.
Swept over the tenderness of the lilac
Only one powerful word -
VICTORY!
2nd presenter
70 years have passed since the liberation of the territory of Belarus from the German fascist invaders. For world history, this may be a brief moment, but for people it is a whole life. Time flies like the wind. The years flow like rivers. But like cliffs, like rocks, heroes stand. Their feat is immortal, because our memory became the guarantee of their immortality. May she always keep the past.
1st presenter
Memory is needed not only for those who survived, it is even more necessary for us - the young, so that we know what life and death, war and peace are, and at what cost freedom is achieved.
2nd presenter
The victory came at a high price. Thousands of soldiers were left to lie in the Belarusian land. They have fulfilled their duty to the Motherland to the end. We bow our heads before their blessed memory.
The song "We will not stand for the price" by B. Okudzhava performed by Nina Urgant sounds.
1st presenter
We are children of peaceful days, we are young, it seems to us that the whole world is for us. And we so want to have time to do a lot. We were born to build, not destroy, live, not die.
Reflection "Letter to a Soldier"
Songs of the war years are played.
Alshevskaya Anna Vladimirovna, teacher of the Russian language and literature of the highest category. Mikheenko Taisiya Leonidovna, teacher of the Russian language and literature of the highest category. State Educational Institution "Lyceum of Novopolotsk"
To download the material or!Natalia Marchenko
Literary evening "These years cannot be forgotten"
Host 1. Dear guests, guys! We are glad to welcome you to poetry evening"These years cannot be forgotten!» dedicated to the 70th anniversary of the Victory of our people in the Great Patriotic War over Nazi Germany. Military events of 70 years ago live in history, music, poetry. Today we will hear poetic lines about the Great Patriotic War, which our grandfathers and great-grandfathers, fathers and mothers went through, about the heroic deed of our people, about the great Victory.
Lead 2. They have died down for a long time, they made noise with cannon volleys, rumblings years of war... But the nationwide feat remained forever in history. We remember everyone who did not return. Their life and feat continues. He calls for new labor exploits in the name of strengthening the might of our Motherland, in the name of preserving and strengthening peace throughout the world!
(Slide 1)
We celebrate many holidays
We all dance, play, sing
And we meet the beauty of autumn,
And we are waiting for an elegant Christmas tree.
But there is one holiday - the most important
And spring brings it to us
Victory Day - solemn, glorious
The whole country celebrates it.
Host 1. We were born and raised in peacetime. We have never heard the howling of sirens announcing a military alarm, we have not seen houses destroyed by Nazi bombs, we do not know what an unheated dwelling and a meager military package are. For us, war is history. We dedicate our today's meeting to the glorious victory of our people in the Great Patriotic War.
(Slide 2)
Lead 2.
The war has passed, the suffering has passed,
But pain calls out to people:
Come on people, never
Let's not forget about this.
Lead 1.
May the memory of her be true
They keep about this flour,
And the children of today's children,
And our grandchildren, grandchildren.
Lead 2. Let it always be the same
Brings us to memory
And the first snow and rye in bloom,
When it walks in the wind.
Lead 1.
Let in everything that life is full,
In everything that is sweet to the heart
We will be given a memo
About what was in the world.
Lead 2.
Then, to forget it
Generations did not dare.
Then, to make us happier,
And happiness is not forgotten!
Host 1. Today will be a day of memories
And the heart is cramped from high words.
Today will be a day of reminders
About the feat and valor of the fathers. (A. Tvardovsky)
Presenter 2. Let's remember how the Second World War began ... And it began unexpectedly, suddenly in the early summer morning. On June 22, 1941, without declaring war, the Nazis attacked our homeland. Enemies bombed our cities and villages from planes, fired from tanks, cannons and machine guns. Enemy soldiers took over our cities. Our entire vast country has risen to battle with a cruel and merciless enemy.
(Slide 3) Musical accompaniment "Holy war"
An adult is a parent.
That longest day of the year
With its cloudless weather
He gave us a common misfortune -
For everyone. For all four years.
She pressed a trail like this
And laid so many on the ground,
That twenty years and thirty years
The living cannot believe that they are alive.
And to the dead, straightening the ticket,
Someone close to him is driving.
And time adds to the lists
Someone else, someone not.
And he puts up, puts up an obelisk. (K. Simonov)
An adult is a parent.
June. Russia. Sunday.
Dawn in the arms of silence.
A fragile moment remains
Until the first shots of the war.
In a second the world will explode
Death will lead the parade-alle
And the sun will go out forever
For millions on earth.
A mad flurry of fire and steel
Will not turn back on its own.
Two "Super god": Hitler - Stalin,
And between them is a terrible hell.
June. Russia. Sunday.
Country on the brink: to be not to be ...
And this eerie moment
We will never forget(D. Popov)
Host 1. Not only men, but also women fought in the war. They were nurses, doctors, nurses, scouts, signalmen. Many soldiers were carried away from the battlefield, saved from death by gentle, kind and such strong female hands. What courage and courage led them into a desperate battle with death!
(Slide 4)
Bullets rumble, bullets whistle
A soldier was wounded by a shell fragment.
Whispering little sister: "Let me hold you,
I will bandage your wound "-
Everything forgot: weakness and fear,
She carried him out of the fight in her arms.
How much love and warmth there was in her,
The sister saved many from death. (Yuri Drunina)
Host 2. During the war, poets and composers composed many good soulful songs and poems that helped to maintain the fighting spirit of the soldiers. Artists came to the front and performed in front of the soldiers in between battles. These were poems and songs about the Motherland, about mothers, about a beloved home. (Slide 5)
A medley of songs sounds: "Katyusha" (M. Blanter, M. Isakovsky); "In the dugout" (M. Listov, A. Surkov); "On a sunny meadow" (V. Soloviev-Sedoy, A. Fatyanov); "It's time to hit the road" (V. Soloviev-Sedoy, S. Fogelson); "Vasya-Vasilek" (A. Novikov, S. Alymov) and etc.
Host 1. Brave, courageous, fearless fighters - soldiers of different nationalities fought for our great Motherland! How many heroic deeds did they perform in years of this difficult war!
A song is played by the teachers "Russian guy"
music - M.K.Breitburg, lyrics - S. Sashin
An adult is a parent.
We know what is on the scales now
And what is happening now.
The hour of courage struck on our watch
And courage will not leave us.
It's not scary to lie under the bullets dead,
It is not bitter to be left homeless,
And we will save you, Russian speech,
Great Russian word.
We will carry you free and clean
We will give it to our grandchildren, and we will save from captivity
Forever! (A. Akhmatova)
Host 1. Many families still have soldiers' triangles - letters sent from the front by fathers and brothers, mothers and sisters. They wrote that they would return home with victory. And how they waited for these letters at home!
(Slide 6)
Hello dear Maxim!
Hello my beloved son!
I write from the front line
Tomorrow morning, fight again!
We will drive the fascists,
Take care, son, mother,
Forget sorrow and sadness-
I will return with victory!
I will finally hug you
Goodbye. Your father. (A. Tvardovsky)
My dear relatives!
Night. The flame of a candle is trembling
This is not the first time I remember
How do you sleep on a warm stove.
In our little old hut
That the woods are lost in the deaf,
I remember a field, a rivulet,
I remember you again and again. (A. Tvardovsky)
Host 2. An eternal flower lies at the monument to the fallen soldiers. He is a carnation, then a rose, then a cornflower, then a chamomile. Even in winter, when there is snow and cold everywhere, a flower lies at the monument. Where does it come from? People bring it. They will take away the wilted flower lay fresh and say: "We will never forget you, heroes" (Slide 7)
An adult is a parent.
Fireworks and parades will die off.
Those who live will receive awards.
Speak loudly, with a sense of duty,
And then everyone will be forgotten for a long time.
How many veterans are left?
How many were too early?
And now no one will say for sure
How many destinies have been torn to shreds!
Wars still rumble in my memory.
It hurts at times ...
In May, a noisy holiday was celebrated,
And now my soul is in sorrow.
I'll come to your cemetery,
Remember, dad,
For your Victory. (P. Davydov)
Lead 1.
We will remember everyone by name, we will remember our grief ...
This is needed - not dead! It is necessary - alive!
We will honor the memory of the soldiers with a minute of silence, and everyone in their hearts will thank them for the happy world in which we live.
A minute of silence…. (Slides 8, 9, 10)
All the earthly world under your feet,
I live, I breathe, I sing
But in my memory is always with me
Those killed in action.
What I owe them - I know
And let not only a verse,
My life will be worthy
The death of a soldier.
A fire burns near the obelisk
Birches are sad in silence
And we'll bend low, low
Here an unknown soldier sleeps (A. Ternovsky)
Host 1. Throughout the bloody, such a long war, people did not lose faith in victory. "The enemy is not defeated, the victory will be ours!"- these words sounded everywhere. And here it is - the great Victory Day!
The recording of Y. Levitan's speech sounds "Act of unconditional surrender of the German Armed Forces"
The country was jubilant! (Slide 11)
An adult is a parent.
Where the grass is damp from dew and blood,
Where the pupils of machine guns glare fiercely,
Full length, above the front edge trench,
The victorious soldier rose.
Heart beat on ribs intermittently, often.
Silence. Silence. Not in a dream - in reality.
And the foot soldier said: - Otmayalis! Basta! -
And noticed a snowdrop in the moat.
And in the soul that yearned for light and affection,
The melodious stream revived the joy of the former.
And the soldier bent down and to the bullet-through helmet
He carefully adjusted the flower.
Living people came to life again in the memory -
Moscow region in snow and on fire Stalingrad.
For the first time in four unthinkable years,
The soldier cried like a child.
Thus stood the infantryman, laughing and sobbing,
Trampling the barbed fence with a boot.
A young dawn blazed over my shoulders,
Foreshadowing a sunny day. (A. Surkov)
Host 1. The victory was given at a high price. The Battle of Moscow, the Battle of Stalingrad, the unconquered Leningrad, a fiery arc and, finally, the storming of Berlin! Twenty million lives have brought our people to the altar of victory. But eternal fire of our memory!
(Slide 13)
An adult is a parent.
The places of those battles are sacred
Where the warriors went to feat.
Country Victory Day, spring
They brought from the battles.
We come to the square with flowers
A soldier stands there unchanged,
And the eternal flame is our memory-
Always illuminates granite! (A. Poroshin)
Host 2. The globe is very small, but on it m there is a place for everything in the world: to people, and animals, and water, and fish, and forests, and fields. How important and necessary it is to protect this fragile planet, our common home. And for this, all people on earth need to live in peace, enjoy the sun, every new day. (Slide 14)
Let's keep the planet safe
There is no similar one in the whole universe,
All alone in the whole universe
What will she do without us?
Let's be friends with each other,
Like a bird with the sky, like the wind with a meadow,
Like a sail with the sea, grass with rains,
How the sun is friends with all of us! (N. Naydenova)
Host 1. Victory is a peaceful sky, a peaceful life. For the fact what we live now: we rejoice, rejoice, laugh, dance, sing, play, learn ... We all owe to the fallen soldiers who gave their lives on the battlefields and to living veterans, participants in this war who lived to see the great Victory!
Let there never be a war!
Let the cities sleep peacefully.
Let the sirens shriek
Doesn't sound over my head.
Let not a single shell explode
None of them scribbles a machine gun.
Let our forests announce
And let the years pass peacefully
Let there never be a war! (N. Naydenova)
Host 2. We know about the war from the stories of our grandfathers and great-grandfathers, participants and veterans, who are getting smaller and smaller. Let us remember them not only on this great holiday. (Slides 15,16,17)
An adult is a parent.
The jubilee is noisy, the parades have died down,
The bright holiday was fully celebrated with dignity;
But even after the celebrations, we do not need to forget,
Those people who won the war.
Veterans are carried away by disease and years -
There are very few of them left alive now;
People need to remember their exploits forever,
After all, they saved us from slavery and death!
Let orders and medals shine in the sun,
On the chest of veterans of the great war -
These people gave all their strength to the Fatherland,
We defended the freedom of the country in battles!
The jubilee is noisy. The parades died down
But we all must not forget for a moment:
War veterans will be the best reward
Our daily concern for them! (M. Kryukov)
Children are giving flowers to veterans.
Literary living room dedicated to the work of Robert Rozhdestvensky.
The voice of Robert Rozhdestvensky was heard immediately, as soon as the magazine "October" published in 1955 his youthful poem "My Love". The young poet clearly and simply spoke about things close to many. The trusting, open intonation of this voice won over ...
The poem began in the chest
Threatening to break the chest.
Now her,
How not cool,
Do not write
It is forbidden.
I raved about her at night
I took care of it like life.
I rocked her in my arms
And he repeated:
Write!
Write!
I demanded
But me
Heap of lines answered:
Wait!
Have you been on fire?
Did you knead
Dust roads?
Have you met death in the attack?
Are you used to daring?
And so do you know life
To dare
Tell others about her? ..
What was behind the "heap of lines" of this first, still largely imperfect, but very sincere poem?
Military Siberian childhood, heating trains, slow, like queues for bread ... Music school, pioneer concerts in the Omsk hospital, when seriously wounded soldiers and commanders listen to you, a twelve-year-old cadet stuttering ...
Robert Ivanovich Rozhdestvensky was born in the Altai village of Kosikha in 1932, in the family of Stanislav Nikodimovich Petkevich, an employee of the OGPU-NKVD. The surname and patronymic of Rozhdestvensky - after his stepfather. Rozhdestvensky himself remembers little about his father: his father scolded his work, then started drinking heavily. In 1937, the parents separated. After the divorce, the poet's father managed to leave the organs, in 1939 he participated in the Soviet-Finnish war, in 1941 he volunteered for the front and soon died there.
Mother worked in Kosikha as a school director. Before the outbreak of the war, she graduated from the Omsk Medical Institute. And when the war broke out, which caught the Rozhdestvenskys in Omsk, the parents of the future poet went to the front. The boy was brought up during the war, first by his grandmother, and then by his aunt. The Danilov Orphanage (in Moscow) and the Third Moscow Military Music School for pupils of the Workers 'and Peasants' Red Army became landmarks in their upbringing. “And I,” he recalls, “shocked by everything that happened, wrote a poem, and our school teacher took this poem to the newspaper. There he was published ... ". The first publication of Rozhdestvensky's poems appeared in July 1941 in the newspaper Omskaya Pravda.
Many years later, Rozhdestvensky will write:
I was born in the village of Kosikha.
Rainy summer.
In Altai.
And outside the village
Blue field
And smelled
overripe downpour ...
No!
I was born much later.
Later.
In June.
Forty-first.
Levitan
Was my lullaby
Me
The war has absorbed into itself.
I am her son.
I am full of it ...
In 1950, the poet entered the Faculty of History and Philology of the Karelian-Finnish (now Petrozavodsk) University, from where a year later he moved to the Literary Institute named after A.M. Gorky, who graduated in 1956. At the Literary Institute, he met Yevgeny Yevtushenko, who had studied a year earlier, Rasul Gamzatov, Grigory Pozhenyan, Grigory Baklanov, Chingiz Aitmatov, entered literature together with Bella Akhmadulina, Andrei Voznesensky, Vladimir Tsybin.
Rozhdestvensky's lyrics quickly gained public resonance. Reflecting on the nature of this success, Konstantin Simonov wrote: “I especially appreciate in Robert Rozhdestvensky the enviable ability to pose difficult questions and reflect on them in front of the reader, to seek and find answers to them, albeit not obligatory for all of us, but invariably arousing respect purity, honesty, conviction of seeking. Of course, poetry is not alive by a single problem, but poetry without problems is dead ... ”. Look how much philosophy, reflections on the hours of life in his poem "Hours".
The hours go by ...
Just think -
Open!
Serviceable, so ...
Has gained -
Wear ...
I'm not talking about that!
Look outside:
On the morning earth
The clock is ticking!
Silently, the minutes are in a hurry,
hours go by
They knock on my window.
The hours go by
And miss them,
Don't meet them
Living is not given ...
The hours of a man's short life,
You will see -
I'll outwit you!
I'll run into the house.
I'll close the door tight.
Now knock -
I will not open! ..
You burrow
Close up
You won't let me in
You will spoil your donated watch,
Forget the time
And you will forget your friends
And you will shut up
And you won't remember anything.
Proud of the cozy silence of the apartment
And by my own cunning
Beaming,
Quicker
Barricade the doors! ..
But the hour
Will come!
An inescapable hour.
It will come at any time of the year
On thoughts
To lazy dreams.
The hour will come
On the heart and on the throat ...
And, in fear for myself,
You will wake up! ..
And break the window
Wet wind.
And the leaves will gush
In dew drops ...
You will hear:
The clock strikes!
And after that
Will you feel
Backhand
Beat
Watch!
Since the childhood of Rozhdestvensky fell on the hard times of war. I had to go through a lot, so the theme of the Great Patriotic War is far from the last place in the poet's work.
Forty difficult year.
Omsk hospital ...
The corridors are dry and easily soiled.
The old nurse whispers:
"God!..
What are the artists
Small ... "
We walk in long chambers.
We almost dissolve into them
With balalaikas,
With mandolins
And in large bundles of books ...
The program includes reading,
A couple of songs
Military, correct ...
We are in the ward
We enter with trepidation and respect ...
Two are here.
Major of artillery
With an amputated leg
In a crazy fight
Near Yelnya
He who took fire upon himself.
He looks at the aliens cheerfully ...
And another -
Bandaged up to eyebrows, -
Captain,
Rammed "Messer"
Three weeks ago
Near Rostov ...
We entered.
We stand in silence ...
All of a sudden
Tearing falsetto
Abrikosov Grishka desperately
Announces the beginning of the concert.
And behind him,
Not quite perfect
But listening to the singer with might and main,
Sings about the folk,
About sacred
So,
How we understand it ...
In it, Chapaev fights anew,
Red Star tanks are racing.
Ours walk in it
In attacks,
And the fascists fall dead.
In it, someone else's iron melts,
In it, death must also recede.
To be honest,
Like
US
Such a war ...
We sing…
Is distributed.
And in it - a reproach:
"Wait ...
Wait, lads ...
Wait ...
Died
Major ... "
The balalaika threw up sadly.
Hastily,
As if delirious ...
That's all
About the concert at the hospital
That year.
(The song sounds to the words of R. Rozhdestvensky "For that guy ...")
And the most famous was the poem "Requiem", dedicated to the memory of those who fell on the fronts of the Great Patriotic War. In its ten chapters, ten verse melodies sound - spells, songs and laments, where the poet's voice echoes with the voice of a mother who did not wait for her son, with the voices of fallen soldiers.
Oh why are you
The sun is red
You all go away -
Don't you say goodbye?
Oh why
From a joyless war
A son,
Not coming back?
I will help you out of trouble,
I'll fly
Fast eagle.
Answer me, my blood!
Small.
The only one…
Love lyrics occupy an important place in the work of Robert Rozhdestvensky. His hero is whole here, as well as in other manifestations of his character. This does not mean at all that, entering the zone of feelings, he does not experience dramatic contradictions and conflicts. On the contrary, all Rozhdestvensky's poems about love are filled with anxious heart movement. The path to his beloved is always a difficult path for a poet; it is, in essence, the search for the meaning of life, the one and only happiness, the path to oneself.
“It all starts with love” is the poet's program poem. This is the name of one of the best collections published in 1977.
It all starts with love ...
They say:
"Initially
It was
Word…"
And I declare again:
It all starts
With love! ..
It all starts with love:
And illumination
And work,
Eyes of flowers, eyes of a child -
It all starts with love.
It all starts with love.
With love!
I know that for sure.
Everything,
Even hate
Dear
And eternal
Sister of love.
It all starts with love:
Dream and fear
Wine and gunpowder.
Tragedy,
Yearning
And feat -
It all starts with love ...
Spring whispers to you:
"Live ..."
And you will sway from a whisper.
And straighten up.
And you will begin.
It all starts with love!
And further…
Please be
Weaker.
Be
please.
And then I will give you
miracle
Easy.
And then I will sweep out -
I will grow
Become special.
I will take it out of the burning house
You
Sleepy.
I will decide on everything unknown
For everything reckless, -
I'll throw myself into the sea
Thick,
Ominous, -
And I will save you! ..
This will
My heart ordered me
The heart commanded ...
But you
Stronger than me
Stronger
and more confident!
You yourself are ready to save others
From grievous despondency.
You yourself are not afraid
No blizzard whistle
no crispy fire.
You won't get lost
You won't drown
you cannot accumulate evil.
You won't cry
And you won't get stuck
if you want.
You will become smooth
And you will become windy
if you want.
I'm with you -
so confident -
hard
Highly.
Though on purpose
For a moment, -
I ask,
Shy, -
Help me to believe in myself
become
Weaker.
(The song to the poems by R. Rozhdestvensky "Echo of Love" is played)
Robert Rozhdestvensky has published over thirty books in a quarter of a century of poetry, many of which have been translated into different languages of the world. Songs to his poems are sung in our country by millions. The words of his poems fit into the music naturally, as if they did not exist without it. Here are some of them: “For that guy”, “Comrade Song”, “Huge sky”, “Moments”, “Song of the distant homeland”, “Call me, call me”.
(The song "Call me, call" is played)
