war poet, a term that was born during the Great Patriotic War.The young Soviet poets who have appeared on the front of the will of fate and of his will to write poetry.In these verses reflected the cruel reality of those days.
Some poets died at the front, leaving behind a poem about the Great Patriotic War, while others have lived longer.However, life for many people after the front was short, as one of the war poet Simon Gudzenko "We do not die of old age - old wounds die."Who can
stronger and more accurately express what happened in those years of war, than someone who was himself a witness and participant in these terrible events?
In this article we have tried to collect the most powerful verses of poets -frontovikov of the Great Patriotic War, the events and the people caught up the history of this terrible time.
See also warmest congratulations to the veterans on Victory Day .
We do not need to feel sorry, because we had not spared anyone.We
before our battalion commander, as the Lord God, pure.
poryzheli live on blood and clay overcoat,
on the graves of the dead bloom blue flowers.
blossomed and has fallen down ... It takes a fourth autumn.
Our mothers are crying, and peers in silence sad.
We did not know love, do not tasted happiness crafts,
we got difficult to share the fate of the soldiers.
my same age have no poetry, no love, no peace -
only the power and envy.And when we come back from the war,
all dolyubim full and write, the same age as such,
that the founding fathers of the soldiers will be proud of the children.
Well, who does not return?To dolyubit not have to?
Well, who at forty-first first bullet struck?
sobbed as old as the mother on the verge clogged, -
at the same age nor my poems, no peace, no wives.
Who will return - dolyubit?No!Heart this is not enough,
and not have died, to live love for them.
No men in the family - no children, no master in the house.
Is this grief help sobbing live?
We do not need to feel sorry, because we had not spared anyone.
who went on the attack, who shared his last piece,
will understand this truth - she said to us in the trenches and slit
come bet grouchy, hoarse bass.
let live to remember, and let this generation know
taken to fight the harsh truth soldiers.
And your bones and deadly wound sequentially,
and tombs over the Volga, where thousands are young, -
is our destiny, that with it we swore and sang,
rose to the attack and tore bridges over the Bug.
... We do not need to feel sorry, because we had not spared anyone,
We have before our Russia and in difficult times clean.
And when we come back - and we will return with a victory,
all as devils, stubborn people, tenacious and evil, -
let us beer Navara meat and fry for dinner,
to legged oak everywhere laden tables.
We worship at the feet of mother tormented people,
kiss each other mothers and girlfriends that waited loving.
That's when we get back and win with their bayonets' s get -
all dolyubim, coeval, and find a job for yourself.
I know, no fault of mine
The fact that others do not come from the war,
in that they - who are older who are younger-
stay there, and not on the same question,
What could I have them, but failed to save, -
It's not about that, but still, still, still ...
When will pass through the column
in the heat, in the rain and snow,
Then you will understand,
How sweet dream,
as fun night.
When the war will pass through,
still understand sometimes,
good bread and how well
drink of water crude.
When will pass this way
Not a day or two, soldiers,
How expensive house,
How holy father's corner.
When - the science of all sciences -
comprehend fight in the battle, - More
How dear friend, How dear
his every -
And about courage, duty and honor
You will not knowingly repeat.They
What do you have,
How only can be.
So, with that, since friends
And not to lose the friendship,
As they say, can live
And you can die.
is our duty to carry the bright memory of deeds committed by our compatriots during the Great Patriotic War.
poems about war, who teach our children , perhaps the best way to foster a sense of patriotism in our country.
IN EUROPE SPRING
you were drowned in blood, the snow fell asleep,
revives the same country, the people, the edge!
your enemies tortured, tortured, trampled,
So get up toward the spring Well Being!
No, this winter has never happened in the history of
Neither peace nor in any fairy tale!
never so deep you do not freeze,
Chest ground, bloodied, half-dead.
Where the wind swept the fascist deadening,
There wilted flowers and dried up the keys,
silent songbirds, crumbled thicket,
fail faded and the sun's rays.
In those places where the enemy walked beetle-crusher,
silent life froze, getting rid zhdya.
At night a fire blazing away,
But not fallen on the land not a drop of rain.
fascist came to the house - a dead man carried.It was a fascist
expensive - way blood flowed.
old men and women did not spare the executioners,
and children cannibal oven devoured.
On such a frenzy of evil persecutors
The scary story, not told in legends
And in the history of the world of such suffering
person does not feel a hundred centuries.
no matter how dark the night was - still dawns.
Like any frosty winter - spring comes.
Hey Europe!Spring comes to you,
shines brightly on our banners it.
Under fascist pyatoyu half-dead,
to life, the country's orphans, get up!It's time!
you the freedom to come
sun rays glow of our land stretches in the morning.
this sunny, new spring approximation
Everyone feels the Czech and Polish, and French.
brings you long-awaited liberation
Winner mighty - the Soviet Union.
Like birds flying north again,
like the waves of the Danube, break the ice,
from Moscow flying to you the word of encouragement,
Say light on the road - Victory is coming!
Soon spring ...
The night of the fascist abyss,
Like a shadow, to fight the guerrillas ...
rise and the sun of spring -
this time so close!-
Winter grief Danube will carry ice.
Let the hot tears of joy will break
In these days of springtime zillion eyes!
Let a million hearts weary
revenge and the thirst for freedom is still hot! ..
and living hope wake zillion
on great rise, unprecedented in centuries, and the coming of spring
Zaaleyut at the Free Peoples in their hands.
February 1942 Volkhov Front
war poet referred to a special caste among all the poets.People who do not know how to lie, embellish and adjust.Poems of the Great Patriotic War, which created war poet difficult to read without tears.This poetry is so strong that during the reading feel like a lump rises in my throat, a deep and heavily hit by the imagination of the scene described in these verses.
B. Strel'chenko, Tvardovsky, B.Slutsky, Yu Levitansky, S.Gudzenko, Yu Drunina, E.Vinokurov and many many names of famous poets, which were published in books and magazines, and those thatIt was not known to the general public, published in local newspapers in Russia.All of them in spite of his "poetic caliber" were one, the poets who joined the war and poetry.
upholsterer Kronides A.
BALLAD OF LOVE
in the sky The cold we flew,
Northern Sunset was in the blood,
We're experienced in those years,
not only experiencedlove.
She snowstorms have been looking for.
And we struck by war,
As birds fell on the rock and scream our
And our young husband
From young joy away.There
women did not have to pity
to us to prove that they can.
And many more have never been kissed
And on the basis of the German Flight,
We knew we had a special club.
And among us there were rumors,
What is it resolved the question of love.
from all over Europe were whores,
To help pilots lived.
Once a member of the Military Council,
scarred gray-haired admiral,
for political discourse
planes we have gathered.
He said that our job - to the right.
We will win.
And the guys in the regiment daring
And we reward them soon.
And Kolka Boki looking brazenly
The chief focus in the eye, suddenly he slashed
And why can not we?
We are dying too young. "
But suddenly stopped short, silent,
Only the wind northern Russia
shook his dashing cowlick.
And we all looked in dismay,
reproaching boyfriend for this zeal,
And Admiral gave Kolka
hand and began to speak strange:
«What an idea!I approve!
Arrange an instant brothel.
That's just my friends, I do not know,
Where you find the girls? »
« Sis there?- He asked Kolka.
- And where she lives?- Chita.
- A mother is alive?And how many years it? »
Our friend hid his face in shame.
and head hanging low,
«I'm sorry ..." whispered.About
he was clever and honest -
gray-haired admiral with the scar.
youth he knew her desire to,
burning, boldness, passion power,
But he knew and loyalty, and patience,
and support - not let fall.
A women after we learned,
After retiring from the deaf polar areas.
played fast and weddings,
There were thousands of brides.
in drunken conversation circled,
drank until the third cocks,
Forgetting that in the Barents Sea -
hundred thousand of the best suitors.
Kezhun Bronislaw Adol'fovich
Under fire on the river bank,
lay weary hand.
Golden rye flashed close,
A chenille cornflowers in the rye.
and fighters have not heard Hood
And without feeling stuffy,
if on an unprecedented miracle,
joy looking at the flowers.
blue of heaven unbearable
hollow, like lights,
As the eyes of the children, loved his eyes, looked at the men
A moment later, fatigue overcame,
again went on the attack chain shooters,
They thought: it looks Russian
cornflower blue eyes.
December 29, 1943
In this article, we will remember these people, look through their poems about the Great Patriotic War with their eyes on the events of those times.Each poem, each line will leave a trace in your soul, because these lines are burned up by the war and by the tests, that befell the people of the Great Patriotic War.
Trojanker Raisa Lvovna
(1909 Uman - 1945, Murmansk)
I do not know what color
You, dear eyes.
me, probably you will not find,
you nothing to say.
However, would like to know who you really
: Technician, arrows, signalman,
Maybe you swift-winged pilot,
Maybe you marine radio operator?
Well, if that note -
by land or water
brought to you the closest,
I do not know how it was:
bright hospital lights, night ...
doctor said, "drying up power,
Only the blood can help him ...»
And it brought - expensive,
morning taken, Entrance,
For you I have given blood.
And it flowed through his veins
and saved you, gold,
enemy powerless before the power of love is.
Steel scarlet pale lips,
What would used to call me ...
Who am I?The donor, friend Luba,
A lot of people like me.
Suppose I did not even know,
What's your name, dear,
Anyway, I'm a native,
Anyway - I am always with you.
Severe lots lieutenant fell,
And, tormented, he broke with the past relationship.He
of the war, in fact, crawled,
on makeshift roller rolling.
His wife did not write a line.
What to write?Everything is clear already.
A home waiting indefinitely
She lived without believing in his death.
When it happened, received by e-mail
That heart was beating frantically,
What is it - from him, that he - lives.
And people were able to find him,
And so it came to him.
... Under it gleamed steel rollers,
drained and became gray.
Biting her lip, and laughing and crying,
She ran into the City Military Commissariat,
and bottom-up - how it could be otherwise?-
was fixed his gaze smyatёnny.
and women - the fate of the holy mercy, -
Still not believing his happiness,
silently to his knees and fell on his knees
moved toward him.
Mikhail Dudin (1916 - 1993)
dead, we'll talk about later.
Death in war is common and severe.
And yet we catch the air mouth
With the death of comrades.No word
not speak.Without looking up,
In damp ground dig a hole.
World rude and simple.Heart burn.As we
There is only ashes, but stubbornly kept
Trёhsotpyatidesyaty day of the war.More
dawn on the leaves did not tremble,
And a warning beat guns ...
This is the place.Here he died -
My friend from the machine-gun company.
There was useless to call doctors,
not held on to it until dawn.
He did not need anyone's help.
He was dying.And, realizing this,
looked at us, and silently awaited the end,
And somehow smiled awkwardly.
Sunburn first departed from the face, then it
, darkening, turned to stone.
already cools the heated stone breaks,
early morning calms down thundering storm.
last throw.Of the latter, the trenches with bayonets
Soldiers beat and driven from the top of the enemy.
like a dead snake entangled hill trench,
Concrete shallow nests strewn slope,
And, stretching to the sky cold long neck,
Broken Gun glumly looking at the sunset.
arose commander on land reclaimed by us,
pitted shells and opalёnnoy fire,
and children shouted: "Comrades, you need to have a banner! ..»
rose, staggered from the ground gunner.On it
Hung pieces tunic, sweat-soaked, blood-spattered
.He calmly took out a handkerchief,
pressed it to the wound, seasoned web lead machine gun,
and flashed on the hill unprecedentedly bright flower.
We are firmly tied to the bayonet crimson banner,
It began to play, beating a strong wind.
swept gunner friends blue eyes
and said softly: "I can be, now dead,
But I will be proud of already weakened, tired,
Before breath the latter in that battle not srobel,
What is my blood bannerour courage became,
What am I to die for the fatherland decently managed to ... »
over the dark earth, and over a stone chain sentinel,
Over frail bushes, sloping hail of lead,
Burned star between cliffs Zaozerne
sacred banner, bathed in the blood of a soldier.
& lt; 1939 & gt;
Leonid Khaustov (1920 - 1980)
Morning ninth of May
In the forty-fifth year.
sun burning mist,
stood on our mind.
passed it in distant distances,
In every glance window.
Each soldier's medal
hot flashed it.
As it dawned?-
Fraternal our graves,
Woe each family,
Broken bricks on
ashes next to an empty barn ...
I am glad that you remember
is not given to the young.
Generous your sunrises,
Proud triumph of love -
All this sun Victory,
Everything is a reflection of it!
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