The script is theatrical - musical composition"Memory of the Heart" dedicated to
Victory Day in the Great Patriotic War.
The song “Bend of the Guitar” is playing
Phonogram of bells.
1 ved. You live for many years, you ring bells.
You know a lot about life in Rus',
2 ved. Tell the bells
Tell us everything you can’t keep silent about,
In our hum they knock day after day /
For whom there is neither sun nor rain,
Forgotten how the fields bloom.
Not seeing their children.
4 ved. Why, when there is peace on earth,
And the blue domes are transparent,
In every city across the big country,
The bells are ringing, the bells are ringing...
1 led. You live for many years, you ring bells.
You know a lot about life in Rus',
You can probably tell a lot.
What do you remember and what cannot be forgotten...
(on the screen there are slides of Mamayev Kurgan)
2 ved. I'm not participating in the war-
She participates in me.
And the reflection Eternal Flame
It trembles on my cheekbones.
3 ved. Dedicated to everyone who achieved Victory!
Girls of grades 1 and 2 (7-8 grades) come out, the leaders stand next to them.
(The soundtrack of “Rio Rita” plays.) The music fades out
(An excerpt of the melody “Blue Handkerchief” sounds). The girls sing:
June twenty second
At exactly four o'clock
Kyiv was bombed, they told us
That the war has begun.
The guys - the presenters - approached the girls and hugged them. They moved away from the girls, came forward, and lined up in 2 lines.( "Sacred" sounded softly war"). The guys turned and silently left.
Girls 1 and 2 stand a little to the side and silently look after the guys.
Girl3 reads A. Dementyev’s poem “Birches of Russia.”
(The bells sound, then the sound fades a little).
4 ved. We remember
We remember how we lived the dream -
Return with Victory to your native roof.
We believed sacredly and were faithful -
The faith with which we were strong.
1 led. Time has no power over our memory.
Nothing passed us by
I close my eyes just for a moment - and it’s clear
The past rises again.
(The bells stop. The sounds of fighting are heard. They come closer and then move away.)
Boy1 reads a poem by A.I. Tvardovsky "The Tankman's Tale").
(The melody “Oh, roads...” sounds, then fades out a little.)
Girls: Mom, what is war?
(The phonogram “Oh, roads...” continues to sound, 4 presenters come out ).
1 ved. War - there is no crueler word.
2 ved. War – there is no holier word.
3 ved. War - there is no more terrible word.
4 ved. War - there is no sadder word.
(“Oh, roads...” fades out).
Ved. step aside. The song “My Moscow” is performed by a vocal group).
A girl and a boy (9-10 grades) come forward. Their dialogue sounds:
Girl: Dawn is coming... Our last dawn...
Boy: Don't think about it...What were you doing on this day before the war?
WITH.: Today, what date?
A.: I don’t remember... Probably, as always, I ran away from the lecture... (Grinned) to a concert in the Column Hall...
WITH.: I’ve never been to a concert in the Hall of Columns...Is this probably interesting?
A.:(after a pause) Very...
Wok. the group performs the song “Seryozhka Malaya Bronnaya and Vitka with Mokhovaya ».
Leading 1, 2, 3 come out:
1c. The grasses are raging above the ground.
The clouds float like peahens.
And one thing, that one on the right -
And I don't need fame.
2nd century Nothing is needed anymore
To me and to those floating nearby.
We would like to live - and that’s all the reward.
We should live.
And we are sailing across the sky.
3 ved. This pain doesn't go away.
Where are you, living water?
Oh, why does war happen?
Ah - why?
Why are they killing us?
Clouds, clouds.
V. group performs the song “Cranes”.
The song is over. A boy appears holding a box in his hands. A girl approaches him.
Nadya: What do you have there?
Tolik: Letters.
Nadya: Letters.
Tolik: Yes. From that distant war. (Took letters from the box).
Nadya: Why no envelopes and stamps?
Tolik: It was so.
Nadya: Are your letters real?
Tolik: Real. And among them is a letter that I wrote to my great-grandfather, who fought in that war. I also dedicated poems to him. Listen here. (Reads poetry and letter).
It turns out 4 leads:
4 ved. Who said that in war a song is not needed?
He doesn’t know how important she is for a fighter.
Jokes, jokes, friend,
Helps to live.
Well, a song for a fighter.
What water to drink.
That living water that we
Gives strength
And in an unkind hour of trouble -
Will save lives.
A cheerful melody sounds
V. group singsa song about an accordion.
4 presenters come out:
1ved. Forties, fatal,
Military and frontline.
Where are the funeral notices?
And echelon knocking.
2 ved. How it was! How did it coincide -
War, trouble, dream and youth!
And it all sunk into me
And only then did it come to my senses.
3 ved. Forties, fatal,
Lead, gunpowder...
War is sweeping across Russia.
And we are so young.
4 ved. War... From Brest to Moscow - 1000 kilometers, from Brest to Berlin -600. Total - 1600 kilometers. ... This is if you count in a straight line ...
1 ved. So little, right? 1600 kilometers - this is by train, if then less than two days, by plane - about 3 hours... By dashing and on one's bellies - 4 years!
2 ved. Four years! 1418 days, 34,000 hours. And 26 million dead Soviet people.
(numbers on screen )
3 ved. We live in an era of large scale, we are accustomed to big numbers. We easily say: “A thousand kilometers per hour, a million tons of raw materials, a billion dollars in profit... But 26 million dead... You can imagine. What is it?
Ved. leaving.
V. The group sings the song “The Birds Don’t Sing Here.”
The bells ring, then fall silent. The first phrase of D. Tukhmanov’s song “Victory Day” sounds (phonogram).
It turns out 4 leads:
4 ved. Victory! Hooray! Long live Victory! Ours took it!( remains on stage).
A girl comes out:
Girl. This is a waltz, this is a waltz, this is a waltz...
This is a slow smooth flight...
For him, for her,
And for you
The waltz floats over our city.
For girls who have experienced troubles,
For boys baptized by war.
After so many unimaginable years
Again the sounds of it over Moscow.
B. the group sings “Waltz”, the children dance.
1.2 leads come out:
1st. And on the blue expanses of the Earth
So much to do, expectations and meetings!
It was you who saved our land.
2 ved. Through the time that the country has passed,
Through the ringing of all the bells.
I always hear the word - Motherland,
What is dearer to me than any words.
This concludes our theatrical and musical composition.
The script for the literary and musical lounge was developed by a teacher
on vocals Danchenko S.V. SCENARIO
VICTORY DAY HOLIDAY
Host: Good afternoon, dear veterans!
Hello, dear friends, and guests!
Victory Day is a bright spring holiday, a holiday of military glory
a heroic people, a victorious people.
This event entered our lives, into many volumes of history, forever.
frozen in stone and in bronze monuments, memorials of glory.
Victory Day excites human souls with the words of songs, poems and
memories. It is forever in the grateful memory of posterity.
Let the peaceful cities sleep.
Let the sirens howl piercingly
Doesn't sound over my head.
Let no shell explode,
Not a single one is making a machine gun.
Let our forests ring out
Only birds and children's voices.
And may the years pass peacefully,
Let there never be war!
1.Song “I want there to be no more war”
Vedas: Victory Day, it was and remains a sacred day for everyone
people of our country. Eyewitnesses of those events remain with everyone
less and less every year, but from generation to generation
conveys the gratitude and enthusiastic attitude of our people
to those who, at the cost of their lives, liberated their native land.
2. Dance “My Motherland!”
A word to dear, respected veterans! We are proud of you
we bow before your courage and let us be holy
keep in your hearts the memory of your great feat in
years of war. Good health to you. We really want
so that today you feel good in your soul, in your heart -
easily.
With all our hearts we wish you good spirits, good and
a worthy life. Let nothing darken your everyday life and
holidays. Please accept my most sincere and heartfelt
congratulations on the great and bright holiday - Day
Victory!
3.Song “Victory Day”
Host: May 9th, we all celebrate this great holiday -
This is Victory Day. May 9 is celebrated almost all over the world, showing
solidarity with the Russian people, for our great feat. This
The holiday is carefully and reverently passed on from generation to generation.
Today we want to congratulate everyone on this great holiday,
and I would like to wish everyone that never again, in our world,
there were no such terrible wars that no one else would ever
did not hear the explosions of bombs so that all the peoples of the world would live in friendship
and consent.
Today the smallest artists came to congratulate us on
Great Victory Day!
4. Dance “You are a sailor, I am a sailor!”
Azure bays, pearl mountains,
The tall, distant light of the lighthouse.
Eh! Black Sea, wide sea,
Native Sevastopol, the love of a sailor.
Wounded but majestic
You will enter the chronicle of centuries
Immortal city of our glory,
Shrine of Russian sailors.
5. Song “Sevastopol - wave after wave”
6. Dance "Victory"
It seemed cold to the flowers
And they faded slightly from the dew,
The dawn that walked through the grass and bushes,
We searched through German binoculars.
Everything breathed such silence,
It seemed that the whole earth was asleep.
Who knew that between peace and war
Just five minutes left!
The longest day of the year
With its cloudless weather
He gave us a common misfortune
For everyone, for all four years.
Sunny early morning in June,
At the hour when the country awakened,
Sounded everywhere to the young
This is a terrible word “war”.
To reach you, forty-fifth,
Through hardships, pain and misfortune,
The boys left their childhood
In the forty-first war year.
Planes rushed skyward
The tank formation moved
Infantry companies singing
Let's fight for our Motherland!
.
7. Song “Our 10th Airborne Battalion”
8.Verse with the musical composition “Do you remember
Alyosha roads of Smolensk region"
9. Song “Oh, these clouds in blue”
How long ago the last volleys died down,
This was back in '45,
But you remember everything as if it were recently,
And you shed another tear unnoticed.
And nothing can be returned, but nothing is forgotten,
Memory takes us back to our youth.
The heart also keeps what has been blurred for years,
Front-line friends - it’s a pity that YOU are not around.
Those years will never be returned, and there is no need to.
They were too harsh and difficult.
But for you the best reward in the world
There will be clear skies and peaceful days.
10.Russian folk dance
So that again on the earthly planet
That disaster did not happen again
We need
So that our children
They remembered this
Like us!
I have no reason to worry
So that that war is not forgotten:
After all, this memory is our conscience
We need her as strength...
11. Song “Cuckoo”
We are endlessly proud of you,
Faithful defenders of the country,
The pain of loss will endure over the years.
If only there wouldn't be a war again!
We will preserve your memory forever,
We will save our land for our children;
May Crimea be our native land,
becomes more beautiful, richer, brighter!.
Crimea is the coast of ancient times;
Crimea is the shore of a glorious victory;
Crimea, Sevastopol in smoke and fire;
Crimea, this child's heart planets
12. Song “This is Crimea!”
How many years have passed since the Victory Day?
How many peaceful and happy years?!
We are grateful to you, fathers and grandfathers,
What did you say “no” to the fascists!
Thank you for standing up
You bring your homeland at a high price,
To make children's smiles shine
You went to your death, sacrificing yourself.
Sevastopol is a famous hero city,
On the waves is the legendary handsome sea man.
Our Black Sea city braved for the Motherland,
Combat Sevastopol defeated its enemies!
The sons of Russia held the defense,
Stronger than steel! We have become strong!
Our brave city is beautiful and smart,
Rus' is with Sevastopol, that’s why it is strong!
13. Song "Sevastopol"
Sevastopol survived the siege twice.
In two wars he fought to the death,
For this he earned the title of Hero City.
It was destroyed, but was reborn from the ashes.
Sevastopol remained Russian forever!
And no matter what happens, it will be Russian!
Russia will never leave Sevastopol,
The merits of the City Hero will not be forgotten.
14. Dance “Russia - forward!”
We celebrate Victory Day,
He comes with flowers and banners.
We are all heroes today
We call by name.
We know: it’s not at all easy
He came to us - Victory Day.
This day has been conquered
Our dads, our grandfathers.
We will dedicate many songs to them
Glory, glory on Victory Day!
Together with Motherland Russia
Let's celebrate the Victory!
15. Songwriter “Russia - come on!”
Today the holiday enters every home,
And joy comes to people with him.
We congratulate you on your great day,
Happy day of our glory!
Happy Victory Day!
Glazova Valentina Evgenievna Municipal Educational Institution "Aleksinskaya Secondary School"
Literary living room scenario
“Let us bow to those great years...”
Start slide
Music "Officers" slide
WARRIOR (comes out on the last verse of the song) slide 7:
What do you want from me, war?!
After all, you came in fireworks, in copper thunder
Big victory. What is my fault?
And why in my soul and in the house
All of you, yes you, as if not fully
we separated
And you're still waiting for something
Some final calculation.
Which one?
Forget you? So this is what you want?
So this is what you dream and worry about?
So this is what you pitifully asked for,
Forget you?! But memory is also power,
And I won't give it up without a fight
Pretending to be peaceful years.
You miscalculated, he lives on earth
A generation deprived of illusions.
Let the memory of you cruelly burn souls,
It will save her like gunpowder
Dry fire. There can be no oblivion!!!
Slide Music "If there is war tomorrow..."
1 READER (Slide).
What are we?
We are from the vast forests,
We are from the blockade darkness,
We are from burned poems,
From low huts,
Song omnipotence,
We are from immortality.
From your flesh, Russia!
2READER (Slide) .
Life is thicker than an orchard,
Bewitched by green smells...
There was life more beautiful than a summer evening.
Clear-eyed, light-headed.
The beauty of the human form -
Look at her - and admire her both ways!
1READER (Slide) .
My whole life was a wonderful story!
And these joys gave us feelings,
And both sport and art helped to live!
Factories grew, and people matured,
And they flew over the North Pole!
And the Volga and Moscow, exchanging cargo,
Tied with reliable, strong bonds!
2READER (Slide).
Everything breathed such silence,
It seemed that the whole earth was still sleeping
Who knew that between peace and war
Just 5 minutes left...
The participants take the stage. They stand with their backs to the audience, remaining invisible until the first words. In words, they take turns turning around with lit candles.
Slides are shown
1. I wanted to live, study, a little more and I would have become a doctor...
2. There was no teacher in our village primary classes, and I dreamed of becoming her...
3. I was preparing to become a father. “There will be a son,” I told Svetlana, and she laughed and answered: “Yeah, a son with pigtails”...
4. I built a house. Its own, solid, log, with patterned shutters, with windows overlooking the river...
We, who died on the battlefields...
We, tortured in concentration camps...
We, who died in the occupation...
We who died of hunger...
1READER.Unfinished study and unfinished construction. We never heard the long-awaited words: “Mom, Dad.”
The reason for this was... WAR! And it started like this...
Slide. Music "Get up, huge country..."
Slide. At a halt Waltz “In the forest near the front” (slide) in the background
FIGHTER (Slide):
You don't know, my son, what war is...
This is not a smoky battlefield at all,
It's not even death and courage - it
Each drop finds its reflection.
It's just dugout sand day after day,
Yes, the blinding towers of night shelling,
This is a headache that aches in the temple,
This is my youth that decayed in the trenches.
This is the last dawn in a short life
Above the harsh land...
And, just to finish,
When shells explode, when grenades flash,
Selfless death on the battlefield.
Towards the end - sounds of explosions (slide
The song (slide) plays.
2READER.
The enemy was moving east. Our troops suffered heavy losses...
Soldier. (slide).
The soldier’s retreat path was bitter,
A piece of bread served like bitterness...
Human souls burned with grief,
The east floated not in the dawn, but in the glow.
The roar of the tracks over the single cell
He drove others, but he didn’t drive us crazy.
Not everyone looked into the eyes
Immortality and history itself.
Soldier (slide).
Did you bequeath to us to die, Motherland?
Life promised, love promised, Motherland.
Are children born for death, Motherland?
Did you want our death, Motherland?
The flame hit the sky - do you remember, Motherland?
She said quietly: “Get up to help...” - Motherland.
Nobody asked you for fame, Motherland,
Everyone just had a choice: me or the Motherland,
The best and dearest thing is the Motherland.
Your grief is our grief, Motherland.
(slide).
1READER (slide).
The war passed through Russia through every family, through every destiny, clearly dividing Time into “pre-war” and “war”, dividing us all into “front” and “rear”.
2READER.
The rear is women, old people, children. The rear lived according to the law: “Everything for the front, everything for Victory!”, selflessly endured all hardships, endured, loved, believed, waited!
Scene. There is a group of women on stage, they are hastily having lunch.
WOMAN 1: Oh, I’m tired, ladies! I can't feel my legs! (Takes off his shoes.)
WOMAN 2: Yes, we girls have worn out in 4 years. The men will come and won’t find out. They will say: “Where have our women gone?” (Laughs).
WOMAN 3: Just let them return, we will find them ourselves. (winks). I suppose everyone knows their own special signs, huh? (General laughter).
4 WOMAN: Come on, Lyubka, give it to me! (Anxious). Ladies, what if the German turns upside down again?
WOMAN 1: Not allowed! This will be enough for me for the rest of my life. All my life I will remember logging, mines, and bonds.
WOMAN 2 (agreeing): Yes, you really got it, you didn’t miss a single logging operation. Do you remember how they took the last potatoes to sell in the spring, just to pay off what they signed up for?
WOMAN 3: And yet it’s harder for our men. Every day they go into battle, under fire, but what about us?
4 WOMAN: What about us? Yes, we beat the damned German with bread! Here are our guns! (Points to the field). Just count, Lyuba, how many Germans our brigade has killed. I think we knocked down a dozen of them?!
1 WOMAN: Why are there ten, we dumped a thousand of them.
WOMAN 2: Right! Here they are, our Katyushas! (Points to hands).
1. WOMAN: You are my dear little ladies, we have done everything, we have completely paid off with the state, we have exceeded all our plans, but it will be necessary - we will cut off a piece from our loaf, just to exterminate this nit forever! (Gets up). Well, have you rested? Then rise. You can’t finish off a German with words; he doesn’t understand that. (To the second). Yours, Katerina, where is tomorrow? On alfalfa?
2 WOMAN: And on alfalfa, and on potatoes, and on beets. (Joyfully). We are advancing on all fronts
song
1READER.
And between the front and the rear there was field mail, triangles of letters, as if with racing threads connecting what the ruthless war had torn apart.
Listen to letters from the war years!
These are letters from the dead to their relatives, friends and loved ones.
They wrote under bullets. And under bullets they don’t lie.
Listen to letters from the war years.
2READER (slide).
Front letter, don’t be silent, tell me
ABOUT brutal war and about the time
How the soldier fought, how he lived in the trenches,
How he suffered and dreamed, how he loved his father’s house.
1READER (slide).
Warmer at the front
From affectionate letters.
Reading, behind every line
You see your beloved
And you hear your homeland
Like a voice behind a thin wall.
2READER (slide) .But there were other letters….
I knew what a lame postman meant,
Which everyone was waiting for and fearing
1 woman: What if mine comes like this too?!
2nd woman: And, suddenly, completely... (pause).
2 READER. There were whispers on the streets...
A heart-rending scream soared over the village.
And a heavy word:
1 woman: (loudly) Killed!
2READER.
I remember "first" and also "buried"
And it also seems “in a damp grave”
The postman walked like a raven without a wing.
His crutch creaked from hut to hut.
So every day (pause). Half a village left
Of those who wait until their grief is enough.
1 READER. The sun was bleeding in the smoky darkness.
A red shell struck. (pause) They were no longer on earth, but it was.
2READER.The waves rushed from rock to rock,
The sea crushed the granite! (pause) They were no longer on earth, but it was.
1READER.The tree walked on damp ground,
Roots digging up the earth! (pause) They were no longer on earth, but it was."
2READER. (slide).
Don't you believe it? A man can die twice
There on the battlefield, when a bullet catches up with him,
And the second time - in people's memory.
Dying the second time is worse.
The second time a person must live!
1READER.
The wheat is ripe,
The dawn floats quietly.
Everything you could have done,
Guys who aren't there!
2READER.
Mothers are tired of crying,
But after many years
They look at us carefully
Guys who aren't there!
1READER.
As if bending over destinies!
As if stepping forward
They became our destinies -
Guys who aren't there!"
In memory of the fallen - a minute of silence(slide)
Song
2READER (slide.
Where the grass is damp with dew and blood,
Where the pupils of machine guns look fiercely,
Full height, above the front line trench
The winner - the soldier - stood up.
The heart beat against the ribs intermittently, often.
Silence... Silence... Not in a dream - in reality.
And the infantryman said: “We’ve given up!” That's it! -
And he noticed a snowdrop in the ditch.
And in the soul, longing for light and affection,
The singing stream of the former joy came to life.(slide)
1READER. (slide)
And the soldier bent down
And to the bullet-ridden helmet
Carefully adjusted the flower.
They came to life again in memory: they were alive -
Moscow region in the snow and fire, Stalingrad.
For the first time in four unimaginable years,
The soldier cried like a child.
So the infantryman stood, laughing and sobbing,
Rubbing a thorny fence with a boot.
A young dawn rose behind my shoulders,
Foretelling a sunny day.
song
2READER (slide).
Grandfathers smell of cologne,
In the medals of ringing jackets.
At the obelisk on Victory Day
My fellow countrymen have gathered.
There was a rally. The speeches were finished.
At some moment out of silence
The veterans wished all:
“God grant that there is no war!”
1READER (slide)
There is nothing worse than war!
Hunger, cold, loss of loved ones...
It was not easy for everyone to fight!
Let all this NOT happen again!
I don't want THIS to come back
Let the children play leapfrog
And over our peaceful planet
We'll light a lucky star.
Slide Song
Literary and musical lounge “Madonnas of War”
Goal: to acquaint students with the events of the Great Patriotic War, show role
women in the heroic struggle of the people against fascism.
Objectives: educational - to give an idea of the life of girls and women during the Great
The Patriotic War, their attitude towards fascism and their determination to fight it;
developing – a feeling of emotional empathy and compassion for the victims of war,
pride in our people and their heroes;
nurturing the civic position of students, patriotism, respect for
heroic history of the Motherland, a sense of belonging to it.
Equipment: presentation (computer, projector, screen), photographs, video footage
Great Patriotic War, synthesizer
1st presenter: War... The Great Patriotic War. How far she is from us today
schoolchildren! Only through books, films and the memories of front-line soldiers can we
imagine at what cost the victory was won.
2nd presenter: “War is not fireworks at all, but simply hard work,” the poet wrote
front-line soldier Mikhail Kulchitsky. And this inhumanly difficult work was not carried out
only men, defenders of the Motherland from time immemorial, but also women, girls, yesterday’s
schoolgirls.
1st presenter: Just yesterday the girls were copying tests, reading poetry, trying on white
prom dresses, and tomorrow there was war.
The song “Oh, war, what vile thing have you done” is performed
Lyrics of the song (Okudzhava)
Oh, war, what have you done, vile one:
Our yards have become quiet,
our boys raised their heads,
they have matured for the time being
barely loomed on the threshold
and went after the soldier soldier...
Goodbye boys! boys,
try to go back.
No, don't hide, be tall
spare neither bullets nor grenades
and you don’t spare yourself... And yet
try to go back.
Oh, war, what have you done, vile one?
Instead of weddings - separation and smoke!
Our girls' dresses are white
They gave it to their sisters.
Boots... Well, where can you get away from them?
Yes, green wings...
Don't give a damn about the gossipers, girls!
We'll settle the score with them later.
Let them chatter that you have nothing to believe in,
Why are you going to war at random...
Goodbye girls! Girls,
Try to go back!
Reader 2:
(A poem sounds).
She was funny and light
Braids in ribbons dangled behind the shoulders,
Her brothers called her little sister:
The girl, they say, is not old enough!
Her day was not difficult: laugh,
Learn your lessons, flourish in freedom!
And high above her on volleyball
Funny balls flew up.
But school is over. War... And so
The world of a paper map is already small for her,
And she enters the living world from her school desk
My sister goes to battle at the front.
And put it not a pen, not a notebook,
Not the books that I loved,
She put it on the young shoulders
A fighter covered in blood to remove him from the enemy.
And for the soldiers who returned to duty again,
Whose heart beat quietly and tiredly,
She has now become dear and close
Not a little sister, but a sister.
Letters, memories. To the backing track
Zhenya Rudneva calmly smiled at me and sat down. Slim neck in wide neckline
tunics. Stern look of gray-blue eyes, tight, light braid. Head tilted slightly
and looking at herself in the mirror, Zhenya slowly began to unravel her thick braid. She did
with such a serious expression and such concentration, as if everything she depended on
future. Finally, golden hair spilled over her shoulders. Are they really on the floor now?
this wonderful hair? The scissors clicked - inexorably and decisively. To the right and left of
Strands and rings fell as silently as snow, the whole floor was covered with them. And softly
boots walked on this carpet of girl's hair. Someone was crying silently outside the door, but
an order is an order. And why does a soldier need braids?
(From the memory of the Hero Soviet Union. N. Kravtsova.)
Reader 3:
(A poem sounds.)
Slav.
I left my childhood for a dirty car,
To an infantry echelon, to a medical platoon.
I listened to distant breaks and did not listen
Forty-first year, accustomed to everything.
I came from school to damp dugouts,
From Beautiful Lady in “mother” and “rewind”,
Because the name is closer than “Russia”,
I couldn't find it.
(Yu. Drunina.)
Presenter: Nurse Vera Churina is twenty years old, and in the battalion everyone called her respectfully,
What is the name of the teacher at school? How many hefty men were dragged from the battlefield?
this little gray-eyed woman! After being seriously wounded and undergoing surgery, she wrote from
hospital: “The worst thing for me is not death... No, the worst thing is that
I won’t be with you anymore, they won’t take me to the medical battalion now, I’m not suitable for my condition
health.
(From notebooks poet and front-line soldier M. Matusovsky.)
Reader 4:
(A poem sounds).
I just came from the front line.
Wet, frozen and angry,
And there is no one in the dugout
And, of course, the stove goes out.
I'm so tired I can't raise my arms,
No time for firewood - I’ll keep warm under my overcoat.
I lay down, but I hear that again
They are hitting our trenches with shrapnel.
I run out of the dugout into the night,
And flames rushed towards me.
To meet me - those who can help,
I must calm hands.
And for the fact that again until the morning
Death will crawl next to me,
In passing: “Get younger, sister!”
My comrades will shout to me as a reward.
And even a shining battalion commander
He will extend his hands to me after the fight:
Sergeant Major, dear! I'm so glad
That you remained alive again. (Yu. Drunina.)
(The song “Frontline Sanbat” is played)
Lyrics
1. Easy school waltz
We had it too..
His fate was like this:
I remember how now
Our tenth grade
A front-line blizzard swirled around.
2. Frontline medical battalion
Along forest roads
He was smoked and killed by melancholy.
But the soldier said
That I was lying without legs,
You and I, sister, will dance again.
3. And my sister is like chalk...
Suddenly she started singing a waltz...
The voice trembled and swayed unsteadily.
Smiled at everyone
This is me for you
And a tear rolled down to a smile...
4. How many years have passed?
I can't forget
That tune that was sung with pain.
How many years have passed...
I can't forget
Soldier's courage and will.
Presenter: Infirmaries, hospitals, medical battalions. How much strength and warmth you gave,
Madonnas of War, to alleviate the plight of the wounded, to take their pain upon themselves. “Darling,
dear, be patient, now it will be easier,” these words are like a prayer. How can I write to my relatives that
the one they are waiting for will not return. And, clenching their teeth and not holding back their tears, they wrote, wrote,
wrote holy lies.
Reader 1:
(A poem sounds.)
I write and hear the creaking of the runners...
The stretcher floats to the threshold again.
I don’t understand - in ink or tears
I dip the stiff pen.
“...Write to your wife about everything that happened,
That the damned Fritz struck from the rear,
That the first platoon died in the swamps...
Write, let him live happily...
Write that you lived to see the veil.
Bow down to your family... That’s it, brother.”
Is it the wind rushing across the roof?
Either the soldier is suffocating...
I'm writing, but my fingers are blue,
The eyelids get heavier, as luck would have it.
I see it in reality, or in a dream
A village covered in snow.
Stately, dashing young woman -
Eyes - a pair of spring streams -
He flies up to the postman: “Dyka!”
He waved the envelope: “Dance!”...
I write, inventing colors,
About a snow-covered and clean house.
Spruce in the snow, like in a gauze bandage
She froze in silence under the window.
Remembering is both bitter and awkward
About the lies of those distant days...
I write diligently, sweat dictation
Your girlish pity.
And don’t forget to bow.
And I list the names...
I wrote tall tales to widows.
Dead, will you forgive me?
(Music “Echo of Love” or “Get Up, Huge Country”)
Host: Grief, immeasurable grief has spread across the country. But you didn’t bow your head, Madonna
war. She carried the entire rear on her fragile shoulders: she dug trenches, stood at the machine, plowed and
sowed, felled forests, raised children. Everything for the front, everything for victory!
Reader 5:
(The poem reads: M. Isakovsky “Can you really tell me about this...”)
Can you really tell me about this?
What years did you live in?
What a deadly weight
It fell on women's shoulders!...
That morning I said goodbye to you
Your husband, or brother, or son,
And you and your destiny
Left alone.
One on one with tears,
With grains not harvested in the field
You met this war.
And all - endlessly and without counting:
Sorrows, labors and worries
We fell for you for one.
For you alone - willy-nilly,
And you have to keep up everywhere;
You are alone both in the house and in the field,
You are the only one to cry and sing.
And the clouds hang lower and lower,
And the thunder roars ever closer,
More and more bad news.
And you are in front of the whole country,
And you before the whole war
She said who you are.
You walked, hiding your grief,
The harsh way of labor.
The whole front, from sea to sea
You fed me with your bread.
In cold winters, snowstorms,
At the one at the distant line
The soldiers were warmed by their greatcoats,
What you sewed with care,
They rushed in the noise, in the smoke
Soviet soldiers into battle,
And the enemy's strongholds collapsed
From bombs filled with you.
You took on everything without fear,
And, as in the saying,
You were both a spinner and a weaver,
She knew how to do it with a needle and a saw.
I chopped, carried, dug,
Can you really re-read everything?
And in letters to the front she assured,
It's like you're living a great life.
The soldiers read your letters,
And there, at the forefront,
They understood well
Your holy lies.
And the warrior going to battle
And ready to meet her,
Whispered like an oath, like a prayer
Your name is distant.
(M. Isakovsky.)
Presenter: In the winter of 1941, news of the heroic death of a partisan fighter spread throughout the country.
Tani in the village of Petrishchevo, Mozhaisk district. While performing a combat mission, she was
captured by the Nazis. In captivity she behaved courageously, without saying a word to her enemies. Her
executed. And only later did they find out that it was Muscovite Zoya Kosmodemyanskaya.
Under torture you became Tatyana,
She became numb and froze without tears.
Barefoot in only a torn shirt
Zoya was kicked out into the cold.
And with your flying gait
She walked under the shout of the enemy.
Her shadow, clearly outlined,
Fell on the lunar snow.
How frosty! How bright is the road
Morning, how is your destiny!
Hurry up! No, just a little more!
No, not soon yet...
From the threshold...
Along the path... to that pillar...
We still have to get there,
There is still a long way to go.
Maybe a miracle will happen yet.
I read somewhere... Maybe...
To live... Then not to live... What does this mean?
Seeing the day... Then not seeing the day...
How is that?
Why is the old woman crying?
Who hurt her?
Feel sorry for me? Why does she feel sorry for me?
There will be no earth, no pain...
The word “live”...
There will be light, and snow, and these people.
Everything will be as it is.
Can't be!
If you go straight past the gallows
Everyone goes to the east - there is Moscow.
If you shout “mom” very loudly!
People are watching. There are more words...
Citizens, don't stand, don't look.
(I am alive, my voice sounds.)
Kill them, poison them, burn them!
I will die, but the truth will win!
Motherland! - The words sound as if
This is not at all last time…
You can’t outweigh everyone, there are many of us!
Millions of us!...
One more minute -
And a backhand blow between the eyes.
It would be better soon, even right away,
So that the enemy will not touch you again.
And without any order
She takes the last step.
You rise up bravely yourself.
Step onto the box, towards death and forward.
There are German soldiers around you,
Russian village, your people.
Here it is! Frosty, fresh, hazy,
Pink smoke... Shine of the roads...
Motherland!
Dumb fascist boot
Knocks the box out from under his feet. “...”
(M. Aliger.)
(Music “We will not stand behind the price”)
HOST: but the war was not only grief and tears. Life took its toll. LOVE. Joke
and joy helped to overcome the difficulties of war.
DARK MARKET
Host: Madonnas of War! The war was a cruel and rough school. You weren't sitting behind
desks, not in classrooms, but in frozen trenches, and in front of you were not notes, but
armor-piercing shells and machine gun triggers. They will never be erased from your memory
conversations in a trench before a tank attack, suffering and tears in the eyes of an eighteen-year-old
a female medical instructor dying in the semi-darkness of a destroyed dugout.
Reader 7:
(A poem sounds.)
We lay down near a broken fir tree.
We are waiting for it to start getting brighter.
It's warmer for two under an overcoat
On chilled, rotten ground.
You know, Yulka, I am against sadness,
But today she doesn’t count! (Leaves thoughtfully)
(left alone) We barely warmed up. Suddenly - an order:
“Perform in front!”
Again next to me in a damp overcoat
The blonde soldier is coming.
Every day it became worse.
They walked without rallies or banners.
Surrounded near Orsha
Our battered battalion.
Zinka led us on the attack.
We made our way through the black rye,
Along funnels and gullies,
Through mortal boundaries.
We didn't expect posthumous fame.
We wanted to live with glory.
Why in bloody bandages
The blonde soldier is lying down?
Her body with her overcoat
I covered it up, clenching my teeth.
The Belarusian winds sang
About the Ryazan wilderness gardens.
...You know, Zinka, I am against sadness,
But today she doesn’t count.
At home, in the apple outback,
Mom, your mother lives.
I have friends, my love.
She had you alone.
The house smells like bread and smoke,
Spring is bubbling beyond the threshold.
And an old lady in a flowery dress
She lit a candle at the icon.
I don't know how to write to her
So she wouldn't be waiting for you?!
(Yu. Drunina.)
Host: But the mother cannot help but wait while she is alive. These nights, damned nights without sleep,
when the silence, oppressive and oppressive, drives you crazy, and only the walkers on the wall measure
the steps of eternity, oh, these nights, you alone know and have seen the holy tears of dreams.
(Words by A. Dementyev)
The mother has aged thirty years,
But there is no news from my son.
But she still keeps waiting
Because she believes, because she is a mother.
And what does she hope for...
Many years since the war ended,
Many 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 boys without mustaches came.
Once they sent me to the village in the spring
Documentary film about the war.
Everyone came to the cinema, both old and young,
Who knew war and who did not.
Before the bitter memory of people
Hatred flowed like a river.
It was hard to remember.
Suddenly the son looked at his mother from the screen.
The mother recognized her son at that very moment
And a mother's cry rang out.
Alexey, Alyoshenka, son.
As if her son could hear her.
He rushed out of the trench into battle,
The mother stood up to cover him with herself.
Everyone was afraid that he might fall,
But through the years the son rushed forward.
Alexey, my fellow countrymen shouted,
Alexey, they asked you to run.
The frame changed, the son remained to live,
He asks the mother to repeat about her son.
And he runs to attack again
Alive, healthy, not wounded, not killed.
Alexey, Alyoshenka, son.
As if her son could hear her.
At home everything seemed like a movie to her,
I was waiting for everything right now through the window
In the midst of alarming silence
Her son will come knocking from the war
"Cranes" (song)
Host: I don’t have photographs in black frames on the wall. My parents don't talk about
war, because they were born after it. But the memory retained the stories of their grandmothers and
grandfathers about those terrible years. And they passed this memory on to me:
Look at the living
While they are alive...
Remember their scars and their gray hairs.
Their courage in those years was thunderous
Saved a free country from slavery.
Look at the living ones.
They met death after all.
And to this day they sometimes dream of death.
They are sad.
They mourn at night
About those friends who sleep in damp ground...
And remember, alive and well,
Satisfied with the situation and fate,
That we are invincible until then,
For now, the memory of the fallen is with you!
(P. Kruchenyuk.)
The song “Victory Day...with lit candles” plays
Victory Day, how far it was from us
Like a coal melting in an extinguished fire
There were miles burnt in dust
Victory Day Victory Day
Victory Day
Days and nights at open-hearth furnaces
Our Motherland did not close its eyes
Days and nights they fought a difficult battle
We brought this day closer as best we could
This Victory Day smelled like gunpowder
This holiday with gray hair at the temples
This joy with tears in my eyes
Victory Day Victory Day
Victory Day
Hello mom, we're back, not all of us
Would like to run barefoot through the dew
Half of Europe walked half of the Earth
We brought this day closer as best we could
This Victory Day smelled like gunpowder
This holiday with gray hair at the temples
This joy with tears in my eyes
Victory Day Victory Day
Victory Day
Teacher's opening speech. Good afternoon, dear guests! We are glad to see you as spectators of the literary lounge on the theme: “Only valor lives immortally,” dedicated to the Victory in the Great Patriotic War.
Scene: table covered with a tablecloth; A girl is writing a letter at the table. The melody of the song “Little blue, modest handkerchief.” 1 verse.
Presenter 1: Russian soldiers.... And how many of them were very young, they went to war from school, from student dormitories in June 1941, but not all were destined to return in the victorious 45th.
Presenter 2: Scene of a boy and a girl saying goodbye (a girl and a boy come out)
young man
And at the age of 17
I joined the soldier's ranks.
All overcoats are gray, all have the same cut.
All the fellow soldiers
Both in the company and in the regiment -
Gas mask and machine gun,
Yes, the flask is on the side..
K.N.Starshinov
Young woman
I'll be waiting.
So wait until the memory even fades away,
So that the day becomes impassable,
To die with a sweet name
And catch up with someone else's shadow,
So as not to trust the mirror,
To hide from the pillow,
So that the light of your love and fidelity
Close, hide, darken,
So that your fingers don’t accidentally crack,
To hold that sigh in your hand too.
So wait so that, dead, he feels
Hot wind on the cheek.
I. Ehrenburg.
young man
Wait for me and I will return.
Just wait a lot.
Wait when they make you sad
Wait for the snow to blow
Wait for it to be hot
Wait when others are not waiting,
Forgetting yesterday.
Wait when from distant places
No letters will arrive
Wait until you get bored
To everyone who is waiting together. (K. Simonov.)
Presenter 1: During the war with new strength the theme of intimate lyrics began to sound. And rebirth love lyrics The poetry of the war years was greatly promoted by the cycle of poems by Konstantin Simonov “With You and Without You,” written in 1941-1942.
Presenter 2 Simonov’s most famous poem from the collection “With You and Without You” and, perhaps, Simonov’s most famous poem is “Wait for Me.” He is known and loved by people of different generations. And, it seems to me, I understood the secret of his undying popularity: in place lyrical hero In this poem, every soldier could pose himself and say “wait for me” to his friend, beloved, mother. After all, soldiers in the war lived with the memory of home, dreamed of meeting their loved ones, and they so needed to be expected.
Presenter 1 : The series “With You and Without You” is dedicated to actress Valentina Serova. She became the poet's wife on the eve of the war, in 1941. Some details of their relationship in poetry.
"To a distant friend "(student speaks)
And you will meet this year without me,
If only you could fully understand,
If only you knew how much I love you,
You would fly to me on wings.
From now on, the two of us would be everywhere,
And, reflected in the icy water
Your face would look at me.
If only you knew how much I love you.
You would be above me all night, until I wake up,
She stood here in the dugout where I sleep,
Letting myself go into dreams alone.
If only by the power of love
I could place our souls nearby,
Tell your soul: come, live,
Be invisible, be inaccessible to view.
But don't leave me even one step,
Be a reminder only to me, understandable:
In the fire - an unclear flicker of fire,
In a blizzard there is a blue flutter of snow.
Invisible, watch me write
Sheets of your nightly absurd letters,
How I helplessly search for words,
How unbearably dependent I am on them.
I don’t want to share my sadness with anyone here,
You will rarely hear your name here.
But if I am silent, I am silent about you,
And the air is filled with your faces.
They are all around me, wherever I throw myself,
You all look into my eyes tirelessly.
Yes, you would understand how much I love you,
If only she could live here with me invisibly for at least a day.
But you are also celebrating this year without me...
Presenter 1 : They say that when the guns roar, the muses are silent. But from first to last day The voice of the poets did not stop during the war. And the cannon fire could not drown it out. Readers have never listened to the voice of poets so much. The famous English journalist Alexander Werth, who spent the entire war in the Soviet Union, wrote in the book “Russia in the War of 1941-1945”: “Russia, perhaps, the only country, where millions of people read poetry, and literally everyone read poets like Simonov and Surkov during the war.”
Presenter 2 Poetry, as an art form capable of a quick emotional response, in the very first months and even days of the war created works that were destined to become epochal. Already on June 24, 1941, a poem by V.I. was published in the newspapers “Krasnaya Zvezda” and “Izvestia”. Lebedev-Kumach "Holy War".
Presenter 1: The editor-in-chief of “Red Star” Dmitry Ortenberg describes the history of the appearance of this poem as follows: “I called literary collaborator Lev Soloveichik and told him:
Let's urgently send poems to the room! Having received the task, he began calling poets.
I accidentally bumped into Lebedev-Kumach:
Vasily Ivanovich, the newspaper needs poetry.
Today is Sunday. The newspaper is published on Tuesday. Poems should definitely be there tomorrow.
Presenter 2: The next day, Lebedev-Kumach, as promised, brought the poem to the editorial office. It started like this:
Get up, huge country,
Stand up for mortal combat
With fascist dark power,
With the damned horde.
Presenter 1: Soon the composer Aleksandrov wrote music for these poems. And on June 27, the Red Army ensemble performed the song for the first time at the Belorussky railway station in the capital in front of the soldiers going to the front.
The song “Holy War” plays, newsreel footage.
Presenter 1: During the war years this song was heard everywhere. To its sounds the first echelons marched to the front; it accompanied the soldiers on the march, in the suffering of war and the hard life of the rear. The rallying, inspiring role of this song was largely determined by the fact that it told the harsh truth about the war. She was imbued with a sense of the severity of the trials that befell our people.
Presenter 2 Already the first weeks and months of the war showed that the war would not be easy. It won’t work out the way it was sung in the pre-war bravura songs: “We will defeat the enemy on enemy soil with little blood, with a mighty blow,” “We will cope with any misfortune, we will scatter all enemies into smoke.” All this was the leitmotif of poems and songs of the 30s, widely circulated in print and recited on the radio.
Presenter 1: During the war years, the character of our literature changes significantly. She begins to get rid of the artificial optimism and self-satisfaction that was ingrained in the pre-war era.
Presenter 2: Third presenter: The war made the tragic beginning in Russian literature possible again. And it was heard in the works of many poets.
Presenter 1: Front-line poet David Samoilov wrote about how “war, misfortune, dream and youth” coincided in his poem “The Forties” (student speaks).
Presenter 2 Soldiers. They went through the war in soldiers' greatcoats. They served in the infantry, artillery, aviation, reconnaissance... Each had their own war, their own front roads. Some fought near Moscow, others at Stalingrad, some reached Berlin, others to Prague, others to Port Arthur... Each had their share, but the war was their common fate, the fate of the entire people. They had to stand and win, and they did it because they wrote letters home.
Presenter 1: Letters from the front...Documents over which time has no power. They were written in the heat and cold by the tired hands of soldiers who did not let go of their weapons. These documents contain the hot breath of battle. These letters are a thread connecting our generation with those distant years. And let today’s reading of these living lines of war be a tribute to the blessed memory of those who wrote them... (student speaks)
. Dear Tonechka!
I don't know if you will ever read these lines? But I know for sure that this is my last letter. Now there is a hot, deadly battle. Our tank is hit. There are fascists all around us. We have been fighting off the attack all day. Ostrovsky Street is littered with corpses in green uniforms, they look like large motionless lizards... When our tank first met the enemy, I hit him with a gun, mowed him down with machine gun fire, in order to destroy more fascists and bring the end of the war closer, so that I could see you sooner, my dear. But my dreams did not come true... The tank is shaking from enemy attacks, but we are still alive. There are no shells, the cartridges are running out... Through the holes in the tank I see the street, green trees, bright, bright flowers in the garden. You, the survivors, after the war will have a life as bright, colorful as these flowers, and happy. It's not scary to die for her...
Presenter 2 The poems of Joseph Utkin are imbued with deep lyricism. The poet was a war correspondent during the war. Joseph Utkin died in a plane crash in 1944 while returning to Moscow from the front.
poem by I. Utkin “It’s midnight on the street...” (student speaking)
It's midnight outside. The candle burns out.
High stars are visible.
You write a letter to me, my dear,
To the blazing address of war.
How long have you been writing this, my dear?
Finish and start again.
But I'm sure: to the leading edge
Such love will break through!
…We've been away from home for a long time. The lights of our rooms
Wars are not visible behind the smoke.
But the one who is loved
But the one who is remembered
Feels like home - and in the smoke of war!
Warmer at the front from affectionate letters.
Reading, behind every line
You see your beloved and hear your homeland,
We'll be back soon. I know. I believe.
And the time will come:
Sadness and separation will remain at the door.
And only joy will enter the house.
Presenter 1: Before the Great Patriotic War, there were 2,186 writers and poets in the Soviet Union, 944 people went to the front, 417 did not return from the war. 48 poets died at the fronts. The oldest of them, Samuil Rosin, was 49 years old, the youngest, Vsevolod Bagritsky, Boris Smolensky, was barely 20.
Presenter 2: “Oh, war, what have you done, you vile…” This is how Bulat Okudzhava’s poem “Goodbye, boys” begins. The very name itself brings a note of tragedy: how many boys and girls did not return from this war! How many failed destinies, unfulfilled weddings, unborn children...
There's a song playing.
Presenter 1:: Nothing can compare to the grief of a mother who has lost her child and survived it. This is a violation of the natural law of life. This is the poem by Yulia Drunina, dedicated to her fighting friend Zinaida Samsonova, who died in 1942.
« Zinka" (3 students performing)
We lay down by the broken fir tree,
We are waiting for it to start getting brighter.
It's warmer for two under an overcoat
On chilled, damp ground.
- You know, Yulka, I am against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
At home, in the apple outback,
Mom, my mother lives.
You have friends, darling.
I only have one.
Spring is bubbling beyond the threshold.
It seems old: every bush
A restless daughter is waiting
You know, Yulka, I am against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
We barely warmed up,
Suddenly the order: “Move forward!”
Again next to me in a damp overcoat
The blonde soldier is coming.
2. Every day it became more bitter.
There were no rallies or replacements.
Surrounded near Orsha
Our battered battalion.
Zinka led us on the attack.
We made our way through the black rye,
Along funnels and gullies,
Through mortal boundaries.
We didn't expect posthumous fame
We wanted to live with glory.
Why in bloody bandages
The blonde soldier lies
Her body with her overcoat
I covered it up, clenching my teeth.
Belarusian huts sang
About the Ryazan wilderness gardens.
3. You know, Zinka, I am against sadness,
But today it doesn't count.
At home, in the apple outback
Mom, your mother lives.
I have friends, my love
She had you alone.
The house smells like bread and smoke,
Spring is bubbling beyond the threshold.
And an old lady in a flowery dress
I lit a candle at the icon
I don't know how to write to her
So that she doesn't wait for you.
Presenter 1: Orphanhood and widowhood are another tragedy of war. With piercing pain, Sergei Vikulov wrote the poem “Alone Forever” about this misfortune.
An excerpt from S. Vikulov’s poem “Forever Alone” is heard: (narrated by a student)
… Barely enough strength
accept the envelope with a trembling hand...
And suddenly: “Grandfather, dear!”
"Oh!" and to his cheek cheek!
And she spun around in an embrace with him:
"He's alive! He's alive!"
“Well, God forbid!”
The old man, touched, wiped away a tear and walked out the threshold,
Marveling that the bag became lighter...
She, sitting down near the table,
First I pressed the envelope to my lips
And only then she tore it...
“Darling!..” and the uneven leaf suddenly trembled in her hands,
And in her huge blue ones
Fear poured out like a premonition,
And my finger became whiter than paper,
Drozhko followed the line.
"Darling, we are retreating!
All of us are already across the river.
It's just us here, and the bridge hasn't been blown up!
And the bridge is already in the hands of the enemy!
And our battalion commander said: “Shame on us!” And
"Volunteers, two steps forward!"
And we, whoever is left alive...
We all go to him at once!!!
“Well, bravo...”, he said tiredly,
And he called four of them out of the ranks one at a time.
I was third from the end...
And he, stern and direct,
said: “I’m sending you to death, write letters to your mothers..”
The hour is at your disposal"
And so, having chosen a drier place,
I am writing... for the last time.
I’m writing to you, I’m sorry that the handwriting is so illegible,
you have to understand
An hour is not enough for me to say everything
I need life!!!
And I’m in a hurry, I’m in a hurry, and I immediately want the main thing:
The deadline will pass, and you, of course, will get married,
I understand, I’m cruel, but You... who will judge you?
You will come out faithful to me.
And you will have a son, even if he doesn’t look like me,
Let it be... but I want your little boy to be able to do anything!
So that there is a straw bang on the forehead, and specks around the eyes.
So that you can recognize it among the boys, even from a distance
And so that one day he hears your sad story about the one
Who so wanted (forgive me for this confession!) to become his father!
Well, it didn’t work out! He disappeared somewhere... no matter where, he was a fighter.
And you, one day, tell him, leaving everything,
That he did not live to see the Victory, but died so that there would be one!
So again good people the light hit their faces, dispelling the darkness,
So that he, the snub-nosed one, could be born and have an easy life for him,
So that in the morning the path would lead him either into the forest or to the lake,
Let the thunder roar and the boat fly forward! And the rainbow bloomed!
So that lightning goes out like matches, striking a rainbow-arc,
So that someone's girl with a pigtail would be waiting for him on the shore...
Beloved... and silence... and again
I shout from the smoke and fire: MY FAVORITE!!!
But you will hear this word without me...
Presenter 2. Art and war, love and death... What incompatible concepts! But that’s exactly how it was... And also poems and songs, music and painting. Artists were also at the forefront. From the posters one could trace the history of the entire war.
A story about the poster “Let's get to Berlin” (student tells, pointing on the map)
The prototype of the smiling hero on the march was a real hero - the sniper Golosov, whose front-line portraits formed the basis of the famous sheet.
In the foreground there is a young man sitting on a stump near a trench soviet soldier, with calm, unhurried movements, pulling on his boot. His machine gun lies nearby. On the other side, a broken German helmet is lying on the side of the road. In the background is a small European town. Tanks and cars are driving along the front road, infantry and cavalry are marching. The scene is almost idyllic. If there were no war details here, you might think that this is a cheerful guy who decided to travel around the world; On the way, he was a little tired, sat down to rest, and now, having rested, he is preparing to continue his journey.
He looks at us with a smile, his whole appearance breathes calm and confidence. The figure of the soldier, filling almost the entire space of the picture, is depicted sitting, however, it rises above all other details of the image: above the silhouette of the town in the background and above the military unit moving along the road. Keeping the foreground as close as possible is a characteristic technique for a poster, thus separating the main thing from the secondary. The artist especially highlights the soldier's boot, places it in the foreground and carefully draws out the details.
But if you look at the poster not in detail, but in general, then everything immediately falls into place. “Let's get to Berlin!” – this combination of image and text adds tension to the poster, increases its content, gives it persuasive power and we have no doubt that the promise will be fulfilled.
Presenter 1: Many wonderful poems were born during the war. Some of them, having played their enormous propaganda role, remained wartime documents, while others entered modern spiritual culture as a manifestation of the beauty of the soul of the people, as a poeticization of the natural and beautiful in unnatural conditions.
Presenter 2 Beautiful summer of 1941, June 21, Saturday. All schools in the country are celebrating graduation, and tomorrow, tomorrow there will be war... Vadim Shefner’s poem “June 22” is dedicated to this memorable and tragic date.
(Student speaks)
Don't dance today, don't sing.
In the late afternoon pensive hour
Stand silently by the windows,
Remember those who died for us.
There, in the crowd, among loved ones, lovers,
Among cheerful and strong guys,
Someone's shadows in green caps
They silently rush to the outskirts.
They cannot linger, stay -
This day takes them forever,
On the tracks marshalling yards
The trains are blowing their whistle for separation.
Calling them and calling them is in vain,
They won't say a word in response,
But with a sad and clear smile
Look closely after them.
Presenter 1: The military storm has long passed. For a long time now, thick rye has been sprouting in the fields where hot battles took place. But people keep in memory the names of heroes last war.
Presenter 2: The Great Patriotic War... Our story is about those who fearlessly and proudly stepped into the glow of war, into the roar of cannonade, stepped and did not return, leaving a bright mark on the earth - their poems.
Teacher. Our conversation about wartime art has come to an end. Thank you for your attention. See you soon.
