Bardovsky Vasily Terkin. Vasily Terkin

Year of publication of the book: 1942

Alexander Tvardovsky’s poem “Vasily Terkin” needs no introduction. The name of the main character of the poem has long become a household name, and the work itself has gained nationwide love. The poem “Vasily Terkin” was staged many times on the stage of a wide variety of theaters and was even filmed twice. It is rightfully considered one of the best works about the war, as well as the most famous work of Alexander Tvardovsky. According to surveys in 2015, the poem “Vasily Terkin” took 23rd place among the most popular poetic works.

The plot of the poem "Vasily Terkin" briefly

From the author

Tvardovsky’s poem “Vasily Terkin” begins with the author’s reasoning about what is most important in war. Of course it’s water and it doesn’t matter where it comes from, even from a horse’s track. Good food and cook are important. But the most important thing is a good joke. That is why our conversation will focus on Vasya Terkin. Moreover, since there is no time to start, our conversation will begin right from the middle.

At a rest stop

In the next chapter of Tvardovsky’s poem “Vasily Terkin” you can read about our main character. The story begins with the fact that Vasily Ivanovich is an excellent eater. And during the conversation you will actually listen to him. This is how he told how he got to the small Sabantuy. He calls bombing sabantuy. But he calls the mortar sabantuy average. Well, he calls it a real Sabantuy when there are a thousand German tanks rushing at you, well, not a thousand, five hundred, or maybe a hundred. He talks so smoothly that people ask him to tell him something before going to bed. By the way, our main character is also very sleepy. During two wars I learned to sleep not only for the previous lack of sleep, but even for future use. Terkin fought the first war on the Karelian Peninsula. Three times he was surrounded and three times here he was.

Before the fight

Terkin recalls how, during the retreat, their detachment of ten people made their way from encirclement to the front. Everyone was despondent because they were leaving the cities captured by the enemy and only Terkin was sure that we would return everything. On their way they came across the commander's native village. The soldiers decided to come in. They were met by the commander's wife and children. He didn't sleep all night - he chopped wood and tried to help his wife with the housework. And in the morning, their detachment left amid the roar of children, leaving the village in enemy captivity. Since then, Terkin dreamed of entering this village when their army was moving back, and bowing to this woman.

Crossing

In the chapter “Crossing” from the poem “Vasily Terkin” you can read about how the crossing of the Dnieper begins at night. The first platoon leaves on the pontoons, followed by the second and third. All the fighters on the pontoons seemed to have changed and became more friendly. But then a spotlight slid across the surface of the water, and behind it a column of water rose from the water. The pontoons walked in a row, and the author of the lines says that he will never forget this sight, how the young, still warm soldiers went to the bottom. The crossing failed. No, there is still hope that the first platoon managed to cross, but it’s hard to believe. And then at night two watchmen see a point in the river. They are so cold that they think they imagined it. But no, Vasily Terkin swam across the icy river and now stands on the shore, unable to move his teeth or his hands - everything was cramped. The main character was immediately wrapped up and taken to the headquarters hut. Here they rubbed it with alcohol, but Vasily asked not to spoil it and give it inside. And after that he reported that the first platoon was entrenched on the left bank and was ready to help the crossing if they were covered by artillery fire. And now the battle for life on earth begins again.

About war

In the next chapter of “Vasily Terkin” you can read the author’s thoughts about the war. She came unexpectedly and now it is everyone’s duty to protect their homeland. After all, the bomb is stupid and you can’t say that my house is on the edge. And the Germans will hide it just like in the book. Therefore, even if the order comes and death meets you, it means the deadline has expired, but they will write about us.

Terkin is wounded

The next episode of the poem “Vasily Terkin” tells us how the main character in a rifle company pulls a communication wire. A shell falls next to him, but does not explode. Everyone lies hidden, and only Terkin relieves himself a little. Soon Vasily notices a German “cellar”. He decides to occupy her, but the dugout is empty. Then he himself arranges an ambush there. He waits for the German officer and kills him with a bayonet, but he himself is wounded in the shoulder. Our artillery begins to hit the cellars, and only a day later the wounded protagonist is picked up by tank crews and taken to the medical battalion.

About the award

Next, the main character of the poem “Vasily Terkin” talks in the medical unit about the need for the order. No, he is not proud and agrees to a medal. The main thing is that when he returns to his native place and goes to a party, he meets that same girl in front of whom it would be great to show off an order, or maybe just a medal. But for this, this terrible battle for life itself on earth must end.

Harmonic

In the next chapter of the poem “Vasily Terkin” - “Accordion”, our main character catches up with his first company of the rifle regiment. It's freezing outside and a three-ton truck picks him up. They wind their way through the snowy corridors for a long time until a column blocks their path. This means that they now have to let it through. But it’s just too cold to wait, and Vasily Terkin asks the tankers for an accordion. They say that they have an accordion, but it was left over from their commander, who died yesterday in battle. The tankers give Terkin an accordion and he first began to sing his native Smolensk sad tune. But then, at the request of the assembled soldiers, cheerful music struck. And now steam is flowing from the mouths of several soldiers who have begun to dance. And the tankers recognize Terkin. They were the ones who brought him to the medical unit after being wounded and offer him to keep the accordion for himself.

Two soldiers

Next, the author of the poem “Vasily Terkin” takes the main character three kilometers from the front. He warms himself in the house of an old man and an old woman. The old man sits in front of the window, listens to the sounds of the front, and among other things tries to sharpen his saw. Vasily volunteers to help him and make the wiring. As it turns out, the old man is also a former soldier, but now his health is not the same. Vasily repairs his watch, which he brought from his campaigns, and the old man demands that the grandmother fry some lard. The grandmother did not resist for long, but then she fried some lard and even broke two eggs. It was an excellent snack and better than porridge with broken pieces. And after lunch, Terkin answered the old man’s question if we defeat the Germans - we’ll beat our father!

About loss

The image of the Russian soldier in the poem “Vasily Terkin” is well revealed in the chapter “On Loss”. While sleeping, the forty-year-old soldier begins to regret that he has lost his pouch. Before that, he lost his home, family, children, wife, and now he also lost his pouch. Vasily Terkin says that this is nonsense. So one day he lost his hat and it was given to him by a young nurse who bandaged his head with an inexperienced hand. Now he would like to return this hat to that nurse. Terkin gives his worn pouch to the war and says that next year he will be given five more of these. And they need to grieve not about the loss of pouches, wives and children, but about the loss of their Motherland. Future generations will not forgive them for this. After all, Russia has stood for a thousand years and there is no way to lose it.

Duel

Well, the war in the poem “Vasily Terkin” is best revealed in the chapter “Duel”. Our main character went on reconnaissance and collided head-on with a German. An unequal battle ensued with a well-groomed German soldier. Terkin fought not just for himself, but for his Motherland. Therefore, even with a broken mouth and covered in blood, he will be right. When the German decided to hit him with his helmet, Terkin took a grenade without a pin and gave it to the German. He fell unconscious. And then a satisfied Terkin proudly walked along Soviet soil, carrying his tongue with him. And everyone they met, even those who did not know Terkin, rejoiced at his victory.

From the author

The image of the soldier in the poem “Vasily Terkin” is best revealed in the next chapter - “From the author”. In it, Tvardovsky suggests forgetting about the war at least for a minute. Imagine that the soldier has returned home, because that is exactly the goal. And all the current hardships and strict subordination to commanders only brings this moment closer.

Who shot?

Well, the character of Vasily Terkin in Tvardovsky’s poem is best revealed in the chapter “Who Shot?” Yesterday there was a battle, but now the guns have already cooled down, and all the soldiers are thinking about the smell of summer, arable land and the buzz of the cockchafer. But now a new sound appears. This is the sound of a bomber, from which everyone instantly follows the command: “Get down!” And then many people have thoughts about death. No, it’s not scary to die, but not in the summer. Although if you look at it, it’s never the right time to die. And when everyone was lying down and praying, one soldier jumped up and shot at the plane from his knee. A three-line gun is, of course, not an anti-aircraft gun, but the plane spun and crashed into the ground. He collapsed as if he wanted to break through it and fly out to America. Everyone rushed to congratulate Terkin, the headquarters called and demanded the name of the hero who shot down the plane, and the sergeant enviously said that the guy got the order out of the bush. But Terkin was not taken aback and said that this was not the Germans’ last plane and the sergeant could still receive the order.

About the hero

In the next chapter, the main character will tell us what prompted him to fight to receive the order. This was when he was still in the medical unit. Next to him lay a very young boy with an order. Terkin asked him if he was from Smolensk, but the boy proudly replied that he was Tambov. And in that answer Ivan sensed pride in his land and the impossibility of the heroes leaving the Smolensk land. No, Ivan is not proud of his land and all of Russia is dear to him, but in their land there are heroes who are capable of feats. And now he has proven it.

General

But the real war in Tvardovsky’s poem “Vasily Terkin” is revealed to us in the chapter “General”. The war has been going on for the second summer and Vasily had a chance to do his laundry and just lie down on the grass by a small river. But his sleep is interrupted by a messenger who brings the news that a general is waiting for Terkin. The main character puts on wet clothes and goes to the only general for many miles around. Of course, he is a little timid, although he knows that he will not be scolded. The general presents the main character with an order and gives him a week of vacation to go home. But Vasily says that a week is not enough for him. After all, it is not a river to get past enemy posts. And his village is now on the other side of the front. The general hugs Terkin and says that he is on his way, and that he will have a week of vacation when they liberate his home village.

About Me

In the next chapter, “About Myself,” the author of the poem “Vasily Terkin” takes the floor. He talks about how sad he is about his home, fields and forests, how sad he is about his childhood and wants to hug his mother again. The author tells how he is filled with anger towards the enemy, and that in his poems, on behalf of Terkin, who is his fellow countryman, he often expresses his own thoughts.

Fight in the swamp

The question of which Vasily Terkin in Tvardovsky’s poem is well answered in the chapter “Fight in the Swamp”. It talks about an unknown battle near the village of Borki. All that was left of this settlement were three pipes and a black spot. Our soldiers lie knee-deep in water and chest-deep in mud. The infantry scolds the tank crews, the tank crews scold the infantry and all together the aviation, because they still can’t take these Borks. The enemy's working mortar does not allow him to raise his head from the mud. And only Terkin says that now they are almost at the resort. After all, they are in formation, and behind them are guns and the whole of Russia in general. But two years ago, when they were retreating, it was not clear where they were and where they were, and then it was hard. Yes, some of them will die in this unknown battle, but the memory of them will always live in the hearts of people.

About love

Well, the folk character in the poem “Vasily Terkin” is clearly demonstrated in the chapter “About Love”. In it, the writer says that at least one woman accompanied each of the fighters on their journey. It could be a mother, whose name is the most precious thing a soldier has, or it could be a wife, whose love and letters warm both ordinary soldiers and generals. The author of the poem asks women to write more often, although he understands perfectly well that it is difficult for them at this time. He also asks you to pay attention to Vasily Terkin, who, although he is not a pilot, or a tank driver, or a horseman, is just infantry. But it is the infantry that is the main driving force of any war.

Rest Terkina

Well, the life of soldiers in the poem “Vasily Terkin” is best revealed in the chapter “Terkin’s Rest”. In it, the main character goes straight to heaven. Here you can sleep up to 600 minutes, eat four times a day and not from your knee, but from the table. Here you don’t have to hide the spoon in your boot, but you also can’t wipe yourself with your sleeve. Here you have to undress before going to bed, and two whole sheets put you in a stupor. But Vasily Terkin cannot fall asleep for a long time in this paradise. Until they tell him that he needs to put on a hat. And then the main character really quickly falls asleep. But the war is not over yet. Therefore, in the morning Vasily catches a ride and goes to the front. When we reach that border along the Warsaw highway, then we’ll rest.

On the offensive

Well, the tragedy of the poem “Vasily Terkin” can be felt in the chapter “On the Offensive”. It starts with the fact that we were on the defensive for too long. Some even stocked up on brooms for the bathhouse next year. But then the order came forward. The soldiers have to take the village. Everything happens precisely on the orders of the general, who sits in a dry dugout and just watches for an hour. "Platoon! For the Motherland! Forward!”, the young lieutenant gives the command precisely on the clock and is the first to rush around the village. But already near the first houses he fell, as if diving into the snow. The soldiers rushed towards him, but he gave the command “Forward!” After all, he is not wounded, he is killed. And now it fell to Terkin to lead forty people into battle. He gave the command and was the first to rush into the village.

Death and the Warrior

Well, the heroism and humor in the poem “Vasily Terkin” can be seen in the chapter “Death and the Warrior”. The battle went beyond the distant hills, and the main character bled to death in the snow. Death leaned over him and offered to go with her. But Vasily confidently said that he was still alive. Then death suggested that he not suffer, he would freeze and die anyway, and she should not freeze here. But Terkin says that he has not lived yet. Death is not far behind. Terkin offers to surrender, but only if Death lets him go for a walk on Victory Day. But Death does not agree. And then two members of the funeral team appear. They wanted to sit on Terkina and smoke, but the fighter gave a weak voice. The funeral team immediately decides to carry him to the medical unit, and Death decides to walk nearby. But when the fighters take off their gloves and give them to the barely alive Terkin, Death retreats and marvels at this friendship of the living.

Terkin writes

Well, Terkin’s characterization from the poem “Vasily Terkin” is well revealed in the next chapter, “Terkin Writes.” In it, the main character writes that his leg wound has already been completely cured. And as the doctors say, the leg will be better than before. Therefore, Vasily really hopes that he will soon catch up with his brothers-in-arms. After all, he wants to liberate his native Smolensk region with his unit and, if necessary, he will go further. To do this, he is ready to write a letter even to the general, because he will certainly respect the soldier to whom he personally presented the order.

Terkin-Terkin

And in the next chapter “Terkin - Terkin” the main character has already returned to his native part. But there are practically no former colleagues left here. Terkin and other soldiers are resting in someone’s house, whose barn has been cut down for firewood. And then another soldier enters and declares that he is Terkin. Our main character is puzzled. He begins to check the impostor. But he has already two orders, and he plays the accordion no worse than Terkin himself. But the impostor is red and his name is Ivan. The general laughter and hubbub on this occasion is interrupted by the cry of the foreman, who decides to give one Terkin to each company.

From the author

The next chapter is again “From the author”. In it, Tvardovsky reflects on the rumors that are circulating around the front. They say that Vasily Terkin allegedly died, supposedly he was covered by a shell, and others say that he is still alive as before. But such a hero, who has already walked half the country, cannot die and he will certainly outlive the author of these lines. After all, in two years the country managed to lose and regain lands from the Moscow region to the Dnieper region. And now victory is close and Vasily Terkin will surely see it.

Grandfather and grandmother

Well, the steps of the Great Patriotic War in the poem “Vasily Terkin” can be traced in the chapter “Grandfather and Woman”. It was the third year of the war. The grandfather and the old woman whom Terkin repaired the clock in the chapter “Two Soldiers” have been living under occupation for many years now. The Germans took the watch, and people were already accustomed to making their way along the fences on their land. Grandfather, once again, draws encirclements, offensives and breakthroughs with a stick on the wall, but still cannot guess when his native army will liberate them. And then at night the front comes to them. The grandfather and the old woman are sitting in a hole with a chicken and a sack of potatoes. And only in the morning they hear steps in their direction. Grandfather grabs an ax and decides to give his last battle. But it turns out these are our intelligence officers. And the first in these ranks is that same Terkin. Both are happy to meet, and the grandmother is even eager to fry the lard again. But now Officer Terkin must hurry to release him. Nevertheless, he manages to have a snack and pour some tobacco to his grandfather, saying that the connection is with him. Soon the stench entered his grandparents' house. He immediately asked in advance of the clock and how he found out their fate and promised to bring two of them from Berlin.

On the Dnieper

At the beginning of the chapter “On the Dnieper,” the author of the poem “Vasily Terkin” recalls the words of the general from the chapter of the same name. In it, the general said that they were on the same path. But this turned out not to be the case, and Terkin’s native village was liberated by another general. Vasily himself is very sad for his land and asks for her forgiveness, but looking at the destruction that the invader left behind, he wants to move further across this vast Russian land. And now Terkin, as the main character, with his platoon swims across the Dnieper. They hide from the shots under a cliff on the right bank. The crossings and bridges will be there tomorrow, but today they have already occupied the shore, to which the belated German units are still retreating. And the soldiers cheerfully declare that they should surrender on the left bank.

About an orphan soldier

The truth about the war in the poem “Vasily Terkin” is revealed in the chapter “About the Orphan Soldier.” Vasily Terkin met him near Bortki, who was hired for six months. He was cheerful and in no way inferior to Terkin. And even when he had to retreat, he cheerfully declared that he was going to the West, although he was going to the East. But the retreat ended and now our army sometimes takes a city in a day, and a regional center in a week. And when they were advancing near Smolensk, this fighter asked to go home on leave. After all, he is local here and not far away. He quickly found his village of Red Bridge, but did not recognize it. There was no home, no wife, no son, the fighter lost everything in this war. He stood there, cried and returned to his unit. Now he must collect the debt from the enemy. And the author asks all Soviet soldiers to help him and remember this duty of everyone.

On the way to Berlin

In the next chapter, our main character is already moving along the road to Berlin. Everything here is not original - red houses, tiled roofs, signs, icons, arrows. They are already three foreign languages ​​from home and everywhere they were greeted in a brotherly manner by the Poles, French and other peoples. The entire road to the West is covered with fluff. Down from feather beds and pillows. After all, all of Europe is moving home to the East. And then a familiar voice is heard among this crowd. This is an ordinary Russian woman going home. These are exactly the kind of Russian mothers who are waiting for their sons, and maybe even grandchildren, to return from the war. She has a long way to go, right beyond the Dnieper. Therefore, Terkin quickly organizes for the old woman a horse with harness, a rug to cover her feet, a cow and a sheep, and here is also a mug and a bucket with supplies, and of course a feather bed and a pillow. The mother objects that she will not be allowed through the checkpoints. But Terkin does not yield and says that at these points she should say that Vasily Terkin gave her everything. And he promises to come see the pies if he’s alive.

In the bath

But even in war there is a place for rest. And somewhere in the depths of Germany, as in, our soldiers organized a bathhouse for themselves. There are count's chairs in a row, onto which the soldier throws his underpants. The soldier is not tall, but his chest is forward, his body is all covered with scars and marks of memorable places. And then he undressed, saying: “Wow!” sneaks into the steam room. Here he demands to add more and more. And even though the water is not from the Moscow River, it’s still good. Having steamed the bones well, he gives thanks to the pompohoz who, even if he brought a real Russian broom to such a distance from Lithuania. Well, after resting after the steam room, I washed and got dressed. There is no place for medals on his chest, and someone notices that he bought them at the military trade store. To which the soldier, like a real Vasily Terkin, replies: “That’s not all! The rest are yet to come!”

From the author

Well, the end of the war is over. The author of the poem about Terkin says that if he lied in his work, it was only for the sake of laughter, and if he made a mistake somewhere, it was only because the lines of these poems were written in cars, in the rain, in a tent and wherever there was at least one Free minute. From the first days, the author hoped that Vasily Terkin would become the harmony that would bring joy to the soldier, at least for a few minutes. And his best reward will be if the reader of these lines says that everything is clear in Russian, and the memory of the fighter will live in the future.

The poem "Vasily Terkin" on the Top books website

Alexander Tvradovsky’s poem “Vasily Terkin” is so popular to read on the eve of Victory Day that the work ended up in ours. Well, among it is one of the highest places. And given the dynamics and presence of the poem in the school curriculum, we will see it more than once in the ratings of our site.

You can read the poem “Vasily Terkin” online on the Top Books website.

Vasily Terkin:

Tvardovsky wrote the poem “Vasily Terkin” in 1941–1945. It became one of the most famous works about the Patriotic War in Russian literature. In the poem, the author reveals the theme of the war, mentioning the events of 1941–1942: the battle of the Volga, the crossing of the Dnieper, the capture of Berlin. The connecting motif of the work is the motif of the road along which the soldiers go to the goal, to victory.

The work consists of 30 chapters and is written mainly in trochaic tetrameter - a meter characteristic of Russian ditties and folklore.

Main characters

Vasily Ivanovich Terkin- the main character of the poem, previously fought “in Karelian”, where he was wounded. A joker and joker, he loves his homeland and is ready to fight for it to the end.

From the author

At a rest stop

The joker Vasya Terkin ends up in the first infantry platoon and entertains other soldiers with his stories. Terkin is “just a guy”, “ordinary”, there are such people in every company and every platoon.

Before the fight

Terkin recalls how ten soldiers walked “following the front.” Passing through the commander's village, they went to his house. The wife fed the soldiers. Terkin decided to go to her on the way back to bow.

Crossing

Winter, night. Soldiers on pontoons (floating bridges) crossed the river. The shelling began, many soldiers died. At dawn, Terkin sailed to the other, left bank. Having barely warmed up with alcohol, he reported that on the right bank they were asking for a “light.”

"The battle is holy and right<…>for the sake of life on earth."

About war

Terkin is wounded

Terkin establishes communications in the rifle company. Vasily makes his way into a cellar discovered along the way, waiting for the enemy. A German officer appears and shoots at Tyorkin, wounding the soldier in the right shoulder.

Only a day later tankers arrived and took the wounded Tyorkin away.

About the award

Terkin argues that he is not proud: why does he need an order - he agrees to a medal. Vasily dreams of coming home with an award on vacation. Now there, in the Smolensk region, there is a “terrible battle”, “bloody”.

Harmonic

Tyorkin was catching up with “his rifle regiment, his first company.” The fighter was picked up by a truck. On the way they stopped to let the column pass. The tankers gave Tyorkin the accordion of their deceased comrade. The music “suddenly made everyone feel warmer”; the soldiers began to order songs and dance.

Two soldiers

The hut of an old soldier and an old woman. Terkin, having gone to spend the night with them, repairs the wall clock. The old woman treats the soldier to scrambled eggs and lard. The old man asked Tyorkin if they would beat the Germans. As he left, the fighter replied: “We’ll beat you, father...”.

About loss

The soldier who lost his family was annoyed because of the loss of his pouch. Terkin gave his comrade his worn pouch, saying that in war there is no fear of losing anything, but Russia, “the old mother, we cannot lose in any way.”

Duel

Terkin fought hand-to-hand with the German. Vasily hit the enemy with an unloaded grenade. He fell. Terkin brought a German “language” to the battalion.

From the author

"Who shot?"

"Front. War". Shelling. One of the fighters fires a rifle at an enemy plane. The plane is falling. The hero who shot down the plane turned out to be Terkin (he was soon awarded for this).

About the hero

In the hospital, Terkin meets a hero boy from near Tambov, who talks about his homeland. Tyorkin felt offended for his native place - the Smolensk region, it seemed to him an “orphan”.

General

The general presents Tyorkin with an award, calling the fighter “eagle”, “hero”. He promised that he would go with Vasily to the Smolensk region, where the war is currently going on. They hugged like son and father.

About Me

Fight in the swamp

There was an unknown battle in the swamp for the “village of Borki”. The wet infantry curses the swamp. Terkin encourages them that everything is still good, because they are in their company, they have weapons. The re-energized soldiers took Borki.

About love

Rest Tyorkin

Terkin in the rest home. The fighter is unaccustomed to such conditions. Having been on vacation for only a short time, Terkin could not stand it and returned to the front.

On the offensive

The battle is in full swing. The platoon advances. The lieutenant ran ahead of the platoon and was killed. Terkin led the fighters into the attack and was seriously wounded.

Death and the Warrior

Death bent over the wounded Tyorkin lying in the snow - calling the fighter with him. But Vasily refuses - he still wants to defeat the Germans and return home. Tyorkin was picked up by soldiers from the medical battalion. Death has retreated.

Terkin writes

Terkin writes from the ward that he survived and is “concerned” with only one thing: returning to his native part.

Terkin-Torkin

Terkin returned to the company. Among the soldiers is Terkin’s “double”, the same joker - Ivan Terkin. The namesakes began to argue, trying to figure out which of them was the “real” one. The foreman judged them:

“According to the regulations, each company
Terkin will be given his own.”

From the author

Grandfather and grandmother

The house of his grandfather and grandmother, where Tyorkin repaired watches, under the Germans. A German soldier takes the watch.

The old man and his wife, hiding, “settled” in the pit. Unexpectedly, Russian intelligence officers arrived. Among them is Vasily Terkin. The old woman accepted Vasily “like a son.” Turkin promised to bring them “two new” watches from Berlin.

On the Dnieper

The front advanced to the Dnieper. Terkin, having learned that Smolensk was liberated by others, and not by him, felt guilty before his homeland.

About an orphan soldier

An orphan soldier lost his wife and son. Passing by his native village of Krasny Most, he found only “wilderness, weeds,” but even in grief he continued to fight for his homeland.

“Let us remember, brothers, during the conversation
About an orphan soldier..."

On the way to Berlin

Road to Berlin. Among the strangers, the soldiers heard their native speech - it was the “village worker-mother”. Terkin made sure that the woman was given things, a horse and sent home.

In the bath

“In the depths of Germany” soldiers wash themselves in a bathhouse. One of them, talkative, takes off his clothes - his body is covered in scars, and his tunic is covered in orders and medals. The soldiers note: “It’s the same as Terkin.”

From the author

The war is over, the narrator says goodbye to Tyorkin. The author dedicates his “favorite work” to all the fallen and friends of the war.

Conclusion

In the poem “Vasily Terkin” A. T. Tvardovsky chronicles the life of ordinary soldiers in the war, talks about their little joys, their losses and grief. The central image of Vasily Terkin is a collective image of a Russian fighter, ready, regardless of the circumstances, to always move forward, fighting for his native land. Many quotes from the poem have become catchphrases.

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In war, in the dust of the march,
In the summer heat and cold
There is no better simple, natural -
From the well, from the pond,
From a water pipe.
From a hoof print,
From any river,
From the stream, from under the ice, -
There's no better cold water,
Only water would be water.
In war, in harsh everyday life,
In a difficult life of combat,
In the snow, under a pine roof,
At the field parking lot, -
There is nothing better than simple, healthy.
Good food to the front line.
It is only important that the cook
If only there was a guy cook;
So that it’s not for nothing that he’s listed
So that sometimes I don’t sleep at night, -
If only she had some broth
Yes, it would be in the heat, in the heat -
Kinder, hotter;
To go into any fight,
Feeling the strength in my shoulders,
Feeling cheerful.
However
It's not just about the cabbage soup.
You can live without food for a day,
More is possible, but sometimes
In a one-minute war
Don't break through without a joke.
The most unwise jokes.

It’s impossible to live without shag,
From bombing to another
Without a good saying
Or some kind of saying -
Without you, Vasily Terkin,
Vasya Terkin is my hero.
And more than anything else
You won't live for sure
Without which? Without real truth,
Truth that hits right into the soul,
Yes, it would be thicker.
No matter how bitter it may be.
What else?.. And that’s all, perhaps.
In short, a book about a fighter
Without beginning, without end.
Why so - without a beginning?
Because time is short
Start it over again.
Why without end?
I just feel sorry for the fellow
In the difficult hour of our native land
Not joking, Vasily Terkin,
You and I have become friends.
I have no right to forget that.
What do I owe to your glory?
How and where did you help me?
Time for business, time for fun.
Dear Terkin in the war.
How can I suddenly leave you?
The account of old friendship is true.
In short, a book from the middle
And let's begin. And it will go there.

At the Halt

Efficient, to be sure
It was the same old man.
What did you come up with to cook soup?
On wheels straight.
Soup first. Secondly,
The porridge is normally strong.
No, he was an old man
Sensitive - that's for sure.
Hey, give me another one
A spoon like this
I am the second, brother, war
I will fight forever.
Rate it, add a little something.
The cook looked sideways:
"Wow eater
This guy is new."
He puts in an extra spoon.
He says unkindly:
- You should, you know, join the navy
With your appetite.

That one: - Thank you. I'm just
I haven't been in the navy.
I'd rather be like you
Cook in the infantry. -
And, sitting down on the pine floor,
He eats porridge while slouching.
"Mine?" - fighters among themselves. -
"Mine!" - they looked at each other.
And already, having warmed up, he slept
The regiment is very tired.
In the first wave the dream disappeared,
Contrary to the regulations.
Leaning against the trunk of a pine tree.
Not sparing shag,
At war about war
Terkin conducted the conversation.
- You guys from the middle
Start off. And I will say:
I'm not the first shoes
I wear it here without repair.
Now you have arrived at the place,
Take your guns and fight.
And who knows about you?
What is Sabantui?
Is Sabantuy some kind of holiday?
Or what is it - Sabantuy?
Sabantuy can be different,
If you don’t know, don’t interpret it.
Here under the first bombing
You'll lie down, from hunting to lying down,
You're still alive - don't worry:
This is a small Sabantui.

Take a breather and eat a big meal.
Light a cigarette and don't blow your nose.
It's worse, brother, like a mortar
Suddenly Sabantuy will begin.
He will penetrate you deeper, -
Kiss Mother Earth.
But keep this in mind, my dear.
This is an average Sabantui.
Sabantuy is science for you,
The enemy is fierce - he himself is fierce.
But it's a completely different thing
This is the main Sabantui.

The guy fell silent for a minute,
To clean the mouthpiece.
As if gradually someone
Winked: hang in there, buddy...
So you went out early,
I looked at your sweat and trembling:
A thousand German tanks...
A thousand tanks? Well, brother, you're lying,
- Why should I lie, buddy?
Consider what calculation?
- But why immediately - a thousand?
- Fine. Let it be five hundred.
- Well, five hundred. Tell me honestly
Don't scare me like old women.
OK. What's three hundred, two hundred -
At least meet one...

Well, the slogan in the newspaper is accurate:
Don't run into the bushes and into the bread.
Tank - it looks very formidable,
But in reality he is deaf and blind.
He's blind. You're lying in a ditch
And on the heart of the pendulum:
Suddenly he crushes you blindly, -
After all, he doesn’t see a damn thing.

I agree again:
What you don’t know, don’t interpret.
Sabantuy - just one word -
Sabantuy!.. But Sabantuy
It might hit you in the head.
Or, simply, in the head.
Here we had one guy...
Give me some tobacco.
They look at the joker's mouth.
They catch the word greedily.
It's good when someone lies
Fun and challenging.
To the side of the forest, deaf,
In bad weather,
Okay, as it is
Guy on a hike.

And he hesitated
They ask: - Come on, for the night
Tell me something else.
Vasily Ivanovich...
The night is deaf, the earth is damp.
The fire is smoking a little.
No, guys, it's time to sleep,
Start creeping?
With my face pressed to my sleeve,
On a warm hillock
Between fellow fighters
Vasily Terkin lay down.

The overcoat is heavy and wet.
The rain was good.
The roof is the sky, the hut is spruce,
The roots are pressing under the ribs.
But it is not visible that he
I was saddened by this
So that he can't sleep
Somewhere in the world.

So he pulled up the floors,
Hiding your back
I mentioned someone's mother-in-law.
Stove and feather bed,
And crouched down to the damp ground,
Overcome by languor,
And he lies, my hero,
He sleeps like at home.

He sleeps - even if he is hungry, even if he is full.
At least one, at least in a heap.
Sleep for the previous lack of sleep.
Learned to sleep in reserve.
And the hero can hardly sleep
Every night a heavy dream:
Like from the western border
He retreated to the east;

How did he go?
Vasya Terkin,
From the reserve private,
In a salted tunic
Hundreds of miles of native land.
How big is the earth?
Greatest land
And she would be a stranger
Someone else's, or your own.

The hero sleeps, snores - that's it.
Accepts everything as it is.
Well, my own - that’s for sure.
Well, it's war - so I'm here.
He sleeps, forgetting about the difficult summer.
Sleep, care, don't rebel.
Maybe tomorrow at dawn
There will be a new Sabantuy.

The soldiers sleep as if caught in a dream,
Rolling under the pine tree.
Sentinels at posts
They get wet and lonely.
Zgi is not visible. Night all around.
And the fighter will feel sad.
He just suddenly remembers something.
He will remember and smile.
And it’s as if the dream has disappeared,
Laughter chased away the yawn.
- It's good that he got it,
Terkin, to our company.

Terkin - who is he?
Let's be honest:
Just a guy himself
He's ordinary.
However, they are soaring anywhere.
A guy like that
Every company always has
Yes, and in every version.

And so that they know how strong they are,
Let's be honest:
Endowed with beauty
He was not excellent.
Not tall, not that small,
But a hero is a hero.
Fought in Karelian -
Beyond the Sestra River.

And we don't know why. -
They didn’t ask,
Why then should he
They didn't give me a medal.
Let's turn from this topic,
Let's say for order:
Maybe on the award list
There was a typo.

Don't look at what's on your chest
And look what's ahead!
In service since June, in battle since July,
Terkin is at war again.
- Apparently, a bomb or a bullet
I haven't found one yet for me.
Was hit by shrapnel in battle,
It has healed - and there is so much sense.
Three times I was surrounded.
Three times - here it is! - went out.

And although it was restless -
Remained unharmed
Under oblique, three-layer fire.
Under hinged and straight.
And more than once on the usual path,
Along the roads, in the dust of columns,
I was partially distracted
And partially destroyed...

But, however,
The warrior is alive,
To the kitchen - from the place, from the place - into battle.
Smokes, eats and drinks with gusto
Any position.
No matter how difficult, no matter how bad -
Don't give up, look forward.
This is a saying for now
The fairy tale will be ahead<...>

Crossing

Crossing, crossing!
Left bank, right bank.
The snow is rough, the edge of ice...

To whom is memory, to whom is glory.
For those who want dark water -
No sign, no trace.
At night, the first of the column.
Having broken off the ice at the edge,
Loaded onto the pontoons
First platoon.
Plunged in, pushed off
And went. The second one is behind him.
Get ready, duck down
The third one follows the second one.

The pontoons went like rafts.
One thundered, then another
Bass, iron tone,
Like a roof under your feet,
And the fighters are floating somewhere.
Hiding bayonets in the shadows.
And completely their own guys
Immediately it’s as if they weren’t
It's almost like they're similar
On our own, on those guys:
Somehow everything is becoming more friendly and stricter,
Somehow everything is more precious to you
And more dear than an hour ago...

Look - they really are guys!
How, in truth, yellowmouth,
Is he single, married,
These shorn people.
But the guys are already coming,
Fighters live in war,
Like sometime in the twenties
Their comrades are fathers.
They go the harsh way,
Same as two hundred years ago
Walked with a flintlock gun
The Russian worker is a soldier.

Past their curled temples.
Near their boyish eyes
Death whistled often in battle
And will there be a blowjob this time?
They lay down, rowed, sweating.
Managed with a pole
And the water roars to the right -
Under a blown-up bridge.
It's already halfway through
They are carried and circled...
And the water roars in the gorge.
The rotten ice crumbles into pieces.
Between bent truss beams
Beats in foam and dust...

And the first platoon, probably,
Reaches the earth with a pole.
The duct is noisy behind,
And all around is a strange night.
And he's already so far away
No matter what you shout or help...
And the jagged one turns black there,
Beyond the cold line
Inaccessible, untouched
Forest over black water.

Crossing, crossing!
The right bank is like a wall...
This night has a bloody trail
A wave carried it out to sea.
It was like this: out of deep darkness,
Fiery Blade Raised
Spotlight beam to the duct
Crossed diagonally.
And he placed a pillar of water
Suddenly a shell. Pontoons - in a row.
There were a lot of people there -
Our short-haired guys...

And I saw you for the first time,
It will not be forgotten:
People are warm and alive
We went to the bottom, to the bottom, to the bottom...
Confusion under fire
Where are yours, where is who, where is the connection?
Only soon it became quiet -
The crossing failed
And for now it is unknown
Who is timid, who is a hero,
Who's the wonderful guy there?
And he probably was.

Crossing, crossing...
Dark, cold. The night is like a year.
But he grabbed the right bank,
The first platoon remained there,
And the guys are silent about him
In the fighting family circle,
As if they were guilty of something
Who's on the left bank?
There is no end in sight for the night.
Overnight I took on a heap
Half with ice and snow
Mixed dirt.

And, tired from the hike,
Whatever it is, she’s alive,
Putting his hands in the sleeves.
The infantry is dozing, crouched,
And in the forest, in the dead of night
It smells like boots, sweat,
Frozen pine needles and terry.
This shore breathes sensitively
Along with those on that
Under the cliff they are waiting for the dawn,
They warm the earth with their bellies, -
Waiting for dawn, waiting for help,
They don’t want to lose heart.
The night passes, there is no way
Neither forward nor backward...

Or maybe it's been there since midnight
Snowballs will fall into their eyes,
And for a long time now
He doesn't melt in their eye sockets
And pollen lies on their faces, -
The dead don't care.
They don't hear the cold,
Death after death is not scary.
At least he still writes them rations
First company sergeant major.
The foreman writes rations to them,
And by mail field
They don't go faster, they don't go quieter
Old letters home.
What else do the guys do?
At a halt, under fire.
Somewhere in the forest they wrote
On each other's back...

From Ryazan, from Kazan,
From Siberia, from Moscow -
The soldiers are sleeping.
They said theirs
And already forever right;.
And the pile is hard as stone.
Where are their traces frozen...
Maybe so, or maybe a miracle?
At least there's a sign from there,
And the trouble wouldn't be so bad.
Long nights, harsh dawns
In November - gray by winter.
Two soldiers are sitting on patrol
Over cold water.

Either he’s dreaming or imagining things.
It seemed that who knows
Or frost on the eyelashes,
Is there really something?
They see - a small dot
Appeared in the distance:
Either a lump or a barrel
Floating down the river?
- No, not a lump or a barrel -
Just a sight to behold.
- Aren't you a solo swimmer?
- You're kidding, brother. The water is wrong!
- Yes, water... It’s scary to think about.
Even the fish are cold
Isn't it one of ours from yesterday?
Which one rose from the bottom?..

Both calmed down at once.
And one fighter said:
- No, he would have swum out in an overcoat,
Fully equipped, dead man.
Both were very cold.
Be that as it may, for the first time.
A sergeant came up with binoculars,
I looked closer: no, he was alive.
- No, live. Without a tunic,
- Isn’t it a Fritz? Isn't it to our rear?
- No. Or maybe it’s Terkin? -
- Someone timidly finished the joke.
- Stop, guys, don't interfere.
There is no point in lowering the pontoon.
- May I try?
- What to try?
- Brothers, he is!

And, save the crust
Having broken off the ice,
He is like him, Vasily Terkin,
Got up alive and got there by swimming.
Smooth, naked, as if from a bathhouse,
He stood up, staggering heavily.
Neither teeth nor lips
It doesn't work - it's cramped.
They picked me up, tied me up,
They gave me felt boots from my feet.
They threatened, they ordered -
You can, you can’t, but run.
Under the mountain, in the headquarters hut,
The guy goes straight to bed
Placed to dry
They began to rub it with alcohol.

They rubbed and rubbed...
Suddenly he says, as if in a dream:
Doctor, doctor, is it possible?
I can warm myself from the inside.
So that you don’t spend everything on your skin?
They gave me a stack and he began to live.
He sat up on the bed:
Allow me to report...
Platoon on the right bank
Alive-edorov in spite of the enemy!
The lieutenant is just asking
Throw some light there.
And after the lights
Let's get up and stretch our legs,
What's there, we'll cripple it -
We will provide the crossing...

Reported in form, as if
Swim him back immediately.
“Well done,” said the colonel,
Well done! Thank you brother,
And with a timid smile the fighter then says:
Could I also have a stack?
Because well done?
The colonel looked sternly,
He glanced sideways at the fighter.
Well done, there will be a lot -
Two at once.
So there are two ends...

Crossing, crossing!
The guns fire in the pitch darkness.
The battle is holy and right,
Mortal combat is not for glory -
For the sake of life on earth.

ABOUT WAR

Allow me to report
Short and simple:
I'm a big hunter to live
About ninety years old.
And the war - forget about the war
And you have no right to blame.
I was getting ready for a long journey,
The order was given: “Resign!”
The year has struck, the turn has come,
Today we are responsible
For Russia, for the people
And for everything in the world.
From Ivan to Thomas,
Dead or alive.
All of us together are us.
Those people, Russia.

And because it's us.
I'll tell you that, brothers.
Us out of this mess
There is nowhere to go.
You can’t say here: I’m not me,
I do not know anything.
You can't prove that it's yours
Today the house is on the edge.
It's a small calculation for you
Think alone.
The bomb is stupid. Will hit
Foolishly straight to the point.
Forget yourself in war.
Remember the honor, however.
Get to work - chest to chest,
A fight means a fight.

And I won’t hesitate to admit it.
I'll give my assessment
It's not like in the old days.
Wall to wall.
It’s not like a fist here:
Let's see whose heftiest -
I would even say this:
It's much worse here...
Well, what to judge about that -
Everything is clear to a point.
It is necessary, brothers, to beat the German.
Don't give any delay.

Since there's war, forget about everything
And I have no right to understand
I was getting ready for a long journey,
The order was given: “Resign!”
How long he lived - that's the end.
Free from hassle.
And then you are that fighter.
Which is good for battle?
And you will go into the fire.
You will complete the task.
And look - still alive
You'll be on top of it.

And the hour of death will overtake.
So the number is out.
Rhyme something about us
They will write to us after.
Let them lie at least a hundred times,
We are ready for this
If only the children, they say.
If only we were healthy...

ABOUT THE AWARD

No guys, I'm not proud.
Without thinking into the distance,
So I’ll say: why do I need an order?
I agree to a medal.
For a medal, and not in a hurry.
This would end the war
I wish I could come on vacation
To the native side.
Will I still be alive? Hardly.
Fight here, don’t guess!
But I will say about the medal:
Give it to me then.
Provide, since I am worthy.
And you all must understand:
The simplest thing is -
The man came from the war.

Here I come from the pustanka
To your dear village council.
I came, and there was a party.
No party? Okay, no.
I'm going to another collective farm and to a third
The whole area is visible.
Somewhere I'm in the village council
I'll go to the party.
And, showing up for the evening.
Although not a proud man,
I wouldn't smoke shag,
I wish I could get Kazbek.

And I would sit, guys,
There, my friends,
Where I hid it under a hole when I was a kid
Your feet are bare.
And he would smoke a cigarette.
I would treat everyone around me.
And for any questions
I would not answer suddenly.
- Like, what? Anything could happen.
- Is it still difficult? - Like when.
- Did you go on the attack many times?
- Yes, it happened sometimes.

And the girls at the party
Let's forget all the guys
If only the girls would listen,
How the belts squeak on me.
And I would joke with everyone,
And there would be one between them...
And a medal for this time
Friends, this is what I need!
The girl is waiting, at least don’t torment me,
Your words, your glance...
- But, let me, in this case
Is the order also okay?
Here you are sitting at the party,
And the girl is the color.

No, said Vasily Terkin
And sighed. And again: - No.
No guys. What is the order?
Without thinking into the distance,
I told you I'm not proud
I agree to a medal.

Terkin, Terkin, kind fellow,
What is there laughter and what is sadness?
You, my friend, have made a lot of wishes,
I thought far into the distance.
There were leaves, there were buds.
The buds became foliage again.
And the post office doesn't carry letters
To your native land of Smolensk.
Where are the girls, where are the parties?
Where is the dear village council?
You know yourself, Vasily Terkin,
That there is no road there.
No road, no right
Visit your native village.
A terrible bloody battle is going on,
Mortal combat is not for glory.
For the sake of life on earth.<...>

“The moon is shining, the night is clear,
The glass is drunk to the bottom...”
Terkin, Terkin, indeed,
The hour has come, the end of the war.
And it's like they're outdated
At once we are both with you.
And as if stunned
In the ensuing silence,
I fell silent, the embarrassed singer,
Accustomed to singing in war.
There is no particular problem with that:
The song, therefore, was finished.
We need a new song
Give it time, she will come.

I wanted to say something different
My reader, friend and brother,
As always, in front of you
It must be my fault.
I could have done more, but it would have been in a hurry.
However, treasure that
What happened, I lied for fun,
I never lied for the sake of lying.
And, in all honesty, sometimes
I sighed more than once, not twice,
Repeating the words of the hero,
That is, Terkina’s words:
“I wouldn’t say anything else,”
I'll keep it to myself,
I haven’t played like that yet, -
It’s a pity that I can’t do better.”

And although other things
During the years of peace the singer
They might come out worse
This Book about a fighter, -
To me she is more important than all the others
The road, dear to tears,
Like that son who did not grow up in the hallway,
And in a time of troubles and thunderstorms...
From the first days of the bitter year,
In a difficult hour, dear land.
Not joking, Vasily Terkin,
You and I have become friends.
I have no right to forget that.
What do I owe to your glory?
How and where did you help me?
Having met in war.

From Moscow, from Stalingrad
You are always with me -
My pain, my joy,
My rest and my feat!
These lines and pages -
The days and the finger are a special account,
Like from the western border
To your home capital
And from that native capital
Back to the western border
And from the western border
All the way to the enemy capital
We did our own hike.

Spring washed away the bitter ashes
The hearths that warmed us,
Who I haven't been with, who I haven't been with
For the first time, for the last time...
Who have I not been friends with?
From the first meeting near the fire.
How many souls needed me.
Without which there is no me.
There are not so many of them in the world.
That they read you, poet,
Like this poor book
Many, many, many years.
And say, thinking sensibly:
What is her future glory!

What does she care about a critic, he's a smart guy.
What he reads without smiling.
Looks for errors somewhere -
Woe if he doesn't find it.
Not about that with sweet hope
I was dreaming when I was sneaking
In war, under a shaky roof.
On the roads where I had to
Without leaving the wheels,
In the rain, covered with a raincoat.
Or taking off a glove with your teeth
In the wind, in the bitter frost.
I wrote it down in my notebook
Lines that lived scatteredly.

I dreamed of a real miracle:
So that from my invention
Living people at war
It might have been warmer
For unexpected joy
The fighter's chest became warm,
Like from that tattered accordion,
What will happen somewhere.
It makes no sense what could happen
At the accordion's soul
The entire supply for two dances -
The spread is big though.
And now, as the guns fell silent,
Let's assume at random.
Let us be somewhere in a pub
Will remember after the third mug
A soldier with an empty sleeve.

Maybe in some private store
At the kitchen porch
They will say jokingly: “Hey, Terkin!” -
About some fighter;
Let the venerable Terkin
The general will say it’s important,
He will definitely say something. -
That the medal was presented to him:
Let the reader be likely
He will say with a book in his hand: -
- Here are the poems, and everything is clear.
Everything is in Russian...

I would be pleased, really
And - not a proud man -
For no other glory
I will never change that.
The story of a memorable time.
This book is about a fighter,
I started from the middle
And ended without end
With a thought, perhaps daring
Dedicate your favorite work
To the fallen in sacred memory,
To all my friends during the war.
To all hearts whose judgment is dear.

Composition

The poem by A. T. Tvardovsky “Vasily Terkin” is a folk, or rather a soldier’s poem. Its main idea is to show the struggle of people for the sake of peace, for the sake of life. It represents a whole encyclopedia of a fighter’s life. And in the words of the writer himself, “this book is about a fighter, without beginning or end.” The main character is the people at war embodied in the image of Vasily Terkin in a wide variety of situations and episodes. Tvardovsky was able to create a typical image of a Russian soldier, with its pros and cons. Before us appears a man who loves his Motherland and does not spare his blood for its sake, who can find a way out of a difficult situation and brighten up the difficulties at the front with a joke, who loved to play the accordion and listen to music at a rest stop. Terkin is a funny guy, he doesn’t mince words.

In my opinion, the main trait of his character is his love for his native country. The hero constantly remembers his native places, which are so sweet and dear to his heart. One cannot help but be attracted to Terkin by his mercy and greatness of soul: he finds himself in war not because of military instinct, but “for the sake of life on earth”; the defeated enemy evokes in him only a feeling of pity (Terkin’s appeal to the German). He is modest, although he can sometimes boast, telling his friends that he does not need an order, he “agrees to a medal.”
But what attracts me most in this man is his love of life, worldly ingenuity, mockery of the enemy and of any difficulties.

Just look how Terkin lives and enjoys life at the front, where every day threatens to be the last, where no one is “bewitched from a fool’s fragment, from any stupid bullet”:

After all, he is in the kitchen - from his place,
From place to battle,
Smokes, eats and drinks with gusto
For any position...

But we already see the hero when he swims across the icy river, dragging, straining, the “tongue”. But you have to stop, “and the frost means you can’t stand or sit down.” And then Terkin does not lose heart, he begins to play the accordion:

And from that old accordion,
That I was left an orphan
Somehow it suddenly became warmer
On the front road.

I think we can say that Terkin is the soul of the soldier’s company. It is no coincidence that his comrades listen to his humorous and sometimes serious stories with great interest. And let us remember how the wet company lay in the swamps and the soldiers dreamed of “at least death, but on dry land.” They couldn’t even light a cigarette: the matches were wet. And now it seems to all the soldiers that “there is no worse trouble.” But Terkin, as always, does not despair, grins and begins a long argument that as long as a soldier feels his comrade’s elbow, he is strong. And, lying in a wet swamp, he was able to cheer up his friends, they laughed. In my opinion, this is an extraordinary talent for cheering people up in difficult life situations. And Terkin possessed this talent.

And how interesting is the hero’s appeal to Death in the chapter “Death and the Warrior,” when the wounded man lies and freezes, and it seems to him that Kosaya has come to him:

I will cry, howl in pain,
Die in the field without a trace,
But of your own free will
I will never give up.

And Terkin does not submit to fate, he conquers death. A. T. Tvardovsky in his work showed the vitality of man, the strength of national character, and also led the reader to an awareness of the moral greatness of the Russian warrior.

The main character of the poem, embodied in the image of Vasily Terkin. - people at war in a wide variety of situations and episodes. Tvardovsky managed to create a typical image of a Russian soldier, with its pros and cons. He created living man. Before us appears a warrior who loves his people, his homeland. He does not spare his blood for her. Terkin can find a way out of the most difficult situation and brighten up front-line difficulties with a joke. He loves to play the accordion and listen to music himself at rest. There were always Terkins, in any war. It was on such soldiers that the spirit of the Russian army rested.

Terkin is a Russian, recognizable character, workmate, roommate. Now he is a comrade in war and trenches. He shaves with an awl and warms himself with smoke. In any situation, he tries to remain human, wants to preserve the human, the good in himself, and not become embittered, not become bitter. In his character, a fusion of life and folklore principles is formed. While working on the image of Terkin, the poet tried to maintain objectivity and not impose his views and sympathies. The poem is surprisingly not ideological.

Speaking about the destruction of the tank, Terkin fears:
What if he crushes you blindly?
After all, he doesn’t see a damn thing.

By the standards of that time, according to the ideas of some writers of that time, Soviet people were just waiting to give their lives for Stalin, for the Motherland. Terkin looks at all this more simply, in a folk way. And you begin to trust him. The hero simply comes to life before our eyes:

If we don't explode, we'll break through.
We will live, we will not die...

Terkin uses the normal vernacular language that all the soldiers spoke.
The poem does not have a single compositional basis. It is collected from separate chapters. Each chapter is a complete work. And the chapters were published separately in each issue of the front-line newspaper. The unity of the poem is given by a common theme - the life of a fighting man, an ordinary, earthly man, but also a “miracle man” who does not lose faith in himself, in his comrades, in the coming victory:

They go the hard way.
Same as two hundred years ago
A rogue with a flintlock gun
Russian worker-soldier.

Repeatedly in the poem the idea is heard that war is work. The work is hard, deadly, but necessary and honorable:

The battle is holy and right,
Mortal combat is not for glory,
For the sake of life on earth.

Terkin in the poem is given in various situations. He is at a rest stop, in battle, in a Russian bathhouse, getting food. But he is always a recognizable person, like there are many around. Thanks to them, simple infantry soldiers who did not spare themselves and gave their lives for their Motherland, Russia defended peace on earth:

The soldier walked like the others,
To unknown lands:
What is it, where is it, Russia,
Which line: ours?”

The poem does not contain loud phrases or any out-of-the-ordinary actions. War is blood, pain, loss. To win, you need to approach everything philosophically and patiently. Speaking about the hero of the poem, it is necessary to say about his last name. Terkin - grated, patient. But this is the strength of the Russian man: he is patient, seasoned, and capable of much. And therefore - a winner. Tvardovsky deliberately reduces Terkin’s heroism and selflessness:

In general, beaten
grated, burnt,
Wound marked double,
Surrounded in 1941,
He walked on the earth as a native.

The poem was a kind of chronicle of the war. It was written for fighters and about fighters. It also includes a chapter where the author tells the reader about death (“Death and the Warrior”). In it, Terkin heroically endures the coming of death. What saves him is his extraordinary fortitude and ingenuity. He conquers death. Tvardovsky showed in his work the moral strength of the Russian soldier, the strength of the people's character, and led the reader to realize the greatness of the Russian warrior. The poem will forever remain one of the best works about the Great Patriotic War.

Other works on this work

I’ll start in order - with the first question that most often arises among readers in relation to the hero of a particular book.

"Does Terkin really exist?", “Is he a type or just one, a living person known to you?”, “Does he really exist?” - here are the formulations of this question, taken selectively from letters from front-line soldiers. It arose in the mind of the reader even at the time when I had just begun publishing “The Book about a Fighter” in newspapers and magazines. In some letters this question was posed with the obvious assumption of an affirmative answer, and in others it was clear that the reader had no doubts about the existence of the “living” Terkin, but the question was only about “isn’t he serving in our, such and such, division?” ?". And cases of letters being addressed not to me, the author, but to Vasily Terkin himself are also evidence of the prevalence of the idea that Terkin is a “living person.”

In a word, there was and still is such a reader's idea that Terkin is, so to speak, a personal person, a soldier, living under this or another name, listed under the number of his military unit and field post office. Moreover, prose and poetic messages from readers speak of a desire for this to be exactly so, that is, for Terkin to be a non-fictional person. However, I could not and cannot, to the satisfaction of this simple-minded, but highly valued reader’s feeling, declare (as some other writers could and can do) that my hero is not a fictional person, but lives or lived there and met me then - and under such and such circumstances.

No. Vasily Terkin, as he appears in the book, is a fictitious person from beginning to end, a figment of the imagination, a creation of fantasy. And although the features
expressed in him, were observed by me in many living people - not one of these people can be called a prototype of Terkin.
But the fact is that it was conceived and invented not only by me, but by many people, including writers, and most of all not by writers and, to a large extent, by my correspondents themselves. They actively participated in the creation of Terkin, from its first chapter to the completion of the book, and to this day continue to develop this image in various forms and directions.

I explain this in order to consider the second question, which is posed in an even more significant part of the letters - the question: how was “Vasily Terkin” written? Where did this book come from?
“What served as the material for it and what was the starting point?”
“Wasn’t the author himself one of the Terkins?”

This is asked not only by ordinary readers, but also by people specially involved in the subject of literature: graduate students who took “Vasily Terkin” as the theme of their works, literature teachers, literary scholars and critics, librarians, lecturers, etc.

I’ll try to tell you about how “Terkin” was “formed”.

"Vasily Terkin", I repeat, has been known to the reader, primarily the army, since 1942. But "Vasya Terkin" has been known since 1939-1940 - from the period of the Finnish campaign. At that time, a group of writers and poets worked in the newspaper of the Leningrad Military District “On Guard of the Motherland”: N. Tikhonov, V. Sayanov, A. Shcherbakov, S. Vashnetsev, Ts. Solodar and the writer of these lines. Once, discussing with the editorial staff the tasks and nature of our work in a military newspaper, we decided that we needed to start something like a “humor corner” or a weekly collective feuilleton, where there would be poems and pictures. This idea was not an innovation in the army press. Following the model of the propaganda work of D. Bedny and V. Mayakovsky in the post-revolutionary years, newspapers had a tradition of printing satirical pictures with poetic
signatures, ditties, feuilletons with continuations with the usual heading - “At leisure”, “Under the Red Army accordion”, etc. There were sometimes conventional characters moving from one feuilleton to another, like some merry cook, and characteristic pseudonyms like Uncle Sysoy, Grandfather Yegor, Machine Gunner Vanya, Sniper and others. In my youth, in Smolensk, I was involved in similar literary work in the district "Krasnoarmeyskaya Pravda" and other newspapers.

And so we, the writers who worked in the editorial office of “On Guard of the Motherland,” decided to choose a character who would appear in a series of amusing pictures, equipped with poetic captions. This was supposed to be some kind of cheerful, successful fighter, a conventional figure, a popular popular figure. They began to come up with a name. They came from the same tradition of the “humor corners” of the Red Army newspapers, where at that time their Pulkins, Mushkins and even Protirkins were in use (from the technical word “rubbing” - an object used to lubricate weapons). The name had to be meaningful, with a mischievous, satirical undertone. Someone suggested calling our hero Vasya Terkin, namely Vasya, and not Vasily. There were suggestions to name Vanya,
Fedey, somehow, but they settled on Vasya, and that’s how this name was born. Here I must dwell, by the way, on one particular reader's
question, just regarding the name Vasily Terkin.

Major M. M-v, a Muscovite, writes in his letter:
“I recently read P. D. Boborykin’s novel “Vasily Terkin.” And, frankly speaking, I felt great embarrassment: what is common between his and your Vasily Terkin? How is your Vasya Terkin - a smart, cheerful, experienced Soviet soldier operating in during the Great Patriotic War and with great patriotism defending his Soviet Motherland - to the rogue merchant, scammer and hypocrite Vasily Ivanovich Terkin from Boborykin's novel? So why did you choose for your (and our) hero such a name, behind which a certain type and which has already been described in our Russian literature? Were you really guided by the consideration of the relatedness of this,
already described, type and created by you? But this is an insult to the experienced soldier Vasya Terkin! Or is this an accident?"

I confess that I heard about the existence of Boborykin’s novel, when a significant part of Terkin had already been published, from one of my older literary friends. I took out the novel, read it without much interest and continued my work. I did not and do not attach any significance to this coincidence of Terkin’s name with the name of the Boborykin hero. There is absolutely nothing in common between them. It is possible that one of us, looking for a character’s name for feuilletons in the newspaper “On Guard of the Motherland,” came up with this combination of a first name and a surname by chance, like something that had sunk into memory from Boborykin’s book. And I doubt it: it was Vasya that we needed then, and not Vasily; Vasya, however, cannot be called a Boborykinsky hero - this is completely different. As for why I subsequently began to call Terkin more Vasily,
than Vasya, this is again a special matter. In a word, there was and is not a shadow of “borrowing” here. There is simply such a Russian surname Terkin, although it previously seemed to me that we “constructed” this surname, starting from the verbs “rub”, “grind”, etc. And here is one of the first letters from my correspondents on the “Book about a fighter”, when it was published in a Western Front newspaper:

"To the editor of Krasnoarmeyskaya Pravda, to the poet comrade A. Tvardovsky.

Comrade Tvardovsky, we ask you: is it possible to replace the name Vasily with Victor in your poem, since Vasily is my father, he is 62 years old, and I am his son - Viktor Vasilyevich Terkin, platoon commander. I am on the Western Front, serving in the artillery. Therefore, if possible, then replace it, and please inform me of the result at the address: p/p 312, 668 art. regiment, 2nd division, Viktor Vasilyevich Terkin."

Probably, this is not the only namesake of the hero of “The Book about a Fighter”

(In 1964, a number of newspapers ("Week", "Evening Moscow", "Soviet Trade") published extensive correspondence about Vasily Semenovich Terkin, a counter worker, a former front-line soldier, which emphasized precisely the "Terkin" traits of appearance, character and life destiny this person. (Author's note.)).

But I return to “Terkin” from the period of fighting in Finland.

I was entrusted with writing the introduction to the proposed series of feuilletons - I had to give at least the most general “portrait” of Terkin and determine, so to speak, the tone, the manner of our further conversation with the reader. Before this, I published in the newspaper “On Guard of the Motherland” a short poem “At a Rest,” written under the direct impression of a visit to one division.
This poem contained, among other things, the following lines:

Efficient, to be sure
There was the same old man
What did you come up with to cook soup...
On wheels straight.

For me, who had not served in the army until that time (except for the short time of the liberation campaign in Western Belarus) and
who wrote nothing “military,” this poem was the first step in mastering a new topic, new material. I was still very unsure here, I stuck to my usual rhythms and tonality (in the spirit of, say, “Grandfather Danila”). And in my introduction to the collective "Terkin" I turned to this previously found intonation, which, when applied to new material, a new task, seemed to me most suitable.
I will cite some stanzas of this “beginning” of “Terkin”:

Vasya Terkin? Who it?
Let's be honest:
He's a man himself
Unusual.

With a surname like this,
Not at all unsightly,
Loud glory - hero -
I quickly became close to him.

And let's add here,
If you were asked:
Why is his name Vasya - not Vasily!
Because it is dear to everyone,
Because people
They get along with Vasya like no one else,
Because they love.

Bogatyr, fathoms in the shoulders,
Well-tailored fellow,
Cheerful by nature
An experienced man.

At least in battle, at least somewhere, -
But this is for sure:
First of all, Vasya must eat well,
But it doesn’t protect
Bogatyr strength
And takes enemies to the bayonet,
Like sheaves on pitchforks.

And at the same time, no matter how strict
In appearance Vasya Terkin, -
He couldn't live without a joke
Yes, without a saying... ("Vasya Terkin at the front." - Front-line library
newspaper "On Guard of the Motherland", ed. "Art", L. 1940.)

I note that when I came to grips with my now existing “Terkin”, the features of this portrait changed dramatically, starting with the main
stroke:

Terkin - who is he?
Let's be honest:
Just a guy himself
He's ordinary...

And one could say that this alone determines the name of the hero in the first case, Vasya, and in the second, Vasily Terkin.
All subsequent illustrated feuilletons, made by a team of authors, bore the same headings: “How Vasya Terkin...” I will cite in full, for example, the feuilleton “How Vasya Terkin got the “language””:

The snow is deep and pine trees are rare.
Vasya Terkin on reconnaissance.
Snow white, no patches
Camouflage robe.

Terkin sees, Terkin hears -
Belofinn flies on skis:
Know that he doesn’t smell trouble,
He's heading straight for trouble.

Terkin, having weighed the situation,
Applies disguise:
He buried himself face down in the snow -
It became like a snowball.

A tempting view of the "springboard"
Attracts the White Finn.
He rushes headlong towards the "snowdrift"...

Got Terkin tongue
And delivered to the regimental headquarters.

It may seem that I chose a particularly weak example, but also the stories about “how Vasya Terkin captured the arsonists,” whom he “covered everyone with barrels one by one and, satisfied, lit a cigarette on an oak barrel”; about how he “delivered a report on skis,” “flying through the forests above, over a stormy river,” “through mountains, waterfalls, rushing forward without restraint”; about how from the cockpit of an enemy plane he pulled out a Shyutskorist by the leg of his pants with a cat, and others - all this now gives the impression of the naivety of the presentation, the extreme implausibility of Vasya’s “exploits” and not such an excess of humor.

I think that the success of “Vasya Terkin”, which he had in the Finnish war, can be explained by the need of the soldier’s soul to have fun with something that, although it does not correspond to the harsh reality of military everyday life, but at the same time somehow embodies exactly them, and not abstract fairy-tale material in almost fairy-tale forms. It also seems to me that a considerable share of the success should be attributed to the drawings of V. Briskin and V. Fomichev, executed in a cartoon style and often truly funny.

By the way, it has been repeatedly noted that O. Vereisky’s illustrations for “The Book about a Fighter” are very consistent with its style and spirit. This is true. I just want to say that, unlike “Vasya Terkin,” not a single line of “Vasily Terkin,” illustrated by my front-line comrade, the artist O. Vereisky, was written as text for the finished drawing, and it’s even difficult for me to imagine how this could have been . And with “Vasya Terkin” this is exactly what happened, that is, the theme of the next feuilleton was conceived, the artists “distributed” it into six cells, executed it in drawings, and only then came the signature poems.

Having paid tribute to “Vasya Terkin” with one or two feuilletons, most of its “founders” took up, each according to their inclinations and capabilities, other work in the newspaper: some wrote military-historical articles, some front-line essays and sketches, some poetry, some what. The main author of "Terkin" was A. Shcherbakov, a Red Army poet and long-time employee of the editorial office. And “Terkin” was a greater success among the Red Army reader than all our articles, poems and essays, although at that time we all treated this success somewhat condescendingly and condescendingly. We rightfully did not consider it literature. And at the end of the war in Finland, when one of my comrades who worked in the military press heard from me - in response to a question about what I was now working on - that I was writing "Terkina", he slyly shook his finger at me; So, they say, I believed you that you would now start doing this.

But right now I was thinking, working, struggling on “Terkin”. “Terkin,” I felt, turning to this work in a new way, “must leave
columns of “corners of humor”, “direct shots”, etc., where he has so far appeared under this or another name, and to occupy not some small part of my forces, as a task of a highly specialized “humorous” kind, but all of me without a trace. It is difficult to say on what day and hour I came to the decision to throw myself into this business with all my might, but in the summer and autumn of 1940 I was already living with this idea, which overshadowed all my previous intentions and plans. One thing is clear that this was determined by the acuteness of the impressions of the war, after which it was no longer possible to simply return to one’s usual literary work.

"Terkin", according to my plan at that time, was supposed to combine accessibility, unpretentiousness of form - direct purpose
feuilleton "Terkin" - with seriousness and, perhaps, even lyricism of content. Thinking of “Terkin” as a kind of integral work, a poem, I now tried to unravel, to grasp that “necessary moment of presentation” (as one of the readers recently put it in a letter to me), without which it was impossible to move forward.

The insufficiency of the "old" "Terkin", as I now understand, was that it came out of the tradition of ancient times, when the poetic word,
addressed to the masses, it was deliberately simplified in relation to a different cultural and political level of the reader and when this word was not at the same time the most cherished word for its creators, who believed their true success, who saw their real art in another, “real” creativity that was put aside for a while.

Now it was a different matter. The reader was different - these were the children of those fighters of the revolution for whom D. Bedny and V. Mayakovsky once wrote their songs, ditties and satirical couplets - people who were all literate, politically developed, familiar with many of the benefits of culture, who grew up under Soviet power .

I first of all set about, so to speak, mastering the material of the war I had experienced, which was for me not only the first war, but also the first
a truly intimate encounter with the people of the army. During the days of fighting, I deeply understood, so to speak, felt that our army is not a special world, separate from the rest of the people in our society, but simply these are the same Soviet people, placed in the conditions of army and front-line life. I whitewashed my pencil notes from the notebooks into a clean notebook, and wrote something down again from memory. In this material, which was new to me, everything was dear to me down to the smallest detail - some picture, a turn of phrase, a single word, a detail of front-line life. And most importantly, the people with whom I managed to meet, get acquainted, and talk on the Karelian Isthmus were dear to me.
Driver Volodya Artyukh, blacksmith-artilleryman Grigory Pulkin, tank commander Vasily Arkhipov, pilot Mikhail Trusov, coastal infantry soldier Alexander Poskonkin, military doctor Mark Rabinovich - all these and many other people with whom I talked for a long time, spent the night somewhere in a dugout or a survivor in a front-line crowded house, were not a fleeting journalistic acquaintance for me, although I saw most of them only once and for a short time. I have already written something about each of them - an essay, poetry - and this, of course, in the process of that work, forced me to understand my fresh impressions, that is, one way or another to “assimilate” everything connected with these
people.

And, while nurturing my plan for “Terkin,” I continued to think about them, to understand their essence as people of the first post-October generation.
“It was not this war, whatever it was,” I wrote down in my notebook, “that gave birth to these people, but rather more that happened before the war. The revolution,
collectivization, the whole system of life. And the war revealed and brought to light these qualities of people. It’s true, she did something too.”

And further:
“I feel that the army will be as dear to me as the topic of reorganizing life in the village, its people are as dear to me as the people of the collective farm village, but then, for the most part, these are the same people. The task is to penetrate their spiritual inner world, to feel them as their generation (the writer is the same age as any generation). Their childhood, adolescence, youth passed under the conditions of Soviet power, in factory schools, in a collective farm village, in Soviet universities. Their consciousness was formed under the influence, among other things , and our literature."

I was delighted by their spiritual beauty, modesty, high political consciousness, and willingness to resort to humor when it came to the most difficult trials that they themselves had to face in combat life. And what I wrote about them in poetry and prose - all this, I felt, as if it were both this and not that. Behind these iambs and trochees, behind the phraseological turns of newspaper essays, the peculiar lively manner of speech of the blacksmith Pulkin or the pilot Trusov, and the jokes, habits, and touches of other heroes in nature remained somewhere in vain, existing only for me.

I re-read everything that appeared in print related to the Finnish war - essays, stories, records of memories of participants in the battles. I enthusiastically engaged in any work that in one way or another, even if not in the literary sense, concerned this material. Together with S. Ya. Marshak, I processed the memoirs of Major General Hero of the Soviet Union V. Kashuba, which later appeared in “Knowledge”. On instructions from the Political Directorate of the Red Army, he traveled with Vasily Grossman to one of the divisions that came from the Karelian Isthmus in order to create its history. By the way, in the manuscript of the history of this division we described, from the words of the participants in one operation, the episode that served as the basis
to write the chapter of the future "Terkin".

In the fall of 1940, I went to Vyborg, where the 123rd Division was stationed, in which I was in the days of the breakthrough of the “Mannerheim Line”: I needed
see the battlefields, meet my friends in the division. All this is with the thought of “Terkin”.

I was already starting to “test out the verse” for it, feeling for some beginnings, introductions, choruses:

... There, beyond that river Sister,
In war, in chest-deep snow,
Gold Hero Star
The path has been marked for many.

There, in the battles of semi-unknowns,
In the pine forest of deaf swamps,
The death of the brave, the death of the honest
Many of them fell...

It was this meter - the tetrameter trochee - that was increasingly felt as a poetic meter in which to write a poem. But there were other tests. Often the tetrameter trochee seemed to bring this work of mine too close to the primitiveness of the verse of the “old” “Terkin”. “The sizes will be different,” I decided, “but basically one will “flow around.” There were sketches for “Terkin” and in iambic, from these “blanks” a poem was somehow later formed: “When you walk the path of the columns...”

The “crossing” began, by the way, like this:

To whom death, to whom life, to whom glory,
At dawn the crossing began.
That shore was steep, like an oven,
And, sullen, jagged,
The forest turned black high above the water,
The forest is alien, untouched.
And below us lay the right bank, -
Rolled snow, trampled into the mud, -
Level with the edge of the ice. Crossing
It started at six o'clock...

Here are many of the words from which the beginning of “The Crossing” was formed, but this verse did not work for me. “It is obvious that this meter did not come from words, but was “sung” and it is not suitable,” I wrote down, abandoning this beginning of the chapter. Even now I believe, generally speaking, that meter should be born not from some wordless “hum” that V. Mayakovsky talks about, for example, but from words, from their meaningful combinations inherent in living speech. And if these combinations find a place for themselves within the framework of any of the so-called canonical meters, then they subordinate it to themselves, and not vice versa, and are no longer just an iambic like this or a trochee like this (counting stressed and unstressed is extremely
a conditional, abstract measure), but something completely original, like a new size.

The first line of “The Crossing”, the line that developed into its, so to speak, “leitmotif” that permeates the entire chapter, was the word itself - “crossing”,
repeated in intonation, as if anticipating what stands behind this word:

Crossing, crossing...

I thought about it for so long, imagined in all its naturalness the episode of the crossing, which cost many victims, enormous moral and physical stress of people and must have been remembered forever by all its participants, and I “got used to” it all so much that suddenly I seemed to say to myself this sigh-exclamation:

Crossing, crossing...

And he “believed” in him. I felt that this word could not be pronounced differently than I pronounced it, having in my mind everything that it
means: battle, blood, losses, the disastrous cold of the night and the great courage of people going to death for their Motherland. Of course, there is no “discovery” here at all. The technique of repeating a particular word at the beginning was and is widely used both orally and in
written poetry. But for me in this case it was a godsend: a line appeared that I could no longer do without. I forgot to think whether it was a trochee or not, because this line was not in any trochees in the world, but now it was there and itself determined the structure and mode of further speech.

This is how the beginning of one of the chapters of Terkin was found. Around this time, I wrote two or three poems, which most likely were not even
were perceived as “blanks” for “Terkin”, but later they were partially or completely included in the text of “The Book about a Fighter” and ceased to exist as separate poems. For example, there was such a poem - “It’s better not.” In war, in the dust of the march... etc. until the end of the stanza, which became the initial stanza of "Terkin".

There was a poem "Tank" dedicated to the tank crew of the Heroes of the Soviet Union, comrades D. Didenko, A. Krysyuk and E. Krivoy. Some of his stanzas and lines turned out to be needed when working on the chapter “Terkin is wounded.” A tank going into battle is scary... Some diary entries from the spring of 1941 talk about searches, doubts, decisions and re-decisions in work, perhaps even better than if I talk about this work from the point of view of my current attitude towards it.

“A hundred lines have already been written, but it still seems that there is no “electricity”. You keep deceiving yourself that it will work out on its own and will be good, but in fact it hasn’t even formed in your head yet. You don’t even know for sure what you need. The ending (Terkin swimming across the channel in his underpants and thus establishing contact with the platoon) is clearer than the transition to it. The appearance of the hero must be joyful. This needs to be prepared. I thought about replacing this place with dots for now, but having failed to cope with the most difficult, you don’t feel the strength to do the easier ones. Tomorrow I'll break it again."
“I began with an uncertain determination to write “simply”, somehow. The material seemed to be such that no matter how you wrote it, it would be good. It seemed that
it even requires a certain indifference to form, but it only seemed so. So far there has been nothing about this, except for essays... But they have already taken away from me partly the opportunity to write “simply”, to surprise me with the “severity” of the topic, etc.

And then other things appear, the book “Fighting in Finland” - and this becomes more and more obligatory. The "color" of front-line life (external) turned out to be
public. Frost, frost, shell explosions, dugouts, frosty raincoats - both A. and B have all this. But what I don’t have yet, or only in a hint, is a person in the individual sense, “our guy” , - not abstract (in the plane of the “era” of the country, etc.), but living, dear and difficult.”

“If you don’t strike real sparks from this material, it’s better not to take it on. It needs to be good not in accordance with some conscious “simplicity” and “rudeness,” but simply good - at least for anyone. But this does not mean that you need to “refine “everything from the very beginning (B., by the way, is bad because he is not internally guessing about the reader, but about his circle of friends with its pathetic aesthetic signs).”

“The beginning may be half-baked. And then this guy will become more and more difficult. But he should not be forgotten, this “Vasya Terkin.”
“There should be more of a previous biography of the hero. It should appear in his every gesture, action, story. But there is no need to give it as such. It is enough to think it through well and imagine it for yourself.”

“The difficulty is that such “funny”, “primitive” heroes are usually taken in pairs, in contrast to the real, lyrical, “high” hero. More digressions, more of oneself in the poem.”

“If you yourself don’t care, don’t please, don’t sometimes surprise at least what you write, it will never excite, won’t please, won’t surprise someone else: the reader,
friend-expert. You need to feel it well again first. No discounts for yourself on “genre”, “material”, etc.”

The twenty-second of June 1941 interrupted all my searches, doubts, and assumptions. All this was the normal literary life of peacetime, which we had to immediately leave behind and be free from all this while fulfilling the tasks now facing each of us. And I left my notebooks, sketches, notes, intentions and plans. It never occurred to me then that this work of mine, interrupted by the outbreak of the great war, would be needed during the war.

Now I explain to myself this irrevocable break with the plan, with the working plan, in this way. In my work, in my searches and efforts, no matter how deep the impression of the past “small war” was, there was still a sin of literature. I wrote in peacetime, no one was particularly expecting my work, no one was rushing me, the specific need for it seemed to be absent outside of me. And this allowed me to consider form as such a very essential aspect of the matter. I was still somewhat concerned and worried because the plot did not seem ready to me; that my hero is not what the main character of the poem should be according to literary ideas; that there has never been an example of large things being written in such an “undignified” meter, such as trochaic tetrameter, etc.

Subsequently, when I suddenly turned to my peacetime plan, based on the immediate needs of the masses at the front, I gave up on all these prejudices, considerations and fears. But for now, I simply curtailed my entire writing business in order to
to do what the situation urgently and immediately requires.

As a special correspondent, or more precisely, as a “writer” (there was such a full-time position in the military press system), I arrived on the Southwestern Front, at the editorial office of the newspaper “Red Army”, and began to do what everyone else was doing then writers at the front. I wrote essays, poems, feuilletons, slogans, leaflets, songs, articles, notes - everything. And when the editorial office came up with the idea of ​​starting a regular feuilleton with
pictures, I suggested “Terkin,” but not my own, left at home in notebooks, but the one that had been quite famous in the army since the days of the Finnish campaign. That Terkin had many “brothers” and “peers” in various front-line publications, only they had different names. In our front-line editorial office they also wanted to have “their” hero, they named him Ivan Gvozdev, and he existed in the newspaper along with the “Direct Fire” department, it seems, until the end of the war. I wrote several chapters of this “Ivan Gvozdev” in collaboration with the poet Boris Paliychuk, again without connecting this work of mine with peacetime intentions regarding “Terkin”.

At the front, one comrade gave me a thick notebook bound in black oilcloth, but made from pencil-like paper - bad, rough, and leaking ink. In this notebook I pasted or pinned my daily “products” - newspaper clippings. In the conditions of life at the front, moving, spending the night on the road, in conditions when every hour it was necessary to be ready for redeployment and always be ready, this notebook, which I kept in my field bag, was for me a universal item that replaced briefcases and archive folders , boxes
desk, etc. She supported in me what is very important in such a life, at least a conditional sense of safety and orderliness of “personal household”.

I haven’t looked at it, perhaps, since that very time and, leafing through it now, I see how much in that newspaper work, varied in genres,
which I was working on was done for the future "Terkin", without thinking about it, about any other life for these poems and prose, except for the one-day period of a newspaper page.

“Ivan Gvozdev” was, perhaps, better than “Vasya Terkin” in terms of literary execution, but it did not have the same success. First of all, this was not a matter of
a novelty, and secondly, and this is the main thing, the reader was different in many ways. The war was not positional, when a soldier’s leisure, even in the harsh conditions of military life, is conducive to reading and re-reading everything that somewhat corresponds to the interests and tastes of a front-line soldier. The newspaper could not regularly reach units that were, in essence, on the march. But what is even more important is that the mood of the reading masses was determined not simply by the difficulties of a soldier’s life itself, but by the entire enormity of the formidable and sad events of the war: the retreat, the abandonment of loved ones by many soldiers behind enemy lines, the inherent stern and concentrated thought about the fate of the homeland,
experiencing the greatest trials. But still, even during this period, people remained people, they had a need to relax, have fun, have fun with something at a short rest or in the break between artillery fire and bombing. And “Gvozdev” was read, praised, the newspaper looked at, starting from the “Direct Fire” corner. It was a feuilleton dedicated to a specific episode of the combat practice of “Cossack Gvozdev” (unlike V. Terkin, an infantryman, Gvozdev was - perhaps, due to the conditions of the saturation of the front with cavalry units - a Cossack).

Here, for example: “How to cook dinner skillfully, so that it is on time and tasty” (“From the military adventures of the Cossack Ivan Gvozdev”);

The battle that day was fierce.
The cook was wounded. How can we be here?
And Gvozdev has to
Cook lunch for the soldiers...

He took everything quickly:
As one poem says, -
Seasoning with peppers and onions
And a parsley root.

Work is going well
The water boils loudly.
Only suddenly from mortars
The Germans began to attack here.

Fight - fight, lunch - lunch,
Nothing else matters.
Are mines exploding? I'll drive away
I'll save the pot of borscht.

Borsch until you're full, tea until you sweat
Will be ready on time.
Lo and behold, the planes were covered, -
Climb into the crack, Gvozdev.

Take your basket with you -
The fighters-friends are waiting for the borscht.
Let the bombing and potatoes
You can't put the husks into the cauldron.

And if it happened just for fun,
Unfortunately it happened, -
To the forest where Gvozdev drove off,
From the sky - jump! - parachutist.

Gvozdev spied the fascist,
Hastened to cover the boiler,
I kissed it. A shot rang out...
- Don’t bother cooking dinner.

The borscht is ripe, the grain is ripe,
Not even half an hour had passed.
And Gvozdev finishes the matter:
Ready borscht - in a thermos.

Nothing about mines whistling
The hot battle does not subside.
The driver turned the car around
And let's go to the front line.

At our forefront,
Perched behind a hillock,
Excellent borscht pours
The cook is a good ladle.

Who is so skillful today?
Nourishing, on time and tasty
Did you manage to feed the soldiers?
Here he is: Ivan Gvozdev.

There were also statements on behalf of Ivan Gvozdev on various topical issues of front-line life. Here, for example, is a conversation about the importance of maintaining military secrets: “About language” (“Sit down and listen to the word of the Cossack Gvozdev”):

Everyone must know
Like a bolt and a bayonet,
Why is it tied?
He has a tongue...

Or “Welcome speech to the guys from the Ninety-ninth from the Cossack Gvozdev” on the occasion of the awarding of the said division for successful combat
actions. And here is a feuilleton on the topic “What is Sabantui” (“From the conversations of the Cossack Gvozdev with the soldiers who arrived at the front”):

To those who came to fight the Germans,
It is necessary, no matter how you interpret it,
By the way, let's figure it out:
What is "Sabantuy"...

It was a teaching quite close in form and meaning to Terkin’s corresponding conversation on the same topic in the future “Book about a fighter.”
Where does this word come from in "Terkin" and what does it exactly mean? - this question is very often posed to me both in letters and in notes on literary
evenings, and simply by word of mouth when meeting with various people.

The word "sabantuy" exists in many languages ​​and, for example, in Turkic languages ​​it means the holiday of the end of field work: saban - plow, tui -
holiday. I first heard the word “Sabantuy” at the front in the early autumn of 1941, somewhere in the Poltava region, in one unit that held the defense there. This word, as often happens with catchy words and expressions, was used by staff commanders, artillerymen on the front line battery, and residents of the village where the unit was located. It meant the enemy’s false intention in some area, a demonstration of a breakthrough, and a real threat on his part, and our readiness to give him a “treat.” Last thing
closest to the original meaning, and the soldier’s language is generally characterized by the ironic use of the words “treat”, “snack”, etc. In the epigraph to one of the chapters of “The Captain’s Daughter” A. S. Pushkin quotes the lines of an old soldier’s song:

We live in a fort
We eat bread and drink water;
And how fierce enemies
They will come to us for pies,
Let's give the guests a feast,
Let's load the cannon with buckshot.

My friend who worked at the newspaper, S. Vashentsev, and I brought the word “Sabantuy” from this trip to the front, and I used it in a feuilleton, and S. Vashentsev used it in an essay called “Sabantuy.” In the first weeks of the war, I once wrote a feuilleton “It was early in the morning.”
Together with the feuilleton about "Sabantuy" and the poem "At a Rest", written at the beginning of the Finnish campaign, it subsequently served as a draft for the chapter of "Terkin", also entitled "At a Rest".

It was early in the morning
I'll take a look...
- So what?
- There are a thousand German tanks...
- A thousand tanks? Aren't you lying?
- So that I lie to you, buddy?
- You're not lying - your tongue is lying,
- Well, don’t let yourself have a thousand,
There were only about five hundred...

This is a rhymed adaptation in a front-line manner of an old fable about a liar out of fear, an example of that poetic improvisation that was most often performed in one sitting, according to the plan for tomorrow's newspaper issue. This is how “Gvozdev” was made by me and B. Paliychuk together. Then the series “About Grandfather Danila” - I alone, by right, so to speak, was the first author, then a series about the German soldier - “Willy Müller in the East”, in which I participated very little, arrangements of popular songs - “Katyusha”, “On the Military Road” "and other various
poetic trifle. True, these writings included some of the living oral humor of soldiers, words that arose and became widespread, etc.

But in general, this entire work, like “Vasya Terkin,” was far from matching the capabilities and inclinations of its performers and themselves
was considered not the main one, not the one with which they associated more serious creative intentions. And in the editorial office of the "Red Army", as in their time in the newspaper "On Guard of the Motherland", along with all the special poetic production, poems by poets involved in "Direct Fire" appeared, but already written with an emphasis on "full artistry". And it’s a strange thing - again, those poems did not have such success as “Gvozdev”, “Danila”, etc. And let’s be honest - both “Vasya Terkin” and “Gvozdev”, like everything similar to them in the front-line press, were written hastily, carelessly, with such assumptions in the form of poetry that none of the authors of this product would tolerate in their “serious” poems, not to mention the general tone, manner, as if intended not for adult literate people, but for a certain fictional village mass.
The latter was felt more and more, and finally it became unbearable to speak in such a language with the reader, whom it was impossible not to respect, not to love. What if I didn’t have the strength, I didn’t have time to stop and start talking to him differently.

My inner satisfaction came from working in prose - essays about battle heroes, written on the basis of personal conversations with people at the front. Even if these short, two hundred to three hundred newspaper lines, essays did not contain everything that communication with the person in question gave, but, firstly, it was a recording of living human activity, consolidation of the real material of front-line life, secondly, there was no need to joke at all costs, but to simply and reliably state the essence of the matter on paper, and, finally,
we all knew how much the heroes themselves valued these essays, which made their exploits known to the entire front, recording them as if in some kind of chronicle of the war. And if a feat was described, or, as they said then, a combat episode where the hero died, then it was important to dedicate his memory to his memory, once again mentioning his name in the printed line. The essays were most often entitled with the names of the fighters or commanders whose combat work they were dedicated to:

"Captain Tarasov", "Battalion Commissar Pyotr Mozgovoy", "Red Army soldier Said Ibragimov", "Sergeant Ivan Akimov", "Battery Commander Ragozyan", "Sergeant Pavel Zadorozhny", "Hero of the Soviet Union Pyotr Petrov", "Major Vasily Arkhipov" and etc.

Of the poems written during this period not for the “Direct Fire” department, I still include some in new editions of my books. These are “The Ballad of Moscow”, “The Tankman’s Tale”, “Sergeant Vasily Mysenkov”, “When You Fly”, “For a Soldier of the Southern Front”, “The House of a Soldier”, “The Ballad of Renunciation” and others. Behind each of these poems there was a vivid front-line impression, a fact, a meeting that is still memorable for me. But even at that time I felt that the literary moment itself somehow alienated the reality and vitality of these impressions, facts, and human destinies from the reader.

In a word, the feeling of dissatisfaction with all types of our work at the newspaper gradually became a personal disaster for me. Thoughts also came to mind that maybe your real place is not here, but in the ranks - in a regiment, in a battalion, in a company - where the most important thing is done, what needs to be done for the Motherland. In the winter of 1942, our editorial office came up with the idea of ​​expanding the “Direct Fire” section into a separate weekly sheet - a supplement to the newspaper. I undertook to write, as it were, a programmatic editorial in verse for this publication, which, by the way, for various reasons did not last long. Here is the introductory part of this poem:

In war, in harsh everyday life,
In a difficult life of combat,
In the snow, under a chilly roof -
There is nothing better than simple, healthy,
Durable front line food.
And any old warrior
He will simply say about her:
If only she had some broth
Yes, it would be in the heat, in the heat -
Come on, hotter.
So that she warms you,
Gifted, bled,
So that your soul and body
We rose together bravely
For good deeds.

To go forward, to attack,
Feeling the strength in my shoulders,
Feeling cheerful. However
It's not just about the cabbage soup...

You can live without food for a day,
More is possible, but sometimes
In a one-minute war
You can't live without a joke.
Jokes of the most unwise...

Before the spring of 1942, I arrived in Moscow and, looking at my notebooks, suddenly decided to revive Vasily Terkin. An introduction was immediately written about water, food, jokes and truth. The chapters “At a halt”, “Crossing”, “Terkin is wounded”, “About the reward”, which were in rough drafts, were quickly completed. "Garmon" remained basically in the same form as it was printed at the time. A completely new chapter, written based on the impressions of the summer of 1941 on the Southwestern Front, was the chapter “Before the Battle.” The movement of the hero from the situation of the Finnish campaign to the situation of the front of the Great Patriotic War gave him a completely different meaning than in the original plan. And this was not a mechanical solution to the problem. I have already had occasion to say in print that the actual military impressions, the battle background of the war of 1941-1945 for me were largely preceded by work at the front in Finland. But the fact is that the depth of the national historical disaster and national historical feat in the Patriotic War from the first day distinguished it from any other
wars and especially military campaigns.

I did not long languish with doubts and fears regarding the uncertainty of the genre, the lack of an initial plan that embraces the entire work in advance, and the weak plot connection of the chapters with each other. Not a poem - well, let it not be a poem, I decided; there is no single plot - let it be, don’t; there is no very beginning of a thing - there is no time to invent it; the climax and completion of the entire narrative is not planned - let it be, we must write about what is burning, not waiting, and then we’ll see, we’ll figure it out. And when I decided so, breaking all internal obligations to the conventions of form and giving up on one or another possible interpretation of this work by writers, I felt cheerful and free. As if as a joke on myself, on my plan, I jotted down the lines that this is “a book about a fighter, without beginning, without end.”

Indeed, “it was not enough time to start it all over again”: the war was going on, and I had no right to postpone what needed to be said today, immediately, until everything was stated in order, from the very beginning.

Why without end?!
I just feel sorry for the guy.

It seemed to me that such an explanation was understandable in a war situation, when the end of a story about a hero could only mean one thing - his death. However, in the letters of comrades, not just readers of Terkin, but those who considered it, so to speak, from a scientific perspective, there was some bewilderment about these lines: shouldn’t they be understood in some other way? Do not do it! But I won’t say that questions about the form of my essay didn’t bother me.
there has been more of me since the moment I dared to write “without form,” “without beginning or end.” I was concerned with the form, but not the one that is generally thought of in relation to, say, the genre of a poem, but the one that was needed and gradually in the process of work
guessed for this book itself.

And the first thing I accepted as the principle of composition and style was the desire for a certain completeness of each individual part, chapter, and within a chapter - each period, and even stanza. I had to keep in mind the reader who, even if he was unfamiliar with the previous chapters, would find in this chapter, published today in the newspaper, something whole, rounded. In addition, this reader might not have waited for my next chapter: he was where the hero is - at war. It was this approximate completion of each chapter that I was most concerned with. I didn’t keep anything to myself until another time, trying to speak out at every opportunity - the next chapter - to the end, to fully express my mood, to convey a fresh impression, a thought, a motive, an image. True, this principle was not determined immediately - after
The first chapters of Terkin were published one after another, and new ones then appeared as they were written. I believe that my decision to print the first chapters before completing the book was correct and largely determined the fate of Terkin. The reader helped me write this book as it is, I will say more about this below.

The genre designation of “Books about a fighter”, which I settled on, was not the result of a desire to simply avoid the designation “poem”, “story”, etc. This coincided with the decision to write not a poem, not a story or a novel in verse, that is, not something that has its own legalized and, to a certain extent, obligatory plot, compositional and other characteristics. These signs didn’t come out for me, but something did come out, and I designated this something as “The Book about a Fighter.” What was important in this choice was the special sound of the word “book”, familiar to me from childhood, in the mouths of the common people, which seemed to presuppose the existence of a book in a single copy. If it was said and spread among the peasants that there was such and such a book, and such and such was written in it, then it was not meant in any way that there could be another book exactly the same. One way or another, the word “book” in this popular sense sounds especially significant, as a serious, reliable, unconditional subject.

And if I thought about the possible successful fate of my book while working on it, then I often imagined it published in a soft cloth cover, like military regulations are published, and that a soldier would keep it behind his boot, in his bosom, in his hat. And in terms of its construction, I dreamed that it could be read from any open page. From the time the chapters of the first part of Terkin appeared in print, he
became my main and main job at the front. None of my works was so difficult for me at first and did not come so easily later as Vasily Terkin. True, I rewrote each chapter many times, checking it by ear, and worked for a long time on one
stanza or line. For example, remember how the beginning of the chapter “Death and the Warrior” was formed, in the poetic sense “formed” from the lines of an old song about a soldier:

Don't hang yourself, black raven,
Over my head.
You won't get any booty
I'm a soldier still alive...

At first there was a recording where poetry was interspersed with prosaic exposition - it was important to “cover” the whole picture:

The Russian wounded lay...

Terkin lies in the snow, bleeding.
Death sat down at the head of the bed and said:
- Now you're mine. Answers:
- No, not yours, I am a soldier still alive.
“Well,” he says, “he’s alive!” Move your hand at least.” Terkin quietly replies:
I keep peace, they say...

Then the opening stanza appeared:

In an open field on a hill,
Lonely, and weak, and small,
In the snow Vasily Terkin
Unpicked lay.

But here there were not enough signs of the battlefield, and the picture we got was too conventionally songlike: “In an open field...” - and then the words begged for:
“under the willow tree...” And with the intonation coming from the famous song, I needed the reality of the current war. In addition, the second line was not suitable - it was not simple, it had more fictional than song characteristics.

Then came the stanza:

Beyond the distant hills
The heat of battle went away.
In the snow Vasily Terkin
Unpicked lay.

This is not very good, but it gives greater certainty of place and time: the battle is already in the distance, the wounded man has been lying in the snow for a long time, he is freezing. And the next stanza naturally develops the first:

The snow under him, covered in blood,
I picked it up in a pile of ice.
Death leaned towards the head of the bed;
- Well, soldier, come with me.

But in general, this chapter was written easily and quickly: its basic tone and composition were immediately found (Chapter “Death and the Warrior” in “The Book about a Fighter”
By the way, it also plays the role that it most closely connects “Vasily Terkin” with “Terkin in the Other World” published many years later. It, this chapter, contains the external plot scheme of my last poem: Terkin, picked up half-dead on the battlefield, returns to life from oblivion, “from the other world,” the pictures of which constitute the special, modern content of my “second “Terkin.” (Note . by the author.)).And how many lines were written, forwarded dozens of times only then sometimes to throw them away in the end, while experiencing the same joy as when writing new successful lines.

And all this, even if it was difficult, but not boring, was always done with great spiritual enthusiasm, with joy, with confidence. I must say in general: in my opinion, what is good is what is written as if it were easy, and not what is typed with painful painstakingness, line by line, word by word, which either fall into place or fall out - and so on ad infinitum. But the whole point is that getting to this “lightness” is very difficult, and it is these difficulties in approaching “lightness” that we are talking about when we talk about the fact that our art requires work. And if you still haven’t experienced the “lightness”, the joy when you feel that it’s “got it”, you haven’t experienced it during the entire time you worked on the thing, but only, as they say, dragged the boat on dry land without ever launching it into the water, then the reader is unlikely to experience joy from the fruit of your painstaking efforts.

At this time I was no longer working on the Southwestern, but on the Western (3rd Belorussian) Front. The front troops were then, roughly speaking, at
land in the eastern regions of the Smolensk region. The direction of this front, which was to liberate the Smolensk region in the near future, determined some of the lyrical motifs of the book. Being a native of the Smolensk region, connected with it by many personal and biographical connections, I could not help but see the hero as my fellow countryman.

From the first letters I received from readers, I realized that my work was well received, and this gave me strength to continue it. Now I was no longer alone with her: I was helped by the reader’s warm, sympathetic attitude towards her, his expectation, sometimes his “hints”: “I wish I could reflect this and that”... etc.

In 1943, it seemed to me that, in accordance with the original plan, the “story” of my hero was ending (Terkin was fighting, wounded,
returns to duty), and I put an end to it. But from the letters from readers, I realized that this cannot be done. In one of these letters, Sergeant Shershnev and Red Army soldier Solovyov wrote:
“We are very upset by your final words, after which it is not difficult to guess that your poem is finished, but the war continues. We ask you to continue the poem, because Terkin will continue the war until the victorious end.”

It turned out that I, the storyteller, encouraged by my front-line listeners, suddenly left them, as if I had left something unsaid.
And, besides, I did not see the opportunity for myself to move on to some other work that would captivate me so much. And from these feelings and many
reflections, the decision was made to continue “The Book about a Fighter.” I have once again neglected literary convention, in this case the convention
completeness of the “plot”, and the genre of my work was defined for me as a kind of chronicle, not a chronicle, a chronicle, not a chronicle, but a “book”, a living, moving, free-form book, inseparable from the real matter of the people’s defense of the Motherland, from their feats in the war . And with new enthusiasm, with full awareness of the necessity of my work, I set about it, seeing its completion only in the victorious end of the war and its development in accordance with the stages of the struggle - the entry of our troops into more and more lands liberated from the enemy, with their advancement to borders, etc.

Another confession. About halfway through my work, I was carried away by the temptation of “storytelling.” I began to prepare my hero for
crossing the front line and actions behind enemy lines in the Smolensk region. Much in this turn of his fate could seem organic, natural and seemed to provide the opportunity to expand the field of activity of the hero, the possibility of new descriptions, etc. The chapter “General” in its first printed form was dedicated to Terkin’s farewell to the commander of his division before leaving for rear to the enemy. Other excerpts were also published where the conversation was about life behind the front line. But I soon saw that this reduced the book to some kind of private
history, trivializes it, deprives it of that front-line “universality” of content that has already emerged and has already made Terkin’s name a household name in relation to living fighters of this type. I decisively turned away from this path, threw out what related to the enemy rear, reworked the chapter “General” and again began to build the fate of the hero in the previously established plan.

Speaking about this work as a whole, I can only repeat the words that I have already said in print about “The Book about a Fighter”:
“Whatever its actual literary significance, for me it was true happiness. It gave me a sense of the legitimacy of the artist’s place in the great struggle of the people, a feeling of the obvious usefulness of my work, a feeling of complete freedom to handle verse and words in a naturally occurring, relaxed form of presentation. "Terkin" was for me in the relationship between the writer and his reader, my lyrics, my journalism, song and teaching, anecdote and saying, heart-to-heart conversation and a remark to the occasion."

The front-line reader, whom during our face-to-face and correspondence, through the pages of print, communication, I became accustomed to consider as my co-author - according to the degree of his interest in my work - this reader, for his part, also considered “Terkin” to be our common cause.

“Dear Alexander (I don’t know about his patronymic),” wrote, for example, fighter Ivan Andreev, “if you need material, I can do a favor. A year on the front line and seven battles taught me something and gave me something.” .

“I heard at the front a soldier’s story about Vasya Terkin, who I did not read in your poem,” reported K.V. Zorin from Vyshny Volochok. “Perhaps he interests you?”

“Why was our Vasily Terkin wounded?” D. Kaliberdy and others asked me in a collective letter. “How did he end up in the hospital? After all, he so successfully shot down a fascist plane and was not wounded. Did he catch a cold and end up in the hospital with a runny nose? So our Terkin is not that kind of guy. It’s so bad, don’t write about Terkin like that. Terkin should always be with us on the front line, a cheerful, resourceful, brave and determined fellow... Greetings! We’ll be waiting for Terkin soon from the hospital.”

And there are many such letters where the reader’s participation in the fate of the hero of the book develops into involvement in the very act of writing this book.

Long before the completion of Terkin, the editorial offices of newspapers and magazines, where the next parts and chapters of the book were published, began to receive “sequels”
"Terkina" in verse, written almost exclusively by people trying their hand at such a thing for the first time. One of the first experiments was the “third part” of “Terkin”, sent to the guard by senior sergeant Kondratyev, who in his letter to the editor of the newspaper “Krasnoarmeyskaya Pravda” wrote:

"Comrade editor!
I earnestly apologize if I take a few minutes of your time to read my poem “Vasily Terkin,” part 3. Please, of course, agree with Comrade. Tvardovsky, as the author of this poem. Being at the front, over the past 8-10 months I have not had to read the latest in our literature. Only in the hospital I saw a poem about Terkin, although I had not read the first part. Not knowing the author’s intentions and Terkin’s future, I dared to try to portray him as a Red Army soldier, assuming that he was not in the forefront at the time of the capture of the village, but he had to prove himself as at least a temporary commander and become an example..."

Cadet V. Ugryumov talks in a letter about his “plan” to describe the second Terkin, the hero of labor...

“A soldier comes home from war,” he writes, “but he doesn’t like rest (even a month of rest after all the troubles). From the first day he starts work.
He meets with the deputy battalion commander, and together they begin to lead and work. From the foreman of the field brigade, Terkin reaches the director of MTS. For valiant work he was presented with the highest award... Here, roughly, is the story in brief..."

In addition to the “continuations” of “Terkin”, a large place among the letters of readers, especially in the post-war period, is occupied by poetic messages to Vasily Terkin, with urgent wishes that “The Book about a Fighter” be continued by me.

It remains for me to dwell on this, perhaps the most difficult, point of the three that I outlined at the beginning.

In May 1945, the final chapter of Terkin, “From the Author,” was published. She evoked many responses in poetry and prose. Ninety-nine percent of them boiled down to the fact that readers want to get to know Terkin in conditions of peaceful working life. I still receive such letters, and sometimes they are addressed not to me, but to the editors of various publications, the Writers' Union, that is, organizations that, according to the authors of the letters, should influence me, so to speak, in a public order. V. Minerov from the Prechistensky district in the Smolensk region, in a note accompanying his poems “The Search for Terkin” to one of the Moscow editorial offices, writes: “I beg you to skip these careless and rude lines. I am not a poet, but I had to work hard: to call Tvardovsky to work.” .

In wishes and advice to continue “Terkin”, the hero’s field of activity in peaceful conditions is usually determined by the occupation of the letter’s authors. Some would like Terkin, remaining in the ranks of the army, to continue his service, training young recruits and serving as an example to them. Others want to see him definitely return to the collective farm and work as a pre-collective farm worker or foreman. Still others find that the best development of his fate would be to work on one of the great post-war construction projects, for example, on the construction of the Volga-Don Canal, etc. Here are stanzas taken from a message in verse to the hero of the book on behalf of the people of the Soviet Army :

Where are you, our Vasily Terkin,
Vasya Terkin, our hero?
Or are you no longer Terkin,
Or has it become completely different?

We often remember you
Let's remember the past
About the war, how they fought,
How they finished off the enemy...

But four years have passed
When the end of the war came,
How are you gone from us?
What happened, brother, to you?..

Maybe you went to a construction site
Five-year plan for combat?
But you remember our address -
He is still the same - field...
But we knew your character

And we are sure
That you will be together with us
After the whole war big
To work in our Army,
Like in your own family,
She might need you
You have your own experience...

N. Matveev

The author of the message expresses confidence that the hero of “The Book about a Soldier” is in the ranks of the army. Another correspondent, cadet Zh. Yagupov, on behalf of
Terkin himself asserts this not without an obvious reproach to the author of the book:

I'm ready to answer you
My creator, my poet,
Let me just note,
Where have you been for so many years?
Somehow they forgot the Army.
And it’s very offensive to me:
After all, we once served
Together with you in the war...
I am a soldier, although not a proud one,
But I’m offended, poet...
So, Terkin, battle-worn,
Suddenly resign? You're kidding. No!
I, brother, became close to the Army,
And I can’t resign...
And so I'm sorry,
What, I didn’t ask you,
Became a cadet. As you wish,
The asset advised me.
The soldiers want to live with me,
They tell me: they say, respect...
I remain guilty
In front of you
Terkin
Your.

V. Litavrin from Chita, also concerned about Terkin’s post-war fate, admitting its various possibilities, asks:

Maybe he's in the slaughter now
Fulfills the norm three times,
What do they give him according to plan?
Perhaps he is approaching the camp,
And with a funny saying,
The well-known Vasya Terkin,
Formerly a valiant soldier,
Does he produce rolled steel?..
What does your Terkin do:
Does he attend parties?
Or did you get married a long time ago?
Write everything - it’s all the same.
Maybe he, cherishing a dream,
Quiet morning in the middle of the alley
Listen to the nightingale's song?
Or a judge a long time ago?
Or is he a hero of our days?
Does he play hockey?
Maybe he became a combine operator?
Or dominates the choir
And he runs a drama club?
Where are you, our dear friend?..

But A.I. Makarov in his letter, like a detailed instruction, decisively suggests that I “let” Terkin “to the front of agriculture.”
“Let him,” recommends A.I. Makarov, “seriously and with humor tell and point out to collective farmers and collective farm women, tractor drivers and workers of MTS and state farms:
1. That food in all forms... is the physical strength of the people, the cheerful spirit of the people...
2. That abundance of food can be achieved by timely sowing of all crops with good seeds, good soil cultivation, application of fertilizers, introduction of correct multi-field crop rotations...
The next section... criticism of the shortcomings... which need to be hit... with a sharp Terkin word:
1. Due to dishonest work...
2. Due to the poor quality of agricultural machinery and spare parts for them.
3. By... careless... care of agricultural machinery, equipment, workers
cattle and harness.
4. According to agronomists who... did not make plans for correct multi-field
crop rotations.
5. According to the culprits whose fields have more weeds than ears of corn.
6. According to the Ministry of Forestry.
7. According to the leaders of the fishing industry."
Etc.

A.I. Makarov imagines this work in the form of a voluminous collection brochure... "Terkin in Agriculture." With illustrations below
separate headings (chapters): “Terkin on a collective farm, on a state farm, on a dairy farm, in a poultry house, on tobacco and beet plantations, in an orchard, in a vegetable garden, on melon fields, in vineyards, in “Zagotzerno” - on an elevator, on fish farms "

In itself, such a variety of wishes regarding the specific fate of the “post-war” Terkin would put me in an extremely difficult position. But that's not the point, of course.

I answered and am answering my correspondents that “Terkin” is a book born in the special, unique atmosphere of the war years, and that, completed in this special quality, the book cannot be continued on other material, requiring a different hero, other motives. I refer to the lines from the final chapter:

We need a new song.
Give it time, she will come.

However, new and new letters with proposals and urgent advice to write a “peaceful” “Terkin”, and each correspondent, naturally, seems to be the first to open such an opportunity for me, forcing me to explain this matter to my readers in a little more detail. “In my opinion,” writes I.V. Lenshin from the Voronezh region, “you yourself feel and you yourself are sorry that you have finished writing Terkin. You should continue it... write what Terkin is doing now...”

But even if it were so that I would regret the separation from “Terkin”, I still could not “continue” him. This would mean "exploit"
a ready-made, established and somehow imprinted image in the minds of readers, to increase the number of lines under the old title, without looking for a new quality. Such things are impossible in art. Let me give you one example.

In the same newspaper "Krasnoarmeyskaya Pravda" where "Terkin" was published, "New Adventures of the Good Soldier Schweik" was published. This piece was written by my fellow writer M. Slobodskoy who worked at the front. It was a “continuation” of J. Hasek’s work, created on the material of the First World War. The success of “The New Adventures of the Good Soldier Schweik” is explained, in my opinion, firstly, by the great need for this kind of entertaining and entertaining reading, and secondly, of course, by the fact that the familiar image was satirically related to the conditions of Hitler’s army.
But I don’t think anyone would have thought of continuing this “sequel” of “Schweik” in the post-war period. Moreover, the author of “New Schweik” after the last war did not even find it necessary to publish it as a separate book - there is no such book, but there was and is a book by J. Hasek “The Adventures of the Good Soldier Schweik”. Because Hasek’s book was a creative discovery of an image, and M. Slobodsky’s work in this case was a more or less skillful use of a ready-made image, which, generally speaking, cannot be the task of art.

True, the history of literature knows examples of the “use of ready-made images,” as we find, for example, in Saltykov-Shchedrin, who transferred Griboyedov’s Molchalin or Gogol’s Nozdryov into the conditions of a different reality - from the first to the second half of the 19th century. But this was justified by the special tasks of the satirical-journalistic genre, which is not so concerned, so to speak, with the secondary full-blooded life of these images as such, but uses their characteristic features familiar to the reader in application to other material and for other purposes... (This is approximately how one can explain now the appearance of “Terkin in the Other World,” which is by no means a “continuation” of “Vasily Terkin,” but a completely different thing, determined precisely by the “special tasks of the satirical-journalistic genre.” But about this, perhaps,
There is still a special conversation with readers ahead. (Author's note))

Perhaps for some readers all these explanations are unnecessary, but here I mean mainly those readers who, with constant insistence, demand a continuation of Terkin. By the way, my “silence” is all the more incomprehensible to them because the “continuation” does not seem so difficult to them.

The above-quoted message from V. Litavrin says so directly:

Where is your Terkin, where is Vasily, -
You will find without effort,
Because, I know, for a poet
Small work - this task.

And Litavrin, like others who think so, is absolutely right. “To continue” “Terkin”, to write several new chapters in the same plan, with the same verse, with the same “nature” of the hero in the center - this is really “a small task - this task.” But the fact is that it was precisely this obvious ease of the task that deprived me of the right and desire to implement it. This would mean that I would give up new searches, new efforts, which alone would make it possible to do something in art, and would begin to rewrite myself.

And that this task is obviously not difficult is evidenced by the “sequels” of “Vasily Terkin” themselves, which are still widely used.

“I recently read your poem “Vasily Terkin”...,” seventeen-year-old Yuri Moryatov writes to me, “and I decided to write the poem “Vasily
Terkin", only:

You wrote about how Vasya
Fought with a German in the war,
I'm writing about the five-year plan
And about Vasya’s work...”

Another young poet, Dmitry Morozov, writes “An Open Letter from Vasily Terkin to Former Fellow Soldiers” in terms of highlighting the post-war fate of the hero:

Add my machine gun to my arsenal
Delivered under grease lubrication.
I'm not a soldier in uniform,
Passed, as they say,
To a new, peaceful life.
Our ancient land - wilderness and forest -
Everything has changed
So to speak, great progress
It showed up in life.
We strengthened ourselves in the spring,
They lived richly.
Like an attack, like a battle,
The soldiers went to work.
I'm demobilized
During the first term of the Decree,
He rebuilt the house, and his own
Now we have a family,
Or, let's say, the base.
Glory to peaceful labor!
Be vigilant today.
If anything happens, I’ll come!
Sending my regards. V. Terkin.

From the “continuations” and “imitations” of “Terkin”, known to me, it would be possible to compose a book, perhaps no less in volume than the existing “Book about a fighter”. I know of cases of printed continuations of Terkin. For example, in several issues of the newspaper "Zvezda" at a plant in Perm
"Vasily Terkin at the Factory" by Boris Shirshov was published:

In a new summer tunic
(It’s time to take a vacation)
Front-line soldier Vasily Terkin
I decided to visit the plant.
They say Vasily Terkin
From the Smolensk side,
And others argue: “Assembled
He worked before the war."
Well, the third ones are no joke,
But seriously they say:
"Vasya Terkin! Yes, in the foundry
Together for many years in a row
We worked." In short,
In order not to argue, let's say this:
Terkin was our worker,
The rest is all nothing...

The chapters “Terkin in the Assembly Shop”, “Terkin in the Tool Shop”, “Terkin in the Foundry Shop” and others talk about the participation of a visiting soldier in factory affairs, about his meetings with workers; proper names and specific facts of industrial life - the texture of the usual stanza and intonation of the verse of "Terkin".

Arguing with the reader is unprofitable and hopeless, but if necessary, you can and should explain yourself to him. In order to explain this, I will give another example.

When I wrote “The Country of Ant” and published it in the form that it still exists, not only I, in my youth, but also many other comrades believed that this was the “first part”. Two more parts were planned, in which Nikita Morgunok’s journey would extend to the collective farms of the south of the country and the regions of the Ural-Kuzbass. This seemed obligatory, and most importantly, it didn’t seem to be much work: the story unfolded, its style and character were determined - let’s move on. But this obvious ease and necessity of the task alarmed me. I refused to “continue” the poem and still don’t regret it.

“Vasily Terkin” came out of that semi-folklore modern “element” that consists of newspaper and wall newspaper feuilleton, pop repertoire, ditty, comic song, raek, etc. Now he himself has generated a lot of similar material in the practice of newspapers, special publications, pop, oral use. Where he came from is where he goes. And in this sense, “The Book about a Fighter,” as I already said in part, is not my own work, but a work of collective authorship. I consider my share of participation in it fulfilled. And this in no way infringes on my feeling as an author, but, on the contrary, is very pleasing to him: at one time I managed to work on identifying the image of Terkin, which, as evidenced by written and oral reviews from readers, became quite widespread among the people.

In conclusion, I would like to thank my correspondents from the bottom of my heart for their letters about Terkin, both those that contain questions, advice and comments, and those that simply express their kind attitude towards this work of mine.

In the years since the publication of this article, the Terkinsky mail has brought many new reader responses. They came and come on the occasion of either the new edition of the “Book about a Fighter”, or the next radio broadcast “Vasily Terkin” performed by the late D. N. Orlov, or the production of the play of the same name in professional theaters (stage composition by K. Voronkov) and on the stage of amateur army performances , finally, on the occasion of the appearance of my other books in print.

Among these responses, a large place is occupied by such an active form of reader participation in the fate of the book, such as numerous “amateur”
dramatizations, scripts or their libretto based on Terkin, not to mention urgent proposals of this kind to the author of the book. But, perhaps, an even more active form of the reader’s attitude towards the hero of the book is the desire to somehow prolong his current life, to transfer
him from the front-line situation to the conditions of peaceful post-war labor. The article explaining why the author refrains from “continuing” this book of his using new material did not at all reduce such reader demands and wishes. But poetic messages - calls for a continuation of "Terkin" by its author have decisively given way to the main place of "continuations" of "The Book about a Fighter" by the readers themselves, even by people with some hidden or obvious literary pretensions, but, in any case, not by professional writers.

Following Terkin, a military school cadet, appear: Terkin, an anti-aircraft gunner; Terkin - demobilized, going to the construction of the Bratsk hydroelectric power station; Terkin in the electric forging shop; Terkin on virgin soil; Terkin is a policeman... Terkin’s “sons” and “nephews” appear - the years go by, and even the hero’s age undergoes this kind of “amendment” in accordance with the interests of young readers.

Some of these “Terkins” were published: “Vasily Terkin in the Air Defense” by senior lieutenant E. Chumakov - in the newspaper “At the Combat Post”; "Yasha Terkin"
M. Ivanova - “Labor Reserves” (Alma-Ata); “Terkin in the Fire Troops” - “Alarm” (Kharkov), etc. (Over the past two or three years, in connection with the publication of “Terkin in the Next World”, the number of imitations and continuations in my “Terkin archive”, perhaps, doubled, and their themes and polemical or other orientation were already determined by the content of this second “Terkin”, (Author’s note.))

The literary merits of these “continuations”, both printed and handwritten, sometimes very large in volume, are, of course, conditional - their direct dependence on the “Book about a Fighter” not only in borrowing the main image, but also in the entire texture of the verse is obvious. Yes, it is not disguised by their authors, it is not presented as something other than newspaper, wall newspaper or pop material for local or “industry” purposes. In any case, the motives of these authors are touching and selfless. In a word, exactly like this: the image of Terkin “where he came from is where he goes” - into the modern semi-folklore poetic “element”. And such a collective “continuation” of “Terkin” can only make me happy and evoke in me only a feeling of friendly gratitude towards my numerous, so to speak, co-authors on “Terkin”.

But, of course, completely different feelings are evoked by one special case of the “continuation” of “The Book about a Fighter” - for purposes deeply alien to Terkin’s image, and
in a way that does not have even a remote resemblance to generally accepted concepts of literary art. I mean the book by a certain S. Yurasov, “Vasily Terkin after the war,” published in New York, with the designation in brackets: “According to A. Tvardovsky.” This “co-author” is by no means an inexperienced beginner, and this work of his is not a simple-minded “test of the pen” - he owns, for example, the announced
on the cover of this publication is the autobiographical novel “Enemy of the People,” which depicts “a portrait of the Soviet major Fyodor Panin, who decided to break with Bolshevism and become an emigrant.”

S. Yurasov pretends that he quite literally understood my words in “Answer to Readers” that in a certain sense, “The Book about a Fighter” is not my own work, but a collective authorship. He writes there: “Part of the book “Vasily Terkin after the war” consists of what I heard in the army and in the Soviet Union. Some places in this part coincide with certain places in A. Tvardovsky, but have a completely different meaning. What is here by imitation of the nameless “Terkins” by the poet, but what, on the contrary, belongs to folklore and was used by A. Tvardovsky is difficult to say.”

“We can say,” continues Yurasov, “that Vasily Terkin, as he lives and is being created to this day in the midst of the soldiery and popular masses, is
free folk art." Having presented the matter in this way, Yurasov arrogates to himself the right to complete "freedom" in handling the text of my "Vasily Terkin." We open the first page of the book:

Which river to swim along -
To create a sweetheart...
From the first days of the bitter year,
In the difficult hour of our native land,
Not joking, Vasily Terkin,
You and I have become friends.
But I didn’t know yet, really,
What's from the printed column
Everyone will like you
And you will enter the hearts of others...

And so on, and so on - stanza after stanza, everything exactly “according to Tvardovsky,” except that, for example, the line “From the first days of the year
bitter" is replaced by the unpronounceable "From the days of the war, from the bitter time", and the line "But I didn’t know yet, right" - "And no one thought, right..." So until the third page, where after my line "Maybe "Is there a problem with Terkin?" suddenly there is a stanza entirely made by Yuras:
- Maybe they put him in a camp
- Nowadays the Terkins can’t...
“In forty-five,” they said,
- That he went to the West...

This blasphemous attempt to liken the fate of the honored Soviet warrior, the victorious hero - at least presumably - to his despicable
the biography of a defector, a traitor to the motherland, naturally can only cause disgust, which does not allow one to dwell on all the methods of this shameless falsification.

The work is rough. For example, from the chapter “The Duel,” the entire, so to speak, technical side of Terkin’s hand-to-hand fight with the German is taken and, with the help of lines and stanzas somehow cobbled together from himself, is presented as Terkin’s hand-to-hand fight with... a policeman. In comparison, the painting of a stolen car by motorist thieves in a different color and replacement of the license plate seems much more plausible.
Yurasov “quotes” me in stanzas, periods and entire pages, but does not put quotation marks anywhere, believing that his “additions” and “replacements” give him the right to use the well-known, so many times republished text of a Soviet book in any way he likes for his base anti-Soviet purposes. It is significant that this man, who went “in the service” of the bourgeois world, where the highest deity is private property, completely neglected the principle of literary property, which in our socialist society is protected by law, being primarily a moral concept.

However, why be surprised if the publishers of Yurasov’s anti-artistic concoction do not hesitate to name their establishment in New York after one of the greatest and noblest Russian writers - A.P. Chekhov, as indicated on the cover of S. Yurasov’s thieving, fake book.