- Xander77
- Apr 6, 2009
-
Fuck it then. For another pit sandwich and some 'tater salad, I'll post a few more.
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A) Wait for Me - Read by Laurence Olivier
B) I prefer this Simonov poem (more or less from the same time and place, but with a very different emphasis):
Константин Симонов - Убей его!
quote:
Если дорог тебе твой дом,
Где ты русским выкормлен был,
Под бревенчатым потолком,
Где ты в люльке, качаясь, плыл...
Если дороги в доме том
Тебе стены, печь и углы,
Дедом, прадедом и отцом
В нем исхоженные полы...
Если мил тебе бедный сад,
С майским цветом,
С жужжанием пчел,
И под липой сто лет назад
Дедом вкопанный в землю стол...
Если мать тебе дорога,
Тебя выкормившая грудь,
Где давно уже нет молока,
Только можно щекой прильнуть.
Если ты не хочешь отдать
Ту, с которой вдвоем ходил,
Ту, что поцеловать ты не смел —
Так ее любил,
Чтобы немцы ее втроем
Взяли силой, зажав в углу,
И распяли ее живьем
Обнаженную на полу,
Чтоб досталось трем этим псам
В муках, в ненависти, в крови
Все, что свято берег ты сам
Всею силой мужской любви...
Так убей же немца, чтоб он,
А не ты на земле лежал,
Не в твоем дому чтобы стон,
А в его по мертвом стоял.
Так хотел он — его вина.
Пусть исплачется не твоя,
А его родившая мать,
Не твоя, а его жена
Понапрасну пусть будет ждать.
Если немца убил твой брат,
Если немца убил сосед, —
Это брат и сосед твой мстят,
А тебе оправданья нет.
За чужой спиной не сидят,
Из чужой винтовки не мстят.
Так убей же немца ты сам,
Так убей же его скорей.
Сколько раз увидишь его,
Столько раз его и убей!
quote:
Konstantin Simonov - KILL HIM
If your house means a thing to you
Where you first dreamed your Russian dreams
In your swinging cradle, afloat
Beneath the log ceiling beams.
If your house means a thing to you
With its stove, corners, walls and floors
Worn smooth by the footsteps of three
Generations of ancestors.
If your small garden means a thing:
With its May blooms and bees humming low,
With its table your grandfather built
Neath the linden - a century ago.
If you don't want a German to tread
The floor in your house and chance
To sit in your ancestors' place
And destroy your yard's trees and plants
If your mother is dear to you
And the breast that gave you suck
Which hasn't had milk for years
But is now where you put your cheek;
If you cannot stand the thought
Of a German's doing her harm.
Beating her furrowed face
With her braids wound round his arm.
And those hands which carried you
To your cradle washing instead
A German's dirty clothes
Or making him his bed .
[If you haven't forgotten your father
Who tossed you and teased your toes,
Who was a good soldier, who vanished
In the high Carpathian snows,
Who died for your motherland's fate,
For each Don and each Volga wave,
If you don't want him in his sleeping
To turn over in his grave,
When a German tears his soldier picture
With crosses from its place
And before your own mother's eyes
Stamps hobnailed boots on his face.]
If you don't want to give away
Her you walked with and didn't touch,
Her you didn't dare even to kiss
For a long time - you loved her so much,
And the Germans cornering her
And taking her alive by force,
Crucifying her - three of them
Naked, on the floor; with coarse
Moans, hate, and blood, -
Those dogs taking advantage of
All you sacredly preserved
With your strong, male love.
If you don't want to give away
To a German with his black gun
Your house, your mother, your wife
All that's yours as a native son
No: No one will save your land
If you don't save it from the worst.
No: No one will kill this foe,
If you don't kill him first.
And until you have killed him, don't
Talk about your love - and
Call the house where you lived your home
Or the land where you grew up your land.
If your brother killed a German,
If your neighbor killed one too,
It's your brother's and neighbor's vengeance,
And it's no revenge for you.
You can't sit behind another
Letting him fire your shot.
If your brother kills a German,
Hes a soldier; you are not.
So kill that German so he
Will lie on the ground's backbone,
So the funeral wailing will be
In his house, not in your own.
He wanted it so It's his guilt
Let his house burn up, and his life.
Let his woman become a widow;
Don't let it be your wife.
Don't let your mother tire from tears;
Let the one who bore him bear the pain.
Don't let it be yours, but his
Family who will wait in vain.
So kill at least one of them
And as soon as you can. Still
Each one you chance to see!
Kill him! Kill him! Kill!
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