Olga bergholtz Leningrad poem. "Leningrad Poem"
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The image of the besieged city
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Gratefully commenting on the poem in one of his letters to Bergholz (dated June 26, 1942), Vsevolod Vishnevsky saw the unusualness of the author's voice in the new degree of his confession: “That without which our literature so dried up, circumspect, schematic (to a large extent ... ). Literature - only when everything is true, everything screams, everything is frank (in the highest form revelation ) ... Without this - calligraphy, commentary ... "
From the name, which includes a genre characteristic - poem, follows, by definition, that it is story in verse, or a lyrical narrative about Leningrad and Leningraders.
The poem is a picture of a besieged city (“December, fireless haze ...”, “As if on edge of the earth. One, in the dark, in a fierce battle…”, “in the painful blockade ring, etc.) and includes six parts, in the aggregate of which the image of Leningrad is born. In each part of the poem there is a hero or heroes with their own destinies, with their own suffering and courage. First of all, this Leningraders:
"Leningrad kids"
"gray-haired engraver", etc. -
Who were united not only by love for hometown(“They are many - my friends, friends of my native Leningrad”), but also common destiny- they all blockade. And these two names characterize and unite them all.
D. Khrenkov wrote that "the word" Leningrader"Bergholz deciphered as" a person who believes in victory. Each was an inseparable part of the whole - "republicans, citizens, soldiers of the Red Guard bearing of the past." Everyone can say about himself: "I lived in the winter in Leningrad."
So, in the episode of the meeting with neighbor we see two Leningrad mothers, one of whom is lucky to bury her child. Her name is not named, and yet the image is concretized, since we have before us what she saw through her eyes. neighbors personal tragedy. IN this case the author's I also appears in its concreteness (as someone's neighbor):
I will remember the evening as a milestone:
December, fireless haze,
I carried bread in my hand home,
The connecting link between those who are inside and outside the ring is the author's Self, which has different functions. In one case, as we have shown, I am a woman, a participant in those events, a Leningrader, a mother. But its difference lies in the scale of the image, in conscious, comprehensive memory (“as a boundary I will remember”), in the ability of oneself, along with concrete neighbor take it in general terms:
as if on the edge of the earth,
two women, we walked side by side,
two mothers, two Leningraders.
Note temporal And spatial the meaning of the two generalizations, expressed essentially the same way: "as frontier remember evening' and 'as if edge of the earth' (both carry meaning limit)
"his letter is a letter to his wife"
"Commander Semyon Potapov"
"My sister, Muscovite Masha" and etc.
Consider, for example, a letter that is reading personal narrator: "Here I have a letter from a fighter." They don’t know each other (“I didn’t shake hands with him faithfully”), he is not from Leningrad - we learn about this from the text of the letter (“I really wasn’t in Leningrad”), but the narrator calls the fighter his friend:
But I know - there is no more true friend,
His letter - a letter to his wife -
According to D. Khrenkov, “the circle of friends in the poem is unusually wide - the whole country. Without her help, "we would have suffocated in the painful ring of the blockade." Words friend, friends, friendship frequent, repeated ten times in the poem, semantically subdivided into two groups:
And I'm proud of you forever
my sister, Muscovite Masha,
And you drove the car to us
gifts full to the brim.
You knew I'm alone now
my husband died, I'm starving.
At the same time, the image of the “Muscovite Masha” in its development receives a generalized meaning in the poem: it is herself Moscow helps Leningrad. In addition, the name Masha, as one of the most common in Russia, gives a further expansion of the image:
like a beam, with irresistible force.
My homeland, my people
my own blood, thank you!
In this sense, the address “sister” also acquires additional meanings: this is how soldiers at the front usually called nurses and, in general, all young girls. "Moskvichka Masha" becomes sister and for all Leningraders, and for those who are behind the blockade ring:
On, you will bring to the St. Petersburg people, sister,
Ask for forgiveness - how rich ...
I'm sorry, my love, understand
that Leningrad burned my soul
with their poor children...
but there is no bread... And we are fathers.
You can't breathe, you can't, wife,
when a child cries for bread...
The narrator, who is also the first reader of this letter, brings the fighter closer to him, calling the stranger his friend. This friend possibly is the deceased defender cities.
As a result, all the characters make up a capacious, lively image of Leningrad. They still live the city, immersed in cold and darkness: “hungry city”, “the sky howls”, “air whistles”, “death and ice”, “death loop”, etc.
But enemy bombing is worse
even worse and worse
forty degree cold
dominating the earth.
The city seemed lifeless, empty (“It seemed that the end of the earth…”), but he continued to live. Here textual parallels with Anna Akhmatova's "Wind of War" are possible:
The birds of death are at their zenith,
Who is going to rescue Leningrad?
Do not make noise around - he breathes,
He still alive, he hears everything.
Compare with Olga Bergholz:
But through the cooled planet
cars went to Leningrad:
he is still alive...
The appearance of a living city is also created through the movement of cars carrying bread to the “hungry city” along the road. life. In the blockade bread becomes synonymous life, they are interchangeable:
Stand? What about bread? Wait for others?
And bread - two tons? He will save
sixteen thousand Leningraders...
one hundred twenty five blockade grams
with fire and blood in half.
Hence the careful attitude to bread Then when "one hundred and twenty-five blockade grams" were the only source of life, and Then when the blockade ring is broken:
…Oh, we knew in December -
not for nothing called the "sacred gift"
ordinary bread, and grave sin -
at least throw a crumb to the ground:
with such human suffering,
such big love fraternal
sanctified for us from now on,
our daily bread, Leningrad.
No less than their daily bread, the people of Leningrad vitally needed spiritual food - a word of support and hope:
And people listened to poetry
like never before, with deep faith,
in apartments as black as caves,
at loudspeakers of the deaf.
There is another image in the poem that embodies the courage and fortitude of the people of Leningrad. This is an order that engraves the "gray-haired blockade":
And with a freezing hand
in front of the oil lamp, in the cold of hell,
engraved engraver gray-haired
a special order - Leningrad.
In the poem, this is a verbal image of the order for those who survived, and for the surviving city. The engraver's image of the "crown of thorns" - a symbol of martyrdom - speaks about the price of survival. This is an order for the feat of survival, and it is crowned with a strict inscription: "I lived in the winter in Leningrad." We found a description of this order as a real one in the memoirs of O. Bergholz: “... as we, in the Leningrad Radio Committee, in the same severe winter, it became known that one old master engraver, straining his last strength, created a model of the Leningrad Order in plaster and sent her to Moscow, but soon died. Many of our poets were simply shocked by this story. And many of us have written poems about it. I also described this order in my “Leningrad Poem”, according to stories, of course.<…>This dream came true before the end of the war. The medal "For the Defense of Leningrad" appeared.
In the final lines of the poem, the personal narrator appears as a direct participant in those events:
And I, like you - stubborn, evil
fought for them as best she could.
The soul, fortifying itself, overcame
treacherous weakness of the body.
Here I am not just a blockade, like everyone else, enduring hunger and cold, but also fighting with my word - the word of the poet. And here the author gradually switches more and more attention to himself. The personal narrator gives way to the lyrical heroine. Speaking about herself, about personal losses, she also appears as an autobiographical image - with her pre-war losses; and as one of the many blockade fighters who suffered and are suffering losses in the siege ring:
And I suffered a loss
I will not touch her even with a word -
such pain...
Her losses are the death of her beloved daughters (before the war), and the child killed in prison, who had not yet had time to be born, and the death of her husband in January 1942. And yet, at the end, there is hope for the future son:
…For the sake of your peace
In the name of the future son
And a bright song for him.
The poem ends with the very song that Olga Bergholz - alas! - it will not be destined to sing:
So pure is now human joy,
just touched the world again.
Hello, my son,
reward,
Hello conquering love.
Berggolts O.F. Collected works. In 3 vols. - L .: Khudozh. lit., 1972.
Abramov A.M. Lyrics and epic of the Great Patriotic War. – M.: Sov. writer, 1976.
Pavlovsky A.I. poetic epic of the blockade years // Literary Leningrad during the blockade. - L .: 1973.
Khrenkov D.T. From Heart to Heart: About the life and work of Fr. Bergholz. – L.: 1979.
Adamovich A., Granin D. Blockade book. - L .: Lenizdat, 1984. - 543 p.
Kron A. Olga Berggolts // Selected works. In 2 volumes. T.2. - M.: 1980. - P. 493-504.
Berggolts O.F. Meeting. Part 1: Daytime stars. Part 2: Chapters. Fragments, Letters, diaries, notes, plans. – M.: 2000.
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The image of the besieged city
in the “Leningrad Poem” by O.F. Bergholz.
Olga Berggolts overnight became a poet personifying the resilience of Leningrad. Every day her voice sounded from loudspeakers. What did radio mean to besieged Leningrad? Bergholz recalled: “On the streets of Leningrad, people were already falling from their feet from hunger ... One district after another plunged into darkness, like a polar night - energy dried up, light left the city, traffic died down.<…>And quite often it turned out that the weakened, half-dying Leningrader had only one form of connection with outside world, this is the “dish” of the radio. From here, from this black crag on the wall, human voices reached the person ... Even if the radio did not speak, but only the metronome was beating - it was even easier: it meant that the city was alive, that its heart was beating ... "
In it hard time one after another, her blockade poems appear: “February Diary”, “ Leningrad poem”,“ In memory of the defenders ”, etc. Much later will be written main book Olga Berggolts - Daytime Stars.
The Leningrad Poem is one of the significant works written in the besieged city. Olga Berggolts set to work on it, having returned from Moscow. From her memoirs: “It may seem strange, but I, who was afraid to write large things (in terms of volume, of course), suddenly felt some kind of special surge of strength. It seemed to me that the enormity of the epic, the witness and participant of which I happened to be, requires us to do all-encompassing things. But how was this task accomplished? The case helped. Together with photojournalist Grigory Chertov, I was at the firing positions of one of the artillery regiments. Grisha had to remove the guns so that part of the factory floor was visible at the same time. And he took this picture. “How did you achieve your goal? I asked him. He replied: "Very simple - shot with a wide-angle." Then it dawned on me that my lens, aimed at one point, can simultaneously grab and capture different things with the same sharpness ... ". This is how the main compositional principle of her poem arose.
Olga Berggolts wrote “The Leningrad Poem in June-July 1942, a year after the start of the siege, after the coldest and most hungry months of the blockade. The poem was first published in the issues of Leningradskaya Pravda for July 24 and 25, 1942.
IN critical literature there are no works specifically dedicated to this poem. Literary critic A. Abramov noted only that the "Leningrad Poem" "is entirely dedicated to friendship, which holds Soviet people making them invincible."
A.I. Pavlovsky, analyzing the blockade poems by O. Bergholz (“February Diary”, “Leningrad Poem”, “Memory of the Defenders”) as a kind of unity, notes that they “are not only an exciting document of the blockade, which preserved the unique features of that time and faithfully conveyed the courageous spirit her fellow citizens, they survived that terrible time precisely because the artist did not close himself within the framework of everyday life, individual details, etc., but approached the blockade day from the point of view of large ones. Commonly Significant Historical Coordinates.
D. Khrenkov, comparing the "Leningrad Poem" with the "February Diary", drew attention to a different nature of the interaction of the author's Self with the characters about whom the story is being told: "If the "February Diary"
It was one passionate monologue that told about the thoughts and feelings of the Leningrader, but now Bergholz has set herself a higher task - to show the spiritual life of the lyrical heroine against the backdrop of individual large-scale episodes.
Gratefully commenting on the poem in one of his letters to Bergholz (dated June 26, 1942), Vsevolod Vishnevsky saw the unusualness of the author's voice in the new degree of his confession: “That without which our literature so dried up, circumspect, schematic (to a large extent ... ). Literature - only when everything is true, everything screams, everything is frank (in the highest form of revelation) ... Without this - calligraphy, commentary ... "
The mention of the poem can also be found in a number of works on blockade works, but for the most part in the form of general evaluative characteristics. We will try to consider in more detail the text of the "Leningrad Poem" at different levels of analysis.
From the name, which includes a genre characteristic - a poem, it follows, by definition, that this is a story in verse, or a lyrical narrative about Leningrad and Leningraders.
A. Adamovich and D. Granin in the Blockade Book noted: “... it strikes and touches endlessly - how many of them, the former blockade survivors, wrote and write ... poetry. Not just and not only diaries, memoirs, but also poems. Almost every tenth ... What is it - the influence of the city itself with its incomparable poetic culture? Or did the Leningrader’s consciousness, as it was, get too deep: hunger, blockade and poetry (about the same) - and everything is nearby?
The poem is a picture of a besieged city (“December, fireless haze ...”, “As if at the end of the earth. Alone, in the darkness, in a fierce battle ...”, “in the painful ring of blockade, etc.) and includes six parts , in the aggregate of which the image of Leningrad is born. In each part of the poem there is a hero or heroes with their own destinies, with their own suffering and courage. First of all, these are Leningraders:
"two mothers, two Leningraders"
"Sixteen thousand Leningraders"
"Leningrad kids"
"gray-haired engraver", etc. -
Who were united not only by love for their native city (“They are many - my friends, friends of my native Leningrad”), but also by a common fate - they are all blockade. And these two names characterize and unite them all.
D. Khrenkov wrote that “Berggolts deciphered the word “Leningrader” as “a person who believes in victory.” Each was an inseparable part of the whole - "republicans, citizens, soldiers of the Red Guard bearing of the past." Everyone can say about himself: "I lived in the winter in Leningrad."
At the same time, there are separate episodes in the poem with individual destinies. A. Kron, by the way, noted in his memoirs that “the women of Leningrad were not a faceless mass for O. Bergholz, but namely neighbors, whose worries and sorrows she knew as her own.”
So, in the episode of the meeting with a neighbor, we see two Leningrad mothers, one of whom is lucky to bury her child. Her name is not named, and yet the image is concretized, since we have before us a personal tragedy seen through the eyes of her neighbor. In this case, the author's I also appears in its concreteness (as someone's neighbor):
I will remember the evening as a milestone:
December, fireless haze,
I carried bread in my hand home,
and suddenly a neighbor meets me ...
But among the heroes of the poem there are those who are on the "other side" of the blockade, trying to break through the ring ("Oh, yes - neither those fighters nor those drivers could have done otherwise ..."). These images are also presented in a generalized way, as the “friends” of Leningrad, among all those who think about the city, sympathize and seek to help.
The connecting link between those who are inside and outside the ring is the author's Self, which has different functions. In one case, as we have shown, I am a woman, a participant in those events, a Leningrader, a mother. But its difference is on the scale of the image, in conscious, comprehensive memory (“as I remember the boundary”), in the ability to perceive oneself, along with a particular neighbor, in a generalized way:
as if on the edge of the earth,
alone, in the dark, in a fierce battle,
two women, we walked side by side,
two mothers, two Leningraders.
We note the temporal and spatial meaning of two generalizations, expressed, in fact, in the same way: “I will remember the evening as a boundary” and “as if at the end of the earth” (both carry the meaning of the limit)
In this case, the nameless images of the characters are conveyed through their personal, direct communication with I.
In other cases, this is a personal narrator, including more specific object heroes in various forms of speaking. We learn much more about them: “He is from Ladoga, and he is from Volga”, “My sister, a Muscovite Masha”, “commander Semyon Potapov”, etc. The forms of their presentation in the text are letters, eyewitness accounts, personal meetings. In such cases, unlike typed heroes, they have a first name, last name, family ties, place of birth:
"his letter is a letter to his wife"
"Commander Semyon Potapov"
“He is from Ladoga, and he is a Volzhan”
"My sister, Muscovite Masha" and etc.
Consider, for example, a letter read by a personal narrator: "Here is a letter from a fighter in front of me." They don’t know each other (“I didn’t shake hands with him faithfully”), he is not from Leningrad - we learn about this from the text of the letter (“I really wasn’t in Leningrad”), but the narrator calls the fighter his friend:
But I know - there is no more true friend,
more reliable, more devoted, more fearless.
His letter - a letter to his wife -
talks about our old friendship.
According to D. Khrenkov, “the circle of friends in the poem is unusually wide - the whole country. Without her help, "we would have suffocated in the painful ring of the blockade." The words friend, friends, friendship are frequent, repeated ten times in the poem, semantically subdivided into two groups:
Those who, being far outside the besieged city, are close in their souls; and those who fought to break through the blockade (“They are many - my friends, / Friends of my native Leningrad. / Oh, we would suffocate without them / In the painful ring of the blockade”);
A form of address to Leningraders, including on the radio (“Friends, we have accepted it, / / We are holding our baton ...”)
We will show the merging of the concrete and the generalized in one example. In this regard, the image of the “Muscovite Masha” is interesting. In the projection on reality, he is comparable to O. Bergholz's sister Maria.
And I'm proud of you forever
my sister, Muscovite Masha,
for your February journey here,
blockade to us, our dear.
Everything is reliable here: indeed, in the early spring of 1942, Olga Bergholz's sister Maria crossed Ladoga in a truck allocated by the Writers' Union and loaded with medicines for Leningrad writers:
And you drove the car to us
gifts full to the brim.
You knew I'm alone now
my husband is dead, I'm starving.
At the same time, the image of the “Muscovite Masha” in its development receives a generalized meaning in the poem: it is Moscow itself that helps Leningrad. In addition, the name Masha, as one of the most common in Russia, gives a further expansion of the image:
And you rushed - forward, forward,
like a beam, with irresistible force.
My homeland, my people
my own blood, thank you!
In this sense, the address “sister” also acquires additional meanings: this is how soldiers at the front usually called nurses and, in general, all young girls. "Muscovite Masha" becomes a sister for all Leningraders, and for those who are behind the blockade ring:
On, you'll bring the St. Petersburg people, sister,
Ask for forgiveness - how rich ...
In spatio-temporal terms, all the heroes of the poem are either "here and now" or "there and now." But, separated by a ring of blockade, they represent a single spiritual whole, held together by the personality of the author.
A special theme of besieged Leningrad is children. “Leningrad children” ... “When these words sounded - in the Urals and beyond the Urals, in Tashkent and Kuibyshev, in Alma-Ata and in Frunze, a person’s heart sank. Everyone, especially children, was brought grief by the war. But so many fell upon these that everyone, with an involuntary feeling of guilt, was looking for something to take off their children's shoulders, souls, to shift onto themselves. It sounded like a password - "Leningrad children"! And everyone rushed to meet in any corner of our earth ... ". Compare with the lines from the Leningrad poem:
I'm sorry, my love, understand
that Leningrad burned my soul
with their poor children...
There children are crying, asking for bread,
but there is no bread... And we are fathers.
The poem begins with the image of the dead a child being carried by his mother on a sled. And further in the text, the desire to feed and take revenge is expressed in a cross-cutting plot: “Here, get another charge for the Leningrad children”, “there are mothers under the dark sky in a crowd at the bakery”, “there are children crying, asking for bread”. The motive of paternal responsibility for the life of all Leningrad children is manifested in a letter from a fighter to his wife:
You can't breathe, you can't, wife,
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Olga Berggolts
Leningrad poem
1.
I, as a boundary, will remember the evening:
December, fireless haze,
I carried bread in my hand home,
And suddenly a neighbor meets me.
- Change, girlfriend, - she says, -
If you don't want to change, give it as a friend:
One daughter lies in the cart,
I don't bury. She needs a coffin.
He will be knocked together for bread for us ...
Give it back! After all, you gave birth.
And I said: - I will not give it back.
And she squeezed the poor slice of bread.
“Give it back,” she repeated, “you
She buried the child herself.
I brought flowers then
To decorate your grave.
...As if on the edge of the earth,
Alone, in the dark, in a fierce fight
Two mothers, two Leningraders.
And, possessed, she
I asked for a long time, bitterly, timidly.
And I had the strength
Do not give my bread to the coffin.
And the strength was enough to bring
Her to herself, whispering sullenly:
- Here, eat a piece, eat, I'm sorry.
I'm not sorry for the living - do not think.
Having lived through December, January, February, -
I repeat with a tremor of happiness:
I don't feel sorry for anything alive
No tears, no joy, no passion.
Before your face, war
I take this oath
How eternal life baton,
That my friends gave me.
There are many of them, my friends,
Friends of native Leningrad
Oh we'd suffocate without them
In the painful ring of the blockade.
II
Here is a letter from a fighter in front of me.
He is from Ladoga, and he himself is from Volga.
I did not shake hands with him.
Didn't see his face.
But I know - there is no more true friend.
More reliable, more devoted, more fearless:
His letter is a letter to his wife
It speaks of our long friendship.
He writes: "Dear Natasha.
Read it and tell all your family:
Thank you for your kindness
For your right life.
But I ask, Natasha, very much:
You don't write like last time
Like, "have pity on yourself for your daughter,"
"Save yourself for us"...
I am ashamed to hear these words!
I'm sorry, my love, understand
That Leningrad burned my soul
With their poor children.
True, I have not been to Leningrad,
But I know, - the fighters say:
There children are crying, asking for bread,
And there is no bread. And we are fathers...
And I, like a wolf guard
Fascist days in the snow
And from my ferocious bullet
There was no mercy for the enemy.
I lie, sometimes to the bone
The snow will come. I'm trembling, I'm tired.
Leave. And remember the children -
I grind my teeth and stay.
No, I say, shameful bastard,
Executioner of children - I'm here, I hear
On, get another charge -
For the Leningrad children.
... Natasha, take care of Katyusha,
But do not pity me, wife,
Do not offend the soul with anxiety
In which there is only one hatred.
You can't breathe, you can't, wife,
When a child cries for bread...
Don't be afraid for me.
How can I live otherwise?
III
Oh yes - otherwise they could not
Neither those fighters, nor those drivers,
When the trucks were driving
On the lake to the hungry city.
The cold, steady light of the moon
The snows are shining brightly
And from the glass height
The enemy is clearly visible
Columns below.
And howls, the sky is windy.
And the air whistles, and creaks,
The ice is breaking under the bombs.
And the lake splashes into funnels.
But enemy bombing is worse
Even more painful and angrier -
Forty degree cold.
She reigns over the whole earth.
It seemed that the sun would not rise:
Forever night in frozen stars.
Forever moon snow and ice.
And blue whistling air.
It seemed that the end of the kmli.
But through the cooled planet
Cars went to Leningrad:
He is still alive. He's around somewhere.
- To Leningrad, to
- Citizens, hold on - you can ...
And it was like this: all the way
The rear car settled.
The driver jumped up, the driver on the ice.
- Well, it is, - the engine stalled.
Repair for five minutes, a trifle.
Breakdown is not a threat.
Yes, there is no way to disperse the hands::
They were frozen on the steering wheel.
Slightly razognesh - again reduce.
Stand? What about bread? Wait for others?
And bread - two tons? He will save
Sixteen thousand Leningraders.
And now - in the gasoline of his hand
Moistened, set fire to them from the motor, -
And the repair went fast.
In the burning hands of the driver.
Forward! How the blisters ache
Frozen palms to mittens.
But he will deliver the bread, bring
To the bakery - until dawn.
sixteen thousand mothers
Rations will be received at dawn, -
One hundred twenty-five blockade grams
With fire and blood - in half.
Oh, we knew in December:
No wonder it's called a "sacred gift"
Ordinary bread, and grave sin
At least throw a crumb on the ground ..
With such human suffering,
Such a great brotherly love
Not yet known on earth
Scarier and happier road.
And I'm proud of you forever
My sister, Muscovite Masha,
For your February journey here,
In the blockade to us, our dear.
Golden-eyed and strict
Like a twig, thin camp,
In huge Russian boots,
In someone else's sheepskin coat, with a revolver, -
and you rushed through death and ice,
Like everyone else, obsessed with anxiety, -
My homeland, my people
Magnanimous and beloved.
And you drove the car to us
Gifts full to the brim.
You knew I'm alone now.
My husband is dead, I'm starving.
But the same, the same as with me.-
I made a blockade with everyone.
And merged into one for you
And I and the grief of Leningrad.
And at night, crying for me,
You took at dawn
in the liberated villages
Parcels, letters and greetings.
Recorded: - do not forget:
Khovrino village. Petrovs
Go to the Moika one hundred and one
To relatives. Say that everyone is healthy.
That Fritz tormented Mitya for a long time,
But the boy is alive, albeit very weak..."
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Olga Bergholz. Leningrad poem - part 1
1. I will remember the evening as a milestone: 1December, fireless haze,
I carried bread in my hand home,
and suddenly a neighbor met me.
- Change to a dress, - he says, -
If you don't want to change, give it as a friend.
The tenth day, as the daughter lies.
I don't bury. She needs a coffin.
He will be knocked together for bread for us.
Give it back. After all, you yourself gave birth ... -
And I said: - I won't give it back.
And the poor chunk squeezed tighter.
- Give, - she asked, - you
buried the child herself.
I brought flowers then
so that you decorate the grave.-
...As if on the edge of the earth,
alone, in the dark, in a fierce battle,
two women, we walked side by side,
two mothers, two Leningraders.
And, obsessed, she
prayed long, bitterly, timidly.
And I had the strength
do not give my bread to the coffin.
And the strength was enough - to bring
her to himself, whispering sullenly:
- Here, eat a piece, eat ... I'm sorry!
I'm not sorry for the living - do not think.-
... Having lived through December, January, February,
I repeat with a tremor of happiness:
I do not feel sorry for anything alive -
no tears, no joy, no passion.
Before your face, War,
I take this oath
like a baton for eternal life,
given to me by friends.
Many of them are my friends,
friends of native Leningrad.
Oh we'd suffocate without them
II Oh yes - otherwise they could not
neither those fighters, nor those drivers,
when the trucks were driving
across the lake to the hungry city.
The cold steady light of the moon
the snows are shining brightly
and from the glass height
clearly visible to the enemy
columns below.
And the sky howls, howls,
and the air whistles, and gnashes,
breaking under bombs, ice,
and the lake splashes into funnels.
But enemy bombing is worse
even more painful and angrier -
forty degree cold,
dominating the earth.
It seemed that the sun would not rise.
Forever night in frozen stars
forever lunar snow and ice,
and blue whistling air.
It seemed like the end of the earth...
But through the cooled planet
cars went to Leningrad:
he is still alive. He's around somewhere.
To Leningrad, to Leningrad!
There's bread left for two days,
there mothers under dark skies
crowd at the bakery stand,
and tremble, and are silent, and wait,
listen anxiously:
- By dawn, they said they would bring ...
- Citizens, you can hold on ... -
And it was like this: all the way
rear car settled.
The driver jumped up, the driver on the ice.
- Well, it is - the motor is stuck.
Repair for five minutes, a trifle.
This breakdown is not a threat,
yes, do not unbend your hands in any way:
they were frozen on the steering wheel.
Slightly razognesh - again reduce.
Stand? What about bread? Wait for others?
And bread - two tons? He will save
sixteen thousand Leningraders.-
And now - in the gasoline of his hand
moistened, set fire to them from the motor,
and the repair went fast.
in the burning hands of the driver.
Forward! How the blisters ache
frozen to the mittens of the palm.
But he will deliver the bread, bring
to the bakery until dawn.
sixteen thousand mothers
rations will be received at dawn -
one hundred twenty five blockade grams
with fire and blood in half.
... Oh, we knew in December -
not for nothing called the "sacred gift"
ordinary bread, and grave sin -
at least throw a crumb to the ground:
with such human suffering,
so much brotherly love
sanctified for us from now on,
our daily bread, Leningrad.
Olga Fyodorovna Berggolts
1
I will remember the evening as a milestone:
December, fireless haze,
I carried bread in my hand home,
and suddenly a neighbor met me.
“Change for a dress,” he says, “
if you don't want to change, give it as a friend.
The tenth day, as the daughter lies.
I don't bury. She needs a coffin.
He will be knocked together for bread for us.
Give it back. After all, you yourself gave birth ... "
And I said, "I won't give it back."
And the poor chunk squeezed tighter.
“Give it back,” she begged, “you
buried the child herself.
I brought flowers then
so that you decorate the grave.
... As if on the edge of the earth,
alone, in the dark, in a fierce battle,
two women, we walked side by side,
two mothers, two Leningraders.
And, obsessed, she
prayed long, bitterly, timidly.
And I had the strength
do not give my bread to the coffin.
And I had enough strength to bring
her to himself, whispering sullenly:
“Here, eat a piece, eat ... sorry!
I am not sorry for the living - do not think.
... Having lived through December, January, February,
I repeat with a tremor of happiness:
I do not feel sorry for anything alive -
no tears, no joy, no passion.
Before your face, War,
I take this oath
like a baton for eternal life,
given to me by friends.
Many of them are my friends,
friends of native Leningrad.
Oh we'd suffocate without them
in the painful ring of the blockade.
2
. . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . .
3
Oh yes - and n a c e could not
neither those fighters, nor those drivers,
when the trucks were driving
across the lake to the hungry city.
The cold steady light of the moon
the snows are shining brightly
and from the glass height
clearly visible to the enemy
columns below.
And the sky howls, howls,
and the air whistles, and gnashes,
breaking under bombs, ice,
and the lake splashes into funnels.
But enemy bombing is worse
even more painful and angrier -
forty degree cold,
dominating the earth.
It seemed that the sun would not rise.
Forever night in frozen stars
forever lunar snow and ice,
and blue whistling air.
It seemed like the end of the earth...
But through the cooled planet
cars went to Leningrad:
he is still alive. He's around somewhere.
To Leningrad, to Leningrad!
There's bread left for two days,
there mothers under the dark sky
crowd at the bakery stand,
and tremble, and are silent, and wait,
listen anxiously:
“By dawn, they said, they will bring ...”
"Citizens, you can hold on ..."
And it was like this: all the way
rear car settled.
The driver jumped up, the driver on the ice.
“Well, that’s right – the motor is stuck.
Repair for five minutes, a trifle.
This breakdown is not a threat,
yes, do not unbend your hands in any way:
they were frozen on the steering wheel.
Slightly disperse - again reduce.
Stand? What about bread? Wait for others?
And bread - two tons? He will save
sixteen thousand Leningraders.
And now - in the gasoline of his hand
moistened, set fire to them from the motor,
and the repair went fast.
in the burning hands of the driver.
Forward! How the blisters ache
frozen to the mittens of the palm.
But he will deliver the bread, bring
to the bakery until dawn.
sixteen thousand mothers
rations will receive at dawn -
one hundred twenty five blockade grams
with fire and blood in half.
... Oh, we knew in December -
not for nothing called the "sacred gift"
ordinary bread, and grave sin -
at least throw a crumb to the ground:
with such human suffering,
so much brotherly love
from now on sanctified for us,
our daily bread, Leningrad.
4
Dear life, bread came to us,
dear friendship of many to many.
Not yet known on earth
scarier and happier road.
And I'm proud of you forever
my sister, Muscovite Masha,
for your February journey here,
blockade to us, our dear.
Golden-eyed and strict
like a twig, thin camp,
in huge Russian boots,
in someone else's sheepskin coat, with a revolver, -
and you rushed through death and ice,
like everyone else, obsessed with anxiety, -
my homeland, my people,
generous and beloved.
And you drove the car to us
gifts full to the brim.
You knew I'm alone now
my husband is dead, I'm starving.
But the same, the same as with me,
made a blockade with everyone.
And merged into one for you
and I, and the grief of Leningrad.
And crying for me at night
you took at dawn
in the liberated villages
parcels, letters and greetings.
Wrote: "Do not forget:
Khokhrino village. Petrovs.
Go to the Moika, one hundred and one,
to relatives. Say that everyone is healthy
that Mitya was tormented by Fritz for a long time,
but the boy is alive, albeit very weak ... "
About the terrible captivity until dawn
women told you
and onions were harvested in the yards,
in cold, ruined huts:
“Here, you’ll bring the St. Petersburg people, sister.
Ask for forgiveness - how rich ... "
And you rushed - forward, forward,
like a beam, with irresistible force.
My homeland, my people
my own blood, thank you!
5
. . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . .
6
Like this, full of love
because of the ring, from the darkness of separation
friends told us: "Live!",
friends held out their hands.
Frozen, on fire
in blood, pierced by light,
they handed you and me
single life baton.
My happiness is immeasurable.
I calmly answer them:
“Friends, we accepted it,
we are holding your baton.
She and I went through the days of winter.
In the oppressive haze of her suffering
with all the strength of our hearts we lived,
with all the light of creative daring.
Yes, we will not hide: these days
we ate glue, then belts;
but, having eaten the stew from the belts,
a stubborn master got up to the machine,
to sharpen gun parts,
necessary for the war.
But he sharpened until the hand
could make movements.
And if you fell - at the machine,
how a soldier falls in battle.
But people listened to poetry
like never before, with deep faith,
in apartments black as caves,
at loudspeakers of the deaf.
And with a freezing hand
in front of the oil lamp, in the cold of hell,
engraved engraver gray-haired
a special order - Leningrad.
Barbed wire he,
like a crown of thorns,
around - around the edge - circled,
blockade symbol severe.
In the ring, shoulder to shoulder, the three of us -
child, woman, man,
under the bombs, like in the rain,
stand with their eyes raised to the zenith.
And the inscription dear to the heart, —
she's not talking about a reward,
she is calm and strict:
"I lived in the winter in Leningrad."
The engraver did not receive the order.
He just believed it was necessary.
for those who fight, for us,
who must withstand the blockade.
So we fought abroad
yours, beloved Life!
And I, like you - stubborn, evil -
fought for them as best she could.
The soul, fortifying itself, overcame
treacherous weakness of the body.
And I suffered a loss.
I will not even touch her with a word -
such pain ... And I was able,
like you, rise to life again.
Then to fight again and again
for a life.
The bearer of death, the enemy -
again over every Leningrader
raises a forged fist.
But without worry, without fear
I look into the eyes of the coming fights:
because you are with me, my country,
and I'm not without reason - Leningrad.
So, with the baton of eternal life,
handed by you, fatherland,
I walk the same path with you
in the name of your peace,
in the name of the future son
and a bright song for him.
For a distant happy midnight
her, my cherished
I folded impatiently
now, in the blockade and in battle.
Isn't there a war for her?
Is it not for her Leningraders
still fight, and take courage,
and revenge without measure?
Here she is:
"Hello godson
red commanders,
dear messenger,
peace messenger.
You will have calm dreams -
the battles died down on the earth at night.
People
sky
no longer afraid
sky illuminated by the moon.
In the blue-blue depth of the ether
young clouds float.
Above the grave of the red commanders
wise thorns bloom.
You wake up
on the land of blossoms,
risen not for battle - for work.
You will hear
swallows singing:
the swallows returned to the cities.
They make nests - and they are not afraid!
Vyut in the broken wall, under the window:
the nest will hold on tighter,
people more
do not leave the house.
So pure is now human joy,
just touched the world again.
Hello my son
my life,
reward,
hello conquering love!
Here is the song. She is simple
She is hope and dream
but even the dream of enemies
want to take away and dishonor.
So let the anthem rumble today
one unquenchable revenge!
Let only hate now
like thirst burns the lips of the people,
to return the desired hour
love, peace and freedom!
It's amazing how many thoughts, ideas, stories and feelings the Russian poetess Olga Fedorovna Berggolts could fit in one work. Despite the large volume, her "Leningrad Poem" (June - July 1942) is read easily, in one breath, imperceptibly transferring the reader to tragic world besieged Leningrad.
The poem can be divided into several parts. They are not equal in the number of stanzas, but have the same mood. Each part reflects its own story, but they are all united by one idea - the idea that victory in brutal war- the common merit of the entire Russian people.
The first part tells about an episode that, for sure, took place more than once in a besieged city. The author speaks in the first person, talking about a terrible meeting. On the way from the bakery, the lyrical heroine meets a neighbor. She, seeing bread in the hands of a woman, asks to exchange or give a miserable piece of bread to her. She explains that her body has been lying in the house for ten days. dead daughter, but she cannot betray him to the ground, because there is no coffin. They can make it just for a piece of bread. The heroine does not give rations to her neighbor, but not out of cruelty, but because she does not want to waste priceless food on the dead. Instead, she treats the heartbroken woman with bread.
The bread becomes the link between the parts. In the second and third parts, the poetess shows at what cost this product, which is familiar today, was delivered to Leningrad bakeries. She describes in detail how the women were waiting for the delivery of bread, standing in the chilly wind:
there mothers under dark skies
crowd at the bakery stand,
and tremble, and are silent, and wait...
At the same time, the author emphasizes how difficult it was for them, using the gradation technique, which increases tension. And he demonstrates the fortitude and courage of poor women, putting encouraging remarks into their mouths: “- Citizens, you can hold on ...-”.
In the subsequent parts of the work, Olga Fedorovna introduces the reader to the exploits of ordinary soldiers and commanders, soldiers from Ladoga, Moscow and other cities hurrying to help the inhabitants of Leningrad; draws portraits of caring residents of small villages, sharing the last remnants of food with the starving Leningraders. Depicts the decent work of ordinary mechanics and drivers who spare no effort to help their fellow citizens.
Through the whole poem flashes like a red thread the main idea: without united efforts, without a common desire for freedom, victory would be unattainable. The author many times mentions the baton of life, passed on to her by friends, those who helped and supported her. She, in turn, sought to cheer up everyone who was in trouble with verses. That is why the poem, despite the tragedy of the situation, is saturated with a bright sense of hope. It ends with a song dedicated to the one for whom the heroes of the war fought - the child, the brightest symbol of faith in the future.
Olga Fedorovna Bergholz(1910-1975) ... During the years of the blockade 1941-1943 Olga Bergholz was in Leningrad besieged by the Nazis.
Olga Berggolts - poetry
Leningrad poem
I will remember the evening as a milestone:
December, fireless haze,
I carried bread in my hand home,
and suddenly a neighbor met me.
“Change for a dress,” he says, “
if you don't want to change, give it as a friend.
The tenth day, as the daughter lies.
I don't bury. She needs a coffin.
He will be knocked together for bread for us.
Give it back. After all, you yourself gave birth ...
And I said: “I won’t give it back.”—
And the poor chunk squeezed tighter.
“Give it back,” she asked, “you
buried the child herself.
I brought flowers then
so that you decorate the grave.—
...As if on the edge of the earth,
alone, in the dark, in a fierce battle,
two women, we walked side by side,
two mothers, two Leningraders.
And, obsessed, she
prayed long, bitterly, timidly.
And I had the strength
do not give my bread to the coffin.
And I had enough strength to bring
her to himself, whispering sullenly:
- Here, eat a piece, eat ... sorry!
I'm not sorry for the living - do not think.—
... Having lived through December, January, February,
I repeat with a tremor of happiness:
I do not feel sorry for anything alive -
no tears, no joy, no passion.
Before your face, War,
I take this oath
like a baton for eternal life,
given to me by friends.
Many of them are my friends,
friends of native Leningrad.
Oh we'd suffocate without them
in the painful ring of the blockade.
Oh yes - and n a c e could not
neither those fighters, nor those drivers,
when the trucks were driving
across the lake to the hungry city.
The cold steady light of the moon
the snows are shining brightly
and from the glass height
clearly visible to the enemy
columns below.
And the sky howls, howls,
and the air whistles, and gnashes,
breaking under bombs, ice,
and the lake splashes into funnels.
But enemy bombing is worse
even more painful and angrier -
forty degree cold,
dominating the earth.
It seemed that the sun would not rise.
Forever night in frozen stars
forever lunar snow and ice,
and blue whistling air.
It seemed like the end of the earth...
But through the cooled planet
cars went to Leningrad:
he is still alive. He's around somewhere.
To Leningrad, to Leningrad!
There's bread left for two days,
there mothers under dark skies
crowd at the bakery stand,
and tremble, and are silent, and wait,
listen anxiously:
- By dawn, they said they would bring ...
- Citizens, you can hold on ... -
And it was like this: all the way
rear car settled.
The driver jumped up, the driver on the ice.
- Well, it is - the engine is stuck.
Repair for five minutes, a trifle.
This breakdown is not a threat,
yes, do not unbend your hands in any way:
they were frozen on the steering wheel.
A little warm up - it will reduce again.
Stand? What about bread? Wait for others?
And bread - two tons? He will save
sixteen thousand Leningraders.—
And now - in the gasoline of his hand
moistened, set fire to them from the motor,
and the repair went fast.
in the burning hands of the driver.
Forward! How the blisters ache
frozen to the mittens of the palm.
But he will deliver the bread, bring
to the bakery until dawn.
sixteen thousand mothers
rations will receive at dawn -
one hundred twenty five blockade grams
with fire and blood in half.
... Oh, we knew in December -
not for nothing called the "sacred gift"
ordinary bread, and grave sin -
at least throw a crumb to the ground:
with such human suffering,
so much brotherly love
sanctified for us from now on,
our daily bread, Leningrad.
Dear life, bread came to us,
dear friendship of many to many.
Not yet known on earth
scarier and happier road.
And I'm proud of you forever
my sister, Muscovite Masha,
for your February journey here,
blockade to us, our dear.
Golden-eyed and strict
like a twig, thin camp,
in huge Russian boots,
in someone else's sheepskin coat, with a revolver, -
and you rushed through death and ice,
like everyone else, obsessed with anxiety -
my homeland, my people,
generous and beloved.
And you drove the car to us
gifts full to the brim.
You knew I'm alone now
my husband is dead, I'm starving.
But the same, the same as with me,
made a blockade with everyone.
And merged into one for you
and I and the grief of Leningrad.
And crying for me at night
you took at dawn
in the liberated villages
parcels, letters and greetings.
Wrote: "Do not forget:
Khokhrino village. Petrovs.
Go to the Moika one hundred and one
to relatives. Say that everyone is healthy
that Mitya was tormented by the enemy for a long time,
but the boy is alive, though very
weak..."
About the terrible captivity until the morning
women told you
and onions were harvested in the yards,
in cold, ruined huts:
- Here, you will bring the St. Petersburg people, sister.
Ask for forgiveness - how rich ...—
And you rushed - forward, forward,
like a beam, with irresistible force.
My homeland, my people
my own blood, thank you!
Like this, full of love
because of the ring, from the darkness of separation
friends told us: "Live!",
friends held out their hands.
Frozen, on fire
in blood, pierced by light,
they handed you and me
single life baton.
My happiness is immeasurable.
I calmly answer them:
- Friends, we accepted it,
we are holding your baton.
She and I went through the days of winter.
In the oppressive haze of her torment
with all the strength of our hearts we lived,
with all the light of creative daring.
Yes, we will not hide: these days
we ate earth, glue, belts;
but, having eaten the stew from the belts,
a stubborn master got up to the machine,
to sharpen gun parts,
necessary for the war.
But he sharpened until the hand
could make movements.
And if you fell - at the machine,
how a soldier falls in battle.
And people listened to poetry
like never before, with deep faith,
in apartments as black as caves,
at loudspeakers of the deaf.
And with a freezing hand
in front of the oil lamp, in the cold of hell,
engraved engraver gray-haired
a special order - Leningrad.
Barbed wire he,
like a crown of thorns,
around - around the edge - circled,
blockade symbol severe.
In the ring, shoulder to shoulder, the three of us -
child, woman, man,
under the bombs, like in the rain,
stand with their eyes raised to the zenith.
And the inscription is dear to the heart -
she's not talking about a reward,
she is calm and strict:
"I lived in the winter in Leningrad."
So we fought abroad
yours, beloved Life!
And I, like you, - stubborn, evil -
fought for them as best she could.
The soul, fortifying itself, overcame
treacherous weakness of the body.
And I suffered a loss.
I will not even touch her with a word -
such pain... And I could,
like you, rise to life again.
Then to fight again and again
for a life.
The bearer of death, the enemy -
again over every Leningrader
raises a forged fist.
But without worry, without fear
I look into the eyes of the coming fights:
because you are with me, my country,
and I'm not without reason - Leningrad.
So, with the baton of eternal life,
handed by you, fatherland,
I walk the same path with you
in the name of your peace,
in the name of the future son
and a bright song for him.
For a distant happy midnight
her, my treasured,
I folded impatiently
now, in the blockade and in battle.
Not for her there is a war?
Isn't it for her Leningraders
still fight, and take courage,
and revenge without measure? Here she is:
— Hello, godson.
red commanders,
dear messenger,
messenger of the world...
You will have peaceful dreams
the battles died down on the earth at night.
People
sky
no longer afraid
sky illuminated by the moon.
In the blue-blue depth of the ether
young clouds float.
Above the grave of the red commanders
wise thorns bloom.
You will wake up on a flowering land,
risen not for battle - for work.
You will hear the swallows singing:
swallows
returned to the cities.
They make nests - and they are not afraid!
Vyut in the broken wall, under the window:
the nest will hold on tighter,
people more
do not leave the house.
So pure is now human joy,
just touched the world again.
Hello my son
my life,
reward,
hello conquering love!
