Scenario Tomsk poets about the war. Scenario of a literary drawing room dedicated to the poetry of the Great Patriotic War
Every year on March 21, World Poetry Day is celebrated. Poetry is probably one of the most ingenious achievements of mankind.
March 19, 2015 in the Bunyrevsk rural branch of MBUK "ACBS" them. Prince G.E. Lvov as part of the celebration of the 70th anniversary of the Victory and world day poetry evening of military poetry "I've heard so much about the war!". The guests of honor of the event were children of war, lovers of poetry, cultural workers, and youth.
The festive atmosphere captivated the audience. And moreover, it pleased and warmed the souls of the audience. The visual design of the hall contributed to the creation of the atmosphere of the evening, the solemnity and significance of the event. All those present were invited to the tables, on which lay letters from the front-line military poets and stood candles.
Art helps to tell about the war heartfelt. Military poetry and music had an emotional impact on the participants of the event.
When the Patriotic War broke out, the muse immediately put on a soldier's overcoat and joined the ranks of the defenders of the Motherland. The poets fought not only with a rifle in their hands, but also with a sharp writing pen.
Homeland, war, death and immortality, hatred of the enemy, military brotherhood and comradeship, love and loyalty, the dream of victory, reflection on the fate of the people - these are the main motives of military poetry. In verse Tikhonov, Surkov, Isakovsky, Tvardovsky, Akhmatova and Tushnova, Bergolts and Kazakova anxiety for the fatherland and merciless hatred for the enemy, the bitterness of loss is heard.
The host and organizer of the evening, the librarian of the Bunyrevsky rural branch, Nadezhda Vasilievna Platonova, during the event touched on the theme of children of war, the theme of love in war, and spoke about the history of the military poet Musa Jalil.
The poetic evening was intended to open military poetry to a fairly wide audience and to do it in a spectacular format. During the event, poems of the war years were performed by Nina Aleksandrovna Danilenko, Margarita Nikolaevna Kapustyanskaya, Natalya Filippovna Khamiranova, Galina Sergeevna Berillo, Lyudmila Borisovna Petruk, Lidia Ivanovna Sviridova, Galina Ivanovna Fadina. Their touching and heartfelt performance touched the hearts of those present in the hall.
The evening was not without songs and music of the war years. A student of the 7th grade of the Bunyrevskaya school, Lilia Khalina, performed the melody "Katyusha" on the dombra. Yevgeny Zhulikov, Elena Timoshenko sincerely performed songs of the war years. The music did not leave anyone indifferent.
At the end of the evening, those present opened the letters of military poets, which they wrote to their relatives and friends, and read them out. And in memory of poets, fellow countrymen, relatives who did not return from the war, commemorative candles were lit.
We have not forgotten that feat of our fathers and grandfathers in the name of saving the country and its future, we have not forgotten and “have not lost” the main thing in everyday bustle - honesty, mercy, love, faith.
There are still people in the world who have taught the whole world a lesson. You can still look into their faces, eyes, hear their simple, unsophisticated stories about those times!
What is the magic of poetry?
Perhaps in the nudity of feelings?
In the ability to touch the strings of the heart?
After all, the words that fly from the mouth can
Happy to make the day gloomy.
Or maybe it's just an obsession?
And yet, as long as there is light,
Behind the line, a line, like a necklace,
Slowly stringing words ... a poet.
N.V. Platonov,
librarian of the Bunyrevsk rural branch
Scenario of the literary and musical living room, dedicated to the day birth of R. Rozhdestvensky
June 20 marks the 80th birthday of Robert Rozhdestvensky, a bright representative of the generation of the “sixties”, who considered himself a successor of the style of Vladimir Mayakovsky. The bright and original author showed himself to the greatest extent in "pop" poetry. Like his friends and at the same time creative like-minded people Andrei Voznesensky, Yevgeny Yevtushenko and Bella Akhmadulina, the poet taught the country to love, live, not forget the past and look to the future with optimism.
Leading: What would the poet tell us if he suddenly, magically, ended up in the 21st century? What feelings would be born in his soul if he were a witness to the social upheavals that befell his people? It seems that he would still believe in the high destiny of Man.
Video 1 (meeting the poet with the students)
In the last seconds of the video, a student (poet) enters the stage, dressed in the same way as Rozhdestvensky in the frames, sits down at the table, opposite the “students”
Robert Ivanovich, your lines have become winged, songlike. They contain not only the history of the country, they also contain your biography.
- Almost all of my biography (or almost all) is in verse. Whether it is bad or good, but the poet always speaks in verse about himself, about his thoughts, about his feelings. Even when he writes about space.
- You were born in 1932 in the village of Kosikha, Altai Territory. This is in Siberia, quite close to Barnaul.
Yes. My mother is a doctor, my father is a military man. We moved to Omsk - Big city on the banks of the Irtysh. My very first childhood impressions are connected with this city. There are quite a few of them. But the biggest one is war. I had already finished the first grade of school, and in June 1941 I was living in a pioneer camp near Omsk.Father and mother went to the front. Even professional military men were convinced that "it" would soon be over. And as for us boys, we were just sure of it. In any case, I then wrote poems in which, I remember, I scolded the fascists with the last words and gave the most solemn oath to grow up as soon as possible.
- It was a poem "My dad goes on a campaign with a rifle ...", published in Omskaya Pravda on July 8, 1941.
Yes. The poems were unexpectedly published in the regional newspaper (our teacher took them there). I solemnly brought my first fee (something about thirteen rubles) to the school on the first of September and gave it to the Defense Fund. (Probably, this also influenced the favorable outcome of the war).
- Childhood and war are one of the strongest themes of your work...
The war grew with us. For us boys, she was in the daily reports on the radio, waiting for letters from the front, in pomace cakes, in flower beds on the square, dug out for potatoes.And then - already at the end - she was also in orphanages, where thousands of people like me were waiting for the return of their parents.
Reading a poem
Concert
Forty hard years.
Omsk hospital ...
The corridors are dry and easily soiled.
The old nanny whispers:
"God!
What are the artists
small…”
We walk in long wards.
We almost melt into them
with balalaikas,
with mandolins
and big stacks of books.
What's in the program?
The program includes reading
couple of songs
military, correct ...
We are in the ward for the seriously wounded
We enter with trepidation and reverence.
Two are here.
Major of artillery
with an amputated leg
in a crazy fight
near Yelnya
taking fire upon himself.
He looks at the aliens cheerfully ...
And another -
bandaged up to the eyebrows, -
captain,
rammed "Messer"
three weeks ago
over Rostov.
We entered.
We stand in silence.
All of a sudden
breaking falsetto
Abrikosov Grishka desperately
announces the beginning of the concert.
And behind him
not quite perfect
but listening with might and main,
about folk singing,
about sacred
So,
as we understand it.
In it, Chapaev fights again,
red-star tanks rush.
Our
in the attack
and the fascists drop dead.
In it, someone else's iron melts,
in it, even death must recede.
To be honest,
Like
US
such a war!
We sing.
is distributed.
And in it - a reproach:
Wait...
Hold on guys...
Wait...
Died
major ... -
The balalaika burst out mournfully.
hastily,
like crazy...
…That's all
about the concert in the hospital
in that year.
After the first literary experience, new attempts were probably made. Did they immediately see the talent of a poet in you?
- I have been writing poetry all this time. Didn't send it anywhere. I was afraid. But nevertheless, I read them at school evenings to the tenderness of teachers of literature. I learned that in Moscow there is Literary Institute, dreamed about it, learned by heart the rules of admission. After school I collected documents, a pack of poems and sent it all to Moscow.Refused. Reason: "creative failure."On the second attempt, I entered the Literary Institute. And I studied there for five years.
Decided to give up on poetry. Entered to study at the University of Petrozavodsk. Almost headlong into the sport. "Got it" for the first ranks in volleyball and basketball. I went to all sorts of competitions, fully felt the excitement and intensity of wrestling. I liked it. And it seemed that everything was going fine, but ... It was not possible to give up on the verses.Perhaps this is love.
Video 2 (life and work of the poet0
- Your poetry is diverse. These are poems about love, about war, about the Motherland.
There have been many trips in my life. So, for example, I was lucky to visit the North Pole, at one of our drifting stations.
However, among other things, you pay a lot of attention to the prose of our everyday life. You have been repeatedly accused of unwillingness to write about high ideals, of being too publicistic, you continued to create poetry in which you wrote about modernity and the people around you: programmers, doctors, drivers ...
What guys did I meet there! Without any exaggeration - first-class guys! Basically - young, smart, very cheerful. The work of winterers is difficult and dangerous, and these - after work tumbled into tents and from there for a long time there was such a rumbling laughter that random polar bears that approached the camp - certainly shied aside. This is the prose of life. Prose, which is akin to poetry.
Applause
By the way, some witty pilot brought from Moscow numbers that are hung on houses in the capital. Then the aviation navigator, using some tricky instruments, accurately determined which side of the street was even and which was odd. The rooms were solemnly nailed to the houses and on each of them we wrote the name of the street: "Drifting Avenue". So I named one of my books. I have published ten of them, starting in 1955. I wrote poetry and poems. One of the poems "Requiem" is especially dear to me.
The military theme is characteristic of your song lyrics. Everyone remembers the song “For that guy”, which adorned the picture “Only“ old men go into battle ”. It was performed by Muslim Magomayev, Iosif Kobzon, Lev Leshchenko and many other pop artists.
The fact is that an old photograph has been lying on my desk for a long time. It depicts six very young, handsome smiling guys. These are my mother's six brothers. In 1941, the youngest of them was 18 years old, the oldest - 29. All of them went to the front in the same forty-first. Six. And one returned from the front. I don't remember what these guys looked like in real life. Now I'm older than any of them. Who would they become? Engineers? Sailors? Poets? Do not know. They only had time to become soldiers. And die.
Song to the verses of Rozhdestvensky "For that guy"
But your creative collaboration with composers was not limited to the military theme. We all remember “Echo of Love”, performed by Anna German, “Call me, call”, sung by Irina Muravyova. “Moments” from “17 Moments of Spring”, “Pursuit”, “Comrade Song”, the optimistic call “Don't be sad” - these hits are widely known.
I was lucky to be in creative tandem with many wonderful composers. This , (with him we had the first song), , , , , , , , , And if the songs are sung, then something has happened.And I really want to write real poetry. Main. The ones I think about all the time. I will try to write them. If I can't, it will be very disappointing.
Song to the verses of the Christmas "Echo"
"Students" read a poem
A person needs little...
A person needs little:
to look for
and found.
To have to start
Friend -
one
and the enemy
one...
A person needs little:
so that the path leads into the distance.
To live in the world
Mother.
How much does she need
lived..
A person needs little:
after the thunder
silence.
Blue patch of fog.
A life -
one.
And death -
one.
Fresh newspaper in the morning -
kinship with humanity.
And just one planet:
Earth!
Only and everything.
AND -
interstellar road
Yes, the dream of speed.
This is, in essence,
Little.
This is, in general, - a trifle.
Small reward.
low pedestal.
to a person
few
necessary.
If only someone was at home
waited.
Citizenship r. Rozhdestvensky not only in his poems. She is his whole life.
Since 1986 - he is the chairman of the Literary Heritage Commission , was directly involved in the case of the rehabilitation of O. E. Mandelstam.
Rozhdestvensky headed the Literary Heritage Commission , achieved the opening of the Tsvetaeva House-Museum in Moscow.
In addition, he is the chairman of the Literary Heritage Commission. , compiler of the first book of poems by Vysotsky "Nerv" published in the USSR (1981)
In 1997, the name of Robert Rozhdestvensky was given to minor planet, registered in the international catalog of minor planets under the number 5360.
The dialogue participants stand up and approach the edge of the stage.
Friends, it is impossible to be silent if the soul sings. Together with the Poet, let's embrace the world with our love.
The audience is given the lyrics to the words of R. Rozhdestvensky "Nocturne". Everyone sings together.
Between me and you - the rumble of nothingness,
star seas,
secret seas.
my gentle
my strange?
If you want, if you can, remember me
remember me
remember me.
Though by chance, at least once, remember me,
my long love.
And between me and you - centuries,
moments and years
dreams and clouds.
I command them and you now to fly.
How do you live now, my spring,
my gentle
my strange?
I wish you happiness, my dear,
my long love!
I'll come to your aid - just call,
just call
call softly.
the call of my love
the pain of my love!
Only you stay the same - live reverently,
live sunny,
live happily!
Whatever happens, you please live
always live happily.
And between me and you - centuries,
moments and years
dreams and clouds.
I'm ordering them to fly to you now.
Because I love you even more.
May the light of my love be with you all the time,
the call of my love
the pain of my love!
Whatever happens, you please live.
Live happily ever after.
· For more high level restore previously acquired knowledge and deepen it;
· arouse interest in the personality and work of front-line poets Simonov, Tvardovsky, Samoilov, Gudzenko and others;
· expand ideas about the meaning and role of poetry during the Great Patriotic War in the spiritual life of contemporaries, the cultural heritage of the past;
To develop the creative abilities of schoolchildren and the desire for independent creative activity;
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Preview:
Scenario of the poetic hour "Poems born of war"
Targets and goals:
- At a higher level, restore previously acquired knowledge and deepen it;
- arouse interest in the personality and work of front-line poets Simonov, Tvardovsky, Samoilov, Gudzenko and others;
- expand ideas about the meaning and role of poetry during the Great Patriotic War in the spiritual life of contemporaries, the cultural heritage of the past;
- to develop the creative abilities of schoolchildren and the desire for independent creative activity;
- cultivate respect for the historical heritage of our country.
Event progress
Sounds like a calm melody
Again - "war", again "blockade" ....
Can we forget about them?
I hear sometimes: don't
There is no need to open wounds.
It's true that we're tired
We are from stories of war,
And read about the blockade
The lyrics are enough.
So that again on the earthly planet
That winter did not happen again, We need our children
This was remembered, as we are!
I don't need to worry
So that the war is not forgotten.
After all, this is memory, our conscience,
She's the strength we need...
Host: The heroic and tragic years of the Great Patriotic War are farther and farther away from us. Our people are already celebrating the seventieth anniversary of the Victory over Nazi Germany. It's been over half a century! Our poetry evening today is dedicated to this topic.
Host: They say that when the cannons rumble, the muses are silent. But from the first to last day the voice of poets did not stop during the war. And cannon cannonade could not drown it out. Readers have never listened so sensitively to the voice of poets. The well-known English journalist Alexander Werth testified: "Russia is also, perhaps, the only country where millions of people read poetry, and literally everyone read such poets as Simonov and Surkov during the war."
Poems are not written - they happen,
Like feelings or like a sunset.
The soul is a blind accomplice.
Did not write - it happened.
Host: Even before the war, the writer Mikhail Aleksandrovich Sholokhov said: “If the enemy attacks our country, we writers will lay down our pen and take up another weapon. Having defeated the enemy, we will write books about how we beat these enemies!
In the very first days of the war, about a thousand writers went to the front as fighters, commanders, correspondents. For some, this was not the first war: for Nikolai Tikhonov it was the fourth, for Alexander Surkov - the third, for Konstantin Simonov - the second.
“From the first days of the bitter year, in the difficult hour of the native land,” our writers stood in the ranks of fighters for a brave cause, sharing its fate with their people. Through a song, a short story, a lyrical poem, they told the main truth about the war, about the people who fought.
Moderator: Yes, time moves inexorably forward, but at the same time it has no power over the memory of the people.
Hot on the heels of the war, they created, wearing military uniform, their works. These are Konstantin Simonov, Alexander Tvardovsky, Semyon Gudzenko, Olga Berggolts, Rasul Gamzatov, Musa Jalil, Mikhail Dudin, Alexander Zatsepa and many, many others... The poetry of the front-line generation has become one of the brightest and most significant literary phenomena. But that was already after the Victory... Let's turn over the heroic pages with you...
Forgive me that the letter, in a hurry,
breaking away, carelessly
I write like a boy
diary
And as a navigator - a magazine ...
Here it starts again...
Hear, in the pitch darkness
Rushing with third speed
Fire filled metal?
You don't know my friend
what is war...
It's not a smoky field at all
battles,
It's not even death and courage. She
In every drop finds its own
reflection.
It's only from day to day
dugout sand
Yes blinding flashes of the night
shelling
This is a headache that hurts
temple,
This is my youth in the trenches
decayed.
Host: In the first days and months of the war, as well as in the summer of 1942, the front-line situation was not in our favor. Cities and villages were left to the enemy. Under such conditions, more than ever, the role of the poetic word increased, instilling confidence in victory. “I went through that war, and it went through me,” says the poet of the front-line generation David Samuilovich Kaufman, whose pseudonym is David Samoilov. He went through the war in the infantry as a brave and cheerful machine gunner.
Presenter: The war in Samoilov's poems is the incredible scale of the whole and the relief clarity of the private, everyday and winged romance. His poetry only begins with the war, only repels from it, leaving for distant expanses and heights... With his company, Samoilov fought to the bitter end, liberated Poland, participated in the battles for the Vistula in January 1945 and met victory in Berlin... Perhaps , you asked yourself the question - how do poets become? Reading the lines of Samoilov's poems, you understand that poets are born.
forties, fatal,
military and frontline
Where are the funeral notices
And echelon interchanges.
Rolled rails hum.
Spacious. Cold. High.
And fire victims, fire victims
Wandering from west to east...
And this is me at the station
In your dirty earflap,
Where the asterisk is not authorized,
And cut out of a can.
Yes, this is me in the world,
Skinny, funny and playful.
And I have tobacco in a pouch,
And I have a mouthpiece.
forties, fatal,
Lead, powder.
War walks in Russia,
And we are so young!
Host: Each front-line poet has his own perception of reality. Everyone has their own poems - passionate, sincere, and therefore tenacious. Semyon Gudzenko knew what it was like to climb out of a trench, what it was like to hear the hateful whistle of bullets. He looked with dignity, like a man, into the eyes of death, although he knew that life could end at any moment. Everything written by Gudzenko at that time is a lyrical diary of a young soldier of the Great Patriotic War. The poet writes about what he saw, what he experienced himself, about "icy cold" and "flames of fires", about "trench patience" and "blind fury" of attacks.
First death
You know,
first death
Classmate, friend...
We were waiting for the scouts in a hot hut,
were silent
And the pipe was smoked in a circle.
Potatoes were steaming in a large iron.
I filled the phone
And gave it to a neighbor.
You know,
There is a commandment in war:
wait for reconnaissance
And have lunch together.
"Well, how are the guys? ..
Will they come back? .. "-
each of us repeated this phrase.
He entered.
The sergeant gave the gun.
"Serezha is dead...
To the head...
Straightaway..."
And if you
Friends at the front
understand this truth
I was waiting for him to come in
such,
How he lived in the forests of the Moscow region,
always wrapped in machine-gun belt.
I was waiting for him in the morning.
There was a blizzard.
He must come.
I brewed concentrates.
But somewhere
In deep
Smolensk snows
frozen body
Army brother.
You know,
Is in our soldier's destiny
first death...
They talked in circles
and all about one
Nothing about myself.
Only about revenge
About revenge
For a friend.
"I was infantry in a clean field ..."
I was infantry in a clean field,
in trench mud and on fire.
I became an army journalist
v Last year in that war.
But if we fight again...
This is the law:
let me send again
to the infantry battalion.
Be under the command of the elders
at least a third of the way
then I can from those peaks
get into poetry.
"Before Attack"
When they go to death - they sing,
and before that
You can cry.
After all, the worst hour in battle -
hour of attack.
Snow mines dug all around
and turned black from mine dust.
Gap -
And a friend dies.
And that means death passes by.
Now it's my turn
Behind me alone
There is a hunt.
Damn you
Forty-first year
you, infantry frozen in the snow.
I feel like I'm a magnet
that I attract mines.
Gap -
And the lieutenant wheezes.
And death passes by again.
But we already
Unable to wait.
And leads us through the trenches
petrified enmity,
bayonet holed neck.
The fight was short.
And then
jammed ice cold vodka,
and cut with a knife
from under the nails
I am someone else's blood.
Host: Poets wrote about many things during the war years. Mikhail Vasilyevich Isakovsky - the author of the famous songs "Katyusha", "Spark", "In the forest near the front" - the same age as the century, the poet of the people, natural. It is no coincidence that dozens of his poems have become amazing songs that have disappeared in the memory of the people.
The song sounds on the verses of M. Isakovsky, music. M. Blanter "Katyusha".
Host: Konstantin Simonov, even before the forty-first year, introduced a certain premonition of war into literature, turning to the theme of courage, heroism, human involvement in the events of the era. During the war, Simonov's poems became textbooks for the whole country of love, fidelity, hatred of the enemy. Front-line songs based on his poems sounded not only at the front line, but also in the rear, uniting the country into a united front.
Love lyrics unexpectedly took an important place in poetry then, began to enjoy extraordinary popularity. Simonov's poems were based on a confidential appeal to very close person- to your wife, beloved, friend or in a heart-to-heart conversation with an interlocutor who understands you well. We do not find pathos in them, because in such works it is inappropriate, impossible, false ...
Host: When it comes to the best lyrical works of poetry of the war years, we do not hesitate to call "Dugout" by Alexei Surkov and "Wait for me" by Konstantin Simonov. Tvardovsky, a strict and even captious connoisseur of poetry, said that "it is these verses that are about the most important thing, they are the" candid diary of the soul.
Against the background of music, a recording of the poem “Wait for me and I will return” sounds
Wait for me and I will come back.
Just wait a lot.
Wait for sadness
Yellow rain.
Wait for the snow to come
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 all who are waiting together.
Wait for me and I will come back,
don't wish well
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
They sit by the fire
They will drink bitter wine in memory
souls...
Wait and drink along with them
do not rush.
Wait for me and I will come back
All deaths out of spite.
Who did not wait for me, let him
Say: "Lucky!"
Do not understand those who did not wait for them,
Like in the middle of a fire
Waiting for your
You saved me
How I survived, we will know
Only you and I
You just knew how to wait
Like no one else.
Host: Many unforgettable lines were created during the Great Patriotic War. In this mighty choir, the author of the poem "Vasily Terkin" Alexander Tvardovsky has his own unique voice. Tvardovsky knew how to peer into a person, to see his essence, to notice the most important thing. Therefore, the poet managed to feel and convey in the image of Vasily Terkin the spirit of a truly folk hero, his true features. This is the greatest merit of the poet before the national literature.
The path to the heights of literature Alexander Trifonovich Tvardovsky went through the hardest roads of the war, rising to the comprehension of the epic character of the national hero. Such work turned out to be up to the poet only thanks to life and military experience, thanks to the power of talent. Therefore, Vasily Terkin is dear to all soldiers who endured the hardships of the war and did not lose their inexhaustible optimism and faith in the Victory.
From the first days of the bitter year,
In the difficult hour of the native land,
Not joking, Vasily Terkin,
We made friends with you.
I have no right to forget
What do you owe to your glory,
How and where did you help me.
Cause time, hour of fun,
Dear Terkin at war.
The second soldier (the image of Vasily Terkin):
Soldiers followed us
Leaving the captive region.
I have one political conversation
Repeated:
- Cheer up!
Let's not get carried away, let's break through
We will live - we will not die.
The time will come, we will return back,
What we have given, we will return.
I would be asked myself
Exactly as much I knew
What is where it is, Russia,
What is your own line?
Presenter: The feat of the Russian people in Patriotic war confirmed and fixed in our minds by means of a true artistic word. "War is not fireworks at all," Mikhail Kulchitsky wrote, objecting to those who hoped to win "with little bloodshed." War, even the most just, is terrible, because the unnatural is committed in it - the killing of people.
The day it ended
war
And all the trunks fired into account
salute,
At that hour there was one at the celebration
A special moment for our souls.
At the end of the road, on the far side
Under the thunder of firing we said goodbye
for the first time
With all those who died in the war,
How to say goodbye to the dead
alive.
Until then, in the depths of my soul
We didn't say goodbye
irrevocably.
We were with them, as it were, on an equal footing,
And only a leaf separated us
accounting.
We walked the roads of war with them
In a single military brotherhood
before the deadline.
Their harsh glory is illuminated,
From their fate is always close.
And only here in this harsh
moment,
Filled with majesty and sorrow,
We separated forever from them,
These volleys separated us from them.
Host: On hundreds of monuments and obelisks you will not see names, only the number of those buried, among whom were writers and poets-front-line soldiers. They fell for the freedom and independence of our Motherland...
moment of silence
Immortal is the feat of Musa Jalil, who did not lay down his weapon - a poetic word in Hitler's dungeons. Vsevolod Bagritsky died near Leningrad, Boris Bogatkov and Nikolai Mayorov were killed in the battles near Smolensk. Boris Lapin died near Kiev. In the battles near Stalingrad - Mikhail Kulchitsky ... Recognized and aspiring poets of different ages, nationalities - all of them at the time of difficult trials were at the forefront of the struggle. They fell, they are gone, but they live in poetry collections, their feelings and thoughts have found a voice...
"Victory"
A bluish fog rises from the ground,
Tanks rumble, stretched out in a row.
Like brave falcons, winged,
Red flags hover over the roof.
The old woman hugged the fighter by the neck,
She cried with joy
And smiling fresh trophies
The strict foreman counts.
Like a shadow of the fate of Nazi Germany,
In all directions, wherever you look,
On the glacier torn and slimy
The corpses of enemy soldiers turn black.
Presenter: The generation of soldiers of the Great Patriotic War suffered huge losses. It was estimated that out of every hundred who fought, only three survived. Once again, look at the faces of those who went to war. The faces are simple and spiritual, young and wise beyond their years, with a clear look. Heroic generation of winners. How does it appear to us, young contemporaries?
Presenter: During the Great Patriotic War, Olga Berggolts, remaining in hometown all900 days blockade , worked at the Leningrad radio. Often, exhausted from hunger, she spent the night in the studio, but she never lost her spirit, supporting her appeals to Leningraders with confidential and courageous verses. During the war, O. Bergholz created her best poetic works dedicated to the heroism of the defenders of the city.
"Scout"
We're on the smoking trail
three days they ran after the enemies.
The last city is visible to us,
guarded by gardens.
The enemy retreated.
But if he
managed to open the cylinders,
How are the veins?
And now the scout is equipped
another half day shift.
And this is me.
And I now
I enter the city, the wind is cleaner ...
I sniff the air like a beast
on human ashes.
And I can only do one thing -
run by signaling:
"Infected,
infected"...
And the regiment will begin to prepare.
Then I'll lie down calmly
the end of the war is imminent...
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
And in an hour
friends will enter
to the last infected city.
Host: Surkov worked as a war correspondent from 1939 to 1945. He was a correspondent for the newspapers Krasnaya Zvezda and Combat Onslaught. Surkov took part in campaigns in Western Belarus, participated in the Finnish war, was on the fronts of the Great Patriotic War. He was a member of the defense of Moscow. Near Rzhev, he wrote several poems. Aleksey Surkov wrote many popular military songs, such as "Fire beats in a cramped stove ...", as well as many other famous songs.
"Morning of Victory"
Where the grass is damp from dew and from blood,
Where the pupils of machine guns glare fiercely,
In full growth, above the trench of the front edge,
The victorious soldier rose.
The heart beat against the ribs intermittently, often.
Silence ... Silence ... Not in a dream - in reality.
And the infantryman said: - Get rid of it! Basta!-
And noticed a snowdrop in a moat.
And in the soul yearning for light and affection,
The joy of the former melodious stream came to life.
And the soldier bent down and to the shot helmet
Carefully adjusted the flower.
Came to life again in memory were alive -
Moscow suburbs in the snow and on fire Stalingrad.
For the first time in four unthinkable years,
Like a child, the soldier cried.
So stood the infantryman, laughing and sobbing,
With a boot trampling a prickly wattle fence.
Behind the shoulders was a young dawn,
Foreshadowing a sunny day.
Rasul Gamzatov "They say that posthumously ..."
Mikhail Dudin "Nightingales"
Bombing over the city
Sirens long howl.
... And there lies a potato,
Close to the front!
Good potato!
Lies and waits
When will Alyoshka visit her?
Will it crawl through the snow?
And it seems to Alyoshka,
What seems like yesterday
He is a song about potatoes
Bawling at the fire
I went on a campaign with a detachment,
Made a halt…
And all about the blockade
Nobody knew then.
It's getting dark outside the window
December dawn.
There is not a crumb in the apartment.
Alyosha knows: no.
We ate yesterday.
Now wait until tomorrow.
And there - after all, they did not have time
Remove potatoes!
A potato lies
At the Pulkovo Heights
Alyoshka is crawling in the snow,
Crawls with the ground.
Shells whistle over him.
Don't go astray!
Alyosha really needs
Bring potatoes.
Mom will come from the factory,
light up the flame,
Potatoes, the most delicious,
See the kettle!
In the workshop she shells
Sharpened day and night
And I need it, I really need it
Fight to help her.
winding path
Aleshkin trace lay.
Crawling, crawling Alyoshka
And pulls the kettle.
Enemies of what to fear! ..
Maybe they don't get killed.
Here are ours, if you run into,
Will return immediately!
They have orders for this:
Don't let the boys in!
Worthless to any shkets
Dive under the bullets.
Obviously, it's bad.
It is clear that the ban.
But there is something you need too!
And there are no crumbs at home.
The earth is still like a stone!
Frozen - just horror!
Try it with your hands
Such a pick!
But he lies, digs
Under the roar of cannonades.
And Hitler scolds
And all his soldiers.
... Alyoshka you, Alyoshka!
We remember this year.
And frozen potatoes
And proud: "Forward!"
The Lenfront went west.
Straight to victory!
May you not be a soldier
You were a front-line soldier!
Alexander Zatsepa "Letter to God"
Listen to God... Never before in my life
I didn't talk to you, but today
I want to greet you!
You know... since childhood I've always been told
That there is no You, and I, a fool, believed.
I have never beheld your creations.
And so tonight I watched
From the crater that knocked out a grenade
To the starry sky: what was above me.
I suddenly realized, admiring the flicker,
How cruel deceit can be.
I don't know, God, will you give me your hand?
But I will tell you, and you will understand me!
Isn't it strange that in the midst of the most terrible hell,
I suddenly opened the light and I saw You!
And besides that, I have nothing to say
It's just that I'm glad I got to know you.
At midnight we are scheduled to attack.
But I'm not afraid, You look at us.
Signal... Well, well, I must go...
I felt good with you...
I also want to say
That, as you know, the battle will be evil,
And maybe at night I will knock on You.
And even though until now I have not been Your friend,
Will You let me in when I come?!
But I think I'm crying, my God, you see
What happened to me is that now I have seen the light.
Farewell, my God... I'm going... And I'm unlikely to return.
How strange - but now I'm not afraid of death.
Host: The generation of future winners grew up in harsh conditions.
Host: This hardening has become the basis of stamina and hope - to withstand the fight against the enemy, not to break.
Host: The people survived and won. But the specter of war has not sunk into oblivion.
Host: How to resist him? Where to find support points? Think about this...
The song sounds: "Cranes"
Host: We wish everyone a peaceful sky over their heads.
annotation
The methodological development "War - there is no sadder word" is a script for a literary drawing room dedicated to the poetry of the Great Patriotic War. The author proceeds from the fact that the program study of literature is largely accompanied by extracurricular work, expanding the opportunities for students to communicate with the world of art of the word.
The presented scenario reflects the history of literature (in particular, poetry) during the Great Patriotic War, its inspiring, supporting role and social, literary, spiritual and moral significance.
The Literary Lounge assumes high school students - students of grades 10-11 as participants and spectators.
Methodological development is accompanied by a presentation.
Addressed to teachers of literature, organizers educational work, teachers additional education, class teachers, students pedagogical universities during the internship in extracurricular activities.
Goals:
- the formation of the patriotic consciousness of the younger generation on the basis of the heroic events of the history of their country by means of literary education;
- maintaining and developing a sense of pride in one's country;
- promoting growth creativity and harmonious development of personality.
Equipment:
- computer and video projector;
- projection screen;
- presentation "War - there is no sadder word"
Audience design(living room as a form extracurricular activities assumes intimacy, so the room should not be large, the audience is designed for approximately 50 spectators).
- Stands with photos and short biographies poets, which will be discussed in the living room;
- Book exhibition "Poetry of the front-line years".
Participants and spectators of the event - students in grades 10-11.
Scenario
Introductory remarks by the leader: Good afternoon, dear guests! We are glad to see you as viewers of the Literary Lounge. The Literary Lounge has been with us for many years. Its leaders, participants change, the repertoire is constantly updated. But one thing is invariable - among its participants there are always creative, enthusiastic people who love and appreciate the artistic word, try their hand at versification, read, sing. These are the students of our school.
Today we bring to your attention one of our programs dedicated to the poetry of the Great Patriotic War.
First host: They say when the cannons rumble, the muses are silent. But from the first to the last day of the war, the voice of poets did not stop. And cannon cannonade could not drown it out. Readers have never listened to the voice of poets so much. The well-known English journalist Alexander Werth, who spent the entire war in the Soviet Union, wrote in his book “Russia in the War 1941-1945”: “Russia is perhaps the only country where millions of people read poetry, and poets such as Simonov and Surkov were read during the war, literally everyone.
Second host: 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.
Third host: Already on June 24, 1941, a poem by V.I. Lebedev-Kumach "Holy War".
First host: The editor-in-chief of Krasnaya Zvezda, Dmitry Ortenberg, describes the story of the appearance of this poem as follows: “I called the literary collaborator Lev Soloveichik to my place and said to him:
Let's urgently verses in the room! Having received the task, he began to call the poets.
Accidentally ran into Lebedev-Kumach:
Vasily Ivanovich, the newspaper needs poetry.
Today is Sunday. The newspaper comes out on Tuesday. Poems must certainly be tomorrow.
The next day, Lebedev-Kumach, as promised, brought a poem to the editor. It started like this:
Get up, great country,
Get up for the death fight
With dark fascist power,
With the damned horde.
Second host: Soon the composer Aleksandrov wrote music to these verses. And on June 27, the ensemble of the Red Army performed the song for the first time at the Belorussky railway station of the capital in front of the soldiers going to the front.
Slides №№ 2,3 The song "Holy War" sounds, newsreel footage.
Third host: 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 military suffering and the hard life of the rear.
The unifying, inspiring role of this song was largely determined by the fact that it told the harsh truth about the war. She was imbued with a sense of the severity of the trials that befell our people.
First host: Already the first weeks, months of the war showed that the war would not be easy. It won’t work out the way it was sung in pre-war bravura songs: “We will defeat the enemy on enemy soil with little blood, with a mighty blow”, “We will cope with any misfortune, we will scatter all enemies into smoke.” All this was the leitmotif of poems and songs of the 1930s, widely circulated in the press and recited on the radio.
Second host: During the war years, the character of our literature changed considerably. She begins to get rid of the artificial optimism and complacency that had been ingrained in the pre-war period.
Third host: The war made again possible the tragic beginning in Russian literature. And it sounded in the work of many poets.
Reader:“Ah, war, what have you done, vile one…” This is how Bulat Okudzhava’s poem “Goodbye, boys” begins. The name itself brings a note of tragedy: how many boys and girls did not return from this war! How many failed destinies, unplayed weddings, unborn children... Semyon Gudzenko, David Samoilov, Yevgeny Vinokurov, Bulat Okudzhava wrote about their generation, the generation that was no more than twenty at the start of the war.
slide number 4
Sounds like a song with verses B .Okudzhava "Goodbye, boys."
(Note: The song can be performed by the members of the living room)
Oh, war, what have you done, vile:
our yards became quiet,
our boys raised their heads -
they have matured,
barely loomed on the threshold
and left, after the soldier - the soldier ...
Goodbye boys!
Boys
try to go back.
No, don't hide, be tall
spare no bullets or grenades
and don't spare yourself
And still
try to go back.
Oh, war, what have you done, vile one:
instead of weddings - separation and smoke,
our girls dresses are white
gave away to their sisters.
Boots - well, where can you get away from them?
Yes, green wings of shoulder straps ...
You spit on the gossips, girls.
We'll settle accounts with them later.
Let them talk that you have nothing to believe in,
that you are going to war at random ...
Goodbye girls!
Girls, try to get back.
Reader: The front-line poet David Samoilov wrote about how “war, misfortune, dream and youth coincided” in the poem “Forties”.
slide number 5
The titled poem sounds D. Samoilova "Forties"
forties, fatal,
military and frontline
Where are the funeral notices
And echelon interchanges.
Rolled rails hum.
Spacious. Cold. High.
And fire victims, fire victims
Wandering from west to east...
And this is me at the station
In your dirty earflap,
Where the asterisk is not authorized,
And cut out of a can.
Yes, this is me in the world,
Skinny, funny and playful.
And I have tobacco in a pouch,
And I have a mouthpiece.
And I'm joking with the girl
And I'm lame more than necessary
And I break the solder in two,
And I understand everything.
How it was! How did it coincide?
War, trouble, dream and youth!
And it all sunk into me
And only then I woke up! ..
forties, fatal,
Lead, gunpowder...
War walks in Russia,
And we are so young!
slide number 6
Reader: After the war, Semyon Gudzenko wrote a poem in which there was this line: "We will not die of old age - we will die of old wounds." For which he received a large stream of criticism. He was reproached for hopeless longing, sadness, aching complaint.
Semyon Gudzenko was seriously wounded in 1942 and died in 1953, literally "from old wounds", having spent many months in hospitals during the war and after it.
Semyon Gudzenko's poem "My generation" sounds.
We are clean before our battalion commander, as before the Lord God.
Overcoats turned red from blood and clay on the living,
Blue flowers bloomed on the graves of the dead.
Blossomed and fell off... The fourth autumn passes.
Our mothers are crying, and our peers are silently sad.
We did not know love, did not experience the happiness of crafts,
We got to share the hard fate of the soldiers.
My weather has no poetry, no love, no peace -
Only power and envy. And when we return from the war,
We will love everything in full and write, peer, such
that fathers-soldiers will be proud of sons.
Well, who won't come back? Who doesn't have to give in?
Well, who was struck down by the first bullet in forty-one?
A peer of the same age will sob, a mother will beat on the threshold, -
My weather has no poetry, no peace, no wives.
Who will come back - dolubit? Not! The heart is not enough
And the dead do not need the living to love for them.
There is no man in the family - no children, no owner in the hut.
Can the sobs of the living help such grief?
We do not need to feel sorry, because we would not feel sorry for anyone.
Who went on the attack, who shared the last piece,
He will understand this truth - it is to us in the trenches and cracks
She came to argue with a grouchy, hoarse basque.
Let the living remember and let the generations know
This harsh truth of the soldiers, taken with battle.
And your crutches, and a mortal wound through,
And the graves over the Volga, where thousands of young people lie, -
This is our destiny, it was with her that we swore and sang,
They went on the attack and tore bridges over the Bug.
We do not need to feel sorry, because we would not feel sorry for anyone,
We are clean before our Russia and in difficult times.
And when we return - and we return with victory,
Everyone, like hell, is stubborn, like people, tenacious and evil, -
Let us brew beer and roast meat for dinner,
So that tables break everywhere on oak legs.
We will bow at the feet of our dear, suffering people,
We kiss mothers and girlfriends that waited, loving.
That's when we return and win with bayonets -
We will love everything, the same age, and we will find a job for ourselves.
Reader: Nikolai Nekrasov, a Russian poet of the 19th century, has a poem in which the author, reflecting on the "horrors of war, on each new victim of the battle," expresses his sympathy for the mother of the deceased soldier. He's writing:
Alas, the wife will be comforted,
And the best friend will forget a friend,
But there is only one soul in the world -
She will remember to the grave.
What can compare with the grief of a mother who has lost her child, survived him. This is a violation of the natural law of life. About this is a poem by Yulia Drunina, dedicated to her fighting friend Zinaida Samsonova, who died in 1942.
Slides №№ 7, 8 (alternately)
"Zinka"
We lay down by the broken spruce,
Waiting for the light to start.
Warmer under the overcoat
On cold, damp ground.
You know, Julia, I'm against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
At home, in the apple outback,
Mom, my mom lives.
You have friends, love.
I only have one.
Spring is brewing outside.
It seems old: every bush
A restless daughter is waiting
You know, Julia, I'm against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
We barely warmed up
Suddenly the order: "Come forward!"
Again next to me in a damp overcoat
The light-haired soldier is coming.
2. Every day it got worse.
We went without rallies and substitutions.
Surrounded by Orsha
Our battered battalion.
Zinka led us on the attack.
We made our way through the black rye,
Through funnels and gullies,
Through the frontiers of death.
We did not expect posthumous glory,
We wanted to live with glory.
Why in bloody bandages
The light-haired soldier lies
Her body with her overcoat
I hid, clenching my teeth.
Belarusian huts sang
About Ryazan deaf gardens.
3. You know, Zinka, I am against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
At home, in the apple outback
Mom, your mom lives.
I have friends, love
She had you alone.
It smells of kneading and smoke in the hut,
Spring is brewing outside.
And an old woman in a flowery dress
I lit a candle at the icon
I don't know how to write to her
So that she does not wait for you.
Reader: Orphanhood and widowhood is another tragedy of the war. With piercing pain, Sergey Vikulov wrote the poem “One Forever” about this disaster.
slide number 9
An excerpt from S. Vikulov's poem "Forever Alone" sounds:
… Barely had enough strength
accept the envelope with a trembling hand...
And suddenly: "Grandfather, dear!"
"Oh!" and to his cheek cheek!
And twirled with him in an embrace:
"He's alive! He's alive!"
"Well, God forbid!"
The old man, touched by a tear, brushed it off and went out the threshold,
Surprising that the bag has become lighter ...
Well, she sat down near the table,
First, she pressed the envelope to her lips
And then it broke...
"Beloved! .." and the uneven sheet suddenly trembled in her hands,
And in her huge blue
Fear spread with foreboding,
And the finger became whiter than paper,
Following the line tremulously.
"Darling, we're retreating!
All of us are across the river.
It's just us here, and the bridge hasn't been blown up!
And the bridge is already in the hands of the enemy!
And our battalion commander said: "Shame on us!" and
"Volunteers, two steps forward!"
And we, who left us alive ...
We all go to him!!!
"Well, bravo..." he said wearily,
And four, one by one, called out.
I became the third from the edge ...
And he, severe and direct,
said: "I am sending you to death, write letters to mothers .."
The hour is at your disposal"
And now, having chosen a place drier,
I am writing for the last time.
I'm writing to you, I'm sorry that the handwriting is so illegible,
you have to understand
I don't have much time to say everything
I need life!!!
And I'm in a hurry, I'm in a hurry and I immediately want the main thing:
The deadline is blown, and of course you will get married,
I understand, I'm cruel, but You .. because who will condemn you?
You will come out faithful to me.
And you will have a son, even if not like me,
Let ... but I want the boy to be with you for everything!
To straw bangs on the forehead, and specks around the eyes.
To recognize among the boys, you even published it
And so that one day he heard your sad story about
Who so wanted (forgive me this confession!) to become his father!
Yes, it didn't work! Disappeared somewhere... no matter where, he was a fighter.
And you, one day, you tell him, leaving all things,
That he did not live to see the Victory, but died so that it would be!
So that again the light hits the faces of good people, dispelling the darkness,
So that he, snub-nosed, could be born and that he could live easily,
So that in the morning the path leads either to the forest or to the lake,
So that the thunder rumbled, the boat flew forward! And the rainbow bloomed!
So that lightning goes out like matches, hitting a rainbow-arc,
So that someone's girl with a pigtail was waiting for him on the shore ...
Beloved... and silence... and again
I shout from smoke and fire: FAVORITE!!!
But you will hear this word without me ...
First host: War does not fit into an ode,
And a lot of it is not for books.
I believe that the people need
Soul frank diary.
Second host: During the war years, the theme of intimate lyrics sounded with renewed vigor. In order to truly appreciate the social, literary, spiritual and moral significance of this phenomenon, it is necessary, at least in the most general terms, to recall that the theme of love in Soviet poetry had a difficult history associated with emphasizing the significance of only social topics and underestimating personal, especially intimate, human life.
Third host: Renaissance love lyrics in the poetry of the war years, the cycle of poems by Konstantin Simonov "With you and without you", written in 1941-1942, contributed greatly.
Slides No. 10, 11
Reader: Today, for me, the closest poems of the wartime are the poems of Konstantin Simonov from the collection “With You and Without You”. I learned about this collection at a literature lesson, when we got acquainted with the lyrics of the Great Patriotic War. The lyrics amazed me. I was struck by the strength of feelings, frankness, and also by the fact that such intimate poems were published during the war years. I wondered if they had factual material behind them. And I turned to Simonov's biography, from which I learned that the cycle "With You and Without You" is dedicated to actress Valentina Serova. She became the poet's wife on the eve of the war, in 1941. The rest of the details of their relationship are in verse.
There are verses from the collection "With you and without you":
Slides №№ 12,13
Reader: ""
I want to call you my wife
For the fact that others did not call it that,
That in my old house, broken by the war,
You will hardly be a guest again.
For the fact that I wished you evil,
For the fact that you rarely felt sorry for me,
For the fact that, without waiting for my requests, I came
To me that night when she wanted to.
I want to call you my wife
Not to tell everyone about it,
Not because you've been with me for a long time,
According to all idle gossip and signs.
I am not conceited by your beauty,
Not the big name you wore
With me, quite tender, secret, the one
That came to my house inaudibly.
Names will be compared in glory with death,
And beauty, like a station, passes,
And, having grown old, the owner is one
He will be jealous of his portraits.
I want to call you my wife
Because the days of separation are endless,
That too many who are with me now
Must close the eyes of other people's hands.
Because you were true
Love did not give me a promise
And for the first time that you love, you lied
At the last hour of a soldier's farewell.
What have you become? Mine or someone else's?
From here my heart can't reach...
I'm sorry that I call you wife
By the right of those who may not return.
Reader: "To a distant friend"
And you will meet this year without me,
When you could fully understand
When you knew how much I love you
You would fly to me on wings.
From now on, we would be together everywhere,
And, reflected in the icy water
Your face would look at me.
When you knew how much I love you.
You would be over me all night, until waking up,
Stood here in the dugout where I sleep
Letting myself alone into dreams.
When by the power of love alone
I could settle our souls nearby,
Your soul to say: come, live,
Be invisible, be unobservable.
But don't leave me one step
Only to me be a clear reminder:
In the fire - an obscure flutter of fire,
In a blizzard - blue flutter of snow.
Invisible, watch me write
Sheets of their nightly ridiculous letters,
As I search helplessly for words,
How unbearably I depend on them.
I don't want to share my sadness with anyone here,
You rarely hear your name here.
But if I am silent - I am silent about you,
And the air is full of your faces.
They surround me, wherever I throw myself,
All of you look into my eyes tirelessly.
Yes, you would understand how much I love you
If only for a day with me lived here invisibly.
But you meet this year without me ...
Reader: "Having remembered the names for an hour ..."
For an hour remembering the names -
Here the memory does not last long -
Men say: "War ..." -
And hastily embrace women.
Thank you for being so easy
Not demanding to be called sweetheart,
Another, the one that is far away,
They were hastily replaced.
She is the beloved of strangers
Here she regretted, as best she could,
In an evil hour warmed them
The warmth of an unkind body.
And they, who have time to fight
And it's hard to live up to love,
It's easier to remember that yesterday
At least someone's arms were hugging.
I don't judge them, you know.
For the hour allowed by the war,
Need a simple paradise
For those who are weak in soul.
Let everything be wrong, not that
But remember in the hour of the last torment
Let strangers, but
Yesterday's eyes and hands.
At another time, maybe
And I would spend an hour with someone else
But these days don't change
You are neither body nor soul.
Just from grief, from
It's unlikely that I'll see you again
In the separation of your heart
I will not humiliate with weakness.
Not warmed by a casual caress,
Until death, without saying goodbye to you,
I am a sad trace of sweet lips
I'll leave it behind me forever.
Reader: The most famous poem from the collection "With You and Without You" and, perhaps, Simonov's most famous poem is "Wait for me". I thought about why this poem gained such popularity. He is known and loved by people of different generations. And, it seems to me, I understood what the secret of his undying popularity is: in place lyrical hero of this poem, each soldier could put himself up and turn with the words “wait for me” to his girlfriend, beloved, mother. After all, the soldiers in the war lived with the memory of the house, dreamed of meeting with their loved ones, and they so needed to be expected. And today, when the guys go to the army, they dream of the same thing, although, perhaps, they are embarrassed to say it out loud.
The poem “Wait for me” by K. Simonov sounds.
Wait for me and I will come back.
Just wait a lot
Wait for sadness
yellow rain,
Wait for the snow to come
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 all who are waiting together.
Wait for me and I will come back,
don't wish well
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
They sit by the fire
Drink bitter wine
For the soul...
Wait. And along with them
Don't rush to drink.
Wait for me and I will come back,
All deaths out of spite.
Who did not wait for me, let him
He will say: - Lucky.
Do not understand those who did not wait for them,
Like in the middle of a fire
Waiting for your
You saved me
How I survived, we will know
Only you and I -
You just knew how to wait
Like no one else.
First host: Many wonderful poems were born of the war. Some of them, having played their huge propaganda role, remained a wartime document, while others entered modern spiritual culture as a manifestation of the beauty of the soul of the people, as a poeticization of the natural and beautiful in unnatural conditions.
Reader: The beautiful summer of 1941, June 21, Saturday. For all schools in the country - graduation, and tomorrow, tomorrow there will be a war ... This memorable and tragic date is dedicated to a poem Vadim Shefner "June 22".
slide number 14
Don't dance today, don't sing.
In the late afternoon thoughtful hour
Silently stand at the windows,
Remember those who died for us.
There, in the crowd, among loved ones, lovers,
Among the cheerful and strong guys,
Someone's shadows in green caps
Silently rush to the outskirts.
They can not linger, stay -
This day takes them forever
On the way to marshalling yards
The trains sound their separation.
Calling them and calling them is in vain,
They won't say a word in response
But with a sad and clear smile
Look closely after them.
slide number 15
Second host: According to the encyclopedia "The Great Patriotic War" in active army more than a thousand writers served - 1215. Of the eight hundred members of the Moscow writers' organization, 250 went to the front in the first days of the war. 475 writers did not return from the war.
Third host: In memory of those who did not come from the war, this song sounds.
The song sounds on the verses of R. Gamzatov "Cranes".
Download development:
Target: the formation of the patriotic consciousness of the younger generation on the basis of the heroic events of history by means of literary education.
Tasks:
To deepen students' knowledge of the history and literature of the period of the Great Patriotic War;
Raise a sense of gratitude to veterans for the Victory in the Great Patriotic War; to cultivate courage, patriotic feelings
Equipment: multimedia equipment; presentation “Lines singed by war….”; book exhibition "Poetry of the front-line years"
Event progress
The song "In the forest near the front" performed by Natalia Podolskaya sounds.
1st presenter
Every year, the heroic and tragic years of the Great Patriotic War are getting further and further away from us. This war was one of the most difficult tests that our country withstood with honor. The feat of a soldier who fought to the death, and the feat of a worker who forged this victory in the rear, will never be forgotten.
2nd host
Our duty is to preserve the memory of this feat, respect for stamina, courage, selfless love for our Fatherland and pass it on to future generations.
1st presenter
And the dead, the voiceless,
There is one consolation:
We fell for the Motherland
And she is saved.
Our eyes have faded
The flame of the heart went out
On earth in faith
They don't call us.
2nd host
We have our fighting
Do not wear medals.
You - all this, alive,
We have one consolation,
What was not in vain fought
We are for the Motherland,
Let our voice not be heard
You must know him.
The song “Cranes” sounds (verses by Rasul Gamzatov translated into Russian by Naum Grebnev, composer Yan Frenkel performed by a lyceum student)
A moment of silence.
1st presenter
June. The sunset was fading into the evening,
And the sea overflowed on a warm night.
And the sonorous laughter of the guys was heard,
Not knowing, not knowing grief.
June! We didn't know then
Walking from school evenings
That tomorrow will be the first day of the war,
And it will end only in the forty-fifth, in May.
The song “From the Heroes of Bygone Times” (from the film “Officers”) performed by Vasily Lanovoy sounds.
2nd host
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 the bellies, where crawling ... - in four years. War - 27 million people. 19 thousand people per day, 793 people per hour, 13 people per minute.
1st presenter
Four years - 1418 days and nights, 34032 hours! This must be known and remembered. And if we now 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 "Oh, 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 "Holy War".
The editor-in-chief of Krasnaya Zvezda, Dmitry Ortenberg, describes the story of the appearance of this poem as follows: “I called the literary collaborator Lev Soloveichik to my place and said to him:
Let's urgently verses in the room!
Having received the task, 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.
- Will be...
The next day, Lebedev-Kumach, as promised, brought a poem to the editor. It started like this:
Get up, great country,
Get up for the death fight
With dark fascist power,
With the damned horde.
Soon the composer Aleksandrov wrote music to these verses. And on June 27, the ensemble of the Red Army performed the song for the first time at the Belorussky railway station of the capital in front of the soldiers going to the front.
The song "Holy War" sounds (a video about the war is shown under 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 military suffering and the hard life of the rear.
The unifying, inspiring role of this song was largely determined by the fact that it told the harsh truth about the war. 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 want 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 the neighbors and the girls too
Chasing pigeons across the rooftops
Again, you and dad would be younger.
...tomorrow I'll be on reconnaissance behind enemy lines.
Don't be afraid - I'm not afraid at all ...
You wait for me, dear ...
I am your son. And I miss you terribly.
Mom, do you remember the sweater, my blue sweater ...
Please darn him...
I'll be back and you and I will go again
through the wide streets...
Mum!!!
Reader
The most famous poem, perhaps, is "Wait for me" by K. Simonov. I thought about why this poem gained such popularity. He is known and loved by people of different generations. And, it seems to me, I understood the secret of his undying popularity: in the place of the lyrical hero of this poem, every 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 with the memory of the house, dreamed of meeting with their loved ones, and they so needed to be expected. And today, when the guys go to the army, they dream of the same thing, although, perhaps, they are embarrassed to say it out loud.
K. Simonov "Wait for me"
Wait for me and I will come back.
Just wait a lot
Wait for sadness
yellow rain,
Wait for the snow to come
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 all who are waiting together.
Wait for me and I will come back,
don't wish well
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
They sit by the fire
Drink bitter wine
For the soul...
Wait. And along with them
Don't rush to drink.
Wait for me and I will come back,
All deaths out of spite.
Who did not wait for me, let him
He will say: - Lucky.
Do not understand those who did not wait for them,
Like in the middle of a fire
Waiting for your
You saved me
How I survived, we will know
Only you and I -
You just knew how to wait
Like no one else.
Mikheenko T. L. reads a poem by M. Jalil "Barbarism"
During the following stories, there is a presentation of the "Bells of Khatyn"
1st presenter
In the newspaper "Soviet Belarus" there was a message about one of the executioners of Khatyn, Grigory Vasyur. Vasyura, the killer of Belarusian children, was awarded a medal for diligence. It was only very recently (about 20 years ago) that his “merits” were revealed, although after the war he was tried for collaboration with the Germans and sentenced to 25 years in labor camps. But they were released under an amnesty.
2nd host
In 1986, in Minsk, the tribunal of the Belarusian military district sentenced him to an exceptional measure of punishment. After the verdict, Vasyura petitioned for pardon: “I ask you to give me, a sick old man, the opportunity to live my life already. short life free with my family."
1st presenter
Did he think about those who also wanted to live with their families, but were burned 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, and the Motherland, and you, dear. We were burned alive in the fire. Our request to everyone: let pain and sadness become strength and courage, so that you can perpetuate peace and tranquility on earth, so that life never dies anywhere and never in a whirlwind of fires.
2nd host
186 Belarusian villages, burned down together with the inhabitants, were left to us by the Nazis. They are called "sisters of Khatyn".
The people's memory... carefully preserves the names and deeds of those who defended the freedom and independence of the Motherland during the Great Patriotic War. In their honor, thousands of monuments have been erected on the territory of Belarus, museums have been opened, streets have been named after them.
2nd host
It is impossible to forget the great disasters that the war brought to our country, to 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
Iosif Utkin (died in 1944). "From a Letter"
When I see how killed
My neighbor falls in battle
I remember not his grievances,
I remember his family.
It seems to me involuntarily
Its deceptive comfort.
… He's dead already. He doesn't hurt
And they will also be killed by 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,
Don't think it's different.
It means... damp earth.
This means oaks are unsociable
I must be sad in silence,
And such separation from the beloved
You will forgive me together with the motherland.
Only you I will listen with all my heart.
Only you and I was happy:
Only you and the native land
With all my heart, you know, I loved.
And how long the oaks are unsociable
They will not bend over me, dozing,
Only you will be my love,
Only you and native land!
Y. Drunina. "Bandages"
The eyes of a fighter are filled with tears,
He lies, springy and white,
And I need adherent bandages
To rip him off with one bold move.
In one motion - so they taught us.
With one movement - only this is a pity ...
But meeting with the look of terrible eyes,
I didn't decide to move.
I generously poured peroxide on the bandage,
Trying to soak it without pain.
And the paramedic became angry
And she repeated: "Woe to me with you!
So to stand on ceremony with everyone is a disaster.
Yes, and you only add flour to him.
But the wounded always marked
Fall into my slow hands.
No need to tear the adherent bandages,
When they can be removed almost without pain.
I got it, you'll get it too...
What a pity that the science of kindness
You can't learn from books in school!
F. Lipatov. “Dust did not settle…”
No dust settled
Chadil Berlin by fire.
With a heavy step
Armored and unarmored
Walked straight through houses and sidewalks
Confident victory these days.
And the squares looked like landfills,
Where were the fascist crosses taken?
Standards of burnt sticks
They stuck out like bony fingers.
And here it is - a holy date,
Filled with happiness to the brim.
Soldiers fired up enthusiastically,
Without feeling the fatigue of fighting.
More losses lay shadows
But the neighbor hugged the neighbor.
It flew over the tenderness of lilacs
One word is powerful
VICTORY!
2nd host
70 years have passed since the liberation of the territory of Belarus from Nazi invaders. For world history, this may be a short moment, but for people it is a whole life. Time flies like the wind. 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 by 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 host
The victory came at a high cost to us. Thousands of soldiers remained lying in Belarusian soil. They fulfilled their duty to the Motherland to the end. We bow our heads before their blessed memory.
The song “We will not stand up for the price” by B. Okudzhava performed by Nina Urgant sounds.
1st presenter
We are the children of peaceful days, we are young, it seems to us that the whole world is for us. And we want to do so much. We were born to build, not to destroy, to live, not to die.
Reflection "Letter to a Soldier"
Songs of the war years are heard.
Alshevskaya Anna Vladimirovna, teacher of the Russian language and literature of the highest category. Mikheenko Taisiya Leonidovna, teacher of Russian language and literature of the highest category. State Educational Establishment "Lyceum of Novopolotsk"
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