Barbarism-moussa jalil. Kalmyk schoolgirl became an Internet star by reading "Barbarism" by a Tatar poet

I don’t know if the moderators will allow me to leave this verse of Moussa Jalil ... Why am I typing it here? ... Answer: There are many of us ... both Pros and how I simply lay out our pain or joy in verse. Like you, I loved and love: Blok, Pushkin, Yesenin, Lermantov, Mayakovsky and others .... But this verse left a mark on the rest of my life even in my childhood. And it happened like this .. Even as a child, I "wrote" poetry ... and read in the pioneer camp from the stage. And one day before my exit (I don’t know how it happened, but we were confused in places. I was supposed to go out first), then I had to speak with the verse "The Prince and the Pauper" and then my own-childish about some flowers .. already and I don't remember..But!!! I was getting ready to go out and came up waiting for the exit line and ... and I heard THIS from the stage ..... I heard ... then I went on stage ... and began to read (At the gates of the monastery the saint stood asking for alms ....) words got stuck in my throat...tears flowed....and...I left the stage....for many years I was silent...I was silent not even in poetry...but just from people...reading and just absorbing the literature about the war ... and not only our authors ... I read Velhelm .. Velenberg about them German troops and the army ... for me the Second World War became something meaningful ... as a believing church ... and many years later, when the pain overwhelmed me, I again took a pencil and at night threw the pain out of myself ... I really want to give you a read. .. if you have never read this ..... Regards!

Barbarism Mussa Jalil.

They drove the mothers with the children
And forced to dig holes
And themselves, they stood, a bunch of savages,
And they laughed in hoarse voices.

Lined up at the edge of the abyss
Powerless women, thin guys.
The drunk major came
And with gloomy eyes he looked at the doomed ...

Muddy rain roared
In the foliage of neighboring groves,
And in the fields, dressed in mist,
And the clouds descended over the earth

Chasing each other with rage
NO! I will not forget this day.
I will never forget forever.
I saw rivers crying like children.

How furious mother earth sobbed
I saw with my own eyes,
Like the mournful sun, washed with tears,
Through the clouds fell on the fields,

The last time the children were kissed
Last time...
Noisy nearby forest.
It seemed that now he was mad,

Its foliage raged angrily.
The darkness thickened around
I saw a powerful oak fell suddenly.
He fell, with a heavy sigh,

The children were suddenly frightened
Cling to the Mothers, clinging to the skirts,
And there was a sharp sound of a shot.
Breaking the curse

What escaped from a woman alone.
Sick little boy
He hid his head in the folds of the dress
Not yet an old woman

She looked full of horror
How not to lose her mind?
I understood everything, the little one understood everything.
"Hide Mommy, don't die"

He cries like a leaf
Can't stop shivering.
Child, what is dearest to her.
Bending down, raised the child Mother

Pressed to the heart, against the muzzle directly.
"I, Mama; I want to live, I don't have to, Mama.
Let me go, let me go, what are you waiting for?"
And the child wants to escape from the hands

Close your eyes but don't hide your head
So that the executioner does not bury you alive.
Be patient son, be patient.
It won't hurt now...

And he closed his eyes and reddened the blood on his neck
Wriggling with a thin ribbon
Two lives fall to the ground, merging,
Two lives and one love.

Thunder struck, the wind whistled in the clouds,
The earth wept in deaf anguish.
And how many tears are hot and combustible
My land, tell me what's wrong with you?

You often saw human grief,
But have you ever experienced
Such a shame and such barbarism.
My land, enemies are destroying you,

But take it higher great truth banner
Wash his lands with bloody tears
And let the rays pierce it
Let them destroy mercilessly

Those barbarians, those savages,
That the blood of children is swallowed greedily
The blood of our Mothers.

Musa Jalil 1906-1944 was born in the small Tatar village of Mustafino. When the war began, Jalil was sent to Volkhov Front Correspondent of the army newspaper "Courage". In the summer of 1942, the Nazis managed to surround the second shock army, in the ranks of which Jalil fought, and cut it off from the main forces of the Soviet troops.

For more than two months, the fighters were surrounded by fierce battles with fascist german invaders. Food ran out, there were not enough shells and cartridges. But no one thought to surrender to the Nazis.

At the end of June, our fighters made an attempt to break out of the enemy ring. At night they paved a road of fallen trees through the swamp and in the morning went on the last assault. Some managed to slip through, and Musa Jalil was seriously wounded by a fragment of an enemy mine, lost consciousness and remained among the Volkhov swamps. So he fell into the clutches of the enemy.

The Nazis brutally treated prisoners of war, beat them, starved them, and for the slightest offense they shot them on the spot. But Jalil did not submit. He wrote poems that called for the fight against the hated enemy, instilled in people courage, faith in victory.

Soon behind enemy lines arose underground organization headed by Musa Jalil. The underground organized escapes from the camps, printed and distributed anti-fascist leaflets among the prisoners of war. " soviet man and in captivity should not surrender to the Nazis, ”musa Jalil told his comrades.

When the underground organization was discovered, the Nazis tortured Jalil and demanded that he betray his comrades. Having achieved nothing, they locked him in a stone bag - a damp and cold cell in the Moabit prison in Berlin.

But even here, waiting death penalty the poet continued to write. In prison, Jalil wrote his best poems - "Mountain River", "Oak", "Flowers" and others. He wrote them down in a small homemade notebook, which he hid from the guards. This notebook was brought to freedom by Jalil's cellmate, the Belgian patriot Andre Timmermane.

For his feat, Musa Jalil was posthumously awarded the title of Hero Soviet Union. And the immortal cycle of his poems "The Moabite Notebook" was awarded the Lenin Prize.

Many of his poems make you cry, for example Barbarism, Stockings, Red Daisy, they are often learned for the reading contest poems about the Great Patriotic War.

Musa Jalil - poems about the war for schoolchildren

Farewell, my smart girl,
Mourn me.
I'll cross the street
I'll be at war.

If the bullet gets
Then - no time to meet.
Well, the song will remain -
Try to save...

red chamomile

The beam illuminated the meadow
And daisies woke up:
Smiled, stretched
They looked at each other.

The wind caressed them
petals fluttered,
Their dawn washed clean
Fresh fragrant dew.

So they swing
They enjoy.
Suddenly the daisies started
Everyone turned to their friend.

This girl was
Not like all flowers is white:
All daisies, like daisies,
They wear white shirts.

Everything is like snow, she is alone,
It was red like blood.
The whole glade crowded to her: -
Why did you change?

Where did you get this color?
And the girlfriend answered them:
- Here's what happened.
At night, the battle was in full swing here,

And shoulder to shoulder with me
Here lay the fighter-hero.
He began to fight with enemies,
He is alone, and there are fifteen of them.

He beat them, did not retreat,
He was wounded only in the morning.
Blood flowed from the wound
I bathed in his blood.

He's gone, he's not here
Me alone to meet the dawn.
And now, grieving for him,
Like Chulpan-star I burn.

Barbarism

Musa Jalil

They drove the mothers with the children
And they forced to dig a hole, and they themselves
They stood, a bunch of savages,
And they laughed in hoarse voices.
Lined up at the edge of the abyss
Powerless women, thin guys.
Came drunk major and copper eyes
He cast over the doomed ... Muddy rain
Buzzed in the foliage of neighboring groves
And in the fields, dressed in mist,
And the clouds fell over the earth
Chasing each other with rage...
No, I won't forget this day
I will never forget, forever!
I saw rivers crying like children,
And mother earth wept in rage.
I saw with my own eyes,
Like the mournful sun, washed with tears,
Through the cloud went out to the fields,
Kissed the children for the last time
Last time…
Noisy autumn forest. It seemed like now
He went crazy. raged angrily
Its foliage. Darkness thickened around.
I heard: a powerful oak fell suddenly,
He fell, letting out a heavy sigh.
The children were suddenly frightened,
They clung to their mothers, clinging to the skirts.
And a sharp sound was heard from the shot,
Breaking the curse
What escaped from a woman alone.
Child, sick little boy,
He hid his head in the folds of the dress
Not yet an old woman. She is
I looked full of horror.
How not to lose her mind!
I understood everything, the little one understood everything.
- Hide, mommy, me! Do not die! -
He cries and, like a leaf, cannot hold back the trembling.
Child, which is dearest to her,
Bending down, she raised her mother with both hands,
Pressed to the heart, against the barrel straight ...
- I, mother, want to live. Don't, mom!
Let me go, let me go! What are you waiting for? -
And the child wants to escape from the hands,
And the cry is terrible, and the voice is thin,
And it pierces the heart like a knife.
- Do not be afraid, my boy. Now you breathe
at ease.
Close your eyes but don't hide your head
So that the executioner does not bury you alive.
Be patient, son, be patient. It won't hurt now.-
And he closed his eyes. And reddened the blood
On the neck with a red ribbon wriggling.
Two lives fall to the ground, merging,
Two lives and one love!
Thunder boomed. The wind whistled through the clouds.
The earth wept in deaf anguish,
Oh, how many tears, hot and combustible!
My land, tell me what's wrong with you?
You often saw human grief,
You bloomed for us for millions of years,
But have you ever experienced
Such a shame and barbarism?
My country, enemies threaten you,
But raise the banner of great truth higher,
Wash his lands with bloody tears,
And let its rays pierce
Let them destroy mercilessly
Those barbarians, those savages,
That the blood of children is swallowed greedily,
The blood of our mothers...

stockings

They were shot at dawn
When the darkness was still white.
There were women and children
And this girl was.

First they were told to undress
And then stand with your back to the moat,
But suddenly a child's voice sounded
Naive, pure and lively:

Should I take off my stockings too, uncle?
Not judging, not scolding
Looking straight into your soul
A three year old girl's eyes.

"Stockings too" - and for a moment the SS man is engulfed in confusion
The hand of itself with excitement suddenly lowers the machine gun.
He seems to be shackled by a blue gaze, and it seems he has grown into the ground,
Eyes like my daughter's? - uttered in great confusion

He is involuntarily trembling,
I woke up in horror.
No, he can't kill her
But he gave his turn in a hurry.

A girl in stockings fell ...
I couldn't take it off, I couldn't.
Soldier, soldier, what if my daughter
Here, this is how yours lay down ...

'Cause it's a little heart
Pierced by your bullet...
You are a Man, not just a German
Or are you a beast among people...

Chagall SS man sullenly
From the ground without looking up,
for the first time this thought
It lit up in the poisoned brain.

And everywhere the look flows blue,
And everywhere you hear again
And will not be forgotten until now:
Stockings, uncle, take off too?

In memory of a friend

Musa Jalil

You went into the outfit, and immediately it became
Somehow very sad without you.
Well, will you be so sad about a friend,
When will it be my turn?

We've been through so much together
Bound by friendship frontline!
Until the end, we would not be separated,
Until the end we would go with you!

And when we return with a victory
In our native city - me and you,
How much joy and affection awaits us,
How they will meet us!.. Oh, dreams, dreams!

We were between life and death
So many days!.. And how many days ahead?!
Will we remember the past?
Will we fall with a bullet in our chest?

If, having served your homeland,
I will sleep forever in the grave,
Will you be sad about the poet-friend,
Wandering the Kazan streets?

Our friendship was sealed with blood and fire.
That's why she's so strong!
We'll stand up for each other to the death
If we are destined to part.

The fatherland looks at its soldiers,
Like fire they crush with fire...
We swore a military oath,
That we will come back with victory.

About heroism

I know that there is your song in the song, horseman,
Flame and love for the native country.
But the fighter is not famous for the song:
What, tell me, did you do in the war?

Did you stand up for your Motherland
At the hour when the great battle blazed?
The brave are always recognized in battle,
A hero is tested in grief.

The fight requires courage, horseman,
Whoever is brave goes into battle with hope.
With courage, freedom is like granite,
He who does not know courage is a slave.

Do not be saved by prayer if the enemy
We will be taken into the iron captivity of shackles.
But do not be fetters on the hands,
Saber striking enemies.

If life passes without a saddle,
In meanness, but in captivity - what an honor?
Only in the freedom of life is beauty!
Only in a brave heart is eternity!

If your blood was shed for the Motherland,
You will not die among the people, zhigit.
The blood of a traitor flows into the dirt,
The blood of the brave burns in the hearts.

Dying, the hero will not die -
Courage will last forever.
Glorify your name with struggle,
So that it is not silent on the lips!

The oath

Falcon heart
sings an oath
Oath by heart
Gives a horseman.
saddles a horse,
Stands in stirrups
sparks are falling
From under the hooves.

where he flew
On the right horse
Tanks and guns
Smoked in the fire.
Dzhigit death
Not afraid in battle
Where did he take
This strength of yours?

Stronger than a sword
And bring back the horse
Dzhigit's oath,
What is given by the heart.
Just with all my heart
He loved the people.
Just two vows
Jigit does not give!

Song about the brave horseman

Rushed brave horseman
On a bay horse.
In the open field
He clashed with the enemy army,
But without a rider a horse
Ride in silence
In my native village
But the dzhigit did not return.

He died in the open field
In an unequal battle
And stained with blood
The grass is young.
But the shot through banner
He, as his oath,
To my younger brothers
Bequeathed, dying.

Above the grave
The immortal banner burns...
In every house you
Remember with love
Lives in every heart
Your name, dzhigit,
And the country bowed
To your head.

Flowers

To the meadows, to the meadows, to the meadows, kids!
Let from your laughter, and singing, and din
Tired kind mothers will smile.
And it's time for you to forget about sadness ...

There are flowers! Through meadows and fields
Flowers fled, running into the ravines.
There are daffodils, carnations, there are scarlet poppies -
How similar they are to the smiles of children!

This wind is flowing - listen, freeze!
Take a closer look - how much generosity in the sunlight
Flowers are dancing in colorful hats - these are children,
Children of the affectionate mother - Our Earth.

Here once lay the shadow of an evil crow,
Here once the war, like a thunderstorm, rumbled.
How many brave fighters did not get up from the battlefield,
How many nights were burning around the villages!

In those years, in those explosive years of ours,
We went into battle for the Motherland through storms and thunderstorms.
And someone's bitter tears remained in the meadows,
And our blood remained in the ground forever.

These tears and blood watered the sprout,
That over the Motherland flashed a victorious salute,
And spring blossomed, shone, and people
The earth gave her spring flower.

He hatched where the shell hit,
Where the wound blackened in the snow-covered field.
Too heart of the earth trembled with pain -
That's why the flowers in a quiet field burn.

Gather wild flowers, kids!
How beautiful they are, how fresh and radiant!
Let's bring them to the immortal soldiers of the Motherland.
Now the golden time has come.

But everyone's heart is touched by war.
You, who have recognized our adult sorrows,
Do not forget: about you, we remembered you,
At the last hour, the whole globe hugging the earth.

Flowers smell of peace. They smell of happiness.
And burrowing his face into large bouquets,
You inhale all the smells of our victory!
You live in such happy days!

You yourself are flowers among the fields and forests.
You yourself are the flowers of our dear Motherland.
In every vein they knock with the same former force
Drops of spilled blood of dead fathers.

Children, my dear tomboys,
How can you not love, how can you not marvel:
Looking into your dear and clear faces,
Your fathers have seen the coming day.

So bloom, flowers! The trouble has passed.
And someday people will forget bad weather;
In that last war we fought for happiness
And now we give it to you forever!

Poems for the competition of readers that are impossible to listen to without tears - video

Barbarism

red chamomile

They drove the mothers with the children

And they forced to dig a hole, and they themselves

They stood, a bunch of savages,

Listen without tears, like 8-year-old Dina Kiriyenko in military uniform with seeming calmness reads the most famous poem Tatar poet- the hero of Musa Jalil "Barbarism" from the famous "Moabit Notebook" is impossible.

STUDY AND CRY

Cossack class student high school No. 20 of the Kalmyk city of Elista learned the work of a Tatar poet for a week. Line by line, weeping over each one. And not because "my mother forced me." No, Dina enthusiastically took up learning the poem. It’s just that the kids that Jalil wrote about, she was very sorry.

All this time, the neighbors patiently listened as mother and daughter recited in turn: “I understood everything, the little one understood everything. “Hide, mommy, me! Do not die!" He cries and, like a leaf, cannot hold back the trembling ... "

Dina reads poetry about the war for the first time. Of course, for an eight-year-old child in this poem, not everything was clear. I explain to her first. More often in faces, because the child perceives it easier, and then I recite quite loudly with the intonation and power of the voice with which I see this poem myself, - told " KP" the mother of the reader girl Natalya Shironosova. She taught "barbarism" with her daughter everywhere, even in the kitchen, while preparing the next dinner.

It took a couple more days for video recording: we were waiting for clear sunny weather, so that it would be easier to edit afterwards.

POEMS FROM CHILDHOOD

To the question of Komsomolskaya Pravda: “Why did you choose the poems of Musa Jalil? Where is Tatarstan and where is Kalmykia?! It seems not your poet, ”mom does not think for a second about the answer:

It's a Soviet library! Who did not know these verses then? I have known them since childhood. I don’t remember that we taught them at school, - says Natalya and adds that she herself has read a lot since then, and books about the war were her favorite. - I read them with great interest. My grandfather is a participant in the Great Patriotic War. But he did not particularly like to talk about that time, and I asked.

In memory of her grandfather and all those who died during the war, Natalya and her daughter decided to write down a poem by Musa Jalil and dedicate it to the 71st anniversary of the Great Victory.

They chose a work, learned it. We came up with an idea how to present it to the viewer. We found suitable old photos of the war years for the video sequence, but there were no problems with the uniform - it was once sewn to the whole class. After all, he is a Cossack.

The video currently has over a thousand views. Dina and her mother, inspired by the first experience, decided to learn and write down another poem by Musa Jalil. Which one is still a secret. But there is no doubt that it will be just as penetrating.

He has a lot of poems, from which the hair on his head moves, - adds Natalya.

THE BEST POEM ABOUT THE WAR. #To tears. Musa Jalil's poem "Barbarism" is read by Dina Kiriyenko. Dedicated to the 71st anniversary of the Great Victory. They drove the #mothers with the children And forced them to dig a hole, while They themselves stood, a bunch of savages, And laughed in hoarse voices. At the edge of the abyss they lined up Powerless women, thin guys. The #drunk #major came and with copper eyes He looked over the #doomed.. . Muddy rain Buzzed in the foliage of neighboring groves And in the fields, dressed in mist, And the clouds descended over the earth, Chasing each other with rage.. . No, I will not forget this day, I will never forget, forever! I saw rivers weeping like children, And mother earth weeping in rage. With my own eyes I saw How the mournful sun, washed with tears, Came through the clouds to the fields, Kissed the children for the last time, For the last time... Noisy autumn forest. He seemed to be mad now. Its foliage raged angrily. Darkness thickened around. I heard: a powerful oak fell suddenly, He fell, uttering a heavy sigh. #Children were suddenly seized with fear, - They clung to their mothers, clinging to the hem. And there was a sharp sound of a shot, Breaking the curse, What escaped from a woman alone. A child, a sick little boy, Hid his head in the folds of a dress Not yet an old woman. She looked, full of horror. How not to lose her mind! I understood everything, the little one understood everything. - Hide me, mommy! Do not die! “He is crying and, like a leaf, cannot restrain his trembling. The child, which is dearest to her, Bending down, raised her mother with both hands, Pressed her to her heart, against the muzzle straight ... - I, mother, want to live. Don't, mom! Let me go, let me go! What are you waiting for? - And the child wants to escape from the hands, And the crying is terrible, and the voice is thin, And it pierces the heart like a knife. “Don't be afraid, my boy. Now you can take a breath. Close your eyes, but do not hide your head, so that the executioner does not bury you alive. Be patient, son, be patient. Now it won't hurt. And he closed his eyes. And the blood turned red, Curling along the neck like a red ribbon. Two lives fall to the ground, merging, Two lives and one love! Thunder boomed. The wind whistled through the clouds. The earth wept in deaf anguish, Oh, how many tears, hot and combustible! My land, tell me what's wrong with you? You often saw human grief, You bloomed for us for millions of years, But have you experienced at least once Such a shame and such barbarity? My country, enemies threaten you, But raise the banner of great truth higher, Wash its lands with bloody tears, And let its rays pierce, Let them destroy mercilessly Those barbarians, those savages, Who greedily swallow the blood of children, The blood of our #mothers.. .

HELP "KP"

Musa Zalilov (Jalil is the pseudonym of the poet - Ed.). He left Kazan for the front in the first days of the Great Patriotic War. By this time he would famous poet. But the most famous were his 112 poems written in the storm of Moabit.

He got there wounded in June 1942. He created a resistance group there and even prepared, together with other prisoners, an escape from the concentration camp. Executed in 1944.

The poet was 38 years old. Only in 1956 he was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. Miraculously, two notebooks were preserved, the size of a child's palm, where Jalil wrote down his poems. They are called "Moabite Notebooks".