The poem "Vasily Terkin" is dated 1941-1945 - difficult, terrible and heroic years of struggle Soviet people with the Nazi invaders. In this work, Alexander Tvardovsky created an immortal image of a simple, Soviet fighter, defender of the Fatherland, who became a kind of personification of deep patriotism and love for his Motherland.
History of creation
The poem began to be written in 1941. Separate excerpts were printed in a newspaper version in the period from 1942 to 1945. In the same 1942, a still unfinished work was published separately.
Oddly enough, but work on the poem was started by Tvardovsky back in 1939. It was then that he already worked as a war correspondent and covered the course of the Finnish military campaign in the newspaper On Guard for the Motherland. The name was coined in collaboration with members of the editorial board of the newspaper. In 1940, a small brochure "Vasya Terkin at the front" was published, which was considered a great award among the fighters.
The image of the Red Army soldier was liked by the readers of the newspaper from the very beginning. Realizing this, Tvardovsky decided that this topic was promising and began to develop it.
From the very beginning of the Great Patriotic War, being at the front as a war correspondent, he finds himself in the hottest battles. He gets surrounded with the soldiers, leaves it, retreats and goes on the attack, experiencing from his own experience everything that he would like to write about.
In the spring of 1942, Tvardovsky arrives in Moscow, where he writes the first chapters "From the Author" and "On a Halt", and they are immediately published in the newspaper Krasnoarmeyskaya Pravda.
Such an explosion of popularity Tvardovsky could not imagine even in his wildest dreams. The central publications Pravda, Izvestia, Znamya reprint excerpts from the poem. Orlov and Levitan read the texts on the radio. Artist Orest Vereisky creates illustrations that finally formed the image of a fighter. Tvardovsky spends in hospitals creative evenings, and also meets with labor collectives in the rear, raising morale.
As always, what the common people liked did not receive the support of the party. Tvardovsky was criticized for pessimism, for the lack of mention that the party leads all the accomplishments and achievements. In this regard, the author wanted to finish the poem in 1943, but grateful readers did not allow him to do this. Tvardovsky had to agree to censorship edits, in return he was awarded the Stalin Prize for his immortal work. The poem was completed in March 1945 - it was then that the author wrote the chapter "In the Bath".
Description of the artwork
The poem has 30 chapters, which can be conditionally divided into 3 parts. In four chapters, Tvardovsky does not talk about the hero, but simply talks about the war, about how much ordinary Soviet peasants had to endure, who defended their homeland, and hints at the progress of work on the book. The role of these digressions cannot be underestimated - this is a dialogue between the author and readers, which he conducts directly, even bypassing his hero.
There is no clear chronological sequence in the course of the story. Moreover, the author does not name specific battles and battles, however, individual battles and operations highlighted in the history of the Great Patriotic War are guessed in the poem: the retreat of the Soviet troops, which were so common in 1941 and 1942, the battle near the Volga, and, of course, the capture Berlin.
There is no strict plot in the poem - and the author did not have the task of conveying the course of the war. The central chapter is "Crossing". The main idea of the work is clearly traced there - a military road. It is on it that Terkin and his comrades are striding towards the achievement of the goal - complete victory over the Nazi invaders, which means to a new, better and free life.
The hero of the work
The main character is Vasily Terkin. A fictional character, cheerful, cheerful, straightforward, despite the difficult circumstances in which he lives during the war.
We watch Vasily in different situations - and everywhere we can mark him positive traits. Among brothers-in-arms, he is the soul of the company, a joker who always finds an opportunity to joke and make others laugh. When he goes on the attack, he is an example for other fighters, he shows such qualities as resourcefulness, courage, endurance. When he rests after a fight, he can sing, he plays the accordion, but at the same time he can answer quite harshly and with humor. When soldiers meet with civilians, Vasily is charm and modesty itself.
Courage and dignity, shown in all, even the most desperate situations, are the main features that distinguish the protagonist of the work and form his image.
All other heroes of the poem are abstract - they don't even have names. Brothers in arms, a general, an old man and an old woman - they all just play along, helping to reveal the image of the main character - Vasily Terkin.
Analysis of the work
Since Vasily Terkin does not have real prototype, then we can say with all boldness that this is a kind of collective image, which was created by the author, based on his real observations of the soldiers.
The work has one distinguishing feature What distinguishes it from similar works of that time is the absence of an ideological principle. In the poem there is no praise of the party and personally Comrade Stalin. This, according to the author, "would destroy the idea and figurative structure of the poem."
The work uses two poetic meters: four-foot and three-foot trochee. The first size is found much more often, the second - only in separate chapters. The language of the poem has become a kind of Tvardovsky's card. Some moments that look like sayings and lines from funny songs, as they say, “gone to the people” and began to be used in everyday speech. For example, the phrase “No, guys, I’m not proud, I agree to a medal” or “Soldiers surrender cities, generals take them out” are still used by many today.
It is on such main character this poem in verse, all the hardships of the war fell. And only their human qualities - fortitude, optimism, humor, the ability to laugh at others and at themselves, in time to defuse the tense situation to the limit - helped them not only win, but also survive in this terrible and merciless war.
The poem is still alive and loved by the people. In 2015, the Russian Reporter magazine conducted sociological research on hundreds of the most popular poems in Russia. Lines from "Vasily Terkin" took 28th place, which indicates that the memory of the events of 70 years ago and the feat of those heroes is still alive in our memory.
The author argues that the most important thing in war is not food, but a foolish joke, a good saying and saying, as well as the real truth, albeit bitter. The author introduces the reader to Vasily Terkin, his hero, a fighter. He is dear in war, because in difficult times there should be a place for jokes and fun. The author defines the form of his narrative as a book without beginning or end and starts it right from the middle.
On a halt
Terkin gets into the first infantry platoon and immediately becomes his own. On the very first night after this, the platoon does not sleep, listening to the stories of an experienced soldier Vasily Terkin. His jokes help his comrades survive the hardships of military life: sleeping in wet overcoats, on bare roots, dirt, hunger and cold.
The author argues that there is such a Terkin in every company. He is unprepossessing himself: of medium height, not particularly handsome, fought, but was not awarded, was wounded, was surrounded three times, but survived under any fire and in any position.
Before the fight
Terkin tells how he, in a group of 10 people, got out of the environment, was a political instructor, whose only conversation was the words “do not be discouraged.” On the way, the soldiers entered the village of the commander.
The commander's wife prepared dinner for the fighters, carefully put them to rest. The owner was waiting for her in the corner, but she still did not go, clinking dishes, sewing. Terkin could not sleep, it was embarrassing, he went out onto the porch, made a bed out of an overcoat, a faithful friend of a soldier.
The owner did not go to his wife, he chopped wood until light to help her. At dawn, the children woke up and cried, as if realizing that their father was leaving. Terkin dreams of visiting that mistress after the war in order to "bow to a simple good woman."
Crossing
During the crossing of the river in winter, soldiers of the first, second and third platoons plunged onto the pontoons. When the first platoon was to reach the opposite right bank, shelling began, killing many fighters. The crossing failed, but everyone was worried about the men of the first platoon.
At dawn, the lookouts saw in the distance a small dot on the river. They mistook the swimming man for a dead man from those who died yesterday, but the sergeant through binoculars made out a living swimmer. Someone joked that it was Terkin, but it really turned out to be him. They dressed him, ordered him to run, then laid him on the bed and began to rub him with alcohol. Terkin asked to warm up from the inside and reported that the first platoon was asking for a light. The holy and right fight continued, not for the sake of glory, but for the sake of life on earth.
About war
Vivacious Terkin talks about the war. When war comes, you need to forget about everything, because everything is "responsible for Russia, for the people and for everything in the world." In war, one must forget oneself, be one with one's people. Everyone must fight, beat the German, be ready to carry out the order at the cost of life. One can only hope for the gratitude of posterity.
Turkin is wounded
On a winter day, Terkin was ordered to make contact. Vasily followed the rifle company. Suddenly, a projectile hissed nearby. Everyone fell to the ground in fear. Terkin was the first to get up, noticed that the shell was damp, and relieved him of a small need. Having handed over the coil to the fighters, Terkin decided to check if the enemy was shooting from the cellar. There was no one in the cellar, it was made for glory. Terkin decided to defend him with two available grenades.
The fighter saw a German soldier two steps away. When a German officer jumped into the ditch and fired at Terkin, wounding him in the right shoulder, Terkin hit with a bayonet. Then heavy artillery began to beat on the moat.
Bleeding Terkin was found by tankers when he was already losing consciousness. An unfamiliar tanker carried him in an embrace, warmed him with his breath. There is no more holy and purer friendship than in war.
About the award
Terkin argues that he does not need an order, he agrees to a medal, and even then he needs it after the end of the war, when he goes on vacation, goes to the village council and finds a party in one of the collective farms. Terkin dreams that he will tell the girls how he went on the attack. The author laments that Terkin has no road to his native village council, to evening parties, because he is a participant in a terrible, mortal, bloody battle not for glory, but for the sake of life on earth.
Harmonic
Terkin returned after being wounded and hospitalized to the first company of his rifle regiment. He was picked up by a truck, also going to the front. The column stopped due to a snow jam. Two tankers allowed Terkin to play the accordion of their commander, who died in yesterday's battle.
From an orphaned harmonica, everyone becomes warmer. It seems to the tankers that they are familiar with Terkin, he was brought up somewhere. The accordion helps people to forget about the fear of death and the killed loved ones, the fighters even dance. Tankers give Terkin an accordion in memory of the commander.
two soldiers
Three miles from the war, Terkin is resting in a hut with old people. Grandfather is a soldier of the last war. Terkin helped his grandfather to set up the saw, cleaned it of dust and repaired the clock. With jokes, he lures lard and even two eggs from the grandmother. After having dinner and drinking from a flask for life, two soldiers compare the everyday difficulties of the two wars. Terkin promises his grandfather that the German will be beaten.
About loss
The fighter lost his pouch and is very upset by this, because he lost his family, his native land. Terkin, as a consolation, takes out a second hat from the duffel bag and says that it was given to the wounded Vasily by the girl doing the dressing. This hat has become a very expensive fighter. He hopes to meet that girl someday and give her the "headdress". Terkin gave his comrade his pouch and noted that it is bitter to lose a family, life, and even a pouch, but you can’t lose Russia, your old mother, because “we are responsible for everything.”
Duel
Terkin fights the German to the death. The German is large, strong, dexterous, "well-fed, shaved, protected." Terkin's teeth have already been knocked out, the German's left eye has been knocked out. Terkin already has poor control of his right wounded hand, he was exhausted and killed, but the enemy’s entire muzzle was also beaten. Finally, the German hit Terkin with a helmet, and he hit the German with an unloaded grenade.
Turkin is enjoying his military fortune as the terrible, bloody mortal combat continues.
From the author
The author decided to take a breather in the "fairy tale about the war." It is good to hear about war for a man who has defeated the enemy and returned home. The author recognizes the desire of the reader-soldier in the war to listen to a peaceful fairy tale. But while the native land is in captivity, the author, "a lover of peaceful life", "sings war in war." This also explains the form of the book about the soldier: “without beginning or end, without a special plot,” because in war a soldier only follows orders, his life does not belong to him.
Who fired
After yesterday's battle, the soldiers are sitting in the trenches not far from the enemy. A summer evening reminds of peacetime, of peasant labor and recreation. The sound of an approaching plane torments the soul. No one wants to die at any time of the year, especially in the spring. A guy of twenty incomplete years, lying face down and waiting for shelling, recalls a peaceful life, friends, relatives, his home. But one fighter decided to meet death face to face. He stood up and kneeled with a rifle at the plane. “A high-speed, military, black, modern, twin-engine aircraft” fell. Terkin became a hero, he was given an order.
About the hero
Terkin tells how in the hospital he met a hero-order bearer, a boy from near Tambov. Vasily is offended by his Smolensk side, he is not proud, but he is glad that he will receive the order. But more important to him is the Motherland, the native side, which he cherishes.
General
In the second summer of the war, Terkin "tanned on the defensive." He washed in the river and dried his tunic and trousers when he was called to the general to be awarded the order.
In front of the general, Terkin was shy, but looked like an eagle. He refused a week-long vacation home, then the general promised that he himself would go with Terkin to the Smolensk side, where the war was going on. The general warmly, as with his son, said goodbye to Terkin.
About Me
The author talks about how he left his father's house in his youth, but kept it in his soul. The author recalls a forest not scarred by war, a summer day, “a courtyard, a stitch at a well” and many details of home life. A year ago, the hero could return to his homeland and hug his old mother. But now its land is suffering in captivity, and the author promises to come and return it. The author identifies himself with all people who have a family and everything native beyond the front line. Terkin is a countryman of the author, both of them are responsible for everything.
Fight in the swamp
The unknown battle in the swamp for the destroyed settlement of Borka seems pointless. It's damp, hungry, you can't even smoke - everything is limp. But Terkin encourages, telling that now the fighters are in their swamp and among their fighters, they have weapons, they are protected by artillery and tanks. Each person is the embodiment of Russia itself, it is a fighter. And a year ago, in the rear, Terkin was hiding in a shock from the Germans who occupied Moscow. Terkin's words amused the comrades, and they easily took the village. That long battle is not mentioned anywhere, but Russia will pay tribute to all the fighters who died in the war.
About love
Each soldier was led to war by a woman. The love of a wife encourages, warns, condemns, and glorifies. Wives do not complain in letters about a hard life. The love of wives survived the war, so the author encourages them to write more often. But no one accompanied Terkin on the road. The author asks the girls to look at the hero, love him and give him a heart.
Terkin's rest
Terkin got "straight to heaven", a vacation home, with a warm stove, a bedroom, a bed with clean linens. But in this “paradise” there are restrictions: you can’t sit in your clothes, chop bread with a bayonet, hold a rifle at your feet, hide a spoon behind your bootleg. Terkin is uncomfortable in such cleanliness, it seems to him that he is back in the hospital. The fighter thinks about those who are now at war, and cannot sleep.
At the end of the first day, Terkin thought that the war was not over, therefore, after having a bite and getting ready, he went to his front line. In the meantime, you can rest only on the way, "where the case will lead us," before the next battle.
On the offensive
The soldiers got used to the defense, but the order was received to go on the offensive. Young fighters look up to Terkin, although he is just as scared to lie in the snow and wait for a break. When the general behind the battlefield gave the order to attack for the Motherland, the lieutenant running in front was seriously wounded and died on the battlefield. Then Terkin led a platoon to attack and was also seriously wounded.
death and warrior
Terkin was left unselected in the snow, and death came to him, began to call him with him, but Terkin refuses to give up. Death frightens him with injury, and Terkin, freezing, asks Death to see victory, return home and "walk among the living."
The fighter was found by the funeral team. While he was carefully carried to the medical battalion, death was nearby. When she saw how the living care for each other, she fell behind.
Turkin writes
Terkin writes from his ward that he survived, although he recovered for a long time, that his leg was healing, that he wanted to get to his native part, which during the war became his native side, family and hut. Terkin would like to reach the very border with his unit, or at least die among his own.
Turkin-Turkin
Having recovered, Terkin found himself at home again, at war, but after the absence he feels like a stranger. Suddenly, another, red-haired fighter responded to someone's question, where is Vasily Terkin. Terkin old, holding a grudge, decided to find out who the real one is. It turned out that the new Terkin Ivan, that he is also a hero, that he has two orders, that he knocked out one more car and is sure that the book is about him, and another name for rhyme. The new Terkin turned out to be a skillful harmonica player and the same joker, so Vasily Terkin even agreed to give him the championship, and he himself decided to be considered a namesake. Their dispute was resolved by the foreman, who announced that, according to the charter, each company would soon "be given its own Terkin."
From the author
The author refutes rumors that Vasily Terkin, who was so fond of readers, has died. Terkin, like a hero, went through all the land that was given away, and now returned with blood. The author refers to mother Russia, whose victory is close, because the “holy and sinful, Russian miracle man” - Terkin, is going into battle.
grandfather and grandmother
In the third spring, our troops came to the village, where once, during the retreat, Terkin repaired grandfather and grandmother’s watches, and then the Germans took them off the wall like a trophy. The grandfather and the woman were sitting in the cellar when the sound of the shots subsided and the old people heard the voices of the scouts, in one of which they recognized Tyorkin. The old people accepted Terkin as a son, fed even with bacon. Terkin promised that the army would not retreat again. He undertook to bring two watches from Berlin instead of those taken by the German.
On the Dnieper
Throughout the war, Terkin felt guilty before his native land; it was not he who liberated his native village. The front advanced to the Dnieper. At the end of the Indian summer at dawn there was a battle on the Dnieper. And now the “trash of war” is still at the bottom. Vasily Terkin, like the rest of the infantry, crossed by swimming to the right bank. A little further south, the Germans were crossing over to the right bank, ready to surrender. They only made people laugh. But Terkin, feeling guilty before the now liberated Motherland, even began to cry.
About the orphan soldier
All the soldiers who liberated the city outside the city had relatives waiting somewhere, and the orphaned soldier had nowhere to write. When they advanced near Smolensk, this soldier asked to go to native village Red Bridge, but the residents said that his wife and son were no longer alive. Returning to the battalion, the soldier wept for his family and himself. His tears are holy for us, we must exact retribution and remember the orphan soldier on the bright day of victory.
On the way to Berlin
The road to Berlin is a foreign land, an unfavorable side, in which red tiles, signs in a foreign language and someone else's speech are unusual. For soldiers, mother earth is desirable, on which it is even better to die. But the warriors, servants of the people, dream of returning alive from a four-year campaign.
On the roads to the east, “like from the gates of hell,” people flow. The French, the British, the Poles look at the Russian soldiers in a friendly way. The soldier-liberator, having met a countrywoman, a soldier's mother, who was returning across the Dnieper to her ruined yard, gave her equipment, a horse with a full harness, a cow, a sheep, household utensils.
In the bath
At the end of the war, in the depths of Germany, a bathhouse is a father's home in a foreign land. The soldier undresses, and all the healed wounds that he received in different battles become visible. The soldiers rejoice that the war is ending and the holiday is not far away. Having taken a steam bath, the soldiers complete the “desired bath work”. The fighter puts on clean clothes and a tunic with orders and medals, and his comrades compare his jokes with those of Terkin.
From the author
The author says goodbye to Terkin, who became unnecessary after the war, because now is the time for a different song. This book about a fighter is dear to the author, because Terkin is his pain, joy, rest and feat. The author wrote these lines to please the reader. Now the author hopes that the soldiers who went through the war will remember Terkin. The author dedicates this book to all the fallen, to all "friends of the military era."
Year of publication of the book: 1942
Alexander Tvardovsky's poem "Vasily Terkin" needs no introduction. The name of the protagonist of the poem has long become a household name, and the work itself has gained popular love. The poem "Vasily Terkin" was staged many times on the stage of a wide variety of theaters and was even filmed twice. It is rightfully considered one of the best works about the war, as well as the most famous work of Alexander Tvardovsky. According to polls in 2015, the poem "Vasily Terkin" took 23rd place among the most popular poetic works.
The plot of the poem "Vasily Terkin" briefly
From the author
Tvardovsky's poem "Vasily Terkin" begins with the author's reasoning about what is most important in war. Of course it's water and it doesn't matter where it comes from, even from a horse track. Good food and a cook are important. But the most important is good joke. That is why our conversation will focus on Vasya Terkin. And since there is no time to start, our conversation will go right from the middle.
On a halt
In the next chapter of Tvardovsky's poem "Vasily Terkin" you can read about our main character. The story begins with the fact that Vasily Ivanovich is an excellent eater. And during the conversation, you will listen to him in general. So he told how he got to the small Sabantuy. Sabantuy he calls the bombing. But he calls the mortar Sabantuy medium. Well, he calls the real Sabantuy when a thousand German tanks rush at you, well, not a thousand, so five hundred, or maybe a hundred. He tells so smoothly that he is asked to tell something before going to bed. By the way, our main character is just as good to sleep. During two wars, I learned to sleep not only for the last lack of sleep, but even for the future. Terkin fought in the first war on the Karelian Peninsula. Three times he was surrounded and three times here he is.
Before the fight
Terkin recalls how, during the retreat, their detachment of ten people made their way from the encirclement to the front. Everyone was discouraged, as they left the cities in captivity of the enemy, and only Terkin was sure that we would return everything. On their way came across the native village of the commander. The soldiers decided to go. They were met by the commander's wife and children. He did not sleep all night - he chopped wood and tried to help his wife with the housework. And in the morning, their detachment, to the roar of children, left, leaving the village in captivity of the enemy. Since then, Terkin dreamed of going to this village when their army was moving back and bowing to this woman. 
Crossing
In the chapter "Crossing" from the poem "Vasily Terkin" you can read about how the crossing over the Dnieper begins at night. The first platoon leaves first on the pontoons, followed by the second and third. All the fighters on the pontoons seemed to have changed and become more friendly. But then a searchlight glided across the surface of the water, and behind it a column of water rose from the water. The pontoons went in a row, and the author of the lines says that he will never forget this sight, how young still warm soldiers went to the bottom. The crossing was broken. No, there is still hope that the first platoon managed to cross, but it is hard to believe in this. And at night, two sentinels see a dot in the river. They are so cold that they think they dreamed it. But no, Vasily Terkin swam across the icy river and now he is standing on the shore, unable to move his teeth or his hands - everything has come together. The main character was immediately wrapped up and taken to the staff hut. Here they rubbed with alcohol, but Vasily asked not to spoil it and give it inside. And after that he reported that the first platoon was entrenched on the left bank and was ready to help the crossing if they were covered by artillery fire. And now the battle for the sake of life on earth begins again.
About war
In the next chapter of "Vasily Terkin" you can read the author's reasoning about the war. She came unexpectedly and now it is the duty of everyone to protect their homeland. After all, the bomb is a fool and you can’t say that my hut is on the edge. And the Germans will keep it like in the book. Therefore, even if an order comes and death meets you, then the deadline has passed, but they will write about us.
Terkin wounded
The next episode of the poem "Vasily Terkin" tells us how the main character in the rifle company pulls the communication wire. A projectile falls next to him, but does not explode. Everyone is hiding, and only Terkin relieves him of a small need. Soon Vasily notices the German "cellar". He decides to take her, but the dugout is empty. Then he arranges an ambush there himself. He waits for a German officer and kills him with a bayonet, but he himself is wounded in the shoulder. Our artillery begins to hit the cellar, and only a day later the wounded protagonist is picked up by tankers and taken to the medical battalion.
About the award
Further, the protagonist of the poem "Vasily Terkin" talks in the medical unit about the need for the order. No, he is not proud and agrees to a medal. The main thing is that when he returns to his native places and gets to a party, he meets the same girl in front of whom it would be great to flash an order, or just a medal. But for this it is necessary that this terrible battle for life itself on earth ends.
Harmonic
In the next chapter of the poem "Vasily Terkin" - "Accordion" our main character catches up with his first company of a rifle regiment. It's freezing outside and a three-ton truck picks him up. They meander along the snowy corridors for a long time until a column blocks their way. This means that they now have to skip it. But it's just cold to wait, and Vasily Terkin asks the tankmen for an accordion. Those say that they have an accordion, but it was left from their commander, who died yesterday in battle. The tankers give Terkin an accordion, and he first sang his native Smolensk sad motive. But then, at the request of the assembled soldiers, he struck cheerful music. And now steam is streaming from the mouths of several soldiers who have begun to dance. And the tankers recognize Terkin. It was they who brought him to the medical unit after being wounded and offer him to keep the accordion for himself.
two soldiers
Further, the author of the poem "Vasily Terkin" transfers the main character three kilometers from the front. He warms himself in the house of an old man and an old woman. The old man sits in front of the window, listening to the sounds of the front, and among other things trying to sharpen his saw. Vasily volunteers to help him and make the wiring. As it turns out, the old man is also a soldier in the past, but now his health is not the same. Vasily repairs his watch, which he brought from his campaigns, and the old man demands from his grandmother to fry the fat. Grandmother did not resist for a long time, but then she fried bacon and even broke two eggs. It was an excellent appetizer and anything better than porridge with broken pieces. And after dinner, Terkin answered the old man's question, if we defeat the Germans - beat the father!
About loss
The image of the Russian soldier in the poem "Vasily Terkin" is well revealed in the chapter "On the Loss". While sleeping, the forty-year-old soldier begins to regret that he has lost his pouch. Before that, he lost his home, family, children, wife, and now he also lost his pouch. Vasily Terkin says that this is nonsense. Here he once lost his hat and was given to him by her young nurse, who bandaged his head with an inexperienced hand. Now he would like to return that hat to that nurse. Terkin gives the war his shabby pouch and says that next year he will be presented with five more of these. And they need to grieve not about the loss of pouches, wives and children, but about the loss of their homeland. Future generations will not forgive them for this. After all, Russia has been standing for a thousand years and there is no way to lose it.
Duel
Well, best of all, the war in the poem "Vasily Terkin" is revealed in the chapter "Duel". Our protagonist went on reconnaissance and ran head-on with a German. An unequal battle ensued with a well-groomed German soldier. Terkin fought not just for himself, but for his homeland. Therefore, even with a broken mouth, and covered in blood, he will be right. When the German decided to hit him with a helmet, Terkin took a grenade without a check and gave it to the German. He fell unconscious. And then the contented Terkin proudly walked across the Soviet land, leading his tongue with him. And everyone they met, even those who did not know Terkin, rejoiced at his victory.
From the author
The image of a soldier in the poem "Vasily Terkin" is best revealed in the next chapter - "From the Author". In it, Tvardovsky offers to forget about the war for at least a minute. Imagine that the soldier returned home, because that is exactly what the goal is. And all the current hardships and strict obedience to the commanders only bring this moment closer.
Who was shooting? 
Well, the character of Vasily Terkin in Tvardovsky's poem is best revealed in the chapter "Who shot?". Yesterday there was a battle, but now the guns have already cooled down, and the thoughts of all the soldiers are about the smell of summer, arable land and the buzzing of the cockchafer. But here comes a new sound. This is the sound of a bomber, from which everyone instantly executes the command: “Lie down!”. And then many people think about death. No, it's not scary to die, but not in the summer. Although if you figure it out, dying is never on time. And when everyone is lying and praying, one soldier jumps up and shoots at the plane from his knee. A three-ruler is, of course, not an anti-aircraft gun, but the plane spun and crashed into the ground. He collapsed as if he wanted to break through it and fly to America. Everyone rushed to congratulate Terkin, they called from the headquarters and demanded the name of the hero who shot down the plane, and the sergeant enviously said that the order to the guy was like from a bush. But Terkin did not lose his head and said that this was not the last plane for the Germans and the sergeant could still receive the order.
About the hero
In the next chapter, the main character will tell us what prompted him to fight for the order. This was when he was in the medical unit. Next to him lay still quite a boy with an order. Terkin asked him if he was from Smolensk, but the boy proudly replied that he was from Tambov. And in that answer Ivan seemed to be proud of his land and the impossibility of the heroes leaving the Smolensk land. No, Ivan does not boast of his land and the whole of Russia is dear to him, but in their land there are heroes who are capable of a feat. And now he has proven it.
General
But the real war in Tvardovsky's poem "Vasily Terkin" is revealed to us in the chapter "General". The war has been going on for the second summer and Vasily had a moment to wash himself and just lie down on the grass near a small stream. But his sleep is interrupted by a messenger who brings the news that a general is waiting for Terkin. The protagonist puts on wet clothes and goes to the only general for many miles around. Of course, he is a little shy, although he knows that he will not be scolded. The general gives the main character an order and gives him a week off to go home. But Vasily says that a week is not enough for him. After all, he is not a river to get past enemy posts. And his village is now on the other side of the front. The general hugs Terkin and says that he means to them on the way, and that he will have a week of vacation when they liberate his native village.
About Me
In the next chapter, "About Me," the author of the poem "Vasily Terkin" takes the floor. He tells how he is sad about his home, fields and forests, how he is sad about his childhood and wants to hug his mother again. The author tells how he is filled with anger towards the enemy, and that in his poems, on behalf of Terkin, who is his countryman, he often expresses his own thoughts.
Fight in the swamp
To the question of which Vasily Terkin in Tvardovsky's poem, the chapter "Fight in the Swamp" gives a good answer. It is about an unknown battle near the village of Borki. Only three pipes and a black spot remained from this settlement. Our soldiers are knee-deep in water and chest-deep in mud. The infantry scolds the tankers, the tankers the infantry and all together the aviation that these Borks still cannot take. A working enemy mortar does not allow you to raise your head out of the mud. And only Terkin says that now they are almost at the resort. After all, they are in the ranks, and behind them are guns and, in general, all of Russia. But two years ago, when they retreated, it was not clear where they were and where they were strangers, and then it was hard. Yes, some of them will die in this unknown battle, but the memory of them will always live in the hearts of people.
About love
Well, the folk character in the poem "Vasily Terkin" is well manifested in the chapter "On Love". In it, the writer says that each of the fighters was accompanied on the way by at least one woman. It could be a mother, whose name is the most precious thing a fighter has, or it could be a wife, whose love and letters warm both ordinary soldiers and generals. The author of the poem asks women to write more often, although he understands perfectly well that it is hard for them at this time. And he also asks to pay attention to Vasily Terkin, who, although not a pilot, and not a tanker or horseman, but just infantry. But it is the infantry that is the main driving force of any war.
Terkin's rest
Well, the life of soldiers in the poem "Vasily Terkin" is best revealed in the chapter "Terkin's Rest". In it, the main character goes straight to heaven. Here you can sleep up to 600 minutes, eat four times a day and not from your knee, but from the table. Here you don’t have to hide the spoon in the bootleg, but you can’t wipe yourself with your sleeve either. Here, before going to bed, you should undress, and as many as two sheets are injected into a stupor. But Vasily Terkin cannot fall asleep in this paradise for a long time. Until he is told to wear a hat. And then the main character really quickly falls asleep. But the war is not over yet. Therefore, in the morning Vasily catches a ride and goes to the front. That's when we get to that border along the Varshavskoe highway, that's when we'll have a rest.
On the offensive
Well, the tragedy of the poem "Vasily Terkin" can be felt in the chapter "On the offensive". It starts with the fact that we were on the defensive for too long. Some even stocked up with brooms for the bath next year. But here comes the order. The soldiers have to take the village. Everything happens clearly on the orders of the general, who sits in a dry dugout and only looks at the hour. "Platoon! For the Motherland! Forward! ”, The young lieutenant gives the command clearly by the clock and he himself is the first to rush around the village. But already near the first houses, he fell, as if diving into the snow. The soldiers rushed to him, but he gave the command "Forward!". After all, he was not wounded, he was killed. And now it fell to Terkin to lead forty people into battle. He gave the command and himself was the first to burst into the village.
death and warrior
Well, the heroism and humor in the poem "Vasily Terkin" can be seen in the chapter "Death and the Warrior". For the distant hillocks, the battle was leaving, and the main character was bleeding in the snow. Death leaned over him and offered to go with her. But Vasily confidently said that he was still alive. Then death offered him not to suffer, he would still freeze and die, and she would not freeze here. But Terkin says he hasn't lived yet. Death is not far behind. Terkin offers to surrender, but only if Death lets him go for a walk on Victory Day. But Death disagrees. And then two members of the funeral team appear. They wanted to sit on Terkin and smoke, but the fighter gives a weak voice. The funeral team immediately decides to carry him to the medical unit, and Death decides to walk nearby. But when the fighters take off their gloves and give them to the barely alive Terkin, Death retreats and marvels at this friendship of the living.
Terkin writes
Well, the characterization of Terkin from the poem "Vasily Terkin" is well revealed in the next chapter "Terkin writes." In it, the main character writes that his leg wound has already been completely cured. And as the doctors say, the leg will be better than before. Therefore, Vasily really hopes that he will soon catch up with his brothers. After all, he wants to liberate his native Smolensk region with his part, and if necessary, he will go further. To do this, he is ready to write a letter even to the general, because he will certainly respect the fighter to whom he personally presented the order.
Terkin-Terkin
And in the next chapter "Terkin - Terkin" the main character has already returned to his native part. But there is almost no one left from the former colleagues. Terkin and other soldiers are resting in someone's house, the barn of which has been cut down for firewood. And then another soldier comes in and declares that he is Terkin. Our protagonist is puzzled. He begins to test the impostor. But he already has two orders, and he plays the accordion no worse than Terkin himself. That's just a red-haired impostor and his name is Ivan. The general laughter and uproar about this is interrupted by the cry of the foreman, who decides to give one Terkin to each company.
From the author
The next chapter is again "From the Author". In it, Tvardovsky reflects on the rumors that are circulating along the front. They say that Vasily Terkin allegedly died, allegedly a shell covered him, while others say that he is still alive as before. But such a hero, who has already walked half the country, cannot die, and he will surely outlive the author of these lines. After all, in two years the country managed to lose with blood and return the lands from the Moscow region to the Zadneprovye with blood. And now victory is close and Vasily Terkin will surely see it.
grandfather and grandmother 
Well, the steps of the Great Patriotic War in the poem "Vasily Terkin" can be traced in the chapter "Grandfather and Woman". It was the third year of the war. The grandfather and the old woman, whom Terkin in the chapter “Two Soldiers” repaired watches for many years now, have been living in occupation. The Germans took the watch, and people are already accustomed to making their way along the fences on their own land. Grandfather, for the umpteenth time, draws encirclements, offensives and breakthroughs with a stick on the wall, but everyone cannot guess when their native army will free them. And at night the front comes to them. With a chicken and a sack of potatoes, the grandfather and the old woman are sitting in a pit. And only in the morning they hear steps in their direction. Grandfather grabs an ax and decides to give his last fight. But it turns out they are our scouts. And the first in these ranks is the same Terkin. Both are happy to meet, and the grandmother even burns with the desire to fry the fat again. But now officer Terkin must hurry to release him. Nevertheless, he manages to have a bite to eat and pour tobacco to his grandfather and with the words that the connection is behind him. Soon he stink went into the house of his grandfather and grandmother. I immediately asked for the watch, and when I found out their fate, I promised to bring two from Berlin.
On the Dnieper
At the beginning of the chapter "On the Dnieper", the author of the poem "Vasily Terkin" recalls the words of the general from the chapter of the same chapter. In it, the general said that they were on the way. But this turned out not to be the case, and another general liberated Terkin's native village. Vasily himself is very sad for his land and asks her forgiveness, but despite the destruction that the invader left behind, he wants to move further along this vast Russian land. And now Terkin, as the main character, crosses the Dnieper with his platoon. They hide from the shots under the cliff of the right bank. Crossings and bridges will be tomorrow, and today they have already occupied the coast, to which the belated German units are still retreating. And the soldiers cheerfully declare that they should surrender on the left bank.
About the orphan soldier
The truth about the war in the poem "Vasily Terkin" is revealed in the chapter "About the Orphan Soldier". Vasily Terkin met him near Bortki, who was taken for six months. He was cheerful and was in no way inferior to Terkin. And even when he had to retreat, he cheerfully declared that he was going to the West, although he was going to the East. But the retreat is over, and now our army sometimes takes a city in a day, and a regional center in a week. And when they advanced near Smolensk, this fighter asked for a visit home. After all, he is local here and he is not far away. He quickly found his village Red Bridge, but did not recognize it. There was neither his house, nor his wife, nor his son, the fighter lost everything in this war. He stood and cried and returned to the unit. Now he must collect a debt from the enemy. And the author asks all Soviet soldiers to help him and remember this duty of everyone.
On the way to Berlin
In the next chapter, our protagonist is already moving on the road to Berlin. Everything here is not native - red houses, tiled roofs, signs, badges, arrows. They were already three foreign languages away from home, and everywhere they were met in a brotherly manner by Poles, French and other peoples. The whole road to the West is covered with down. Down from feather beds and pillows. After all, all of Europe is moving home to the East. And here among this crowd a familiar voice is heard. This is an ordinary Russian woman going home. It is these Russian mothers who are waiting for their sons from the war, and maybe already grandchildren. She should go far, as far as the Dnieper. Therefore, Terkin quickly organizes for the old woman a horse with a harness, a rug to cover her legs, a cow and a sheep, and here is another mug and a bucket with supplies, and of course a duvet cover and a pillow. The mother objects that she will not be allowed through the checkpoints. But Terkin does not yield and says that at these points she should say that Vasily Terkin gave her everything. And he promises if he is alive to look at the pies.
In the bath
But even in war there is a place to rest. And somewhere in the depths of Germany, as in, our soldiers organized a bathhouse for themselves. In a row are the count's chairs, on which the soldier throws his underpants. The soldier is not tall, but his chest is forward, his body is all scarred and marks of memorable places. And now he undressed, saying: “Wow!” sneaks into the steam room. Here he demands more and more to add a couple. And although the water is not from the Moscow River, it is still good. Having steamed the bones well, he gives thanks to the pompohose who, even if from Lithuania, carried a real Russian broom to such a distance. Well, after resting after the steam room, washed and dressed. There is no place for medals on his chest, and someone notices if he bought them in the military department. To which the soldier, like a real Vasily Terkin, replies: “That's not all! The rest are yet to come!”
From the author
Well, that's the end of the war. The author of the poem about Terkin says that if he lied in his work, it was only for the sake of laughter, and if he made a mistake somewhere, it was only because the lines of these poems were written in cars, in the rain, in a tent and wherever there was at least one Free minute. From the first days, the author hoped that Vasily Terkin would become that accordion that would bring joy to a soldier for at least a few minutes. And the best reward for him will be if the reader of these lines says that everything is clear in Russian, and the memory of the fighter will live on in the future.
The poem "Vasily Terkin" on the Top Books website
The poem by Alexander Tvradovsky "Vasily Terkin" is so popular to read on the eve of Victory Day that the work fell into ours. Well, among it is one of the highest places. And given the dynamics and the presence of the poem in the school curriculum, we will see it more than once in the ratings of our site.
You can read the poem "Vasily Terkin" online on the Top Books website.
Vasily Terkin:
I'll start in order - from the first question, which generally most often arises among readers regarding the hero of a particular book.
"Does Terkin really exist?", "Is he a type or one known to you, a living person?", "Does he really exist?" - here are the wordings of this question taken selectively from the letters of the front-line soldiers. It arose in the mind of the reader even at the time when I had just begun to publish The Book about a Fighter in newspapers and magazines. In some letters, this question was posed with an obvious assumption of an affirmative answer, and from others it was clear that the reader had no doubts about the existence of a “living” Terkin, but it was only a question of “is he serving in our division, such and such?” ?". And the cases of letters being addressed not to me, the author, but to Vasily Terkin himself are also evidence of the prevalence of the idea that Terkin is a "living person".
In a word, there was and still is such a reader's idea that Terkin is, so to speak, a personal person, a soldier living under this or that name, listed behind the number of his military unit and field mail. Moreover, the prose and poetic messages of readers speak of the desire that this be so, that is, that Terkin be a non-fictional person. However, I could not and cannot, to the satisfaction of this simple-hearted, but highly valued reader's feeling, declare (as some other writers could and can do) that my heroes are not an imaginary person, but live or lived there and met me then and under such and such circumstances.
No. Vasily Terkin, as he is in the book, is a fictional person from beginning to end, a product of the imagination, a creation of fantasy. And although the features
expressed in it, were observed by me in many living people - none of these people can be called the prototype of Terkin.
But the fact is that it was conceived and invented not only by me, but by many people, including writers, and most of all not by writers, and to a large extent by my correspondents themselves. They actively participated in the creation of Terkin, from its first chapter to the completion of the book, and still continue to develop in various types and directions this image.
I explain this in order to consider the second question, which is posed in an even larger part of the letters, the question: how was "Vasily Terkin" written? Where did such a book come from?
"What served as material for it and what was the starting point?"
"Wasn't the author himself one of the Terkins?"
This is asked not only by ordinary readers, but also by people who are specially involved in the subject of literature: graduate students who have taken Vasily Terkin as the theme of their works, teachers of literature, literary critics and critics, librarians, lecturers, etc.
I'll try to tell you about how "Terkin" was "formed".
"Vasily Terkin", I repeat, has been known to the reader, primarily to the army, since 1942. But "Vasya Terkin" has been known since 1939-1940 - from the period of the Finnish campaign. At that time, a group of writers and poets worked in the newspaper of the Leningrad Military District "On Guard of the Motherland": N. Tikhonov, V. Sayanov, A. Shcherbakov, S. Vashentsev, Ts. Solodar and the writer of these lines. Somehow, discussing with the editorial staff the tasks and nature of our work in a military newspaper, we decided that we needed to start something like a "humor corner" or a weekly collective feuilleton, where there would be poems and pictures. This idea was not an innovation in the army press. Following the model of the propaganda work of D. Bedny and V. Mayakovsky in the post-revolutionary years, newspapers had a tradition of printing satirical pictures with poetic
signatures, ditties, feuilletons with continuations with the usual heading - "At leisure", "Under the Red Army accordion", etc. There were sometimes conditional characters, passing from one feuilleton to another, like some kind of merry cook, and characteristic pseudonyms, like Uncle Sysoya, Grandfather Yegor, Machine Gunner Vanya, Sniper and others. In my youth, in Smolensk, I was involved in similar literary work in the district "Krasnoarmeyskaya Pravda" and other newspapers.
And so we, the writers who worked in the editorial office of On Guard for the Motherland, decided to choose a character who would appear in a series of amusing pictures, provided with poetic captions. It was supposed to be a kind of cheerful, successful fighter, a conditional figure, popular print. They began to come up with a name. They came from the same tradition of the "corners of humor" of the Red Army newspapers, where their Pulkins, Mushkins and even Protirkins were then in use (from the technical word "rubbing" - an object used when lubricating weapons). The name had to be meaningful, with a mischievous, satirical undertone. Someone suggested calling our hero Vasya Terkin, namely Vasya, and not Vasily. There were proposals to name Vanya,
Fedey, somehow, but settled on Vasya, This is how this name was born. Here I must dwell, by the way, on one private reader's
question, just about the name Vasily Terkin.
Major M. M-v, a Muscovite, writes in his letter:
“Recently I read the novel by P. D. Boborykin “Vasily Terkin”. And, frankly, I felt very embarrassed: what is there in common between him and your Vasily Terkin? time of the Great Patriotic War and defending his Soviet Motherland with great patriotism - to the merchant-swindler, burnout and hypocrite Vasily Ivanovich Terkin from Boborykin's novel? So why did you choose such a name for your (and our) hero, behind which a certain type and which has already been described in our Russian literature?
already described, type and created by you? But this is an insult to the seasoned soldier Vasya Terkin! Or is it a coincidence?"
I confess that I heard about the existence of the Boborykin novel, when a significant part of "Terkin" was already published, from one of my senior literary friends. I took out the novel, read it without much interest, and went on with my work. I did not and do not attach any importance to this coincidence of the name of Terkin with the name of the Boborykin hero. There is absolutely nothing in common between them. It is possible that some of us, who were looking for the name of a character for feuilletons in the newspaper "On Guard of the Motherland", turned up this combination of a first name with a surname by chance, as they had sunk into memory from Boborykin's book. And then I doubt it: we needed Vasya then, and not Vasily; You can’t name the Boborykin hero Vasya in any way - this is completely different. As for why I later began to call Terkin more Vasily,
than Vasya, this is again a special matter. In a word, there was not and is not a shadow of "borrowing" here. It’s just that there is such a Russian surname Terkin, although it seemed to me earlier that we “constructed” this surname, starting from the verbs “rub”, “grind”, etc. And here is one of the first letters from my correspondents on the “Book about a fighter”, when it was published in the newspaper of the Western Front:
"To the editors of Krasnoarmeiskaya Pravda, to the poet Comrade A. Tvardovsky.
Tov. Tvardovsky, we ask you: is it possible to replace the name Vasily with Viktor in your poem, since Vasily is my father, he is 62 years old, and I am his son - Viktor Vasilyevich Terkin, platoon commander. I'm on Western front I serve in the artillery. And therefore, if possible, then replace it, and I ask you to inform me of the result at the address: payment order 312, 668 art. regiment, 2nd division, Viktor Vasilyevich Terkin.
Probably, this is not the only one of the namesakes of the hero of the "Books about a fighter"
(In 1964, a number of newspapers ("Nedelya", "Evening Moscow", "Soviet Trade") published extensive correspondence about Terkin Vasily Semenovich, a counter worker, a former front-line soldier, in which the "Terkin" features of appearance, character and life fate were emphasized this person. (Author's note.)).
But I return to the "Terkin" during the fighting in Finland.
I was instructed to write an introduction to the proposed series of feuilletons - I had to give at least the most general "portrait" of Terkin and determine, so to speak, the tone, the manner of our further conversation with the reader. Before that, I published in the newspaper "On Guard of the Motherland" a small poem "On a Halt", written under the direct impression of a visit to one division.
This poem contained, among other things, the following lines:
Delicious, what to say
There was the same old man
What did he come up with to cook soup ...
Wheels straight.
For me, who until that time had not served in the army (except for the short time of the liberation campaign in Western Belarus) and did not
who wrote nothing "military", this poem was the first step in mastering a new subject, new material. I was still very unsure here, I kept my usual rhythms, tonality (in the spirit of, say, "Grandfather Danila"). And in my introduction to the collective "Terkin" I turned to this previously found intonation, which, when applied to new material, to a new task, seemed to me the most suitable.
Here are some stanzas of this "beginning" of "Terkin":
Vasya Terkin? Who it?
Let's be frank:
The man is himself
Unusual.
With a surname like this,
At all unprepossessing
Glory loud - hero -
I got along with him quickly.
And let's add here
If asked:
Why is his name Vasya - not Vasily!
Because everyone is dear
Because people
Get along with Vasya like no one else,
Because they love.
Bogatyr, fathom in the shoulders,
Well-tailored small,
Joyful by nature
Experienced man.
Though in battle, at least where you know, -
But this is for sure:
First of all, Vasya must eat firmly,
But it doesn't save
Heroic strength
And takes enemies on a bayonet,
Like sheaves on a pitchfork.
And yet, no matter how strict
In appearance, Vasya Terkin, -
He couldn't live without a joke
Yes, without a saying ... ("Vasya Terkin at the front." - Front-line library
newspaper "On Guard of the Motherland", ed. "Art", L. 1940.)
I note that when I came to grips with my current "Terkin", the features of this portrait changed dramatically, starting with the main
stroke:
Terkin - who is he?
Let's be frank:
Just a guy himself
He is an ordinary...
And one could say that this alone determines the name of the hero in the first case, Vasya, and in the second, Vasily Terkin.
All subsequent illustrated feuilletons, made by a team of authors, bore uniform headings: "How Vasya Terkin ..." I will cite in full, for example, the feuilleton "How Vasya Terkin got the language":
The snow is deep and the pine trees are rare.
Vasya Terkin on reconnaissance.
Snow-white, without patches
Camouflage coat.
Terkin sees, Terkin hears -
Belofinn flies on skis:
To know that he does not feel trouble, he
Climbs right on the rampage.
Terkin, weighing the situation,
Applies disguise:
He buried himself face down in the snow -
It looked like a snowball.
View of a tempting "springboard"
Attracts the White Finn.
He rushes with a swing at the "snowdrift" ...
Got the language terkin
And delivered to the headquarters of the regiment.
It may seem that I chose a particularly weak example, but also stories about "how Vasya Terkin captured the arsonists", whom he "covered everyone one by one with barrels and, satisfied, lit a cigarette on an oak barrel"; about how he "delivered a report on skis", "flying forests above, over a turbulent river", "through mountains, waterfalls rushing forward without restraint"; about how from the cockpit of an enemy aircraft he pulled a Shutskor soldier "by the leg" with a "cat", and others - all this now gives the impression of naivety of presentation, the extreme implausibility of Vasya's "exploits" and not such an excess of humor.
I think that the success of "Vasya Terkin", which he had in the Finnish war, can be explained by the need of the soldier's soul to have fun with something that, although it does not correspond to the harsh reality of military everyday life, at the same time somehow clothes precisely them, and not abstract fairy-tale material in almost fabulous shapes. It also seems to me that a considerable share of success should be attributed to the drawings by V. Briskin and V. Fomichev, performed in a kind of cartoon style and often really funny.
By the way, it has been repeatedly noted that O. Vereisky's illustrations for the "Book of a Fighter" are very consistent with its style and spirit. This is true. I just want to say that, unlike "Vasya Terkin", not a single line of "Vasily Terkin", illustrated by my front-line comrade artist O. Vereisky, was written as a text for a finished drawing, and it's even hard for me to imagine how it could be . And with "Vasya Terkin" this was exactly what happened, that is, the theme of the next feuilleton was conceived, the artists "carried" it into six cells, performed it in drawings, and only then the signature verses appeared.
Having paid tribute to "Vasya Terkin" with one or two feuilletons, most of its "initiators" took up, each according to their inclinations and abilities, other work in the newspaper: some wrote military-historical articles, some front-line essays and sketches, some poems, some what. The main author of "Terkin" was A. Shcherbakov, a Red Army poet, a longtime editorial worker. And Terkin had more success with the Red Army reader than all our articles, poems and essays, although at that time we all treated this success somewhat condescendingly, condescendingly. We rightly did not consider it literature. And after the end of the war in Finland, when one of my comrades working in the military press heard from me - in response to a question about what I was now working on - that I was writing "Terkin", he slyly shook his finger at me; so, they say, I believed you that you would now do this.
But right now I was thinking, working, fighting on "Terkin". “Terkin,” I felt, turning to this work in a new way, “must get off
columns of "corners of humour", "direct pickups", etc., where he still performed under this or that name, and occupy not some small part of my forces, as a task of a highly specialized "humorous" sense, but all of me without a trace. It is difficult to say on what day and hour I came to the decision to rush into this matter with all my might, but in the summer and autumn of 1940 I was already living with this plan, which rejected all my previous intentions and plans. One thing is clear, that this was determined by the sharpness of the impressions of the experienced war, after which it was no longer possible to simply return to one's usual literary work.
"Terkin", according to my then plan, was to combine accessibility, unpretentiousness of form - direct purpose
feuilleton "Terkin" - with the seriousness and, perhaps, even the lyricism of the content. Thinking of "Terkin" as a kind of whole work, a poem, I now tried to unravel, to grasp that "necessary moment of exposition" (as one of the readers recently put it in a letter to me), without which it was impossible to move on.
The insufficiency of the "old" "Terkin", as I now understand it, was that it came out of the tradition of ancient times, when the poetic word,
addressed to the masses, was deliberately simplified in relation to a different cultural and political level of the reader, and when this word was not yet at the same time the most self-cherished word for its creators, who believed their true success, saw their real art in another, postponed for a while "real" creativity.
Now it was different. The reader was different - they were the children of those fighters of the revolution for whom D. Bedny and V. Mayakovsky once wrote their songs, ditties and satirical couplets - people without exception are literate, politically developed, attached to many of the benefits of culture, who grew up under Soviet power .
First of all, I took up, so to speak, mastering the material of the war that I had experienced, which was not only the first war for me, but also the first
really close meeting with the people of the army. During the days of the battles, I deeply understood to myself, what is called a feeling, that our army is not a special world, separate from the rest of the people of our society, but simply these are the same Soviet people, placed in the conditions of army and front-line life. I whitewashed my pencil notes from the notebooks into a clean notebook, re-recorded something from memory. In this new material for me, everything was dear to me to the smallest detail - some kind of picture, a turn of phrase, a separate word, a detail of front-line life. And most importantly - I was dear to the people with whom I managed to meet, get acquainted, talk on the Karelian Isthmus.
Driver Volodya Artyukh, blacksmith-artilleryman Grigory Pulkin, tank commander Vasily Arkhipov, pilot Mikhail Trusov, coastal infantry soldier Alexander Poskonkin, military doctor Mark Rabinovich - all these and many other people with whom I talked for a long time, spent the night somewhere in a dugout or surviving in the front line of a crowded house, were not for me a fleeting journalistic acquaintance, although I saw most of them only once and not for long. I have already written something about each of them - an essay, poems - and this, of course, in the process of that work, forced me to sort out my fresh impressions, that is, in one way or another, "assimilate" everything connected with these
people.
And, while hatching my idea of "Terkin", I continued to think about them, to understand their essence for myself as people of the first post-October generation.
“It was not this war, whatever it was,” I wrote in my notebook, “that gave birth to these people, but more that was before the war. The revolution,
collectivization, the whole system of life. And the war revealed, brought to light these qualities of people in a bright form. It's true, she did something."
And further:
“I feel that the army will be just as dear to me as the theme of reorganizing life in the countryside, its people are just as dear to me as the people of the collective farm village, and then after all, they are mostly the same people. The task is to penetrate their spiritual inner world, to feel them as one's own generation (the writer is the same age as any generation). Their childhood, adolescence, youth passed under the conditions of Soviet power, in factory schools, in a collective farm village, in Soviet universities. Their consciousness was formed under the influence, among other things, of our literature.
I was delighted with their spiritual beauty, modesty, high political awareness, readiness to resort to humor when it comes to the most difficult trials that they themselves had to face in combat life. And what I wrote about them in verse and prose - all this, I felt, as it were, this, but not that. Behind these iambs and choreas, behind the phraseological turns of newspaper essays, there were somewhere in vain, there was only for me the peculiar lively manner of speech of the blacksmith Pulkin or the pilot Trusov, and the jokes, and habits, and tricks of other heroes in kind.
I re-read everything that appeared in the press relating to the Finnish war - essays, stories, memoirs of participants in the battles. He enthusiastically engaged in any work that, in one way or another, even if not in the actual literary plan, concerned this material. Together with S. Ya. Marshak, I processed the memoirs of Major General V. Kashuba, Hero of the Soviet Union, which later appeared in Znanie. On the instructions of the Political Directorate of the Red Army, he went with Vasily Grossman to one of the divisions that came from the Karelian Isthmus in order to create its history. By the way, in the manuscript of the history of this division, we set out, according to the participants in one operation, an episode that served as the basis
to write the chapter of the future "Terkin".
In the autumn of 1940, I went to Vyborg, where the 123rd division was stationed, in which I was in the days of the breakthrough of the "Mannerheim Line": I needed
see the battlefields, meet my acquaintances in the division. All this - with the thought of "Terkin".
I was already beginning to "test the verse" for it, groping for some beginnings, introductions, refrains:
... There, beyond that river Sister,
At war, in chest-deep snow,
Golden Hero Star
Many have been marked the way.
There, in the battles of the semi-unknown,
In the pine forest of deaf swamps,
Death of the brave, death of the honest
Many of them have fallen..
It was this size - the four-foot trochee - that more and more felt like a poetic size, with which you need to write a poem. But there were other trials as well. Often the four-foot trochaic seemed to bring this work of mine too close to the primitiveness of the verse of the "old" "Terkin". “The sizes will be different,” I decided, “but basically one will “flow around.” There were sketches for “Terkin” and iambs, from these “blanks” a poem was somehow formed later: “When you pass through the columns ...”
The "crossing" began, by the way, and so:
To whom is death, to whom is life, to whom is glory,
The crossing began at dawn.
That shore was like a stove, steep,
And, sullen, jagged,
The forest was black high above the water,
The forest is alien, unfinished.
And under us lay the right bank, -
Snow rolled, trampled into the mud -
Level with the edge of the ice. Crossing
Started at six o'clock...
There are many words here, from which the beginning of the "Crossing" was formed, but this verse did not work for me. "Obviously, this meter did not come from words, but 'got drunk' like that, and it's no good," I wrote, refusing to start this chapter. I still think, generally speaking, that the size should be born not from some kind of wordless "rumble", which, for example, V. Mayakovsky speaks of, but from words, from their meaningful combinations inherent in living speech. And if these combinations find a place for themselves within the framework of any of the so-called canonical sizes, then they subordinate it to themselves, and not vice versa, and they are already not just such-and-such an iambic or such-and-such a chorea (counting percussion and unstressed ones is extremely
conditional, abstract measure), but something completely original, as it were, a new size.
The first line of the "Crossing", the line that developed into its, so to speak, "leitmotif", penetrating the entire chapter, was the very word - "crossing",
repeated in intonation, as if anticipating what is behind this word:
Crossing, crossing...
I thought about it for so long, imagined in all its naturalness the episode of the crossing, which cost many sacrifices, the enormous moral and physical stress of people and was remembered, probably, forever by all its participants, so I "got used" to all this, that suddenly, as if, I said to myself this sigh exclamation:
Crossing, crossing...
And "believed" in him. I felt that this word could not be pronounced otherwise than I had pronounced it, having to myself all that it
means: battle, blood, losses, the deadly cold of the night and the great courage of people going to death for their homeland. Of course, there is no "discovery" here at all. The technique of repeating a particular word in the beginning was widely used and is used both in oral and in
written poetry. But for me in this case it was a godsend: there was a line that I could no longer do without. I forgot to think whether it was a trochee or not, because there was no such line in any trochee in the world, but now it was and it itself determined the structure and mode of further speech.
So the beginning of one of the chapters of "Terkin" was found. At about this time, I wrote two or three poems, which most likely did not even
were perceived as "blanks" for "Terkin", but subsequently partially or completely entered the text of the "Book about a fighter" and ceased to exist as separate poems. For example, there was such a poem - "Better not." In the war, in the dust of the march ... and so on until the end of the stanza, which became the initial stanza of "Terkin".
There was a poem "Tank", dedicated to the tank crew of the Heroes of the Soviet Union comrades D. Didenko, A. Krysyuk and E. Krivoy. Some of his stanzas and lines were needed when working on the chapter "Terkin is wounded." A tank going into battle is terrible... Some diary entries from the spring of 1941 tell about searches, doubts, decisions and re-decisions in the work, maybe even better than if I talk about this work from the point of view of my current attitude towards it.
"Hundred lines have already been written, but everything seems to be that there is no" electricity ". Everyone is deceived that it will go by itself and it will be fine, but in reality it has not yet developed in the head. You don't even know exactly what you need. The ending (Terkin, who swam across the channel in his underpants and thus established contact with the platoon) is clearer than the transition to it. It is necessary that the appearance of the hero be joyful. This needs to be prepared. I thought I would replace this place with dots for the time being, but, having not coped with the most difficult, you do not feel the strength for the easier. Tomorrow I'll break again."
“I started with an uncertain determination to write“ simply ”, somehow. The material seemed to be such that, no matter how you write, it would be good. It seemed that
he even demands a certain indifference to form, but it only seemed so. So far, there has been nothing about this, except for essays ... But even they have already taken away from me, in part, the opportunity to write "simple", to surprise with the "severity" of the topic, etc.
And then other things appear, the book "Fighting in Finland" - and this already obliges more and more. The "color" of front-line life (external) turned out to be
public. Frost, hoarfrost, shell explosions, dugouts, frosty raincoats - both A. and B have all this. But what I don’t have either, or only in a hint, is a person in an individual sense, “our guy” - not abstract (in the plane of the "epoch" of the country, etc.), but alive, expensive and difficult."
"If you do not carve real sparks from this material, it is better not to take it. It is necessary that it be good not in accordance with some kind of conscious "simplicity" and "rudeness", but simply good - at least for anyone. But this does not mean that you need to "refine "everything from the very beginning (B., by the way, is bad because he internally wonders not about the reader, but about his circle of friends with his pitiful aesthetic signs)".
“The beginning can be semi-lubok. And there this guy will go more and more difficult. But he should not be forgotten, this “Vasya Terkin”.
"More should be the previous biography of the hero. It should appear in every gesture, deed, story. But you don't need to give it as such. It's enough to think it over well and imagine it for yourself."
"The difficulty is that such "funny", "primitive" heroes are usually taken in pairs, for contrast to the real, lyrical, "high" hero. More digressions, more of himself in the poem.
“If you don’t excite yourself, don’t please, sometimes don’t surprise at least what you write, it will never excite, please, surprise another: the reader,
expert friend. It needs to be felt well again first. No discounts to yourself for "genre", "material", etc.".
June 22, 1941 interrupted all my searches, doubts, assumptions. It was all that normal literary life peacetime, which had to be left immediately and be free from all this in the performance of the tasks now facing each of us. And I left my notebooks, sketches, notes, intentions and plans. It never occurred to me then that this work of mine, interrupted by the outbreak of a great war, would be needed in the war.
Now I explain to myself this irrevocable break with the idea, with the working plan, and so on. In my work, in my searches and efforts, no matter how deep the impression of the past "small war" was, there was still a sin of literature. I wrote in peacetime, no one really expected my work, no one hurried me, the specific need for it seemed to be absent outside of me. And this allowed me to regard form as such as a very essential aspect of the matter. I was still to some extent preoccupied and troubled by the fact that the plot did not seem ready to me; that my hero is not what the protagonist of the poem should be according to literary ideas; that there has not yet been an example of large things being written in such a "undignified" size, like a four-foot trochee, etc.
Subsequently, when I suddenly turned to my plan for peacetime, proceeding from the immediate needs of the masses of the people at the front, I waved my hand at all these prejudices, considerations and fears. But for the time being, I just turned off my whole writing economy in order to
to do what is urgent and immediately required by the situation.
As a special correspondent, or more precisely, as a "writer" (there was such a full-time position in the military press system), I arrived on the South-Western Front, at the editorial office of the Red Army newspaper, and began to do what everyone did then writers at the front. I wrote essays, poems, feuilletons, slogans, leaflets, songs, articles, notes - everything. And when the idea arose in the editorial office to start a permanent feuilleton with
pictures, I suggested "Terkin", but not mine, left at home in notebooks, but one that had been quite famous in the army since the days of the Finnish campaign. That Terkin had many "brothers" and "peers" in various front-line publications, only they had other names. Our front-line editorial staff also wanted to have "their own" hero, they named him Ivan Gvozdev, and he existed in the newspaper along with the "Direct fire" section, it seems, until the end of the war. I wrote several chapters of this "Ivan Gvozdev" in co-authorship with the poet Boris Paliychuk, again without linking this work of mine with the peacetime intentions regarding "Terkin".
At the front, a comrade gave me a thick notebook in a black oilcloth binding, but made of "pencil-like" paper - poor, rough, ink-permeable. In this notebook, I pasted or pinned up my daily "production" - newspaper clippings. In the atmosphere of front-line life, moving, spending the night on the road, in conditions when every hour it was necessary to be ready for relocation and always be assembled, this notebook, which I kept in my field bag, was for me a universal item that replaced briefcases, archive folders , boxes
desk, etc. She maintained in me a very important in such a life, at least a conditional sense of the safety and orderliness of the "personal household".
I have not looked into it, perhaps, since that very time, and, leafing through it now, I see how much in that newspaper work, diverse in genres,
which I was engaged in, was made for the future "Terkin", without thinking about it, about any other life of these poems and prose, except for the one-day term of a newspaper page.
"Ivan Gvozdev" was, in terms of literary performance, perhaps better than "Vasya Terkin", but did not have that success. First, this was not
a novelty, and secondly, and this is the main thing, the reader was in many ways different. The war was not positional, when the leisure of a soldier, even in the harsh conditions of military life, is conducive to reading and re-reading everything that somehow meets the interests and tastes of a front-line soldier. The newspaper could not regularly hit units that were, in fact, on the march. But even more importantly, the mindset of the readership was determined not just by the difficulties of the soldier’s life itself, but by the entire immensity of the terrible and sad events of the war: the retreat, the abandonment of relatives and friends by many soldiers in the rear of the enemy, the harsh and concentrated thought inherent in all about the fate of the motherland,
endured the greatest trials. But still, even during this period, people remained people, they had a need to relax, have fun, have fun with something at a short halt or in a break between artillery fire and bombing. And "Gvozdev" was read, praised, the newspaper was watched, starting from the corner of "Direct fire". It was a feuilleton dedicated to a certain episode of the combat practice of the "Cossack Gvozdev" (unlike V. Terkin, an infantryman, Gvozdev was - perhaps, due to the conditions of saturation of the front with cavalry units - a Cossack).
Here, for example: "How to cook dinner skillfully, so that it is tasty and on time" ("From the military adventures of the Cossack Ivan Gvozdev");
The battle that day was in full swing.
The chef is injured. How to be here?
And Gvozdev has to
For the fighters, cook dinner ...
He took everything hastily:
As one verse says,
For seasoning peppers, onions
And a parsley root.
Work is going well
The water boils with a bang.
Only suddenly from mortars
The German began to beat here.
Fight - fight, lunch - lunch,
Nothing else.
Are the mines bursting? I'm leaving
I'll save the cauldron with borscht.
Borsch is full, tea to sweat
Will be ready on time.
Look - they covered the planes -
Get in the crack, Gvozdev.
Take a basket with you -
Fighters-friends are waiting for borscht.
Let the bombing, but the potatoes
With the husk in the boiler - it is impossible.
And happen so for laughter,
To the hindrance it happened -
In the forest where Gvozdev drove off,
From the sky - lope! - skydiver.
Gvozdev spied on a fascist,
Hastened to cover the boiler,
I kissed. Shot fired...
- Don't bother cooking dinner.
The borscht is ripe, the grits are ripe,
Not even half an hour had passed.
And Gvozdev finishes the job:
Borscht ready - in a thermos.
Nothing that mines whistle
The hot battle does not subside.
Turned the driver around
And let's go to the front.
On our front line
Perched behind a hillock,
Borscht pours excellent
The cook is a good ladle.
Who is so skillful today
Hearty, on time and tasty
Did you manage to feed the fighters?
Here he is: Ivan Gvozdev.
There were also statements on behalf of Ivan Gvozdev on various topical issues frontline life. Here, for example, is a conversation about the importance of preserving military secrets: "On the language" ("Sit down and listen to the word of the Cossack Gvozdev"):
Everyone must know
Like a bolt and a bayonet
What is tied for?
He has a tongue...
Or "Welcoming speech to the guys from the Ninety-ninth from the Cossack Gvozdev" on the occasion of awarding the named division for successful combat
actions. And here is a feuilleton on the topic "What is Sabantuy" ("From the conversations of the Cossack Gvozdev with the fighters who arrived at the front"):
To those who came to fight with the German,
It is necessary, no matter how you interpret it,
By the way, figure it out:
What is "sabantuy"...
It was a lesson, quite similar in form and meaning to the corresponding conversation by Terkin, on the same topic in the future "Book about a fighter."
Where does this word come from in "Terkin" and what exactly does it mean? - such a question is very often posed to me both in letters and in notes on literary
evenings, and just by word of mouth when meeting with various people.
The word "sabantuy" exists in many languages and, for example, in the Turkic languages it means the holiday of the end field work: saban - plow, tui -
holiday. I first heard the word "sabantuy" at the front in the early autumn of 1941, somewhere in the Poltava region, in one unit that held the defense there. This word, as is often the case with affectionate words and expressions, was used by both staff commanders, and artillerymen on the front line battery, and residents of the village where the unit was located. It also meant a false intention of the enemy in some sector, a demonstration of a breakthrough, and a real threat on his part, and our readiness to arrange a "treat" for him. Last thing
closest to the original meaning, and the soldier's language is generally characterized by the ironic use of the words "treat", "snack", etc. In the epigraph to one of the chapters " captain's daughter"A. S. Pushkin quotes the lines of an old soldier's song:
We live in a fort
We eat bread and drink water;
And how fierce enemies
They will come to us for pies,
Let's give the guests a feast,
Let's load the cannon.
The word "sabantuy" and I brought with my fellow newspaper worker S. Vashentsev from this trip to the front, and I used it in the feuilleton, and S. Vashentsev - in the essay, which was called "Sabantuy". In the first weeks of the war, I once wrote a feuilleton "It was early in the morning."
Together with the feuilleton about "Sabantuy" and the poem "On a Rest", written at the beginning of the Finnish campaign, it subsequently served as a draft for the chapter of "Terkin", also entitled "On a Rest".
It was early in the morning
I'll take a look...
- So what?
- A rod of German tanks a thousand .. "
- A thousand tanks? Are you lying?
- Why should I lie to you, my friend?
- You're not lying - your tongue is lying,
- Well, let yourself not a thousand,
There were only five hundred...
This is a rhyming adaptation of the old fable about a liar out of fear, in a front-line mode, an example of that poetic improvisation, which was most often performed in one sitting, according to the plan for tomorrow's issue of the newspaper. This is how Gvozdev was made by me and B. Paliychuk together. Then the series "About Grandfather Danila" - by me alone, by right, so to speak, the first author, then a series about a German soldier - "Willy Muller in the East", in which I participated very little, transcriptions of popular songs - "Katyusha", "On the military road "and all kinds of other
poetic trivia. True, some of the live oral soldier's humor, born and becoming widespread catchphrases, etc., fell into these writings.
But in general, all this work, like "Vasya Terkin", far from corresponded to the capabilities and inclinations of its performers and themselves.
was considered not the main one, not the one with which they associated more serious creative intentions. And in the editorial office of the "Red Army", as in its time in the newspaper "On Guard of the Motherland", along with all the special poetic production, there appeared poems by poets involved in "Direct Fire", but already written with the installation of "full artistry". And a strange thing - again, those poems did not have such success as "Gvozdev", "Danila", etc. And to be honest - both "Vasya Terkin" and "Gvozdev", like everything similar to them in the front-line press, were written hastily, carelessly, with such assumptions in the form of poetry, which none of the authors of this production would have tolerated in their "serious" poems, not to mention the general tone, manner, designed, as it were, not for adult literate people, but for some fictional village mass.
The latter was felt more and more, and finally it became unbearable to speak in such a language with the reader, whom it was impossible not to respect, not to love. And suddenly stop, start talking to him in a different way, there was no strength, there was no time.
I was more satisfied with work in prose - essays about the heroes of the battles, written on the basis of personal conversations with people at the front. Although these short, two hundred or three hundred newspaper lines, essays did not contain everything that communication with the person in question gave, but, firstly, it was a fixation of living human activity, a consolidation of the real material of front-line life, secondly, here it was not necessary to joke at all costs, but simply and reliably state the essence of the matter on paper, and, finally,
we all knew how much the heroes themselves valued these essays, which made their exploits known to the entire front, entering them, as it were, into some kind of chronicle of the war. And if a feat was described, or, as they said then, a combat episode where the hero died, then it was important to dedicate your description to his memory, once again mention his name in the printed line. The essays were most often titled with the names of the fighters or commanders whose combat work they were dedicated to:
"Captain Tarasov", "Battalion Commissar Pyotr Mozgovoy", "Red Army Said Ibragimov", "Sergeant Ivan Akimov", "Battery Commander Ragozyan", "Sergeant Pavel Zadorozhny", "Hero of the Soviet Union Pyotr Petrov", "Major Vasily Arkhipov" and etc.
Of the poems written during this period, not for the Direct Fire department, I still include some in new editions of my books. These are "Ballad of Moscow", "Tankman's Tale", "Sergeant Vasily Mysenkov", "When You Fly", "To the Soldier of the Southern Front", "House of the Soldier", "Ballad of Abdication" and others. Behind each of these poems was a vivid front-line impression, a fact, a meeting that I still remember. But even at that time I felt that the actual literary moment somehow alienated the reader from the reality and vitality of these impressions, facts, human destinies.
In a word, the feeling of dissatisfaction with all kinds of our work in the newspaper gradually became a personal misfortune for me. Thoughts also came that maybe your real place is not here, but in the ranks - in a regiment, in a battalion, in a company - where the most important thing is done, what needs to be done for the Motherland. In the winter of 1942, in our editorial office, the idea arose to expand the "Direct Fire" section to a separate weekly leaflet - an appendix to the newspaper. I undertook to write, as it were, a programmatic editorial in verse for this publication, which, by the way, did not last long for various reasons. Here is the introductory part of this poem:
In war, in harsh life,
In the difficult life of combat,
In the snow, under a chilly roof -
There is no better simple, healthy,
Durable frontline food.
And any warrior is old
He will simply say about her:
If only she were with a fat
Yes, it would be from the heat, from the heat -
Get it hot.
To keep you warm
Gave, went into the blood,
So that your soul and body
Climb together boldly
For good deeds.
To go forward, to attack,
Feeling strength in the shoulders
Feeling cheerful. However
It's not just about the...
You can live without food for days
You can do more, but sometimes
In a one minute war
Do not live without a joke.
The jokes of the most unwise ...
Before the spring of 1942, I arrived in Moscow and, looking into my notebooks, suddenly decided to revive Vasily Terkin. The introduction was immediately written about water, food, joke and truth. The chapters "At rest", "Crossing", "Terkin wounded", "About the award", which were in rough drafts, were quickly completed. "Accordion" has remained basically in the same form as it was printed in its time. A completely new chapter, written on the basis of the impressions of the summer of 1941 on the Southwestern Front, was the chapter "Before the battle." The movement of the hero from the situation of the Finnish campaign to the situation of the front of the Great Patriotic War gave him a completely different meaning than in the original plan. And it was not a mechanical solution to the problem. I have already had to say in the press that the actual military impressions, the battle background of the war of 1941-1945 for me were largely preceded by work at the front in Finland. But the fact is that the depth of the national historical disaster and the national historical feat in the Patriotic War from the first day distinguished it from any other
wars and especially military campaigns.
I did not long languish with doubts and fears about the indeterminacy of the genre, the lack of an initial plan that embraces the whole work in advance, and the weak plot connection of the chapters with each other. Not a poem - well, let yourself not a poem, I decided; there is no single plot - let yourself not, do not; there is no very beginning of a thing - there is no time to invent it; the culmination and completion of the whole story is not planned - let it be, it is necessary to write about what is burning, not waiting, and then we will see, we will figure it out. And when I decided so, breaking all internal obligations to the conventions of form and waving my hand at one or another possible assessment by the writers of this work of mine, I felt cheerful and free. As if in a joke on myself, on my plan, I sketched the lines that this "book is about a fighter, without beginning, without end."
Indeed, it was "not enough time to start it all over again": the war was going on, and I had no right to put off what needs to be said today, immediately, until the time when everything would be stated in order, from the very beginning.
Why no end?
I just feel sorry for the young man.
Such an explanation seemed understandable to me in a war situation, when the end of the story about the hero could mean only one thing - his death. However, in the letters of comrades, not just readers of "Terkin", but considering it, so to speak, in scientific terms, there was some kind of bewilderment about these lines: shouldn't they be understood in some other way? Do not do it! But I won’t say that the questions of the form of my essay didn’t bother me.
I have more since the minute I ventured to write "without form", "without beginning or end". I was concerned about the form, but not the one that is generally thought of in relation to, say, the genre of the poem, but the one that was needed and gradually in the process of work
guessed for this particular book.
And the first thing I took as a principle of composition and style is the striving for a certain completeness of each individual part, chapter, and within a chapter, of each period, and even stanza. I should have had in mind the reader who, even though he was unfamiliar with the previous chapters, would find in this chapter published today in the newspaper something whole, rounded. In addition, this reader could not wait for my next chapter: he was where the hero is - in the war. This exemplary completion of each chapter was what I was most concerned about. I did not keep anything to myself until another time, trying to speak out on every occasion - the next chapter - to the end, to fully express my mood, to convey a fresh impression, a thought, a motive, an image. True, this principle was not immediately determined - after
the first chapters of "Terkin" were printed in a row one after another, and then new ones appeared as they were written. I believe that my decision to print the first chapters before the book was completed was correct and largely determined the fate of "Terkin". A reader helped me to write this book as it is, I will talk about this below.
The genre designation of "Books about a fighter", which I settled on, was not the result of a desire to simply avoid the designation "poem", "story", etc. This coincided with the decision to write not a poem, not a story or a novel in verse, that is, not something that has its legalized and, to a certain extent, obligatory plot, compositional and other features. These signs did not come out of me, but something did come out, and I designated this something as the "Book about the fighter." What mattered in this choice was that special, familiar to me from childhood, the sound of the word "book" in the mouths of the common people, which, as it were, suggests the existence of a book in a single copy. If it was said, sold, among the peasants that, they say, there is such and such a book, and in it this and that is written, then it did not mean at all that there could be another exactly the same book. One way or another, but the word "book" in this popular sense sounds in a special way, as a serious, reliable, unconditional subject.
And if I thought about the possible successful fate of my book while working on it, then I often imagined it published in cloth softcover, as military manuals are published, and that it would be kept by a soldier behind the bootleg, in the bosom, in a hat. And in terms of its construction, I dreamed that it could be read from any open page. Since the chapters of the first part of "Terkin" appeared in print, he
became my main and main work at the front. None of my works was so difficult for me at first and did not go so easily then, as "Vasily Terkin". True, I rewrote each chapter many times, checking it by ear, worked for a long time on any one
stanza or line. For example, remember how the beginning of the chapter "Death and the Warrior" developed, in the poetic sense "formed" from the lines of an old song about a soldier:
Don't wind, black raven,
Over my head.
You can't wait for prey
I'm a soldier still alive...
At first there was a recording where poetry was interspersed with a prose presentation - it was important to "cover" the whole picture:
A Russian wounded lay...
Terkin lies on the snow, bleeding.
Death sat down at the head, says:
- Now you're mine. Answers:
- No, not yours, I'm a soldier still alive.
- Well, - he says, - he's alive! Move at least your hand. - Terkin quietly answers:
I keep calm...
Then came the opening line:
In an open field on a hill,
Alone, and weak, and small,
In the snow Vasily Terkin
Unselected lay.
But here there was not enough sign of the battlefield, and the result was too conventionally songlike picture: "In an open field ..." - and then the words were asked:
"under the willow ..." And I needed it with an intonation coming from famous song, the reality of the current war. In addition, the second line was not good - it was not simple, it had more fiction than song characteristics.
Then came the stanza:
For distant hills
The battle fever was gone.
In the snow Vasily Terkin
Unselected lay.
This is not very good, but it gives greater certainty of place and time: the battle is already far away, the wounded man has been lying on the snow for a long time, he is freezing. And the next stanza naturally develops the first:
Snow under him, swollen with blood,
Took a pile of ice.
Death bowed to the head;
- Well, soldier, come with me.
But on the whole, this chapter was written easily and quickly: its main tone and composition were immediately found (Chapter "Death and the Warrior" in the "Book about a fighter"
belongs, by the way, also to the role that it closely connects "Vasily Terkin" with "Terkin in the Other World" published many years later. It, this chapter, contains the external plot scheme of my last poem: Terkin, half-dead picked up on the battlefield, returns to life from non-existence, "from the other world", whose pictures constitute the special, modern content of my "second" Terkin ". (Note . of the author.)) And how many lines were written, forwarded dozens of times only then sometimes to throw them away in the end, while experiencing the same joy as when writing new successful lines.
And all this, even if it was difficult, but not tedious, was always done in great spiritual uplift, with joy, with confidence. I must say in general: in my opinion, what is good is what is written as if easily, and not what is typed with excruciating painstakingness line by line, word by word, which either fall into place or fall out - and so on ad infinitum. But the whole point is that it is very difficult to get to this "lightness", and now about these difficulties of approaching "lightness" in question when we say that our art requires labor. And if you still haven’t experienced “lightness”, joy when you feel that it’s “gone”, you haven’t experienced working on a thing for the whole time, but only, as they say, dragging the boat on dry land without launching it, it is unlikely that the reader will experience the joy of the fruit of your painstaking efforts.
At that time, I was no longer working on the Southwestern, but on the Western (3rd Belorussian) Front. The troops of the front were then, roughly speaking, on
land of the eastern regions of the Smolensk region. The direction of this front, which was to liberate the Smolensk region in the near future, determined some of the lyrical motifs of the book. Being a native of the Smolensk region, connected with it by many personal, biographical ties, I could not help but see the hero as my countryman.
From the first letters I received from readers, I realized that my work was well received, and this gave me the strength to continue it. Now I was no longer alone with her: I was helped by the warm, sympathetic attitude of the reader towards her, his expectation, sometimes his “hints”: “I wish I could reflect this and that” ... etc.
In 1943, it seemed to me that, in accordance with the original plan, the "history" of my hero was coming to an end (Terkin is fighting, wounded,
returns to service), and I put an end to it. But from letters from readers, I realized that this can not be done. In one of these letters, Sergeant Shershnev and the Red Army soldier Solovyov wrote:
"We are very upset by your final word, after which it is not difficult to guess that your poem is over, and the war continues. We ask you to continue the poem, because Terkin will continue the war to a victorious end."
It turned out that I, the storyteller, encouraged by my front-line listeners, suddenly left them, as if I had not said something.
And besides, I did not see the possibility for myself to move on to some other work that would capture me so much. And out of these feelings and many
reflections was the decision to continue the "Book about the fighter." I once again neglected the literary convention, in this case the convention
completeness of the "plot", and the genre of my work was defined for me as a kind of chronicle, not a chronicle, a chronicle is not a chronicle, but a "book", a living, mobile, free-form book, inseparable from the real cause of protecting the Motherland by the people, from their feat in the war . And with new enthusiasm, with full consciousness of the necessity of my work, I set to work on it, seeing its completion only in the victorious conclusion of the war and its development in accordance with the stages of the struggle - the entry of our troops into new and new lands liberated from the enemy, with their advancement to borders, etc.
Another confession. Approximately in the middle of my work, I was carried away by the temptation of "plotting". I began to prepare my hero for
crossing the front line and operations in the rear of the enemy in the Smolensk region. Much in such a turn of his fate could seem organic, natural, and seemed to make it possible to expand the field of activity of the hero, the possibility of new descriptions, etc. The chapter "General" in its first printed form was devoted to Terkin's farewell to the commander of his division before leaving for back to the enemy. Other excerpts were published, where it was already about life behind the front lines. But I soon saw that this reduced the book to some private
history, makes it smaller, deprives it of that front-line "universality" of content that has already been outlined and has already made the name of Terkin a household name in relation to living fighters of this type. I decisively turned away from this path, threw out what belonged to the enemy rear, reworked the chapter "General" and again began to build the fate of the hero in the plan that had developed earlier.
Speaking about this work as a whole, I can only repeat the words that I have already said in print about the "Book about a fighter":
"Whatever her own literary significance, for me it was true happiness. She gave me a sense of the legitimacy of the artist's place in the great struggle of the people, a sense of the obvious usefulness of my work, a sense of complete freedom in dealing with verse and words in a naturally formed, unconstrained form of presentation. "Terkin" was for me in the relationship of the writer with his reader my lyrics, my journalism, song and teaching, anecdote and saying, a heart-to-heart talk and a remark to the occasion.
A front-line reader, whom I used to consider during our face-to-face and correspondence, through the pages of print, communication, as if my co-author - according to the degree of his interest in my work - this reader, for his part, also considered "Terkin" our common cause.
“Dear Alexander (I don’t know how it is by patronymic,” wrote, for example, fighter Ivan Andreev, “if you need material, I can do a favor. A year on the front line and seven battles taught me something and gave me something” .
“At the front, I heard a soldier’s story about Vasya Terkin, who I didn’t read in your poem,” reported K. V. Zorin from Vyshny Volochok. “Maybe he interests you?”
“Why was our Vasily Terkin wounded?” D. Kaliberdy and others asked me in a collective letter. “How did he get to the hospital? our Terkin is not that kind of guy. It's not good, don't write like that about Terkin. Terkin should always be with us on the front lines, a cheerful, resourceful, brave and determined fellow ... Greetings! We are waiting soon from Terkin's hospital. "
And there are many such letters where the reader's participation in the fate of the hero of the book develops into involvement in the very cause of writing this book.
Long before the completion of Terkin, the editorial offices of newspapers and magazines, where the next parts and chapters of the book were printed, began to receive "continuations"
"Terkina" in verse, written almost exclusively by people who are trying their hand at such a thing for the first time. One of the first experiments was the "third part" of "Terkin", sent to the guards by senior sergeant Kondratiev, who wrote in his letter to the editor of the newspaper "Krasnoarmeyskaya Pravda":
"Comrade editor!
I earnestly apologize if I take a few minutes of your time for my poem "Vasily Terkin", part 3. Please, of course, agree with Comrade. Tvardovsky, as the author of this poem. Being at the front, over the past 8-10 months I have not had to read the latest in our literature. It was only in the hospital that I saw a poem about Terkin, although I had not read the first part. Not knowing the intention of the author and the future of Terkin, I dared to try to portray him as a Red Army soldier, assuming that he was not in the forefront at the time of the capture of the village, but he had to show himself as at least a temporary commander and become an example ... "
Cadet V. Ugryumov tells in a letter about his "plan" to describe the second Terkin, the hero of labor ...
“A soldier comes from the war,” he writes, “but rest (even a month of rest after all the troubles) is not to his liking. From the first day he starts work.
He meets with the deputy battalion commander, and together they begin to lead and work. From the foreman of the field brigade, Terkin comes to the director of the MTS. For valiant work presented to the highest award ... Here, approximately, in brief, such a plot ... "
In addition to the "continuations" of "Terkin", a large place among readers' letters, especially in postwar period, occupy poetic messages to Vasily Terkin, with urgent wishes that I continue the "Book about a fighter".
It remains for me to dwell on this, perhaps the most difficult, point of the three that I outlined at the beginning.
In May 1945, the final chapter of "Terkin" - "From the Author" was published. She evoked many responses in poetry and prose. Ninety-nine percent of them boiled down to the fact that readers want to know Terkin in a peaceful working life. I still receive such letters, and sometimes they are not addressed to me, but to the editorial offices of various publications, the Writers' Union, that is, organizations that, in the opinion of the authors of the letters, should influence me, so to speak, in public order. V. Minerov from the Prechistensky district in the Smolensk region, in a postscript to one of the Moscow editorial offices accompanying his poems "Search for Terkin" writes: "I beg you to skip these careless and rude lines. I'm not a poet, but I had to work hard: to call Tvardovsky to work" .
In wishes and advice to continue "Terkin" the field of activity of the hero in peaceful conditions is usually determined by the occupation of the authors of the letters. Some would like Terkin, who remained in the ranks of the army, to continue his service, teaching the young replenishment of the fighters and serving as an example for them. Others want to see him return to the collective farm without fail and work as a fore-collective farm or foreman. Still others find that best development his fate would have been in working on one of the great post-war construction projects, for example, on the construction of the Volga-Don Canal, etc. Here are the stanzas taken from the message in verse to the hero of the book on behalf of the people of the Soviet Army:
Where are you, our Vasily Terkin,
Vasya Terkin, our hero?
Or are you now not Terkin,
Or has it become completely different?
We often remember you
We remember the past
About the war, how they fought,
How did you end the enemy...
But it's been four years
How the war ended
How did you not become among us,
What happened to you, brother?
Maybe you went to construction
Fighting five-year plan?
But do you remember our address?
He is still the same - field ...
But we knew your character
And we are sure that
that you will be with us
After all the war
Work in our Army
As in your own family,
You can help her
You have experience...
N. Matveev
The author of the message expresses confidence that the hero of the "Book about a fighter" is in the ranks of the army. Another correspondent, cadet Zh. Yagupov, on behalf of
Terkin himself claims this not without a clear reproach to the author of the book:
I'm ready to answer you
My creator, my poet
Let me just point out
Where have you been for so many years?
Something the Army forgot.
And it hurts me a lot:
After all, once we served
Together with you in the war...
I am a soldier, although not proud,
But it's a shame to me, poet ...
So, Terkin, grated in battles,
Suddenly resign? You're kidding. No!
I, brother, became related to the Army,
And I can't retire...
And so I'm sorry
What, I didn’t ask you
Became a cadet. As you wish,
I was advised by an asset.
Soldiers want to live with me
They tell me: they say, respect ...
I remain guilty
in front of you
Terkin
Your.
V. Litavrin from Chita, also concerned about the post-war fate of Terkin, admitting its various possibilities, asks:
Maybe he's on the run now
Fulfills the norm three times,
What do they give him according to the plan?
Maybe coming to the camp,
And with a cheerful saying,
Everyone knows Vasya Terkin,
Formerly a valiant soldier
He gives steel rolling? ..
What does your Terkin do:
Does he go to parties?
Has he been married for a long time?
All write - all the same.
Maybe he, cherishing a dream,
Quiet morning in the middle of the alley
Listen to the song of the nightingale?
Or a long time ago a judge?
Or is he a hero of our days?
Does he play hockey?
Maybe he became a combine operator?
Or rules over the choir
And he leads a drama club?
Where are you, our dear friend?
But A.I. Makarov in his letter like detailed instructions resolutely suggests that I "let" Terkin "to the front of agriculture."
“Let him,” recommends A. I. Makarov, “seriously and with humor tell and point out to collective farmers and collective farmers, tractor drivers and workers of MTS, state farms:
1. That food in all forms ... is the physical strength of the people, the vigorous spirit of the people ...
2. That an abundance of food can be achieved by the timely sowing of all crops with good seeds, good soil cultivation, fertilization, the introduction of correct multi-field crop rotations ...
The next section... a critique of shortcomings... that needs to be hit... with Terkin's sharp words:
1. For dishonest work ...
2. By poor quality agricultural machinery and spare parts for them.
3. By ... careless ... care of agricultural machinery, equipment, workers
cattle and harness.
4. For agronomists who ... did not make plans for the correct multi-field
crop rotations.
5. According to the culprits who have more weeds in the fields than ears.
6. By the Ministry of Forestry.
7. According to the leaders of the fishing industry".
Etc.
AI Makarov imagines this work in the form of a voluminous brochure-collection ... "Terkin in agriculture." With illustrations under
separate headings (chapters): "Terkin on a collective farm, on a state farm, on a dairy farm, in a poultry house, on tobacco plantations, beets, in an orchard, in a vegetable garden, on melons, in vineyards, in Zagotzerno - on an elevator, on fish crafts, etc., etc. It is worth, of course, to invite assistants to this business and travel around the collective farms and state farms of different regions and fisheries ... I am ready to help you in this matter in everything and always, in whatever way I can.
In itself, such a variety of wishes regarding the specific fate of the "post-war" "Terkin" would put me in an extremely difficult position. But, of course, that's not the point.
I answered and continue to answer my correspondents that "Terkin" is a book that was born in a special, unique atmosphere of the war years, and that, completed in this special capacity, the book cannot be continued on other material, requiring a different hero, other motives. I refer to the lines from the final chapter:
We need a new song.
Give it time, it will come.
However, new and new letters with proposals and urgent advice to write a "peaceful" "Terkin", and each correspondent naturally imagines that he was the first to open such an opportunity for me, force me to explain this matter to readers in a little more detail. “In my opinion,” writes I.V. Lenshin from the Voronezh region, “you yourself feel and you yourself are sorry that you have finished writing Terkin. You should still continue it ... write what Terkin is doing now ...”
But even if it were so that I would regret parting with "Terkin", I still could not "continue" it. It would mean "exploit"
ready, formed and already somehow imprinted in the minds of readers, the image, to increase the number of lines under the old title, without looking for a new quality. Such things in art are impossible. I will give one example.
The same newspaper Krasnoarmeyskaya Pravda, where Terkin was printed, also published New Adventures of the Good Soldier Schweik. This thing was written by my friend at the front, the writer M. Slobodskoy. It was a "continuation" of the work of J. Hasek, created on the material of the First World War. The success of The New Adventures of the Good Soldier Schweik is explained, in my opinion, firstly, by the great need for this kind of entertaining and entertaining reading, and secondly, of course, by the fact that the familiar image was satirically attributed to the conditions of the Nazi army.
But no one, I think, would have thought to continue this "continuation" of "Schweik" in the post-war period. Moreover, the author of "New Schweik" after the last war did not even find it necessary to publish it as a separate book - there is no such book, but there was and is a book by J. Hasek "The Adventures of the Good Soldier Schweik". Because Hasek's book was a creative discovery of the image, and the work of M. Slobodsky in this case was a more or less skillful use of a ready-made image, which, generally speaking, cannot be the task of art.
True, the history of literature knows examples of "the use of ready-made images", as we find, for example, in Saltykov-Shchedrin, who transferred Griboyedov's Molchalin or Gogol's Nozdrev to conditions of a different reality - from the first to the second half of the 19th century. But this was justified by the special tasks of the satirical and journalistic genre, which was not so concerned, so to speak, with the secondary full-blooded life of these images as such, but using their characteristic features familiar to the reader in application to other material and for other purposes ... (Approximately this can be explained now the appearance of "Terkin in the next world", which is by no means a "continuation" of "Vasily Terkin", but a completely different thing, due precisely to the "special tasks of the satirical-journalistic genre".
there is still a special conversation with readers ahead. (Author's note))
Perhaps for individual readers all these explanations are superfluous, but I have in mind here mainly those readers who insistently demand a continuation of Terkin. By the way, my “silence” is all the more incomprehensible to them because “continuation” does not seem so difficult to them.
In the above-quoted message of V. Litavrin, it says so directly:
Where is your Terkin, where is Vasily, -
You will find effortlessly
Because, I know, for a poet
Small work - this task.
And Litavrin, like others who think so, is absolutely right. "To continue" "Terkin", to write several new chapters in the same plan, in the same verse, with the same "nature" of the hero in the center - really "small work - this task." But the fact is that it was precisely this apparent ease of the task that deprived me of the right and desire to carry it out. This would mean that I gave up new searches, new efforts, in which it is only possible to do something in art, and would begin to rewrite myself.
And that this task, obviously, is not difficult, the "sequels" of "Vasily Terkin" themselves, which are still widely used, serve as proof of this.
"I recently read your poem" Vasily Terkin "... - seventeen-year-old Yuri Moryatov writes to me, - and I decided to write the poem" Vasily
Terkin", only:
You wrote about how Vasya
Fought with the Germans in the war
I'm writing about five years
And about Vasya's work .. "
Another young poet, Dmitry Morozov, writes "Vasily Terkin's Open Letter to Former Fellow Soldiers" in terms of highlighting precisely the post-war fate of the hero:
In the arsenal of my machine gun
Passed under grease lubrication.
I'm not a soldier in uniform,
Passed as they say
To a new, peaceful life.
Our ancient land - wilderness and forest -
All changed,
That said, great progress.
Showed up in life.
We strengthened in the spring
Lived richly.
Like in an attack, like in a fight,
Soldiers went to work.
I am demobilized
During the first term of the Decree,
He rebuilt the house, and his
Now the family has started
Or, say, the base.
Glory to peaceful labor!
Be vigilant today.
If so, then I'll come!
Sending hello. V. Terkin.
From the "continuations" and "imitations" of "Terkin" known to me, it would be possible to compile a book, perhaps no less in volume than the existing "Book about a fighter." I know cases of printed sequels of "Terkin". For example, in several issues of the Zvezda newspaper at a plant in Perm
"Vasily Terkin at the Factory" by Boris Shirshov was printed:
In a new summer tunic
(Vacation to take the turn has come)
Front-line soldier Vasily Terkin
Decided to visit the plant.
They say Vasily Terkin
From the Smolensk side,
And others argue: "In the assembly
He worked before the war."
Well, the third is not joking,
Seriously they say:
"Vasya Terkin! Yes, in the foundry
Together for many years
Worked." In short,
In order not to argue, let's say this:
Terkin was our worker,
Everything else is rubbish..
The chapters "Terkin in the Assembly Shop", "Terkin in the Tool Shop", "Terkin in the Foundry Shop" and others tell about the participation of a visiting soldier in factory affairs, about his meetings with workers; proper names and specific facts of industrial life - the texture of the usual strophic and intonation of the verse "Terkin".
Arguing with the reader is a disadvantageous, hopeless business, but you can and should explain yourself to him if necessary. In order to explain this, I will give another example.
When I wrote "The Land of the Ant" and published it in the form it is to this day, not only I, in my youth, but also many other comrades believed that this was the "first part." Two more parts were supposed, in which Nikita Morgunka's journey would extend to the collective farms of the south of the country and the regions of the Ural-Kuzbass. It seemed obligatory, and most importantly - and the work, it seemed, did not amount to large: the narrative unfolded, its style and character were determined - let's move on. But this obvious ease and obligation of the task alerted me. I refused to "continue" the poem and still do not regret it.
"Vasily Terkin" came out of that semi-folklore modern "element" that is made up of newspaper and wall newspaper feuilleton, pop repertoire, ditty, joke song, raek, etc. Now he himself has generated a lot of similar material in the practice of newspapers, special editions, pop music, oral use. From where he came, he goes there. And in this sense, "The Book of a Fighter", as I already partly said, is not my own work, but a collective authorship. I consider my share of participation in it fulfilled. And this does not infringe on my author's feeling in any way, but, on the contrary, it is very pleasant for him: I managed to work on identifying the image of Terkin, which, as evidenced by written and oral reviews of readers, has become quite widespread among the people.
In conclusion, I want to thank my correspondents from the bottom of my heart for their letters about "Terkin", both those that contain questions, advice and comments, and those that simply express their good attitude towards this work of mine.
Over the years since the publication of this article, "Terkin mail" has brought many new reader responses. They came and come on the occasion of a new edition of "Books about a fighter", then the next radio program "Vasily Terkin" performed by the late D. N. Orlov, or staging a performance of the same name in professional theaters(stage composition by K. Voronkov) and on the stage of army amateur performances, finally, on the occasion of the appearance in print of my other books.
Among these responses, a large place is occupied by such an active form of reader participation in the fate of the book as numerous "amateur"
dramatizations, scripts or their libretto based on "Terkin", not to mention urgent proposals of this kind to the author of the book. But, perhaps, an even more active form of the reader's attitude towards the hero of the book is the desire to prolong his current life, to transfer
him from the front-line situation to the conditions of peaceful post-war labor. The article explaining why the author refrains from "continuing" this book of his on new material has by no means lessened such reader demands and wishes. But the poetic messages - calls for the continuation of "Terkin" by its author decisively gave way to the "continuations" of the "Book about a Fighter" by the readers themselves, even if people with some hidden or obvious literary claims, but, in any case, not professional writers.
Following Terkin, a cadet of a military school, appear: Terkin, an air defense anti-aircraft gunner; Terkin - demobilized, going to the construction of the Bratsk hydroelectric station; Terkin in the electric forging shop; Terkin on virgin soil; Terkin - a policeman ... Terkin's "sons" and "nephews" appear - the years go by, and even the age of the hero, in accordance with the interests of young readers, undergoes such "corrections".
Some of these "Terkins" were published: "Vasily Terkin in Air Defense" by Senior Lieutenant E. Chumakov - in the newspaper "On a combat post"; "Yasha Terkin"
M. Ivanova - "Labor reserves" (Alma-Ata); "Terkin in the Fire Troops" - "Alarm" (Kharkov), etc. (Over the past two or three years, in connection with the publication of "Terkin in the Other World", the number of imitations and continuations in my "Terkin archive" doubled, and their subject matter and polemical or other orientation was already determined by the content of this second "Terkin" (Author's note.))
The literary merits of these "continuations", both printed and handwritten, sometimes very large in volume, are, of course, conditional - their direct dependence on the "Book about a fighter" is obvious not only in borrowing the main image, but also in the entire texture of the verse. Yes, it is not disguised by their authors, it is not presented as anything other than newspaper, wall newspaper or pop material of local or "industry" purpose. In any case, the motives of these authors are touching and disinterested. In a word, exactly like this: the image of Terkin "from where he came - he goes there" - into the modern semi-folklore poetic "element". And such a collective "continuation" of "Terkin" can only please me and evoke in me a feeling of friendly gratitude towards my numerous, so to speak, co-authors on "Terkin".
But, of course, completely different feelings are caused by one special case of the "continuation" of "The Book of a Fighter" - for purposes deeply alien to the image of Terkin, and
in a way that has not even a remote resemblance to the generally accepted concepts of the literary business. I am referring to the book published in New York by a certain S. Yurasov "Vasily Terkin after the war" with the designation in brackets: "According to A. Tvardovsky." This "co-author" is by no means an inexperienced beginner, and this work of his is not an ingenuous "test of the pen" - he owns, for example, the declared
on the cover of this edition is the autobiographical novel "Enemy of the People", which depicts "a portrait of the Soviet major Fyodor Panin, who decided to break with Bolshevism and become an emigrant."
S. Yurasov pretends that he quite literally understood my words in the "Response to Readers" that in a certain sense "The Book of a Fighter" is not my own work, but of collective authorship. He writes there: “Part of the book“ Vasily Terkin after the war ”consists of what I heard in the army and in the Soviet Union. Some places in this part coincide with certain places in A. Tvardovsky, but have a completely different meaning. What is here imitation of the nameless "Terkins" to the poet, and what, on the contrary, belongs to folklore and was used by A. Tvardovsky, it is difficult to say.
“It can be said,” Yurasov continues, “that Vasily Terkin is the way he lives and is still being created in the midst of soldiers and populace, - This
free folk art". By presenting the case in this way, Yurasov arrogates to himself the right to complete "freedom" in handling the text of my "Vasily Terkin". We open the first page of the book:
On which river to swim, -
To create glory and glory ...
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.
But I didn't know yet, right,
What's with the printed column
Everyone will like you
And you will enter the hearts of others ...
And so on, and so on - stanza after stanza, everything is exactly "according to Tvardovsky", except that, for example, the line "From the first days of the year
bitter" was replaced by the unpronounceable "From the days of the war, from the bitter time", and the line "But I didn't know yet, right" - "And no one thought, right ..." So until the third page, where, after my line "Maybe Is there trouble with Terkin?" suddenly comes a stanza entirely of Yurasov's production:
- Maybe they put them in the camp
- Today Terkin can't...
- In the forty-fifth, - they said,
- What went to the West ...
This blasphemous attempt to liken the fate of the honored Soviet warrior, the victorious hero - at least presumably - to his despicable
biography of a defector, a traitor to the motherland, of course, can only cause disgust, which does not allow us to dwell on all the methods of this shameless falsification.
The work is rough. For example, from the chapter "Duel" the whole, so to speak, technical side of Terkin's hand-to-hand combat with a German is taken, and with the help of lines and stanzas somehow stuck together from himself, he is passed off as Terkin's hand-to-hand combat with ... a policeman. Compared to this, painting a stolen car in a different color by motorist thieves and changing the license plate seems to be a much more plausible matter.
Yurasov "quotes" me in stanzas, periods and whole pages, but he does not put quotation marks anywhere, believing that his "additions" and "replacements" give him the right to use the well-known, so many times reprinted text of a Soviet book in his own low anti-Soviet goals. It is indicative that this man, who went "to the service" of the bourgeois world, where the highest deity is private property, completely neglected the principle of literary property, which in our socialist society is just protected by law, being primarily a moral concept.
However, why be surprised if the publishers of Yurasov's anti-artistic concoction do not hesitate to name their institution in New York after one of the greatest and noblest Russian writers - A.P. Chekhov, as indicated on the cover of S. Yurasov's thieves' fake book.
In the war, in the dust of the march,
In summer heat and cold
There is no better simple, natural -
From a well, from a pond,
From a water pipe.
From the hoof trail
From any river
From the stream, from under the ice, -
Better not cold water
Only water was used - water.
In war, in harsh life,
In the difficult life of combat,
In the snow, under a coniferous roof,
At the field parking lot, -
There is no better simple, healthy.
Good food frontline.
It is only important that the chef
There would be a cook guy;
To be listed for nothing,
So that sometimes I do not sleep at night, -
If only she were with a fat
Yes, it would be from the heat, from the heat -
Better, hotter;
To go into any fight
Feeling strength in the shoulders
Feeling cheerful.
However
It's not just about the soup.
You can live without food for days
You can do more, but sometimes
In a one minute war
Do not break through without a joke.
Jokes of the most unwise.
Do not live, as without shag,
From bombing to another
Without a good saying
Or some kind of saying, -
Without you, Vasily Terkin,
Vasya Terkin is my hero.
And more than anything else
Don't live for sure
Without which? Without the truth,
Truth, straight into the soul beating,
Yes, it would be thicker.
No matter how bitter.
What else? .. And that's all, perhaps.
In a word, a book about a fighter
No beginning, no end.
Why so - without a start?
Because time is short
Start it over.
Why no end?
Just a pity young man
In the difficult hour of the native land
Not joking, Vasily Terkin,
We made friends with you.
I have no right to forget that.
What do you owe to your glory,
How and where did you help me.
Cause time, hour fun.
Dear Terkin at war.
How can I suddenly leave you?
The old friendship is correct.
In a word, a book from the middle
And let's start. And it will go there.
At Rest
Delicious, what to say
It was the same old man.
What came up with the soup to cook
Wheels straight.
Soup first. Secondly,
The porridge is normally strong.
No, old man he was an old man
Subtle - that's for sure.
Hey, throw another one
A spoon like this
I am the second, brother, war
I fight forever.
Evaluate, add a bit.
The cook squinted.
"Wow eater
This guy is new."
She puts in an extra spoon.
Says angrily:
- You would, you know, in the fleet
with your appetite.
He: Thank you. I just
Haven't been in the Navy.
I'd rather be like you
Chef in the infantry. -
And, seated on the floor with pine trees,
He eats porridge, stooping.
"Mine?" - fighters among themselves. -
"Mine!" - exchanged glances.
And already, having warmed up, slept
Strongly tired regiment.
In the first wave, the dream was gone,
Contrary to the statute.
Leaning against the trunk of a pine tree.
Not sparing the shag,
At war 'bout war
Terkin conducted the conversation.
- You guys, from the middle
Start off. And I will say:
I am not the first shoes
I wear it here without a fix.
Here you have arrived at the place
Guns in hand - and fight.
And who knows about you
What is Sabantuy?
Sabantuy - some kind of holiday?
Or what is there - Sabantuy?
Sabantuy is different,
If you don't know, don't interpret.
Here under the first bombardment
Lie down, from hunting to lying down,
He remained alive - do not grieve:
This is a small sabantuy.
Relax, eat hard.
Light up and don't blow your mouth.
Worse, brother, like a mortar
Suddenly the sabantuy starts.
He will take you deeper, -
Kiss mother earth.
But keep in mind, my dear.
This is an average Sabantuy.
Sabantuy - science for you,
The enemy is fierce - he is fierce.
But it's a completely different thing.
This is the main sabantuy.
The guy was silent for a minute,
To clean the mouthpiece.
As if by someone
He winked: hold on, my friend ...
So you left early
He looked - into your sweat and trembling:
The rod of a thousand German tanks ...
A thousand tanks? Well brother, you're lying
- And why should I lie, my friend?
Consider what calculation?
- But why immediately - a thousand?
- Fine. Let five hundred.
- Well, five hundred. Tell me honestly
Don't scare like old women.
OK. What is there three hundred, two hundred -
Meet at least one...
Well, the slogan in the newspaper is accurate:
Do not run into the bushes and into the bread.
Tank - it looks very formidable,
In reality, he is deaf and blind.
That's blind. Lying in a ditch
And on the heart of the beacon:
Suddenly, as if blindly crushed, -
After all, he doesn't see a thing.
Repeat agree again:
What you do not know - do not interpret.
Sabantuy - just one word -
Sabantuy!.. But Sabantuy
Might hit you in the head.
Or, simply, in the head.
We had one guy...
Give me some tobacco.
They look into the mouth of the joker.
The word is eagerly caught.
It's good when someone is lying
Fun and challenging.
In the direction of the forest, deaf,
In bad weather,
Well, how is there
Guy on a hike.
And timidly with him
They ask: - Come on, for the night
Tell me something else.
Vasily Ivanovich...
The night is deaf, the earth is damp.
The fire smokes a little.
No, guys, it's time for bed.
Start creeping?
Face down on the sleeve,
On a warm hill
Between fellow soldiers
Vasily Terkin lay down.
Heavy, wet overcoat.
The rain worked kindly.
The roof is the sky, the hut is the spruce,
The roots press under the ribs.
But it is not visible that he
Was upset by this
So that he does not sleep in a dream
Somewhere in the world.
So he pulled up the floors,
Hiding your back
He mentioned someone's mother-in-law.
A stove and a feather bed
And clung to the damp earth,
Overwhelmed by languor
And he lies, my hero,
Sleep like at home.
Sleeping - even hungry, even full.
At least one, at least in a bunch.
Sleep for the previous lack of sleep.
Sleeping in reserve is taught.
And the hero hardly sleeps
Every night a heavy dream:
Like from the western border
He retreated to the east;
How did he go.
Vasya Terkin,
From the reserve private,
In a salted tunic
Hundreds of miles of native land.
How big is the land.
greatest land,
And she would be a stranger
Someone else's, and then - his own.
The hero sleeps, snores - period.
Accepts everything as it is.
Well, its - so it's for sure.
Well, the war - so I'm here.
Sleeps, forgetting about the difficult summer.
Sleep, care, do not rebel.
Maybe tomorrow at dawn
There will be a new sabantuy.
The fighters are sleeping, as a dream caught,
Beneath the pine tree.
Sentinels at posts
Wet lonely.
Zgi is not visible. Night around.
And the fighter will feel sad.
Just suddenly remember something.
Remember, smile.
And it's like the dream is gone
Laughter drove away a yawn.
- Good thing he got it.
Terkin, to our company.
Terkin - who is he?
Let's be frank:
Just a guy himself
He is ordinary.
However, pareny though where.
Guy like that
In each company there is always
Yes, in every way.
And to know how strong
Let's be frank:
Endowed with beauty
He was not excellent.
Not tall, not that small
But a hero is a hero.
Fought in Karelian -
Beyond the Sister River.
And we don't know why. -
Didn't ask,
Why then should he
Didn't get a medal.
Let's turn from this topic,
Let's say for order:
Maybe on the award list
There was a typo.
Don't look at your chest
And look what's ahead!
In service since June, in battle since July,
Terkin is at war again.
- It can be seen, a bomb or a bullet
Haven't found it for me yet.
He was hit by shrapnel in battle,
Healed - and so much sense.
Three times I was surrounded.
Three times - here it is! - went out.
And although it was restless -
remained unscathed
Under oblique, three-layer fire.
Under hinged and direct.
And more than once in the usual way,
By the roads, in the dust of the columns,
I was partially scattered
And partially destroyed...
But, however,
Warrior alive
To the kitchen - from the place, from the place - into battle.
Smokes, eats and drinks with gusto
Any position.
No matter how difficult, no matter how bad -
Don't give up, look ahead.
This is a hint for now
The story is ahead<...>
Crossing
Crossing, crossing!
Left bank, right bank.
The snow is rough, the edge of the ice ...
To whom is memory, to whom is glory.
To whom is dark water, -
No sign, no trace.
At night, the first of the column.
Breaking the ice at the edge
Loaded on the pontoons
First platoon.
Immersed, pushed off
And went. Second behind him.
Prepared, crouched
The third follows the second.
Like rafts, the pontoons went.
Rumbled one, another
Bass, iron tone,
Like a roof under your foot
And the fighters are sailing somewhere.
Hiding bayonets in the shadows.
And all my guys
Immediately - as if they were not
Immediately like but similar
On our own, on those guys:
Somehow everything is friendlier and stricter,
Somehow everything is dearer to you
And dearer than an hour ago ...
Take a look - and really guys!
How, in truth, yellowmouth,
Is he single, married,
This shorn people.
But the boys are coming
Soldiers live in war
Like sometime in the twentieth
Their comrades are fathers.
That way they go harsh
As two hundred years ago
Passed with a flintlock gun
Russian worker - soldier.
Past their temples swirling.
Near their boyish eyes
Death in battle whistled often
And blowjob this time?
They lay down, rowing, sweating.
Managed with a pole
And the water roars to the right -
Under the destroyed bridge.
It's already in the middle
They are carried and circled ...
And the water roars in the gorge.
Dead ice crumbles into pieces.
Between the bent beams of the truss
Beats in foam and dust...
And the first platoon, probably,
Takes out a sixth of the earth.
Behind the noise of the duct
And around - someone else's night.
And he's already so far away
No shouting, no help...
And the jagged blackens there,
Beyond the cold line
Unavailable, unreached
Forest over black water.
Crossing, crossing!
The right bank is like a wall...
This night's trail is bloody
A wave carried into the sea.
It was like this: from the deep darkness,
Fiery Throwing Blade
Spotlight beam duct
Crossed across.
And put a pillar of water
Suddenly a projectile. Pontoons - in a row.
There were a lot of people there -
Our haircut guys...
And saw for the first time
It will not be forgotten:
people are warm and lively
Going down, down, down...
Confusion under fire
Where are your own, where is who, where is the connection?
It soon became quiet
The crossing broke
And while it is unknown
Who is timid, who is a hero,
Who is the wonderful guy
And it probably was.
Crossing, crossing...
Dark, cold. The night is like a year.
But clung to the right bank,
There was the first platoon,
And the guys are silent about him
In the combat native circle,
It's like they're guilty of something.
Who is on the left bank.
Can't see the end of the night.
For the night he took a chest
Half with ice and snow
Mixed dirt.
And, tired from the trip,
Whatever it is, it's alive
Putting his hands in the sleeves.
Dormant, crouching, infantry,
And in the forest, in the night deaf
Smells like boots, then
Frozen needles and terry.
This shore breathes sensitively
Along with those on that
Under the cliff waiting for the dawn
They warm the earth with their stomachs, -
Waiting for dawn, waiting for help
They don't want to lose heart.
The night passes, there is no way
Neither forward nor backward...
And maybe there since midnight
Powder snow in their eyes,
And for a long time
He does not melt in their eye sockets
And the pollen lies on the faces, -
The dead don't care.
Cold, they don't hear the cold,
Death after death is not terrible.
At least he still writes rations to them
First company foreman.
The foreman of the rations writes to them,
And by field mail
Don't go faster, don't go quieter
Letters old home.
What else the guys themselves
On a halt, on fire.
Somewhere in the forest they wrote
On each other's back...
From Ryazan, from Kazan,
From Siberia, from Moscow -
Soldiers sleep.
They said their
And already forever right;.
And hard as a stone, a pile.
Where are their traces?
Maybe so, or maybe a miracle?
At least some sign from there,
And trouble would be half the trouble.
Long nights, harsh dawns
In November - gray-haired winter.
Two fighters sit on patrol
Over cold water.
Either dreaming or imagining.
It seemed that the bride
Is it frost on the eyelashes,
Is there really something?
See - a small dot
Appeared in the distance
Either a chock or a barrel
Floating down the river?
- No, not a chock and not a barrel -
Just to the eye.
- Isn't he a lone swimmer?
- You're kidding, brother. Not the water!
- Yes, water... It's scary to think.
Even the fish are cold
Is it not from our yesterdays
What rose from the bottom? ..
Both calmed down at the same time.
And one soldier said:
- No, he would swim in an overcoat,
With full gear, dead man.
Both cooled down nicely.
Whatever it was, for the first time.
A sergeant came up with binoculars,
I looked closely: no, alive.
- No, live. Without a tunic
- And not Fritz? Is it not to our rear?
- No. Or maybe it's Terkin? -
- Someone timidly joked.
- Wait, guys, do not meddle.
There is no point in lowering the pontoon.
- May I try?
- What to try?
- Brothers, he!
And, at the shores of the crust
Breaking the ice
He is like him, Vasily Terkin,
He got up alive, got a swim.
Smooth, naked, as if from a bath,
He got up, staggering heavily.
Neither teeth nor lips
Neither works - reduced.
Picked up, tied up
They gave me boots from my feet.
Threatened, ordered -
You can, can't you, but run.
Under the mountain, in the staff hut,
Guy immediately on the bed
Laid out to dry
They began to rub with alcohol.
Rubbed, rubbed...
Suddenly he says, as in a dream:
Doctor, doctor, can't you
Warm up inside me.
So as not to spend everything on the skin?
Gave a stack - began to live.
Raised up in bed:
Allow me to report...
Platoon on the right bank
Alive-edor to spite the enemy!
The lieutenant is only asking
Throw a fire in there.
And after the lights
Let's get up, stretch our legs
What's there, we'll cripple -
We provide transfer...
Reported in the form, as if
Swim back to him immediately.
"Well done," said the Colonel.
Well done! Thank you brother,
And with a smile that is not timid Then the fighter says:
And is it possible to stack,
Because well done?
The colonel looked sternly,
He glanced at the fighter.
Well done, and there will be a lot -
Two at once.
So two ends...
Crossing, crossing!
The guns are firing in pitch darkness.
The fight is holy and right
Mortal combat is not for glory -
For life on earth.
ABOUT WAR
Allow me to report
Short and simple:
I am a big hunter to live
Years to ninety.
A war - forget about howling
And you have no right to blame.
Going on a long journey
The order was given: "Set aside!"
The year has come, the turn has come,
Today we are responsible
For Russia, for the people
And for everything in the world.
From Ivan to Thomas,
Dead or alive.
All of us together are us.
That people, Russia.
And because it's us.
I'll tell you, brothers.
Us from this mess
Nowhere to go.
You can’t say here: I am not me,
I do not know anything.
Can't prove that you
Today the hut is on the edge.
Your calculation is small
Think alone.
Bomb is stupid. Will fall
Foolishly straight to the point.
Forget about the war.
Remember honor, however.
Rush to the point - chest to chest,
Fight means fight.
And I won't hesitate to admit it.
I'll give my assessment
It's not like it was in the old days.
Wall to wall.
It's not like a fist:
Let's see whose hefty -
I would even say:
It's much worse...
Well, what about judging -
Everything is clear to the point.
It is necessary, brothers, to beat the German.
Give no delay.
Once the war - forget about everything
And I can't understand
Going on a long journey
The order was given: "Set aside!"
How many lived - that's the end.
Free from hassle.
And then you are that fighter.
What's good for a fight
And you will go into any fire.
Complete the task.
And look - still alive
You will be in addition.
And the hour of death will come.
So the number is out.
To rhyme something about us
They will write after us.
Let them lie at least a hundred times,
We are ready for that
If only the children, they say.
Would be healthy...
ABOUT THE AWARD
No guys, I'm not proud.
Without thinking into the distance
So I will say: why do I need an order?
I agree to a medal.
On the medal, And that's not in a hurry.
That would end the war
I would like to come on vacation
To the home side.
Will I still be alive? Hardly.
Fight here, don't guess!
But I will say about the medal:
Give it to me then.
Provide, since I am worthy.
And you must understand:
The simplest thing is
The man came from the war.
Here I come from the plustanka
To your native village council.
I came, and here is a party.
No party? Okay, no.
I'm in another collective farm and in the third
The whole area is in sight.
Somewhere I am in the village council
I'll go to the party.
And coming to the party.
Though not a proud man
I wouldn't smoke shag
And I would get "Kazbek".
And I would sit guys
Just there, my friends,
Where as a kid he hid under a hole
Your feet are bare.
And would smoke a cigarette.
I would feed everyone around.
And for any questions
I would not answer suddenly.
- How, they say, what? Anything happened.
- Is it difficult yet? - Like when.
- Many times went on the attack?
Yes, it happened sometimes.
And the girls at the party
Forget about all the guys
Only girls would listen
How the belts creak on me.
And I would joke with everyone
And there would be one among them ...
And a medal for this time
My friends, this is what I need!
A girl is waiting, at least do not torment,
Words, your gaze ...
- But, let me, in this case
Order is also nothing?
Here you are sitting at the party
And the girl is the color.
No, said Vasily Terkin
And sighed. And again: - No.
No guys. What is the order.
Without thinking into the distance
I said I'm not proud
I agree to a medal.
Terkin, Terkin, kind fellow,
What is laughter and what is sadness.
You guessed a lot, friend,
I guessed far into the distance.
There were leaves, there were buds.
The buds have become leaves again.
And does not carry letters mail
To your native Smolensk region.
Where are the girls, where are the parties?
Where is the native village council?
You know yourself, Vasily Terkin,
That there is no road.
No road, no right
Stay in your native village.
The terrible battle is bloody,
Mortal combat is not for glory.
For life on earth.<...>
"The moon is shining, the night is clear,
The cup is drunk to the bottom ... "
Terkin, Terkin, in fact,
The hour has come, the end of the war.
And it looks like it's out of date
Right now we are both with you.
And as if stunned
In the ensuing silence
I fell silent, the embarrassed singer,
Sing accustomed to the war.
There is no particular trouble in that:
The song, therefore, is finished.
Need a new song
Give it time, it will come.
I wanted to say otherwise
My reader, friend and brother,
As always, in front of you
I must be to blame.
I could have done more, but it was in a hurry.
However, cherish those
What happened, lied for a laugh,
Never lied for lies.
And, in conscience, sometimes
He himself sighed more than once, not twice,
Repeating the words of the hero,
That is, Terkin's words:
"I wouldn't say that,"
I'll save myself
I haven't played like that yet, -
I'm sorry I can't do better."
And though other things
In the years of peace with the singer
They might come out better
This Book about a fighter, -
To me she is more than all the others
The road, native to tears,
Like the son that did not grow up in the hall,
And in a time of troubles and thunderstorms ...
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 that.
What do you owe to your glory,
How and where did you help me.
Having met at the wars.
From Moscow, from Stalingrad
You are always with me
My pain, my joy
My rest and my feat!
These lines and pages
Days and a finger a special account,
Like from the western border
To your home capital
And from that native capital
Back to the western border
And from the western border
Down to the enemy capital
We made our trip.
Washed away the bitter ashes of spring
Hearths that warmed us
Who I haven't been with, who I haven't been with
For the first time, for the last time...
With whom I just was not friendly
From the first meeting near the fire.
How many souls needed me.
Without which there is no me.
How many of them are not in the world.
That they read you, poet,
Like this poor book
Many, many, many years.
And say, thinking sensibly:
What is her future glory!
What is her critic, that wise guy.
What reads without a smile.
Looking for errors,
Woe if you don't find it.
Not about that with sweet hope
I dreamed when furtively
At war, under a shaky roof.
On the roads where it was necessary
Without leaving the wheels,
In the rain, covered with a raincoat.
Ile teeth taking off the glove
In the wind, in the bitter cold.
I entered it in my notebook
Lines that lived randomly.
I dreamed of a real miracle:
So that from my invention
At war to living people
It might have been warmer
To unexpected joy
The fighter's chest warmed up,
Like from that tattered harmonica,
What will happen somewhere.
There is no sense, what could happen,
At the accordion for the soul
The entire supply, which is for two dances, -
The spread is big though.
And now, as the guns fell silent,
Let's guess.
Let us somewhere in a pub
Will remember after the third mug
With an empty sleeve soldier.
Let in some storeroom
At the kitchen porch
They will say jokingly: “Hey you, Terkin!” -
About some fighter;
Let the venerable Terkin
The general will say important
He will definitely say. -
That the medal was awarded to him:
Let the reader be probable
He will say with a book in his hand: -
- Here are the verses, and everything is clear.
All in Russian...
I would be happy, right
And - not a proud man -
For no other glory
I will never change that.
The Tale of a Memorable Year.
This book is about a fighter
I started from the middle
And ended without end
With a thought, maybe bold
Dedicate your favorite work
To the fallen sacred memory,
To all friends of the war time.
To all hearts whose judgment is dear.