Poetry describing war

Read the selected poems of Nightingale in the Great Patriotic War. We will talk about the dead later.

Death in war is unusual and serious.

But when the comrades died,

Our mouths are still breathing. We kept silent and lowered our eyes,

Dig a hole in the wetland.

The world is rough and simple. The heart is burnt.

There are only ashes left in our bodies,

The cheekbones, rough by the strong wind, are deformed. The 350th day of the war. The dawn has not shaken on the leaves,

For courage, the machine gun is ringing. ...

This is the place. He died here—

A comrade-in-arms of my machine gun company. It's no use calling a doctor,

He may not wait until dawn,

He no longer needs any help.

He's dying. And he knows that. He looked at us, silently waiting for the end.

As if still clumsily laughing.

Darkness faded from the face first,

Then his face became gloomy and turned to stone. Please stop. Just a moment, please. Stay where you are. stare blankly

Lock all the feelings.

Just then, a nightingale appeared.

It cried timidly and painfully. The louder it barks, the more passionate it becomes.

It's like he just got out of prison,

As if I forgot everything at once,

Blow out a soft song. The world is open and full of dew.

As if you could feel it,

We are surrounded by another world,

This is a new combination of many qualities. At this time, yellow sand flowed along the moat.

Reach into the water along the roots of the cliff.

Lily of the valley with upturned nose,

Look at the crater on the shore.

Wait a minute, lilac.

Purple smoke will rise.

It makes this day depressing.

It's everywhere. It's hard to cross. Another moment. A heartbreaking cry

It will make your mouth crooked,-

But please be quiet. Look: strawberries.

Blooming in the mined Yuan Ye. The apple trees in the forest are full of flowers.

The air is filled with the fragrance of lily of the valley and mint. ...

A nightingale is singing. Seems to echo this,

One is singing, and four or five are singing. Swift called. The ostrich is singing.

Right here, right here,

The dull sound of guns,

Dispel the comfort of vigilance. Fiona Fang's world roared for hundreds of miles,

As if there was no place for death,

The endless band is playing,

Nothing can stop its noise. Every leaf and root in this forest,

Have no sympathy for disasters,

They have a strong desire,

Stretch towards sunshine, life and rain and dew. This is life. Its live link,

Surging reservoir of life.

As if, at this moment,

We forgot our dead comrades. The dazzling light of the last dawn,

Just reflects this thin face.

He's dying. And he knows it,

He looked at us, silently waiting for the end. Death is absurd. Death is stupid.

Especially when he let go of his hands and said:

"Guys, write a letter to Paulia,

Said there was a nightingale singing here today. "On the 350th day of the war,

Immediately sink into the abyss of silence. He didn't live enough, he didn't love enough and he didn't drink enough.

I didn't study enough and read enough books.

I was in the same trench as him,

When he misses Polly and you. Maybe in a sandy land, in a rugged clay land,

With the blood in my throat, I would say:

"Guys, tell Irina,

Said there was a nightingale singing here today. "Letters will fly away from these places,

Fly to Moscow, fly to Zubov Hutong. Even so. Then the falling water dried up,

Not with me, but with someone else,

Beside the birch trees on the edge of the city,

You go to see the Green Reservoir. Even so. Then the baby was born,

For meritorious service, for singing, for love.

The nightingale that we hate,

Wake them up at dawn. Let the sun sprinkle heat on them,

Let the clouds flock to them.

I praise death for our lives.

We'll talk about the dead later. ( 1942)

Liu profile translation author:

Du Jin, Mikhail Aleksandrovich

( 19 16— 1993)

Russian poet in the Soviet Union. Born in a peasant family in Ivanovo province, he studied in a workers' school, then worked in the editorial department of a newspaper and studied at night school in Ivanovo Normal School. 1939- 1945 enlisted in the army, participated in the Sufen War and the Leningrad Defence War, and 1942 served as a war correspondent. He began to write poetry in 1930s, and published his first book of poetry, Shower, in 1940. The song "Departure" written by him and composed by Solovyov-Sedoi (1episode of Maxim Berezbelika in 955) won 1959 Lenin Literature and Art Award. Time (1969), a collection of poems, won the 1972 Russian Soviet Federalist State Award. The poetry collection Polar Region (1979) won the Soviet State Award 198 1. L976 was awarded the title of socialist labor hero. He was awarded the Lenin Medal. Looking at Moscow-194 1 year1October 16 days. The enemy pounced on Moscow crazily. "Moscow's defense line is located in the center of every Leningrad!" In Leningrad, people say so. An enemy cursed by the triple curse of the world.

Go deep into the heart of our motherland.

On the vast battlefield.

Every step is soaked with dripping plasma. Oh, my precious land,

My love, my life and happiness!

I come from Leningrad, which was cut off.

See the Kremlin shining. I saw a five-pointed star.

Burning, red as a note.

Through the dark and bloody air,

I looked at Lenin's mausoleum in the distance. I saw the light on the ancient city wall,

See battlements like swords.

Immortal remains of commune members

It hit my heart again. Our past, our bravery,

A tradition that we have always regarded as sacred,

Never give it to the enemy,

Let it trample on bullying! If, if the enemy succeeds,

The roaring whip danced wildly and lashed violently.

And then let future generations

Curse us all! Today, we swear to the earth,

The oath is very short.

It's time to fight to the death-

Despair. Needless to say. Give my flesh and blood,

Have a beautiful life, terrible power-

With blood, fire, steel, language,

Stop the enemy! Stop it!

(194 1 year1October l6) Brief introduction of Grain Rain translator:

Olga Fedoroff Belgo Leeds

( 19 10- 1975)

Russian poetess in the Soviet Union. Born in a doctor's family in Petrograd. 1930 graduated from Chinese Department of Leningrad University. 1924 began to publish works. During the Great Patriotic War, I was in Leningrad, which was besieged by the Germans. I worked in Leningrad Radio Station and wrote a series of poems such as song of a mother of Leningrad (194 1) and Diary of February (l942), describing the hardships and heroic will of the people of Leningrad. Other major masterpieces include the Voice of Leningrad (1946) and other poetry collections, as well as the poetic drama Loyalty (1954) and the autobiographical lyric prose collection Stars in the Day (1959), among which the long poem Belvorosisk (65438). He is the winner of Lenin Medal and Labor Red Flag Medal. Soldier. Soldiers buried underground.

It's not just something left on the ground. On the outskirts of Moscow, on the Volga River, in Poland,

In dark and opaque places

How many brave teachers rest in peace,

Even the legion. And the sky above,

Deep blue. How many brigades, how many battalions,

Even thousands of companies are asleep. Above them, the grass is green,

Walk past a row of soldiers. Where does the road ahead lead?

It's almost dawn. After so many years.

So many soldiers are buried in this land. ( 1960)

Zhang Yong's translation 2: Soldiers The soldiers underground are better than the soldiers on the ground.

Much more. Keywords Moscow suburb, Volga River, Poland,

In the dark,

The brave soldier lay quietly,

Every teacher has become an army. And heaven above,

Blue is boundless. Thousands of brigades, battalions and companies

Lie still. The ground crosses along the grass.

A platoon of soldiers. What are the prospects of the soldiers in this platoon?

The morning sun is fading. For years, underground fighters,

There are piles. Konstantin Jakovljevic Vanshenkin, Soviet Russian poet and writer. 1925 12 17 was born in an engineer's family in Moscow. His childhood was in the industrialization period of the Soviet Union, and his family lived in the central Soviet Union and Siberia Industrial Development Zone for a long time. When the Great Patriotic War broke out, Vanshenkin was a middle school student in a ten-year school. Before graduation, he joined the army and went to the front line to fight in the second and third airborne troops of the Ukrainian Army. 1Demobilized at the end of 946, when he was a sergeant in the Guard. After the war, he studied in Moscow Geological Survey for one year, then transferred to Gorky College of Literature and graduated from 1953. 1946 began to publish poetry, 195 1 published the first book of poetry, Song of the Sentinel. 1954 was elected as the director of the Soviet writers association, and 1974 was re-elected. 1985 won the state prize of the Soviet Union for his poetry collection "A Life of Man" (1983).

Vanshenkin was trained by Isakovski in his early years, and Tvardovski spoke highly of him in 1957, thinking that he is the most talented poet among contemporary poets. Fan Shenjin is one of the representatives of "frontline poets". His main works are all about his contemporaries-a generation who was born before and after the revolutionary civil war, grew up in the period of socialist industrialization and agricultural collectivization, and died in the Great Patriotic War. His poems stretch freely without carving, and have an unpretentious beauty. The monument troops climbed to the ridge.

Along the frozen,

Dead,

moist

Stone. Occupy that highland

I can't do it.

I fell down at that time. Disappear for a while, hold down the sound. In the spring, the soldiers found my body,

It is said that my country needs me again,

Or a glorious career,

Glorious duty,

I was given a great task. "I have combined with the dust under my feet!

I have become the grass on the roadside! "

"Get up! Stand up! " -

I stood up,

So the sculptor traced my outline on the stone. A twisted face when grinning,

He corrected it and smoothed it out with a meat cleaver.

I died in an ordinary way, but I was resurrected in a great way.

The past body,

Turned into a marble body. I grew into a peak,

Stand straight.

The mountains of the world,

No one is taller than me.

The steep heights I haven't been to in those years,

Now it's at my feet. overhanging cliff

Stand here in the name of stone.

hawk

Fly here in the name of the sky.

However, the highest standing is the infantry.

He symbolizes the Soviet Union. Here, I am the representative of my motherland.

Let the dark clouds roll over my cotton hat! I can have a bird's eye view from here-

The vast land liberated:

over there

I once put the duke's land

Give it to farm workers,

There, I opened the prison door,

Food was distributed to the hungry. There, the whole cliff

A few stones.

Without my blood,

I stand on the earth.

Set an example and be a lighthouse. Here it is.

I

posthumous

Location.

( 1953)

борсслуцкий was born in Donbass. 1965438. He threw a pen and joined the army, "from poetry to bullets." He served as a scout in the Soviet army and won four medals. Later, due to serious injuries, he was discharged as a second-class disabled soldier. At that time, he was listed as a major in the guards. 1953, rudsky published the first post-war poem Monument, which the poet regarded as the real beginning of his own poetry creation. The poem describes the author's deep nostalgia for his comrades-in-arms, the Soviet people's reverence for the fallen soldiers, the arduousness of the war and the victory of the just cause. Crane, sometimes I feel that countless soldiers,

Although he didn't come home from the bloody battlefield,

Or buried underground in the motherland,

But turned into flocks of flying white cranes. From the distant past to the present,

White cranes fly and fly, throwing cries at us,

Is this why we look up at the sky?

Are you often silent and sad? At dusk today,

I saw a white crane in the empty fog.

Line up neatly and fly far away,

Like a person walking slowly on the ground. The white crane travels far,

Fly, fly, shout someone's name all the way,

Is it for this, the call of the crane?

Did it only sound like the voice of Avar since ancient times? Flying over a row of tired white cranes-

That's my relative, my old friend,

There is a small gap in their ranks,

That vacancy may be reserved for me! One day, I will join this group as a white crane.

Fly into the gray-blue twilight,

Throwing birds into the air,

Tell everyone who stays underground to stop and watch. Rasul Gamzatovich Gamzatov (translated by Wang Naizhuo)

Awa poet in Dagestan, Soviet Union,1graduated from Gorky College of Literature in 954. Dagestan People's Artist (1959), Soviet Socialist Labor Hero (1974), Su party member (1944-). His father is also a famous poet. Rasul Gamzatovich Gamzatov was a representative of supreme soviet of the ussr (1962——) and a member of the presidium of the Soviet Supreme Soviet (1962- 1966, 197 1 ——). Published works 65438 to 0937. His main works are: the long poem Talking to Father (1953) and The Mountain Girl (1958); Poetry anthology The Year I was Born (1950, won the Soviet National Award 1952), Stars in the Sky (1962, won the Lenin Award 1963), People (1) Lyric novella My Dagestan (2 volumes, 1967- 197 1), etc. Gamzatov's poems describing the life of Dagestan in the Soviet Union have distinctive national color and elegant lyric style, and are good at inheriting the tradition of Caucasian folk songs.

He Qun is a requiem for the Red Army soldiers who died in the Great Patriotic War. The emotion is sincere and touching, and the artistic appeal is profound. Poetry contains the unique understanding of life and death of the oriental nation, which is open-minded, simple and philosophical.