As a creature, wait for me and I will return. Analysis of the poem. Wait for me, and I will return - Simonov. How did you teach

This poem is known to all. It is unlikely that there was another work in Soviet poetry that would receive such a massive response. During the Great Patriotic War, this poem was cut out from newspapers, copied, memorized, carried with it and shared with others. In the project - the most popular and recognizable poem of the war era “Wait for me” by Konstantin Simonov.

Wait for me

Wait for me and I will come back.
Just wait so much
Wait for sadness
Yellow rains
Wait for the snow to sweep
Wait for the heat
Wait until others are waiting
Forgetting yesterday.
Wait when from faraway places
Letters will not come
Wait, when you get tired
To everyone who is waiting together.

Wait for me and I will come back,
Do not wish well
Anyone who knows by heart
What time to forget.
Let the son and mother believe
That I am not
Let your friends get tired of waiting
Sit by the fire
Drink bitter wine
For a trace of the soul ...
Wait. And along with them
Take your time to drink.

Wait for me and I will come back,
To all deaths in spite.
Who did not wait for me, let him
Says: - Lucky.
Do not understand did not wait for them,
Like amid the fire
Waiting for his
You saved me.
How I survived, we will know
Only you and I
You just knew how to wait
Like no one else.

Historical context

During World War II, literary works were published by the front and central press, poems sounded on the radio simultaneously with reports of current military and political events, and were read from improvised scenes. Favorite poems were copied into front notebooks and memorized.

Konstantin Simonov. Photo of the war years

The poem “Vasily Terkin”, which brought fame to Alexander Twardovsky, gained immense popularity. Many writers took off creatively during the war years (Mikhail Isakovsky, Aleksey Surkov, Ilya Erenburg, Victor Nekrasov, Olga Bergholz, etc.). One of the authors, without whom literature about the war turned out to be unthinkable, was Konstantin Mikhailovich Simonov.

Author

Konstantin Simonov (1915–1979) belonged to the family of Russian princes Obolensky. His mother is Princess Alexandra Obolenskaya, his father is a general of the tsarist army who died in World War I. The stepfather, who raised Simonov and had a great influence on him, was also a military man, the hero of two wars. Since the attitude towards the nobility and officers was extremely negative at that time, Simonov had to hide his origin.

Having a craving for literature and writing, Simonov entered the Literary Institute. Gorky, after which he was soon called up to serve as a war correspondent. From the first days of the war until May 1945, he did not leave this post. Shortly before leaving for the front, Simonov decides to change his native name Cyril to Konstantin. The reason was that it was difficult for him to pronounce his own name: he did not pronounce “p” and “l”. Very soon, Konstantin Simonov gained all-Union fame as a writer. From the very first day of the war, he realized its grandiose historical significance. It is no coincidence that Simonov kept diaries almost throughout the war. 1941 was painted by him almost daily. Everyone knew that he did not sit out in the rear, that the materials that he brought from the front were evidence of an eyewitness to the events. For many military people, the writer immediately became his man, a real front-line comrade. Everyone knew that if the text was written by Simonov, then there was no lie in it.

The literary heritage of Simonov is great. He is the author of the novel The Living and the Dead trilogy, scripts, essays, and numerous poems. However, the most important poem that brought Simonov fame is “Wait for me”, which became a real poetic prayer and anthem of expectation during the war years.

Composition

Konstantin Simonov wrote his famous poem in the summer of 1941. It was dedicated to theater and film actress Valentina Serova. The poet did not want to publish this text, since he considered it very personal and read it only to his closest friends who admired him, calling them a cure for longing. However, in the fall, the poet decides to publish the poem at all costs. About the reason for this, Simonov wrote: “A few months later, when I had to be in the far north and when snowstorms and bad weather sometimes forced me to sit for days somewhere in the dugout<…>   I had to read poetry to a variety of people. And a variety of people dozens of times in the light of a smoking-room or a hand-held flashlight copied the poem “Wait for me” on a piece of paper, which, as it seemed to me, I wrote for only one person. ” He realized that thousands of people needed these lines, which sounded a call to a saving expectation.

Valentina Serova - the poet’s muse, to which he originally dedicated “Wait for me”

First, the poet wanted to publish “Wait for me” in the newspaper Krasnaya Zvezda, where he worked. However, the editor hesitated and returned the text to the author, saying, “that these verses are probably not for a military newspaper, saying that there is nothing to poison the soldier’s soul - separation is already bitter!” As a result, the poems were published in the main newspaper of the country - Pravda. However, even before publication, the poem became known to the war veterans, since it was rewritten and taught by heart.

The issue of the newspaper Pravda for 1942, where it was first published “Wait for me”

The poem has become a real poetic prayer. In the conditions of war, in these terrible 1941-1942 years, when nothing was still clear about the outcome of the war, when the hope of return was vanishingly small, this belief in saving love, because of love, was necessary for people.

The essence of Simon's prayer is concentrated in eternal Christian values \u200b\u200b- faith, love and hope. "Wait for me" was sent from the front to the rear and from the rear to the front. According to the testimony of the participants in the war, it inspired hope in those who believed that they were waiting for, and in those who were waiting.

Manuscript of a poem

For many years after the war ended, Simonov received letters from people whom his poems helped in difficult times. For women who have been waiting for their men since the war, “Wait for me” has become a true hymn to fidelity. So, one woman told the author of the poem about how every day she hoped to get news from her husband from the front: “I looked in my mailbox many times daily and whispered, like a prayer,“ wait for me, and I will return to all deaths in spite ... ”and added: "Yes, dear, I will wait, I can."

Correspondent Konstantin Simonov talks with the orderlies of a military hospital

Simonov wrote: “I remember the camp of our prisoners of war near Leipzig. What happened! Frantic screams: ours, ours! Minutes, and we were surrounded by a crowd of thousands. It is impossible to forget these faces of suffering, exhausted people. I climbed the steps of the porch. I had to say in this camp the first words that came from the homeland ... I feel my throat is dry. I can’t say a word. Slowly looking around the vast sea of \u200b\u200bpeople standing around. And finally I say. What I said - I can’t remember now. Then he read "Wait for me." He burst into tears. And everyone around is also standing and crying ... It was so. ”

Simonov read his poem to the public hundreds of times after the war. And today, "Wait for me" does not lose its strength.

Touching the three great oceans,
   She lies spreading cities
   Covered with a grid of meridians
   Invincible, wide, proud.

But at the hour when the last grenade
   Already entered in your hand
   And in a brief moment it is necessary to recall at once
   All that we have left in the distance

You do not remember a big country,
   Which you traveled and found out
   Do you remember the homeland - such
   What you saw her in childhood.

A piece of land, crouched by three birches,
   A long way for fishing line
   A creaking river
   Sandy coast with low willow.

That's where we were lucky to be born,
   Where for life, to death, we found
   That handful of land that’s good,
   To see in it the signs of the whole earth.

Yes, you can survive in heat, in a thunderstorm, in cold weather,
   Yes, you can starve and chill
   Go to death ... But these three birches
   During life, no one should be given.

1941

WAIT FOR ME

Wait for me and I will come back,
   Just really wait.
   Wait for sadness
   Yellow rains.
   Wait for the snow to sweep
   Wait for the heat.
   Wait until others are waiting
   Forgetting yesterday.
   Wait when from faraway places
   Letters will not come.
   Wait, when you get tired
   To everyone who is waiting together.

Wait for me and I will come back,
   Do not wish well
   Anyone who knows by heart
   What time to forget.
   Let the son and mother believe
   That there is no me.
   Let your friends get tired of waiting
   Sit by the fire
   Drink bitter wine
   In memory of the soul -
   Wait, and with them
   Take your time to drink.

Wait for me and I will come back
   To all deaths in spite.
   Who did not wait for me, let him
   Says: "Lucky."
Do not understand, did not wait, them,
   Like amid the fire
   Waiting for his
   You saved me.
   How I survived - we will know
   Only you and me.
   You just knew how to wait
   Like no one else.

DO YOU REMEMBER Alyosha, the roads of Smolensk
   A. Surkov

Do you remember, Alyosha, the roads of the Smolensk region,
   As the endless, evil rains
   How the kinks brought us tired women
   Pressing, like children, from their rain to his chest,

Like tears they wiped stealthily
   As they whispered after us: - Lord save you! -
   And again they called themselves soldiers
   As the old times were led in great Russia.

Tears measured more often than miles
   There was a tract, hiding from the eyes on the hillocks:
   Villages, villages, villages with graveyards,
   As if all of Russia came together on them,

As if for every Russian outskirts,
   With the cross of their hands protecting the living,
   Converging with the whole world, our great-grandfathers pray
   For in God do not believe their grandchildren.

You know, probably, nevertheless, the Motherland -
   Not the city house where I lived festively,
   And these lanes that grandfathers passed,
   With simple crosses of their Russian graves.

I don’t know how you are, but me with the village
   Longing from village to village,
   With a widow's tear and a woman’s song
   For the first time, the war on the lanes reduced.

Do you remember, Alyosha: a hut near Borisov,
   Dead crying girl scream
   A gray-haired old woman in a plaid paddle,
   All dressed in white, dressed as death, an old man.

Well what can they say, how could we console them?
   But, understanding the grief of his womanish instinct,
   Do you remember, the old woman said: - Dear,
   As you go, we will wait for you.

   "We will wait for you!" - they told us pasture.
   "We will wait for you!" - said the forest.
   You know, Alyosha, it seems to me at night
   That they are followed by voices.

According to Russian customs, only conflagration
   On Russian soil scattering behind
   Before our eyes, comrades were dying,
   In Russian, a shirt torn on his chest.

The bullets with you still have mercy on us.
   But, believing three times that life is already whole,
   Still, I was proud of the cutest,
   For the bitter land where I was born

Because I was bequeathed to die on it,
   That the Russian mother gave birth to us,
   What, in the battle escorting us, a Russian woman
   In Russian, she hugged me three times.

* * *

The major brought the boy on a gun carriage.
   Mother died. The son did not say goodbye to her.
   For ten years in this and this world
   He will be counted for these ten days.

He was taken from the fortress, from Brest.
   It was scratched by carriage bullets.
   It seemed to father that the place was safer
   From now on, there is no child in the world.

Father was injured and a gun was broken.
   Tied to a shield so that it doesn't fall
   Clutching a sleeping toy to his chest,
The gray-haired boy was sleeping on a gun carriage.

We went to meet him from Russia.
   Waking up, he waved a hand to the troops ...
   You say there are others
   That I was there and I have to go home ...

You know this grief firsthand
   But it broke our hearts.
   Who once saw this boy
   Will not be able to come home to the end.

I have to see with the same eyes
   That I cried in the dust
   How that boy will come back with us
   And he will kiss a handful of his land.

For everything that we dear to you,
   Military law called us to battle.
   Now my house is not where we used to live,
   And where he was taken from the boy.

BLIND

On the types of seen harmony,
   Sifting through a hoarse system,
   The blind man played in a strange carriage
   "Along the Paved Road."

Blinded near Molodechno
   On that one, on that war,
   From the infirmary, he is crippled
   Went, squinting, around the country.

Russia itself laid
   Harmony next to him in oblivion
   And in possession gave
   The roads are long.

He walked, accustomed to mutilation,
   Tears streamed down his face.
   Curved road,
   Forever given to the blind man.

All Russian people kept
   Him so that he is unharmed
   His peasants drove
   And the women cried over him.

Hard Carrier Conductors
   They drove him through Siberia.
   Dried stripes from tears
   Along his black cheeks lay.

He is blind, who cares
   To the sorrows of his strangers?
   But his accordion sang
   And someone first suddenly fell silent.

And immediately to the hearts of men
   The sadness that drives you crazy
   Lay down, as if suddenly Russia
   She took their hands herself.

And led to these sounds
   Where ash and ash
   Where women break their hands
   And someone beats the bells.

In the villages and ashes,
   Among the bent shadows.
   "What are you looking for?" - "We are looking
   Your children, your children ... "

On the poor, extinct plains
   By the yellow wolf lights
   On smoky glows, on long
   Steppe snowless wastelands,

Where with a bayonet in her chest open
   In the open field, in rakit,
   Not washed by my native hand,
   The son of a Russian mother lies.

Where, if there is revenge in the world,
   We are on the way here and there
   Unburied children
   Red cloves sprout

Where you can't prophesy anything
   Blacker than what was there ...
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
   "Wait, harmonist! What do you want?
   Why are you on the heels?

Own wounded body
   Already I carried fire attacks.
   Did Russia tell you to sing?
   I won’t cheat on her like that.

Tell her about me: won't
   Soldier rest in vain
   As soon as the wounds heal a bit,
   The soldier will go to battle again.

Tell her: not looking for peace
   A soldier will pass his way of the cross.
   Well, and play some more,
   So that I can rest my heart ... "
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Blind frets fingering
   He is again only old and blind.
   And the wounded tear erases
   And cuts his bread in half.

HOW DO YOU LEARN

There are no words to convey
   All the intolerance of pain and sorrow
   There are no words to tell them
   How we grieve for you, comrade Stalin!

Grieving the people that you have left us,
   The earth itself grieves from grief all gray-haired,
   And all we will meet this difficult hour,
   As you have taught, you are tireless.

Whatever happens to us - in labor or in battles -
   In Stalin's way - deeds, not words,
   Friends of pride and enemies of fear
   We will prove how we are brought up by you!

Connecting harder to fight
   We will work without sparing efforts
   And not afraid of anything in the world,
   As Lenin taught us, as you taught.

We will not bow our heads
   No wonder you led us to victory.
   We will be fearless, as you taught
   Calm and firm, as you taught.

And our iron Stalin’s Tseka,
   To whom you entrusted the people
   To the victory of Communism forever
   We will be led forward - as you taught!