The fighter's eyes are filled with tears. Thematic sections

"Bandages" Julia Drunina

The fighter's eyes are filled with tears
He lies spring-loaded and white,
And I must adhered bandages

In one move - so we were taught.
With one movement - only this is pity ...
But meeting the gaze of terrible eyes,
I did not dare to move.
For the bandage I generously lila peroxide,
Trying to soak it without pain.
And the paramedic became evil
And she repeated: “Woe to me with you!
So to stand on ceremony with everyone is a disaster.
And you just add torment to him. "
But the wounded were always marked
Fall into my slow hands.

No need to tear the adhered bandages
When they can be removed with almost no pain.
I understood this, you will understand too ...
What a pity that the science of kindness
You can't learn from books at school!

Analysis of Drunina's poem "Bandages"

Julia Drunina (1924 - 1991) is a Soviet poet, known to most readers for her emotional poems about the war. Yulia Vladimirovna knew well what it was, because she herself went through the Great Patriotic War as a simple nurse. Therefore, her works are filled with real sincere feelings, which cannot but evoke a response from everyone who turns to them.

One of such works is the poem "Bandages". It was written after the end of hostilities, and it is not at all about the war. It is about compassion, kindness and humanity, the main values, according to the author.

The poem is biographical. Compositionally, it is divided into two parts. The lyrical heroine, on whose behalf the narration is being conducted, like Julia Drunina herself in the past, works in a hospital. Its task is to bandage wounded soldiers, and do it quickly, economically using medical supplies. But a sympathetic and compassionate girl cannot follow the rules, because according to them, she must tear off the bandage with a sharp movement if it has dried to the wound.

The heroine sees her patients tense up as she prepares to rip off the bandages. The poetess eloquently describes this state: "He lies, spring-loaded and white ..."

Her heart cannot endure the sight of tears coming out in the eyes of men, who are so tortured by the difficult conditions of war, hunger, and wounds. The heroine does not want to make them suffer even here, in the hospital, where they should be helped, not tortured. Therefore, she carefully soaks dried bandages with peroxide, which causes disapproval of senior doctors. But, despite this, she continues to do just that, because she notes that "the wounded were always aimed to fall into my slow hands."

The first part of the poem makes a heavy impression. It consists of four quatrains, in which negatively colored words and epithets are often found - "trouble", "grief", "terrible eyes", "pain", "evil". The poet intensifies the tension with refrains:
Tear it off with one bold movement.
In one move - so we were taught.
With one movement - only this is pity ...

The second part sounds softer. It contains only five lines, which contain the main words - "kindness", "without pain." The author personally addresses the reader, which creates an emotional contact.

The poetess concludes that even in the terrible conditions of war, it is necessary to remain kind and sympathetic. The thought that helping a person in difficult situation it is necessary so as not to cause him even greater suffering, is very important and applicable not only for the harsh wartime.

Julia Drunina was born on May 10, 1924 in Moscow. Father is a historian and teacher, mother is a librarian and musician. Poems Julia began to write poetry. After the start of the Great Patriotic War, at the age of seventeen, Yulia Drunina enrolled in a voluntary sanitary squad at the ROKK (Regional Society of the Red Cross), worked as a nurse in an eye hospital. Graduated from nursing courses. In the late summer of 1941, as the Germans approached Moscow, she worked on the construction of defensive structures near Mozhaisk. There, during one of the air raids, she got lost, lagged behind her squad, and was picked up by a group of infantrymen who really needed a nurse. Together with them, Yulia Drunina was surrounded and for 13 days made her way to her rear of the enemy.
Once again in Moscow in the fall of 1941, Yulia Drunina was soon evacuated to Siberia together with the school in which her father was the director. She did not want to go to evacuation and agreed to leave only because of her severely ill father. The father died in early 1942 in the arms of his daughter. Having buried her father, Julia left for Khabarovsk, where she became a cadet at the School of Junior Aviation Specialists (SHMAS). However, there was no prospect of being at the front after graduating from this school, and she received a referral to the sanitary administration of the 2nd Belorussian Front. Upon arrival at the front, Julia Drunina was assigned to the 667th rifle regiment 218th rifle division... In 1943, Drunina was seriously wounded - a shell fragment entered the neck on the left and got stuck just a couple of millimeters from the carotid artery. Unaware of the seriousness of the injury, she simply wrapped bandages around her neck and continued to work to save others. I hid it until it got really bad. I woke up already in the hospital and there I learned that I was on the verge of death. In the hospital, in 1943, she wrote her first poem about the war, which was included in all anthologies of military poetry:
I've only seen hand-to-hand combat once
Once in reality. And a thousand - in a dream.
Who says that war is not scary
He knows nothing about the war.
After recovering, Julia returned to the front. She ended up in the 1038th Self-Propelled Artillery Regiment of the 3rd Baltic Front. She fought in the Pskov region, then in the Baltics. In one of the battles she was shell-shocked and on November 21, 1944 was declared unfit to carry military service... She graduated from the war with the rank of foreman of the medical service. For military distinction she was awarded the Order of the Red Star and the Medal For Courage.
In December 1944, Julia Drunina returned to Moscow. Enters the Literary Institute.
At the beginning of 1945, a collection of poems by Yulia Drunina was published in the Znamya magazine, and in 1948 - in a soldier's greatcoat. In March 1947, Drunina took part in the First All-Union Meeting of Young Writers, was admitted to the Writers' Union, which supported her financially and made it possible to continue her creative activity. In 1948, the first book of poems by Yulia Drunina "In a soldier's greatcoat" was published.
In subsequent years, collections were published one after another: in 1955 - the collection "A Conversation with the Heart", in 1958 - "Wind from the Front", in 1960 - "Contemporaries", in 1963 - "Anxiety" and other collections. In the 1970s, collections were published: "In Two Dimensions", "I am not from childhood", "Trench Star", "There is no unhappy love" and others. In 1980 - "Indian Summer", in 1983 - "The Sun - for the Summer". Among the few prose works of Drunina - the story "Aliska" (1973), the autobiographical story "From those heights ..." (1979), journalism.
In 1967, Drunina visited Germany, West Berlin. During a trip to Germany, she was asked: “How did you manage to maintain tenderness and femininity after participating in such brutal war? " She replied: "For us, the whole point of the war against fascism is precisely in protecting this femininity, calm motherhood, the well-being of children, peace for a new person."
Julia Drunina tragically passed away, committing suicide on November 21, 1991.

* * *

I sometimes feel connected

Between those who are alive

And who was taken away by the war.

And although the five-year plans are running

In a hurry

This connection is getting closer,

This bond is becoming stronger and stronger.

I am connected.

Let the roar of the battle verse:

Report from the battle

My verse remained -

From the cauldrons of the surroundings

Chasm of defeat

And from the great bridgeheads

Victory battles.

I am connected.

I wander in the partisan forest

From the living

I carry a report to the dead:

"No, nothing is forgotten,

No, nobody is forgotten

Even the one

Who lies in an unknown grave. "

* * *

And where

Suddenly forces are taken

At the hour when

Is it black in your soul? ..

If i

Was not a daughter of Russia

I would have dropped my hands long ago

Lowered her hands

Forty-first.

Do you remember?

Defensive ditches

Like exposed nerves

Laughed about Moscow.

Funeral,

Wounds,

Ashes ...

Memory,

Soul to me

Do not tear with war,

Only time

I don't know cleaner

And sharper

To the homeland of love.

Only love

Gave people strength

In the midst of a roaring fire

If i

I didn't believe in Russia

Then she

I would not believe in me.

MARGIN OF SAFETY

I still don't quite understand

How am I, thin and small,

Through the fires to the victorious May

In kirzachs stopudovyh reached.

And where did so much power come from

Even in the weakest of us? ..

What to guess! - Was and is in Russia

Eternal strength is an eternal supply.

BANDAGES

The fighter's eyes are filled with tears

He lies, spring-loaded and white,

And I must adhered bandages

Tear it off with one bold movement.

In one move - so we were taught.

With one movement - only this is pity ...

But meeting the gaze of terrible eyes,

I did not dare to move.

For the bandage I generously lila peroxide,

Trying to soak it off without pain.

And the paramedic became evil

And she repeated: "Woe to me with you!

To stand on ceremony with everyone is a disaster.

And you only add torment to him. "

But the wounded were always marked

Fall into my slow hands.

No need to tear the adhered bandages

When they can be removed with almost no pain.

I understood it, you will understand too ...

What a pity that the science of kindness

You can't learn from books at school!

WILL YOU COME BACK

Mashenka, a signalman, was dying

In the hands of my helpless ones.

And in the trench it smelled of melted snow,

And the raid is an artillery verse.

There was no wagon from the sanrota,

Our paramedic called someone's mother.

Oh epaulet crumpled stripes

On thin girlish shoulders!

And the face is dear, wax,

Under the turban of a wet bandage! ..

A shell hissed over my head,

A black pillar shot up against the bush ...

The girl in the greatcoat was leaving

From the war, from life, from me.

Digging a grave in silence again

Lumps frozen ringing ...

Wait for me a little, Masha!

I, too, will hardly survive ...

Then I swore by our friendship:

If I just go back

If a miracle happens

That until death, until the last days,

I will always, everywhere and everywhere

To remind of her with the pain of the lines -

To the girl who was quietly dying

In the hands of my helpless ones.

And the front will smell like melted snow,

With blood and fires my verse.

Only we are fellow soldiers of the fallen,

They are free to resurrect the silent ones.

I won't let you disappear, Masha, -

Songs

You will return from the war!

BALLAD ABOUT DESANT

I want it to be as calm and dry as possible

My story about my peers was ...

Fourteen schoolgirls - singers, talkers -

The rear was thrown into the deep.

When they jumped down from the plane

In the January chilled Crimea,

"Oh, mommy!" - someone exhaled thinly

Into the empty whistling darkness.

For some reason, the white pilot could not

To overcome the consciousness of guilt ...

And three parachutes, and three parachutes

The curtain covered the rest of the rain

And for several days in a row

In the troubled wilderness of a hostile forest

They were looking for their squad.

Then it happened to the partisans in different ways:

Sometimes covered in blood and dust

Crawled on swollen knees to attack -

They could not get up from hunger.

And I understand that in these minutes

Could help the partisans

Only the memory of the girls whose parachutes

Didn't reveal at all that night ...

There is no senseless death in the world -

Through the years, through the clouds of trouble

To this day, friends who survived shine

Three quietly burnt stars ...

COMBAT

When, forgetting the oath, they turned

In battle, two machine gunners back,

Two small bullets caught up with them -

The battalion commander always shot without a miss.

The guys fell, pushing their chest into the ground,

And he, staggering, ran forward.

For these two, only he will condemn him,

Who has never gone to a machine gun.

Then in the dugout of the regimental headquarters,

Silently taking the papers from the foreman,

The battalion commander wrote to two poor Russian women,

That ... their sons died the death of the brave.

And hundreds of times I read the letter to people

In a remote village, a crying mother.

Who will condemn this lie of the battalion commander?

Nobody dares to condemn him!

* * *

On a stretcher, near the barn,

On the edge of a reclaimed village

The nurse whispers, dying:

I haven't lived yet, guys ...

And the fighters crowd around her

And they cannot look into her eyes:

Eighteen is eighteen

But death is inexorable to all ...

After many years in the eyes of my beloved

That are directed into his eyes,

Gleam of glow, ripple of smoke

Suddenly he sees a war veteran.

He will shudder and go to the window,

Trying to smoke on the go.

Wait for him, wife, a little -

He is in 41 now.

Where near the black barn,

On the edge of a reclaimed village

The girl babbles, dying:

I haven't lived yet, guys ...

* * *

I brought home from the fronts of Russia

Cheerful contempt for rags -

Like a mink coat I wore

His burnt overcoat.

Let the patches bristle on the elbows,

Let the boots fray - it doesn't matter!

So smart and so rich

I have never been later ...

Christmas tree

There was still a lull on the second Belarusian

It was a short last December day towards sunset.

Hungry mice crunched breadcrumbs in the dugout,

Those who came running to us from the villages burned to the ground.

It was the third time I met New Year's Eve at the front.

It seemed that there was no end in sight for this war.

I wanted to go home, I realized that I was dead tired.

(The lull is to blame - not at all to the sadness in the fire!)

A dugout in four rolls seemed like a grave.

The stove was dying. Frost has crept under the padded jacket ...

Then the guys from the company intelligence rushed in with laughter:

Why are you alone? And why did you hang your nose?

I went out with them, into the evil breeze from the dugout.

I looked at the sky - did the rocket burn out, star?

Warming up the engines, German tanks roared,

Sometimes mortars were fired into who knows where.

And when I got used to the semi-darkness little by little,

It froze in disbelief: it was lit by fires

Proudly and modestly, a beautiful Christmas tree stood!

And where did it come from among the open field?

Not toys on it, but rubbed sleeves glittered,

The trophy hung chocolate between the cans of stew ...

With a mitten, touching the frozen paws,

Through tears, I looked at the guys who had immediately quieted down.

My dear d'artanyans from company intelligence!

I love you! And I will love you to death

All life!

I buried my face in these childhood-smelling branches ...

Suddenly the artillery attack collapsed and someone's command: "Get down!"

Counterattack! A splinter broke through the sanitary bag

I'm bandaging guys in the raging black snow ...

How many sparkling New Year trees were afterwards!

I forgot them, but I can't forget this one ...

ON BEHALF OF THE FALLEN

(At the evening of the poets who died in the war)

Today we are poets on the platform

Who are killed in the war

Who embraced the ground somewhere with a groan

Whether in svei or abroad.

Friends-fellow soldiers read us,

They are whitened with gray hair.

But in front of the hall, frozen in silence,

We are the guys who didn't come from the war.

"Jupiters" are blind, but we are embarrassed -

We are wet clay from head to toe.

Helmet and rifle in the trench clay,

In cursed clay, a skinny duffel bag.

Forgive the flame that burst with us

That you can barely see us in the smoke

And do not think that in front of us

You seem to be guilty - to nothing.

Ah, military labor is a dangerous job,

Not everyone is led by a lucky star.

Always someone comes home from the war

And someone never comes.

You are only scorched by the edge of the flame,

That flame that did not spare us.

But if we switched places,

Then this evening, this very hour,

Turning pale, with a cramped throat,

With lips that are suddenly dry,

We miraculously survived soldiers

Used to read your young poems.

* * *

I don't remember the elderly in the war,

I'm not talking about the old ones.

True, I remember, as in a dream,

About forty-year-old orderlies.

To me they, at my seventeen years old,

We saw them as mossy old men.

"They, of course, have no trace of fighting, -

In the dugout they whispered with the little ones.

Yes, even in such advanced years! "

Well, years old, let's remember

Our "grandfathers", inveterate with bullets.

And in the cool, wicked days

Let's look at those who are seventeen.

Brothers, do they understand

How hard is it for us to fight now?

Bandage, crawl under fire

Yes, even in such advanced years! ..

My cutting edge -

All my life on it

To be the one who is listed among the poets.

Life will always give in the breath

We will always flash like gunpowder.

Nowadays they flaunt the "young"

Those who are already over forty.

* * *

I've only seen hand-to-hand

Once - in reality. And hundreds of times - in a dream ...

Who says that war is not scary

He knows nothing about the war.

* * *

No, this is not merit, but luck

Become a girl a soldier in the war.

If my life had turned out differently,

How ashamed I would have been on Victory Day!

We, girls, were not met with delight:

A hoarse military commissar drove us home.

So it was in 1941. And medals

And other regalia later ...

I look back into the smoky distance:

No, not merit in that ominous year

And the schoolgirls considered the highest honor

An opportunity to die for your people.

* * *

Uncompressed rye is swinging.

Fighters are marching along it.

We are walking and we are girls

Look like guys.

No, these are not houses that are burning -

That my youth is on fire ...

The girls are going through the war

Look like guys.

ZINKA

In memory of a fellow soldier - Hero Soviet Union Zina Samsonova.

We lay down by the broken spruce

We are waiting for it to start to brighten.

It's warmer under the greatcoat

On chilled, damp ground

You know, Yulka, I'm against sadness,

But today it doesn't count.

Somewhere in the apple backwoods

Mom, my mom lives.

Do you have friends, darling,

I only have one.

Spring is boiling over the threshold.

It seems old: every bush

The restless daughter is waiting.

You know, Yulka, I'm against sadness,

But today she doesn't count ...

We barely got warm,

Suddenly an unexpected order: "Forward!"

Again next to me in a damp overcoat

The light-haired soldier walks.

It got bitter every day

They walked without rallies and banners.

Surrounded by Orsha

Our battered battalion.

Zinka led us to the attack,

We made our way through black rye

On funnels and gullies,

Through mortal lines

We didn't expect posthumous glory

We wanted to live with glory.

Why, in bloody bandages

Is the light-haired soldier lying?

Her body with her greatcoat

I covered, clenching my teeth,

Belarusian winds sang

About Ryazan wilderness gardens.

You know, Zinka, I'm against sadness,

But today it doesn't count.

Somewhere in the apple backwoods

Mom, your mom lives.

I have friends, lover

She had you alone.

Smells in the hut of sourdough and smoke,

Spring is boiling over the threshold.

And the old lady in the colorful dress

I lit a candle near the icon.

I don't know how to write to her,

So that she does not wait for you ...

* * *

They kissed.

Cried

And they sang.

We went with hostility.

And right on the run

Girl in a darned greatcoat

I scattered my hands in the snow.

Mum!

I reached my goal ...

But in the steppe, on the Volga coast,

Girl in a darned greatcoat

I scattered my hands in the snow.

YOU MUST

Turning pale

Gritting my teeth to a crunch,

From the native trench

One

You gotta break away

And parapet

Slip under fire

Must.

You must.

Though you'll hardly come back

At least "Don't you dare!"

The battalion commander repeats.

Even tanks

(They're made of steel!)

Three steps from the trench

Are burning.

You must.

You can't pretend

In front of,

What you don't hear in the night

How almost hopeless

"Sister!"

Someone there

Under fire, screaming ...

* * *

Army laws are close to me

I brought from the war for a reason

Field crumpled shoulder straps

With the letter "T" - the distinction of the foreman.

I was sharp at the front

Like a soldier, she walked ahead,

Where you need a thin chisel,

She acted with a rough ax.

I have broken a lot of wood,

But I don’t admit one fault:

I never betrayed my friends -

She learned loyalty in battle.

* * *

Someone is crying, someone is moaning angrily,

Someone lived very, very little ...

The comrade put his head on my frozen palms.

So calm are the dusty eyelashes

And around the non-Russian fields ...

Sleep, fellow countryman, and let you dream

Our city and your girl.

Maybe in a dugout after the battle

On her knees warm her

Lay down with a curly head

My restless happiness.

* * *

For loss - loss,

My peers are dying out.

Strikes our square

Though the battles are long gone.

What to do?-

Pressing into the ground

Protect the perishable body?

No, I don't accept this,

This is not at all about this.

Who mastered the forty-first,

Will fight to the end.

Ah charred nerves

Burnt hearts! ..

The poetry of Yulia Drunina on the military theme impresses many readers with its honesty, emotionality and humanity. There is no pathos and complex metaphor in it, but there is deep psychologism and symbolism. The language of the poems is simple enough, therefore, accessible to everyone. For Drunina, the most important thing was to convey the truthfulness of people's experiences during the war, and not to try to create ideal images of fearless heroes.

A striking example is the poem "Bandages". It was created already in peacetime, many years after the end of the war.

Compositionally

The work is divided into two parts. The main image is bandages. It seems to be such a simple item, but it was always in demand in wartime.

Drunina voluntarily went to the front as a nurse in her youth. And working with bandages was part of her job. Many times it was necessary to remove the already dried bandages from the wounded soldiers. In the poem, the lyrical heroine confesses that she is afraid to rip off these bandages from the soldiers in one quick movement, as was customary. The girl wants to help the sick, not hurt them. And so he tries to soften the bandage with peroxide, slowly, without causing much pain, remove the bandage. Per

Such humanity is scolded, because if you use so much peroxide, then it may not be enough for everyone. The heroine understands this, but she cannot but sympathize with everyone. The soldiers also know this, so they always try to get into her "slow hands".

The poem contains the motive of human suffering, which is expressed in the "terrible look" of the wounded. These courageous people can no longer tolerate the terrible physical pain. And when the nurse is about to rip off the already dried bandage, tears appear in their eyes. The thought of what will hurt even more is unbearable for them. The lines that the fighter lies “spring-loaded and white” emphasize the critical state of a person who is ready to explode from pain like a spring. The heroine of the poem understands this, therefore she breaks the rules and does not dare to hurt him.

In the second part of the work, Drunin reflects on the fact that the science of kindness is not so easy to learn. And the phrase “no need to tear the grown bandages” acquires a new philosophical meaning. We are talking about relationships between people, and not the specific action of removing the bandages, as in the first part. People often hurt each other with hasty words and actions. Then how can you act humanely, sparing your feelings, just like "removing the bandages almost without pain." The lyrical heroine knew this and hoped that the one to whom she addressed in the work would also understand.

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People who survived the war will never forget it. The people for whom the world has been conquered must never forget those who conquered it. Today we read immortal lines that have preserved the memory of terrible days, moments of hope and despair, the pain of loss, the immensity of courage and the joy of victory. *** I only once saw hand-to-hand, Once - in reality. And hundreds of times - in a dream ... Who ...

***
I've only seen hand-to-hand combat once
Once - in reality. And hundreds of times - in a dream ...
Who says that war is not scary
He knows nothing about the war.

(Julia Drunina)

After the war

A light flickers in the ruins
There is someone alive, holding the fire with his teeth.

And the world is beautiful, and my path is so far! ..
And it smells from me three miles away
A living piece of laundry soap
And pure power hovers over us -
The flannel is clean and the hair is clean!
And I'm dressed in a clean robe
And I step next to a pure mother,
And on the go I almost fall asleep
And the ringing of the tram makes my dream silver.
And the bath bundle is silver
With rags. And the universe is silvery.
And there is no war, and we go from the bath,
I am eight years old, and my path is so far! ..
And we won't get on the tram for anything -
After all, after the bath we are not lousy again!
And the world is beautiful, and everyone in the world is alive,
And now they will live for a hundred years!
And the world is good, and my path is so far,
And being poor is not dangerous for life,
And, Lord, how scary and beautiful
A light flickers in the ruins.

Bandages

The fighter's eyes are filled with tears
He lies spring-loaded and white,
And I must adhered bandages
Tear it off with one bold movement.
In one move - so we were taught.
With one movement - only this is pity ...
But meeting the gaze of terrible eyes,
I did not dare to move.
For the bandage I generously lila peroxide,
Trying to soak it without pain.
And the paramedic became evil
And she repeated: “Woe to me with you!
So to stand on ceremony with everyone is a disaster.
And you just add torment to him. "
But the wounded were always marked
Fall into my slow hands.

No need to tear the adhered bandages
When they can be removed with almost no pain.
I understood it, you will understand too ...
What a pity that the science of kindness
You can't learn from books at school!

(Julia Drunina)

On the ground
ruthlessly small
there lived and there was a small man.
He had a small office.
And a very small portfolio.
He received a small salary ...
And one day -
beautiful morning -
knocked on his window
small,
it seemed
war…
They gave him a small machine gun.
They gave him small boots.
The helmet was issued small
and small -
by size -
overcoat.

... And when he fell -
ugly, wrong,
twisting his mouth in an attacking cry,
then all over the earth
there was not enough marble,
to knock the guy out
full length!

(Robert Rozhdestvensky)

It so happened - the men left

It so happened - the men left
Throwing crops before the deadline.
Here they are no longer visible from the windows -
Dissolved in the road dust.

Flowing from an ear of grain -
These are the tears of uncompressed fields.
And the cold winds nimbly
Flowed from the cracks.

We are waiting for you - hurry your horses!

The willows cry for you

We live in high towers,
No one can enter these buildings -
Loneliness and waiting
Instead of you settled in the houses.

Lost both freshness and charm
The whiteness of undressed shirts
Even old songs are boring
And stuck in my teeth.

We are waiting for you - hurry your horses!
Good hour, good hour, good hour!
Let the favorable winds not hit you, but caress your back.
And then come back soon!
The willows cry for you
And without your smiles, rowan trees turn pale and dry.

Everything hurts with one pain
And sounds every day more incessantly
The eternal tear of lamentation
An echo of ancient prayers.

We will meet you both on foot and on horseback,
Tired, not whole, any.
Only if not the emptiness of the funeral
And a premonition of them.

Ballad of Mother

Mother has aged for many years,
And there is no news from my son.
But she keeps on waiting
Because she believes, because her mother.
And what is she hoping for?
Many years since the end of the war.
Years since everyone came back
Except for the dead that lie in the ground.
How many of them are there in that distant village,
No mustache boys did not come.

... Once they sent to the village in the spring
A documentary film about the war,
Everyone came to the cinema - old and young,
Who knew the war and who did not know
Before the bitter human memory
Hatred flooded like a river.
It was hard to remember it.
Suddenly, from the screen, the son looked at his mother.
Mother recognized her son at the same moment,
And a mother's cry came;

As if her son could hear her.
He lunged out of the trench into battle.
Mother got up to cover him with herself.
I was afraid that suddenly he would fall
But through the years, the son rushed forward.
- Alexey! - shouted fellow countrymen.
- Alexey! - asked, - run away! ..
The frame changed. The son remained to live.
Asks the mother to repeat about her son.
And again he runs to the attack.
Alive and healthy, not wounded, not killed.
- Alexey! Alyoshenka! Son! -
As if her son could hear her ...

At home, everything seemed to her like a movie ...
I waited, just about now out the window
In the midst of a disturbing silence
Her son will knock from the war.

(Andrey Dementyev)

Wait for me and I will come back.
Just wait really hard
Wait for the sadness
Yellow rains
Wait for the snow to sweep
Wait when it's hot
Wait when others are not expected
Forgetting yesterday.
Wait when from distant places
Letters will not come
Wait until you get bored
To everyone who is waiting together.
Wait for me and I will come back,
Do not wish good
To everyone who knows by heart
It's time to forget.
Let the son and mother believe
That there is no me
Let friends get tired of waiting
Sit by the fire
Drink bitter wine
In commemoration of the soul ...
Wait. And with them at the same time
Don't rush to drink.
Wait for me and I will come back,
To spite all deaths.
Who did not wait for me, let him
He will say: - Lucky.
Do not understand, who did not wait for them,
Like among fire
By their expectation
You saved me.
How I survived we will know
Only you and me, -
You just knew how to wait
Like no one else.

Ah, war, what have you done, mean:
our courtyards have become quiet,
our boys raised their heads -
they have matured for the time being,
barely loomed on the threshold
and left, the soldier followed the soldier ...
Goodbye boys!
Boys,

No, don't hide you, be high
spare no bullets or grenades
and do not spare yourself,
And still
try to go back.
Oh, war, what did you mean, you did:
instead of weddings - parting and smoke,
our girls dresses are white
gave them to their sisters.
Boots - well, where can you get to from them?
Yes, green wings epaulettes ...
Don't give a damn about gossips, girls.
We'll settle scores with them later.
Let them talk that you have nothing to believe in,
that you are going to war at random ...
Goodbye girls!
Girls,
try to go back.

(Bulat Okudzhava)

***
Victory Day. And in the fireworks
Like thunder: - Remember forever,
That in battles every minute
Yes, literally every minute
Ten people died!

How to understand and how to comprehend it:
Ten strong, vigorous, young,
Full of faith, joy and light
And alive, desperately alive!

Anyone somewhere has a house or a hut,
Somewhere a garden, a river, a familiar laugh,
Mother, wife ... And if unmarried,
That girl is the best of them all.

On the eight fronts of my homeland
Carried away the whirlpool of war
Every minute ten lives
So, every hour is already six hundred! ..

And like this, four bitter years,
Day after day - incredible score!
For our honor and freedom
The people managed to do everything and prevailed.

The world came like rain, like miracles
Burned with a bright blue soul ...
On a spring evening, in bird voices,
The clouds are raising the sails,
My Earth floats like a ship.

And now I want to turn
To everyone who is young and hot
Whoever you are: a pilot or a doctor.
A teacher, student or drill driver ...

Yes, it's great to think about fate
Very bright, honest and beautiful.
But are we always to ourselves
Are they really strict and fair?

After all, whirling between plans and ideas,
We often, frankly,
Wasting time in vain
For dozens of little things.

On rags, on empty books,
To strife where no one is right
To dance, booze, passion
Lord, you never know what!

And it would be nice for each of us
But there is a soul, probably in everyone,
Remember suddenly about something very important,
The most needed, maybe now.

And, sweeping away everything small, empty,
Throwing off boredom, callousness or laziness,
Remember suddenly at what cost
Our every peaceful day was bought!

And, mixing fate cool,
To love, fight and dream
What was paid for the minute
Every every minute
Do we dare to forget it ?!

And, walking behind the high nova,
Remember that every hour
Forever looking with faith and love
Follow you those who lived in your name!

Why is it all wrong? Everything seems to be as always:
The same sky is blue again

The same forest, the same air and the same water,
Only he did not return from the battle.
Now I don't understand who was right among us
In our disputes without sleep or rest.
I didn't start to miss him just now,
When he didn't come back from the fight.
He was silent out of place and sang out to the beat,
He always talked about something else,
He didn't let me sleep, he got up at sunrise,
And yesterday he did not return from the battle.
What is empty now is not about that conversation.
Suddenly I noticed - there were two of us.
It's like a bonfire has blown out for me
When he didn't come back from the fight.
Today spring has escaped, as if from captivity.
I called him by mistake:
"Friend, stop smoking." And in response - silence:
He did not return from battle yesterday.
Our dead won't leave us in trouble
Our fallen as sentries.
The sky is reflected in the forest, as in water,
And the trees are blue.
We had enough space in the dugout,
Time flowed for us - for both.
All alone now. It only seems to me:
I didn’t return from the battle.

(Vladimir Vysotsky)

The poetry of Yulia Drunina on the military theme impresses many readers with its honesty, emotionality and humanity. There is no pathos and complex metaphor in it, but there is deep psychologism and symbolism. The language of poems is simple enough, therefore, accessible to everyone. For Drunina, the most important thing was to convey the truthfulness of people's experiences during the war, and not to try to create ideal images of fearless heroes.

A striking example is the poem "Bandages". It was created in peacetime, many years after the end of the war.

Compositionally, the work is divided into two parts. The main image is bandages. It seems to be such a simple item, but it was always in demand in wartime.

In the poem, the lyrical heroine confesses that she is afraid to rip off these bandages from the soldiers in one quick movement, as was customary. The girl wants to help the sick, not hurt them. And so he tries to soften the bandage with peroxide, slowly, without causing much pain, remove the bandage. She is scolded for such humanity, because if you use so much peroxide, then it may not be enough for everyone. The heroine understands this, but she cannot but sympathize with everyone. The soldiers also know this, so they always try to get into her "slow hands".