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Lev Moiseevich Kvitko
Yiddish לייב קוויטקאָ

Birth name:	Leib Kvitko
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a lion (Leib) Moiseevich Kvitko(Yiddish לייב קוויטקאָ; October 15 - August 12) - Soviet Jewish (Yiddish) poet.

Biography

Born in the town of Goloskov, Podolsk province (now the village of Goloskov, Khmelnitsky region of Ukraine), according to documents - November 11, 1890, but did not know the exact date of his birth and named it presumably 1893 or 1895. Orphaned early, raised by his grandmother, studied at the cheder for some time, and was forced to work from childhood. He began to write poetry at the age of 12 (or, perhaps, earlier - due to confusion with the date of his birth). The first publication was in May 1917 in the socialist newspaper Dos Freye Worth (Free Word). The first collection - "Lidelekh" ("Songs", Kiev, 1917).

From the middle of 1921 he lived and published in Berlin, then in Hamburg, where he worked in the Soviet trade mission, and was published in both Soviet and Western periodicals. Here he joined the Communist Party, led communist agitation among the workers. In 1925, fearing arrest, he moved to the USSR. He published many books for children (17 books were published in 1928 alone).

Translations

On the text of L. Kvitko's poem "Violin" (translated by M. Svetlov), the second part of the Sixth Symphony by Moses Weinberg was written.

Editions in Russian

On a visit. M.-L., Detizdat, 1937
When I grow up. M., Detizdat, 1937
In the forest. M., Detizdat, 1937
Letter to Voroshilov. M., 1937 Fig. V. Konashevich
Letter to Voroshilov. M., 1937. Fig. M. Rodionova
Poems. M.-L., Detizdat, 1937
Swing. M., Detizdat, 1938
Red Army. M., Detizdat, 1938
Horse. M., Detizdat, 1938
Lam and Petrik. M.-L., Detizdat, 1938
Poems. M.-L., Detizdat, 1938
Poems. M., Pravda, 1938
On a visit. M., Detizdat, 1939
Lullaby. M., 1939. Fig. M. Gorshman
Lullaby. M., 1939. Fig. V. Konashevich
Letter to Voroshilov. Pyatigorsk, 1939
Letter to Voroshilov. Voroshilovsk, 1939
Letter to Voroshilov. M., 1939
Mihasik. M., Detizdat, 1939
Talk. M.-L., Detizdat, 1940
Ahahi. M., Detizdat, 1940
Conversations with loved ones. M., Goslitizdat, 1940
Red Army. M.-L., Detizdat, 1941
Hello. M., 1941
War game. Alma-Ata, 1942
Letter to Voroshilov. Chelyabinsk, 1942
On a visit. M., Detgiz, 1944
Horse. M., Detgiz, 1944
Sledging. Chelyabinsk, 1944
Spring. M.-L., Detgiz, 1946
Lullaby. M., 1946
Horse. M., Detgiz, 1947
A story about a horse and about me. L., 1948
Horse. Stavropol, 1948
Violin. M.-L., Detgiz, 1948
To the sun. M., Der Emes, 1948
To my friends. M., Detgiz, 1948
Poems. M., Soviet writer, 1948.

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An excerpt characterizing Kvitko, Lev Moiseevich

- Come on! We, apparently, will have different concepts about many things. It's okay, isn't it? - "nobly" reassured him the baby. - Can I talk to them?
- Speak if you can hear. - Miard turned to the miracle Savia, who had come down to us, and showed something.
The wondrous creature smiled and came closer to us, while the rest of his (or her? ..) friends still floated easily right above us, sparkling and shimmering in the bright sunlight.
- I am Lilis ... fox ... is ... - an amazing voice echoed. He was very soft, and at the same time very sonorous (if such opposing concepts can be combined into one).
- Hello, beautiful Lilis. - joyfully welcomed the creature Stella. - I'm Stella. And here she is - Svetlana. We are people. And you, we know, Savia. Where did you come from? And what is Savia? - questions again rained down, but I didn't even try to stop her, as it was completely useless ... Stella just "wanted to know everything!" And it always remained that way.
Lilis came very close to her and began to examine Stella with her freakish, huge eyes. They were bright crimson, with dots of gold inside, and sparkled like precious stones. The face of this wonderful creature looked amazingly delicate and fragile, and had the shape of a petal of our earthly lily. She "spoke" without opening her mouth, at the same time smiling at us with her small, round lips ... But, probably, the most amazing thing they had was their hair ... They were very long, almost reaching the edge of the transparent wing, absolutely weightless and not having a constant color, they flashed all the time with the most different and most unexpected brilliant rainbows ... The transparent bodies of Savii were sexless (like the body of a small earthly child), and from the back they passed into "wing-petals", which really made them look like huge bright flowers ...
- We flew from the mountains-or ... - a strange echo sounded again.
- Can you tell us faster? - impatient Stella asked Miard. - Who are they?
- They were brought from another world sometime. Their world was dying, and we wanted to save them. At first we thought they could live with everyone, but they couldn't. They live very high in the mountains, no one can get there. But if you look into their eyes for a long time, they will take it with them ... And you will live with them.
Stella shivered and slightly moved away from Lilis, who was standing next to him ... - And what do they do when they take them away?
- Nothing. They just live with those who are taken away. Probably in their world it was different, but now they do it just out of habit. But for us they are very valuable - they "cleanse" the planet. Nobody ever got sick after they came.
- So you saved them not because you were sorry, but because you needed them?! .. Is it good to use them? - I was afraid that Miard would be offended (as they say - don't go into someone else's house with boots ...) and pushed Stella hard in the side, but she didn't pay any attention to me, and now she turned to Savia. - Do you like living here? Are you sad about your planet?
- No-no ... It's beautiful-gray-willow here ... - rustled the same soft voice. - And okay-osho ...
Lilis suddenly lifted one of her sparkling "petals" and gently stroked Stella's cheek.
- Baby-ka ... Good-shaya-ah ... Stella-la-a ... - and a second time the fog flashed above Stella's head, but this time it was multi-colored ...
Lilis smoothly waved her transparent petal wings and began to slowly rise until she joined her own. The Savias became agitated, and suddenly, flashing very brightly, they disappeared ...
- Where did they go? - the baby was surprised.
- They're gone. Here, look ... - and Miard pointed to the already very far away, towards the mountains, smoothly floating in the pink sky, illuminated by the sun, wondrous creatures. - They went home ...
Wei suddenly appeared ...
- You have to go, - said the "star" girl sadly. “You can't be here that long. It's hard.
- Oh, but we haven't seen anything yet! - Stella was upset. - And we can still come back here, dear Weya? Goodbye good Miard! You're good. I will definitely come back to you! - As always, addressing everyone at once, Stella said goodbye.
Weya waved her hand, and we again whirled in a frenzied whirlpool of sparkling materials, after a short (or maybe it just seemed short?) Moment "threw" us to our usual Mental "floor" ...
- Oh, how interesting it is! .. - Stella squeaked in delight.
It seemed that she was ready to endure the most difficult loads, just to once again return to the colorful Weiying world so beloved by her. Suddenly I thought that she really should have liked him, as he was very similar to her own, which she loved to create for herself here, on the "floors" ...
My enthusiasm diminished a little, because I had already seen this beautiful planet for myself, and now I desperately wanted something else! .. I felt that dizzying "taste of the unknown", and I really wanted to repeat it ... I already I knew that this "hunger" would poison my further existence, and that I would miss it all the time. Thus, wishing to remain at least a little bit happy in the future, I had to find some way to "open" the door to other worlds ... But then I hardly understood that opening such a door was not so just ... And that many more winters will pass while I will be free to "walk" wherever I want, and that someone else will open this door for me ... And this other will be my amazing husband.
- Well, what are we going to do next? - Stella pulled me out of my dreams.
She was upset and sad that she could not see more. But I was very glad that she again became herself and now I was absolutely sure that from that day on she would definitely stop moping and be ready for any new "adventures" again.
- Forgive me, please, but I probably won't do anything else today ... - I said apologetically. - But thank you very much for helping.
Stella beamed. She really loved to feel needed, so I always tried to show her how much she meant to me (which was absolutely true).
- OK. Let's go somewhere another time, - she agreed complacently.
I think she, like me, was a little haggard, only, as always, she tried not to show it. I waved my hand to her ... and I found myself at home, on my favorite sofa, with a bunch of impressions that now needed to be calmly comprehended, and slowly, without haste to "digest" ...

By the time I was ten, I had become very attached to my father.

4 888

NOTES ABOUT L.M. KVITKO

Having become a sage, he remained a child ...

Lev Ozerov

“I was born in the village of Goloskov, Podolsk province ... My father was a bookbinder, a teacher. The family was in poverty, and all children at an early age were forced to go to work. One brother became a dyer, another a loader, two sisters - dressmakers, the third - a teacher ”. This is what the Jewish poet Lev Moiseevich Kvitko wrote in his autobiography in October 1943.

Hunger, poverty, tuberculosis - this ruthless scourge of the inhabitants of the Pale of Settlement fell to the lot of the Kvitko family. "Father and mother, sisters and brothers died early from tuberculosis ... From the age of ten he began to earn money ... he was a dyer, painter, porter, cutter, procurer ... I never studied at school ... Self-taught I learned to read and write." But a difficult childhood not only did not anger him, but also made him wiser, kinder. “There are people who emit light,” the Russian writer L. Panteleev wrote about Kvitko. Everyone who knew Lev Moiseevich said that benevolence and love of life emanated from him. It seemed to everyone who met him that he would live forever. “He will certainly live to be a hundred years old, - K. Chukovsky asserted. "It was even strange to imagine that he might someday get sick."

On May 15, 1952, at the trial, exhausted by interrogations and torture, he would say about himself: “Before the revolution I lived the life of a bat, a stray dog, and this life was worthless. Since the Great October Revolution, I have lived thirty years of a wonderful, inspired working life ”. And immediately after this phrase: "The end of my life is right here in front of you!"

Poems, by his own admission, Lev Kvitko began to compose at a time when he still could not write. Invented in childhood remained in the memory and later "poured out" on paper, was included in the first collection of his poems for children, which appeared in 1917. “Lidelakh” (“Songs”) was the title of this book. How old was the young author then? “I don’t know the exact date of my birth - 1890 or 1893 ″ ...

Like many other recent inhabitants of the Pale of Settlement, Lev Kvitko greeted the October Revolution with enthusiasm. In his early poems, a certain anxiety is caught, but true to the traditions of the revolutionary romantic poet Osher Shvartsman, he sings of the revolution. His poem "Reuter Storm" ("Red Storm") was the first work in Yiddish about the revolution called the Great. It so happened that the release of his first book coincided with the revolution. “The revolution pulled me out of hopelessness, like many millions of people, and put me on my feet. They began to print me in newspapers, collections, and my first poems on the revolution were published in the then Bolshevik newspaper Komfon in Kiev. "

He writes about this in his poems:

We did not see childhood in childhood,

We, children of adversity, wandered around the world.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

And now we hear the priceless word:

Come, whose childhood has been stolen by enemies,

Who was destitute, forgotten, robbed,

Life is repaying your debts with a vengeance.

One of the best poems by Kvitko, written in the same period, retains the eternal Jewish sadness:

You ran away early in the morning

And only in the chestnut foliage

The impetuous run trembles.

He rushed off, leaving a little:

Only dust smoke on the doorstep

Abandoned forever

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

And the evening rushes towards.

Where are you going to slow down?

Whose door the rider will knock on,

And who will give him an overnight stay?

Does he know how they yearn for him -

I, my home!

Translated by T. Spendiarova

Recalling the first post-revolutionary years, Lev Moiseevich admitted that he perceived the revolution more intuitively than consciously, but it changed a lot in his life. In 1921, like some other Jewish writers (A. Bergelson, D. Gofshtein, P. Markish), the Kiev publishing house offered him to go abroad, to Germany, to study, to get an education. This was Kvitko's old dream, and, of course, he agreed.

The Jesuits from the Lubyanka many years later knocked out a completely different confession from Kvitko on this matter: they forced him to recognize his departure to Germany as a flight from the country, since “the national question regarding the Jews was resolved by the Soviet government incorrectly. Jews were not recognized as a nation, which, in my opinion, led to the deprivation of any independence and infringed on legal rights in comparison with other nationalities. "

Life abroad turned out to be far from easy. “In Berlin, I barely interrupted” ... Nevertheless, there, in Berlin, two of his collections of poems were published - “Green Grass” and “1919”. The second was dedicated to the memory of those who died in the pogroms in Ukraine before and after the revolution.

“In early 1923, I moved to Hamburg and began working in the port, salting and sorting South American skins for the Soviet Union,” he wrote in his autobiography. “In the same place, in Hamburg, I was entrusted with responsible Soviet work, which I did right up to my return to my homeland in 1925.”

It is about the propaganda work that he carried out among the German workers as a member of the German Communist Party. He left there, most likely because of the threat of arrest.

L. Kvitko and I. Fisherman. Berlin, 1922

At the trial in 1952, Kvitko will tell how weapons were sent from the Hamburg port under the guise of dishes to China for Chiang Kai-shek.

The second time in the communist party, VKP (b), the poet joined in 1940. But this is already a different party and a different, completely different story ...

Returning to his homeland, Lev Kvitko took up literary work. In the late 1920s and early 1930s, his best works were created, not only poetry, but also in prose, in particular the story "Lam and Petrik".

By that time, he had already become a poet, not only beloved, but also generally recognized. It was translated into Ukrainian by the poets Pavlo Tychina, Maxim Rylsky, Volodymyr Sosyura. In different years it was translated into Russian by A. Akhmatova, S. Marshak, K. Chukovsky, J. Helemsky, M. Svetlov, B. Slutsky, S. Mikhalkov, N. Naidenova, E. Blaginina, N. Ushakov. Translated in such a way that his poems became a phenomenon of Russian poetry.

In 1936 S. Marshak wrote to K. Chukovsky about L. Kvitko: “It would be good if you, Korney Ivanovich, translated something (for example,“ Anna-Vanna… ”)”. Some time later, S. Mikhalkov translated it, and thanks to him this poem entered the anthology of world children's literature.

It is appropriate to recall here that on July 2, 1952, a few days before his sentencing, Lev Moiseevich Kvitko appealed to the military collegium of the USSR Supreme Court with a request to invite K.I. Chukovsky, K.F. Piskunov, P.G. Tychin, S.V. Mikhalkov. The court rejected the petition and, of course, did not bring it to the attention of Kvitko's friends, in whose support he believed until the last minute.

Recently, in a telephone conversation with me, Sergei Vladimirovich Mikhalkov said that he knew nothing about this. “But he could still live today,” he added. - He was a smart and good poet. With fantasy, fun, invention, he involved not only children, but also adults in his poetry. I often remember him, think about him. "

... From Germany, Lev Kvitko returned to Ukraine, and later, in 1937, moved to Moscow. They say that Ukrainian poets, especially Pavlo Grigorievich Tychin, tried to persuade Kvitko not to leave. In the year of his arrival in Moscow, the poet's collection of the poet "Selected Works" was published, which was an example of socialist realism. In the collection, of course, there were also wonderful lyrical children's poems, but "a tribute to the times" (recall, the year was 1937), found in it "a worthy reflection."

Around the same time, Kvitko wrote his famous poem "Pushkin and Heine". An excerpt from it, translated by S. Mikhalkov, is given below:

And I see a young tribe

And a daring flight of thoughts.

As never before, my verse lives on.

Blessed is this time

And you, my free people! ..

Freedom cannot rot in dungeons,

Do not turn the people into a slave!

The fight is calling me home!

I'm leaving, the fate of the people -

The fate of the folk singer!

Shortly before World War II, Kvitko finished his novel in verse "Young Years", at the beginning of the war he was evacuated to Alma-Ata. His autobiography says: “I left Kukryniksa. We went to Alma-Ata with the aim of creating a new book there that would correspond to that time. Nothing worked there ... I went to the mobilization point, they examined me and left me to wait ... "

L. Kvitko with his wife and daughter. Berlin, 1924

One of the interesting pages of memories of L. Kvitko's stay in Chistopol during the war was left in her diaries by Lydia Korneevna Chukovskaya:

“Kvitko comes to me ... I know Kvitko better than the rest of the local Muscovites: he is a friend of my father. Korney Ivanovich was one of the first to notice and fall in love with Kvitko's poems for children, achieved their translation from Yiddish into Russian ... Now he spent two or three days in Chistopol: his wife and daughter are here. He came to me on the eve of departure, to ask in more detail what to tell my father from me if they met somewhere ...

About Tsvetaeva, about the ugliness, perpetrated by the literature fund, she started talking. After all, she is not an exile, but the same evacuee, like all of us, why is she not allowed to live where she wants ... "

Today we know about the bullying, ordeals that Marina Ivanovna had to endure in Chistopol, about the humiliations that fell to her lot, about the shameful, unforgivable indifference to Tsvetaeva's fate on the part of the "writers' leaders" enough. None of the writers, except Lev Kvitko, dared, did not dare to intercede for Tsvetaeva. After Lydia Chukovskaya addressed him, he went to Nikolai Aseev. He promised to contact the rest of the “writers' functionaries” and assured him with his characteristic optimism: “Everything will be fine. Now the most important thing is that each person must specifically remember: everything ends well. ” This is what this kind, sympathetic person said in the most difficult times. He both consoled and helped everyone who turned to him.

Another evidence of this is the recollections of the poetess Elena Blaginina: “The war scattered everyone in different directions ... My husband, Yegor Nikolaevich, lived in Kuibyshev, suffering considerable disasters. They met occasionally, and, according to my husband, Lev Moiseevich helped him, sometimes giving him work, or even just sharing a piece of bread ... "

And again to the topic "Tsvetaeva-Kvitko".

According to Lydia Borisovna Libedinskaya, the only prominent writer who was then in Chistopol worried about the fate of Marina Tsvetaeva was Kvitko. And his efforts were not empty, although Aseev did not even come to the meeting of the commission that considered Tsvetaeva's request to hire her as a dishwasher in the writer's canteen. Aseev "got sick", Trenev (the author of the infamous play "Yarovaya Love") was categorically against it. I admit that Lev Moiseevich heard the name of Tsvetaeva from Lydia Chukovskaya for the first time, but the desire to help, protect a person was his organic quality.

... So, "the people's war is going on." Life has become completely different and the poems - different, unlike those that he wrote Kvitko in peacetime, and yet - about children who became victims of fascism:

From the woods, from where in the bushes

They walk, closing their hungry lips,

Children from Uman ...

Faces are a shade of yellowness.

Hands are bones and sinews.

Six-seven elders,

Those who escaped from the grave.

Translated by L. Ozerov

In the active army, Kvitko, as it was said, was not taken, he was summoned to Kuibyshev to work in the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee. Apparently it was a tragic accident. Unlike Itsik Fefer, Peretz Markish, and Mikhoels, Kvitko was far from politics. “I, thank Gd, do not write plays, and Gd himself guarded me from contact with the theater and Mikhoels,” he said at the trial. And during interrogation, talking about the work of the JAC: “Mikhoels was drinking most of all. In practice, Epstein and Fefer did the work, although the latter was not a member of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee. ” And then he will give an amazingly accurate definition of the essence of I. Fefer: “he is such a person that if he is even appointed a courier,. ... in fact, he will become the owner ... Fefer put up for discussion by the presidium only those questions that were beneficial to him ... "

Kvitko's speeches at meetings of the JAC are known, one of them, at the III plenum, contains the following words: "The day of the death of fascism will become a holiday for all freedom-loving humanity." But even in this speech, the main idea is about children: “The unheard-of torture and extermination of our children - these are the methods of education developed in the German headquarters. Infanticide as an everyday, everyday phenomenon - this is the savage plan that the Germans carried out on the temporarily occupied Soviet territory ... The Germans exterminate Jewish children to the last ... " By the Red Army ”.

L. Kvitko speaks at the III plenum of the EAC

And yet, work in the EAK, politics are not the lot of the poet Lev Kvitko. He returned to writing. In 1946, Kvitko was elected chairman of the trade union committee of youth and children's writers. Everyone who came into contact with him at that time recalls with what desire and enthusiasm he helped writers who returned from the war and the families of writers who died in this war. He dreamed of publishing children's books, and with the money received from their publication, build a house for writers who were homeless due to the war.

About Kvitko of that time, Korney Ivanovich writes: “In these post-war years we often met. He had a talent for disinterested poetic friendship. He was always surrounded by a tightly knit cohort of friends, and I remember with pride that he included me in this cohort ”.

Already gray-haired, aged, but still clear-eyed and blissful, Kvitko returned to his favorite themes and in new verses began to praise the spring showers and the morning chirps of birds as before.

It should be emphasized that neither a bleak beggarly childhood, nor youth full of anxiety and difficulties, nor the tragic years of the war could destroy the delightful attitude towards life, the optimism sent down by Kvitko from Heaven. But Korney Ivanovich Chukovsky was right when he said: “Sometimes Kvitko himself realized that his childhood love for the world around him was taking him too far away from the painful and cruel reality, and tried to curb his praises and odes with good-natured irony over them, to present them in humorous way ”.

If one can argue about Kvitko's optimism, even argue, then the feeling of patriotism, that true, not feigned, not deceitful, but high patriotism, was not only inherent in him, but to a large extent was the essence of the poet and man of Kvitko. These words do not need confirmation, and yet it seems appropriate to cite the full text of the poem "With my country" written by him in 1946, a wonderful translation of which was made by Anna Andreevna Akhmatova:

Who dares to separate my people from the country,

In that there is no blood - replaced by water.

Who separates my verse from the country,

He will be full and empty shell.

With you, country, people are great.

Everyone rejoices - both mother and children,

And without you, people are in the darkness,

Everyone is crying - both mother and children.

The people working for the happiness of the country

Gives my poems a frame.

My verse is a weapon, my verse is a servant of the country,

And only she belongs by right.

My verse will die without the Motherland,

A stranger to both mothers and children.

With you, country, my verse is tenacious,

And his mother reads it to the children.

The year 1947, as well as 1946, did not seem to promise anything bad to the Jews of the USSR. New performances were staged in the GOSET, and although the audience was getting smaller, the theater existed, a newspaper in Yiddish was published. Then, in 1947, few Jews believed (or were afraid to believe) in the possibility of the revival of the State of Israel. Others continued to fantasize that the future of the Jews was in the creation of Jewish autonomy in Crimea, not guessing and not guessing what tragedy was already winding around this idea ...

Lev Kvitko was a true poet, and it was not by chance that his friend and translator Elena Blaginina said about him: “He lives in a magical world of magical transformations. Lev Kvitko is a poet-child ”. Only such a naive person could write a few weeks before his arrest:

How not to work with these

When the palms itch, they burn.

Like a strong jet

carries away the stone

The wave of work will carry away

like a trumpet waterfall!

blessed with labor,

How good it is to work for you!

Translation by B. Slutsky

On November 20, 1948, a Resolution of the Politburo of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party of Bolsheviks was issued, which approved the decision of the USSR Council of Ministers, according to which the USSR Ministry of State Security was instructed: "Without delay to dissolve the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee, since this Committee is the center of anti-Soviet propaganda and regularly supplies anti-Soviet information to foreign intelligence agencies." ... There is an instruction in this decree: "Do not arrest anyone yet." But by that time the arrested were already there. Among them is the poet David Gofshtein. In December of the same year, Itsik Fefer was arrested, and a few days later, the seriously ill Veniamin Zuskin was brought from the Botkin hospital to the Lubyanka. Such was the situation on New Year's Eve, 1949.

Valentin Dmitrievich read Chukovsky's poems from memory, warning that he could not vouch for accuracy, but the essence was preserved:

How rich I would be

If Detizdat paid money.

I would send to friends

A million telegrams

But now I'm ruined to the bone -

Detizdat only brings losses

And you have to, dear Kvitki,

Congratulations to send you in a postcard.

Whatever the mood, in January 1949, as Elena Blaginina writes in her memoirs, the 60th anniversary of Kvitko was celebrated in the Central House of Writers. Why 49th 60th birthday? Recall that Lev Moiseevich himself did not know exactly his year of birth. “The guests gathered in the Oak Hall of the Writers' Club. A lot of people came, the hero of the day was greeted cordially, but he seemed (did not seem, but was) anxious and sad, ”writes Elena Blaginina. Valentin Kataev chaired the evening.

Few of those who attended this evening are alive today. But I was lucky - I met with Semyon Grigorievich Simkin. At that time he was a student at the theatrical technical school at GOSET. Here is what he said: “The Oak Hall of the Central House of Writers was overcrowded. All the writers' elite of that time - Fadeev, Marshak, Simonov, Kataev - not only honored the hero of the day with their greetings, but also spoke the warmest words about him. What was most memorable was the performance of Korney Ivanovich Chukovsky. Not only did he say about Kvitko as one of the best poets of our time, but he also read in the original, that is, in Yiddish, several of Kvitko's poems, among them “Anna-Vanna”.

L. Kvitko. Moscow, 1944

On January 22, Kvitko was arrested. “They're coming. Really? .. / This is a mistake. / But, alas, it does not save from arrest / Confidence in innocence, / And purity of thoughts and actions / Not an argument in an era of lawlessness. / Innocence is at the same time with wisdom / Unconvincing neither for the investigator, / Not for the executioner ”(Lev Ozerov). If on this day, in the afternoon of January 22, it was possible to finish the biography of the poet Lev Kvitko, what a happiness it would be for him and for me, who is writing these lines. But from this day the most tragic part of the poet's life begins, and it lasted almost 1300 days.

In the dungeons of the Lubyanka

(The chapter is almost documentary)

From the minutes of a closed court session of the Military Collegium of the Supreme Court of the USSR.

The court clerk, senior lieutenant M. Afanasyev, said that all the accused had been escorted to the court session.

The presiding officer, Lieutenant General of Justice A. Cheptsov, makes sure of the identity of the defendants, and each of them tells about himself.

From the testimony of Kvitko: “I, Kvitko Leyb Moiseevich, born in 1890, a native of the village of Goloskovo, Odessa region, a Jew by nationality, was a member of the party since 1941, before that he had never been in any parties (as you know, Kvitko was in the Communist Party of Germany. - M.G.). Profession - poet, marital status - married, have an adult daughter, home education. I have awards: the Order of the Red Banner of Labor and the medal "For Valiant Labor in the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945." Arrested on January 25, 1949 (most sources on January 22.- M.G.). I received a copy of the indictment on May 3, 1952 ”.

After the indictment was announced presiding finds out whether each of the defendants understands his guilt. The answer was “I see,” everyone said. Some pleaded guilty (Fefer, Teumin), others completely rejected the accusation (Lozovsky, Markish, Shimeliovich. Dr. Shimeliovich will exclaim: “I never did and I never do!”). There were those who partially admitted their guilt. Among them is Kvitko.

PRESIDENT: Accused Kvitko, to what do you plead guilty?

Kvitko: I admit myself guilty before the party and before the Soviet people in the fact that I worked in the Committee, which brought a lot of harm to the Motherland. I also plead guilty that, being for some time after the war the executive secretary or head of the Jewish section of the Union of Soviet Writers, I did not raise the question of closing this section, I did not raise the question of accelerating the process of assimilation of Jews.

Chair: Do you deny that you were guilty of nationalist activities in the past?

Kvitko: Yes. I deny that. I don’t feel this guilt. I feel that with all my soul and with all my thoughts I wished happiness to the land on which I was born, which I consider my homeland, despite all these materials of the case and testimony about me ... My motives must be heard, as I will confirm them with facts ...

Chairperson: We have already heard here that your literary activity was devoted entirely to the Party.

Kvitko: If only they gave me the opportunity to calmly reflect all the facts that took place in my life and which justify me. I am sure that if there was a person here who could read thoughts and feelings well, he would tell the truth about me. All my life I considered myself a Soviet person, moreover, even if it sounds immodest, but it is so - I have always been in love with the party.

Chairperson: All this is at odds with your testimony at the investigation. You consider yourself to be in love with the party, but why then are you claiming a lie? You consider yourself an honest writer, but your attitude was far from what you say.

Kvitko: I say that the party does not need my lies, and I show only what can be confirmed by facts. During the investigation, all my testimonies were distorted, and everything was shown the other way around. This also applies to my trip abroad, as if it was with a harmful purpose, and this also applies to the fact that I slipped into the Party. Take my poems 1920-1921. These verses are collected in a folder from the investigator. They are talking about something completely different. My works, published in 1919-1921, were published in a communist newspaper. When I told the investigator about this, he answered me: "We don't need this."

Chair: In short, you deny this testimony. Why did you lie?

Kvitko: It was very difficult for me to fight the investigator ...

Chair: Why did you sign the protocol?

Kvitko: Because it was difficult not to sign it.

Defendant B.A. Shimeliovich, the former chief physician of the Botkin Hospital, said: “The protocol ... was signed by me ... with an unclear mind. This state of mine is the result of methodical beating for a month, every day, day and night ... "

It is obvious that not only Shimeliovich was tortured in the Lubyanka.

But back to interrogation Kvitko in that day:

Chair: So you deny your testimony?

Kvitko: I absolutely deny ...

How not to recall the words of Anna Akhmatova here? “He who has not lived in the era of terror will never understand this” ...

The presiding judge returns to the reasons for Kvitko's “flight” abroad.

Chairperson: Show motives for fleeing.

Kvitko: I don't know how to tell you to believe me. If a religious criminal stands before the court and considers himself wrongly convicted or wrongly guilty, he thinks: well, they don’t believe me, I am convicted, but at least Gd knows the truth. I have no god, of course, and I have never believed in God. I have only one god - the power of the Bolsheviks, this is my god. And before this faith I say that in my childhood and youth I did the hardest work. What kind of job? I don’t mean to say what I did when I was 12. But the hardest job is being in front of the court. I’ll tell you about the escape, the reasons, but give me the opportunity to tell you.

I have been sitting alone in a cell for two years, this is of my own free will, and for this I have a reason. I don’t have a living soul to consult with someone, I don’t have a more experienced person in legal matters. I am alone, thinking and worrying with myself ...

A little later, Kvitko will continue his testimony on the issue of "flight":

I admit that you do not believe me, but the factual state of affairs refutes the above-mentioned nationalist motive for leaving. Then in the Soviet Union, many Jewish schools, orphanages, choirs, institutions, newspapers, publications and the entire institution were created " Culture League”Was plentifully materially supplied by the Soviet power. New centers of culture were established. Why did I have to leave? And I did not go to Poland, where then full-blown Jewish nationalism flourished, and not to America, where many Jews live, but I went to Germany, where there were no Jewish schools, no newspapers, and nothing else. So this motive is devoid of any sense ... If I fled from my native Soviet land, could I then write “In a Foreign Land” - poems that curse the stormy stagnation of life, poems of deep longing for the homeland, for its stars and for its deeds? If I were not a Soviet person, would I have had the strength to fight against sabotage at work in the Hamburg port, to be mocked and scolded by "honest uncles" who disguised themselves with complacency and morality, covering the predators? If I was not committed to the cause of the party, could I voluntarily take on the secret burden of danger and harassment? No reward, after a hard one underpaid of a working day, I performed tasks necessary for the Soviet people. This is only part of the facts, part of the material evidence of my activities from the first years of the revolution to 1925, i.e. until when I returned to the USSR.

The presiding judge repeatedly returned to the question anti-assimilation activities of the EAK. ("Blood is accused" - Alexander Mikhailovich Borshagovsky will name his outstanding book about this trial and, perhaps, will give the most accurate definition of everything that happened at this trial.) Regarding assimilation and anti-assimilation gives testimony to Kvitko:

What am I accusing myself of? What do I feel guilty about? The first is that I did not see and did not understand that the Committee, by its activities, does great harm to the Soviet state, and that I also worked in this Committee. The second thing I consider myself guilty of is hanging over me, and I feel that this is my accusation. Considering Soviet Jewish literature is ideologically healthy, Soviet, we, Jewish writers, including myself (maybe I am more to blame for them), at the same time did not raise the question of facilitating the process of assimilation. I'm talking about assimilation of the Jewish masses. Continuing to write in Hebrew, we unwittingly became a brake on the assimilation of the Jewish population. In recent years, the Hebrew language has ceased to serve the masses, since they - the masses - have abandoned this language and it has become a hindrance. As the head of the Jewish section of the Union of Soviet Writers, I did not raise the question of closing the section. It's my fault. To use the language that the masses have left, which has outlived its age, which separates us not only from the whole great life of the Soviet Union, but also from the bulk of Jews who have already assimilated, to use such a language, in my opinion, is a kind of manifestation of nationalism.

Otherwise, I do not feel guilty.

Chair: Everyone?

Kvitko: Everything.

From the conviction:

Defendant Kvitko, returning to the USSR in 1925 after fleeing abroad, joined the mountains. Kharkov to the nationalist Jewish literary group "Boy", headed by Trotskyists.

At the beginning of the organization of the EAK, the deputy executive secretary of the Committee, entered into a criminal conspiracy with the nationalists Mikhoels, Epstein and Fefer, assisted them in collecting materials about the economy of the USSR for sending them to the United States.

In 1944, following the criminal instructions of the EAK leadership, he went to Crimea to collect information about the economic situation in the region and the situation of the Jewish population. He was one of the initiators of raising the question before the government authorities about the alleged discrimination of the Jewish population in Crimea.

Repeatedly spoke at meetings of the EAK Presidium demanding the expansion of the nationalist activities of the Committee.

In 1946, he established a personal contact with the American intelligence officer Goldberg, whom he informed about the state of affairs in the Union of Soviet Writers, and gave him consent to publish a Soviet-American literary yearbook.

From last word Kvitko:

Citizen Chairman, Citizens Judges!

In front of the most joyful audience with pioneer ties, I spoke for decades and sang the happiness of being a Soviet person. I end my life with a speech before the Supreme Court of the Soviet people. Accused of the gravest crimes.

This made-up accusation has come down on me and is causing me great anguish.

Why is every word I said here in court soaked in tears?

Because the terrible accusation of treason to the Motherland is unbearable for me - a Soviet person. I declare to the court that I am not guilty of anything - neither espionage nor nationalism.

While my mind is still not completely darkened, I believe that in order to be accused of treason to the Motherland, some act of treason must be committed.

I ask the court to take into account that the indictment contains no documentary evidence of my allegedly hostile activities against the All-Union Communist Party of Bolsheviks and the Soviet government, and there is no evidence of my criminal connection with Mikhoels and Fefer. I did not betray my Motherland and I do not admit any of the 5 charges brought against me ...

It is easier for me to be in prison on Soviet soil than in “freedom” in any capitalist country.

I am a citizen of the Soviet Union, my Motherland is the Motherland of the geniuses of the Party and humanity, Lenin and Stalin, and I believe that I cannot be accused of serious crimes without proof.

I hope that my arguments will be accepted by the court as it should.

I ask the court to return me to the honest labor of the great Soviet people.

The verdict is known. Kvitko, like the rest of the defendants, except for Academician Lina Stern, was sentenced to VMN (capital punishment). The court makes a decision to deprive Kvitko of all previously received government awards. The verdict is being carried out, but for some reason in violation of the traditions that exist in the Lubyanka: it was passed on July 18, and carried out on August 12. This is another of the unsolved mysteries of this monstrous farce.

I cannot and do not want to finish the article about the poet Kvitko with these words. I will return the reader to the best days and years of his life.

L. Kvitko. Moscow, 1948

Chukovsky-Kvitko-Marshak

It is unlikely that anyone would dispute the idea that the Jewish poet Lev Kvitko would have received recognition not only in the Soviet Union (his poems have been translated into Russian and 34 other languages of the peoples of the USSR), but all over the world, if he had not had brilliant translators of his poems ... "Opened" Kvitko for Russian readers Korney Ivanovich Chukovsky.

There is a lot of evidence of how highly Chukovsky valued Kvitko's poetry. In his book "Contemporaries (portraits and sketches)" Korney Ivanovich, along with portraits of such outstanding writers as Gorky, Kuprin, Leonid Andreev, Mayakovsky, Blok, placed a portrait of Lev Kvitko: "In general, in those distant years when I met him, he really did not know how to be unhappy: the world around him was unusually comfortable and benevolent for him ... This fascination with the world around him made him a children's writer: on behalf of a child, under the guise of a child, through the lips of five-year-old, six-year-old, seven-year-old children, it was easiest for him to pour out his his own overflowing love of life, his own simple-hearted belief that life was created for endless joy ... Another writer, when he writes poetry for children, tries to restore his long-forgotten childhood feelings with a fading memory. Lev Kvitko did not need such a restoration: there was no barrier of time between him and his childhood. He, on a whim, at any moment could turn into a little boy, seized by boyish reckless excitement and happiness ... "

Chukovsky's ascent to the Hebrew language was curious. It took place thanks to Kvitko. Having received the poet's poems in Yiddish, Kornei Ivanovich could not resist the desire to read them in the original. Deductively, spelling out the author's name and the captions under the pictures, he soon “set off to read the titles of individual poems in warehouses, and then the poems themselves” ... Chukovsky informed the author about this. “When I sent you my book,” Kvitko wrote to him in response, “I had a double feeling: the desire to be read and understood by you and the annoyance that the book would remain closed and inaccessible to you. And now you unexpectedly in such a miraculous way overturned my expectations and turned my annoyance into joy. "

Korey Ivanovich, of course, understood that to introduce Kvitko into big literature it is possible only by organizing a good translation of his poems into Russian. The recognized master among translators in that pre-war period was S.Ya. Marshak. Chukovsky turned with Kvitko's poems to Samuel Yakovlevich not only as a good translator, but also as a person who knew Yiddish. “I did everything I could so that, according to my translations, a reader who does not know the original would recognize and fall in love with Kvitko's poems,” Marshak wrote to Chukovsky on August 28, 1936.

Lev Kvitko certainly knew the “price” of Marshak's translations. “I hope to see you soon in Kiev. You should definitely come. You will please us, you will help us a lot in the struggle for quality, for the flourishing of children's literature. We love you, ”L. Kvitko wrote to Marshak on January 4, 1937.

Kvitko's poem "Letter to Voroshilov", translated by Marshak, became super popular.

For three years (1936-1939) the poem was already translated from Russian into more than 15 languages of the peoples of the USSR, and was published in dozens of publications. “Dear Samuil Yakovlevich! With your light hand, "Letter to Voroshilov" in your masterful translation went around the whole country ... ", wrote Lev Kvitko on June 30, 1937.

The history of this translation is as follows.

In his diary, Korney Ivanovich wrote on January 11, 1936 that Kvitko and the poet-translator M.A. Fromman. Chukovsky thought that no one would translate The Letter to Voroshilov better than Frohman. But something else happened. On February 14, 1936, Marshak called Chukovsky. Korney Ivanovich informs about this: “It turns out that it was not for nothing that he stole two Kvitko's books from me in Moscow — for half an hour. He took these books to the Crimea and there he translated them - including “Comrade. Voroshilov ”, although I asked him not to do this, because Frohman has been sitting on this work for a month now - and for Frohman to translate this poem is life and death, and for Marshak it is only a laurel out of a thousand. My hands are still trembling with excitement. "

Then Lev Moiseevich and Samuil Yakovlevich were connected mainly by creative friendship. They, of course, met at meetings on children's literature, at children's book festivals. But the main thing that Marshak did was that with his translations he introduced the Russian reader to the poetry of Kvitko.

Kvitko dreamed of cooperation with Marshak not only in the field of poetry. Even before the war, he turned to him with a proposal: “Dear Samuil Yakovlevich, I am collecting a collection of Jewish folk tales, I already have a lot. If you haven't changed your mind, we can start working in the fall. Waiting for your reply". I did not find an answer to this letter in Marshak's archives. It is only known that Kvitko's plan remained unfulfilled.

The letters of Samuil Yakovlevich to L.M. Kvitko, full of respect and love for the Jewish poet, have survived.

Marshak translated only six of Kvitko's poems. Their real friendship, human and creative, began to take shape in the post-war period. Kvitko ended his congratulations on Marshak's 60th birthday with owls: “I wish you (Highlighted by me.- MG) many years of health, creative powers to the delight of all of us ”. On "you" Marshak allowed very few to speak to himself.

And also about Marshak's attitude to the memory of Kvitko: “Of course, I will do everything in my power so that the publishing house and the press pay tribute to such a wonderful poet as the unforgettable Lev Moiseevich ... Kvitko's poems will live for a long time and delight true connoisseurs of poetry ... that I will succeed ... to achieve that the books of Lev Kvitko occupy a worthy place ... ”This is from a letter from Samuil Yakovlevich to the poet's widow Berta Solomonovna.

In October 1960, an evening in memory of L. Kvitko took place at the House of Writers. Marshak was not present at the evening for health reasons. Before that, he sent a letter to Kvitko's widow: “I really want to be at an evening dedicated to the memory of my dear friend and beloved poet ... in poetry and in life ”. Alas, Marshak did not have time to do this ...

There is nothing accidental in the fact that Chukovsky “presented” Kvitko to Marshak. One can, of course, assume that sooner or later Marshak himself would have paid attention to Kvitko's poems and, probably, would have translated them. The success of the duet “Marshak-Kvitko” was also determined by the fact that both of them were in love with children; This is probably why Marshak's translations from Kvitko turned out to be so successful. However, to speak only of a “duet” is unfair: Chukovsky managed to create a trio of children's poets.

L. Kvitko and S. Marshak. Moscow, 1938

“Somehow in the thirties,” K. Chukovsky wrote in his memoirs about Kvitko, “while walking with him along the distant outskirts of Kiev, we unexpectedly got caught in the rain and saw a wide puddle, to which boys were running from everywhere, as if it were not a puddle, but a delicacy. They so zealously spanked in the puddle with their bare feet, as if they were deliberately trying to smear themselves up to their ears.

Kvitko looked at them with envy.

Every child, he said, believes that the puddles are created specifically for his pleasure.

And I thought that, in essence, he was talking about himself. "

Then, apparently, the verses were born:

How much spring mud

A puddle of deep, good ones!

How free it is to spank

In shoes and galoshes!

Getting closer every morning

Spring is coming to us.

Stronger every day

The sun sparkles in the puddles.

I threw the stick into a puddle -

In the water window;

Like golden glass

The sun suddenly split!

The great Jewish literature in Yiddish, which originated in Russia, literature dating back to Mendele-Moikher Sforim, Sholem Aleichem and ending its existence with the names of David Bergelson, Peretz Markish, Lev Kvitko, died on August 12, 1952.

Prophetic words were pronounced by the Jewish poet Nachman Bialik: “Language is a crystallized spirit” ... Literature in Yiddish perished, but did not sink into the abyss - its echo, its eternal echo will live on as long as the Jews live on earth.

POETRY WITHOUT COMMENTS

In conclusion, let us give the floor to the poetry of L. Kvitko, present the poet's work in “pure form”, without comments.

In the translations of the best Russian poets, it has become an integral part of Russian poetry. The remarkable writer Ruvim Fraerman said exactly about the Jewish poet: "Kvitko was one of our best poets, the pride and adornment of Soviet literature."

Obviously, Kvitko was extremely lucky with the translators. In the collection offered to the readers' attention - the poet's poems translated by S. Marshak, M. Svetlov, S. Mikhalkov and N. Naydenova. The first two poets knew Yiddish, but Sergei Mikhalkov and Nina Naydenova worked a miracle: not knowing the poet's native language, they were able to convey not only the content of his poems, but also the author's intonations.

So poetry.

HORSE

Didn't hear at night

Behind the wheel door

Didn't know that dad

I brought the horse,

Black horse

Under the red saddle.

Four horseshoes

Shine silver.

Inaudible through the rooms

Daddy passed

Black horse

I put it on the table.

Burns on the table

Lonely fire

And looks into the crib

Saddled horse.

But behind the windows

It became brighter

And the boy woke up

In my bed.

I woke up, got up,

Lean on the palm of your hand

And he sees: it's worth

A wonderful horse.

Smart and new

Under the red saddle.

Four horseshoes

Shine silver.

When and where

Is he here?

And how contrived

Climb on the table?

Tiptoe boy

Comes to the table

And now the horse

Stands on the floor.

He strokes her mane

And back and chest,

And sits on the floor -

Look at the legs.

Takes by the bridle -

And the horse runs.

Puts her on her side -

The horse is lying.

Looks at the horse

And he thinks:

“I must have fallen asleep

And I have a dream.

Where is the horse from

Have you come to me?

Probably a horse

I see in a dream ...

I'll go and my mom

I'll wake up mine.

And if he wakes up,

I'll show you the horse. ”

He fits

Pushes the bed

But mom is tired -

She wants to sleep.

“I'll go to my neighbor

Petr Kuzmich,

I'll go to my neighbor

And I'll knock on the door! "

Open the doors for me

Let me in!

I will show you

Black horse!

The neighbor answers:

I saw him,

I've seen for a long time

Your horse.

You must have seen

Another horse.

You have not been with us

Since yesterday!

The neighbor answers:

I saw him:

Four legs

At your horse.

But you didn’t see

Neighbor, his feet,

But you haven't seen

And he could not see!

The neighbor answers:

I saw him:

Two eyes and a tail

At your horse.

But you haven't seen

No eyes, no tail -

He stands outside the door

And the door is locked! ..

Yawns lazily

Behind the door is a neighbor -

And not a word more

No sound in reply.

Bug

Downpour over the city

All night long.

There are rivers in the streets

The ponds are at the gates.

Trees are shaking

In the frequent rain.

The dogs got wet

And they ask to go into the house.

But through the puddles,

Spinning like a top

Clumsy creeps

Horned bug.

Now he falls backwards,

Tries to get up.

Kicked up my legs

And he got up again.

To dry place

Hastens to crawl

But over and over

Water on the way.

He swims in a puddle,

Not knowing where.

Carries it, circles

And the water drives.

Heavy drops

They beat on the shell

And they whip, and they felled,

And they do not allow to swim.

Is about to choke -

Ghoul-ghoul! - and the end ...

But boldly plays

Swimmer with death!

Would be gone forever

Horned bug

But then I turned up

Oak twig.

From a grove distant

He sailed here -

Brought it

Rainwater.

And, having done in place

A sharp turn

To the bug to help

He walks quickly.

Hastens to grab onto

A swimmer for him,

Now not afraid

The bug is nothing.

It floats in oak

Your shuttle

By stormy, deep,

Wide river.

But now they are approaching

House and fence.

Bug through the crack

I made my way into the yard.

And lived in the house

Small family.

This family is dad

Both mom and me.

I caught a bug

Planted in boxes

And listened to how it rubs

A bug against the wall.

But the downpour ended

The clouds are gone.

And into the garden on the path

I took the beetle.

Kvitko translated by Mikhail Svetlov.

VIOLIN

I broke the box

Plywood chest.

Quite similar

on the violin

Boxes are a barrel.

I attached it to a branch

Four hairs -

No one has ever seen

A similar bow.

Glued, set up,

He worked day after day ...

Such a violin came out -

There is no such thing in the world!

In my hands obedient,

Plays and sings ...

And the chicken thought

And it doesn't bite grains.

Play, play

violin!

Trai-la, trai-la, trai-li!

Music sounds in the garden

Lost in the distance

And the sparrows are chirping

They shout in eager rivalry:

What a delight

From such music!

The kitten lifted its head

The horses are racing at a gallop.

Where is he from? Where is he from,

An unseen violinist?

Three-la! Fell silent

violin ...

Fourteen chickens

Horses and sparrows

They thank me.

Didn't break, didn't stain,

I carry it with care

A little violin

I'll hide it in the forest.

On a high tree,

In the middle of the branches

The music slumbers quietly

In my violin.

WHEN I GROW UP

Those horses are crazy

With wet eyes

With necks like arches

With strong teeth

Those horses are light

That stand obediently

At your trough

In a bright stable

Those horses are empathetic

How disturbing:

Only a fly will land -

The skin shudders.

Those horses are fast

With light feet

You will only open the door -

They jump in herds,

Gallop, scatter

Unrestrained agility ...

Those horses of the lungs

I cannot forget!

Quiet horses

They chewed their oats,

But, seeing the groom,

They whinnied happily.

Grooms, grooms,

With a stiff mustache

In wadded jackets,

With warm hands!

Grooms, grooms

With a strict expression

Give out oats to friends

Four-legged.

Horses are trampling

Merry and well fed ...

Grooms not at all

Hooves are not scary.

They walk - are not afraid

Nothing is dangerous for them ...

These same grooms

I love terribly!

And when I grow up -

In long trousers, it is important

I will come to the grooms

And I will say boldly:

We have five children

Everyone wants to work:

There is a poet-brother

There is a sister-pilot

There is one weaver

There is one student ...

I am the youngest -

I will be a racing rider!

Well, funny guy!

Where? From afar?

And what muscles!

And what are the shoulders!

Are you from the Komsomol?

Are you a pioneer?

Choose a horse for yourself,

Join the cavalry!

So I rush like the wind ...

Past - pines, maples ...

Who is this to meet?

Marshal Budyonny!

If I'm an excellent student

So I will tell him:

“Tell the cavalry

Can I be enrolled? "

Marshal smiles

Speaks with confidence:

“You grow up a little -

Let's enroll in the cavalry! "

“Ah, Comrade Marshal!

Wait for me how long

time! .. ”-

“Are you shooting? You kick

Do you reach the stirrup? "

I ride back home -

The wind won't stop!

I'm learning, I'm growing big

I want to be with Budyonny:

I will be a Budenovite!

Kvitko translated by Sergei Mikhalkov.

FUNNY BEETLE

He is cheerful and happy

From toes to crown -

He succeeded

Run away from the frog.

She didn't have time

Grab the sides

And eat under the bush

Golden beetle.

He runs through the thicket,

Shakes his mustache

He is running now

And meets acquaintances

And the little caterpillars

Does not notice.

Green stems,

Like pine trees in the forest

On his wings

Sprinkle dew.

He would be great

Catch for lunch!

From small caterpillars

No satiety.

He's little caterpillars

Will not touch it with a paw,

He is honor and solidity

He will not drop his.

Him after all

Afflictions and troubles

More loot

Need for lunch.

And finally

He meets this

And runs up to her,

Rejoicing with happiness.

Fatter and Better

He can't find it.

But scary to such

Approach one.

It spins

Barring her way

Beetles passing

Calls for help.

Fight for the booty

It was not easy:

She was divided

Four beetles.

TALK

Oak said:

I am old, I am wise

I am strong, I am handsome!

Oak oak -

I am full of fresh energy.

But I still envy

horse that

Rushing along the highway

trotting spore.

The horse said:

I'm fast, I'm young

dexterous and hot!

A horse made of horses -

I love to race at a gallop.

But I still envy

flying bird -

Eagle or even

little tit.

The eagle said:

My world is high

the winds are under my control

My nest

on a terrible steepness.

But what compares

with the power of man,

Free and

wise from the ages!

Kvitko translated by Nina Naydenova.

LEMELE MANAGES

Mom leaves

Hurries to the store.

Lemele, you

You are left alone.

Mom said:

You serve me:

my plates,

Lay down your sister.

Chop firewood

Don't forget my son

Catch the rooster

And lock it up.

Sis, plates,

Rooster and firewood ...

Lemele has only

One head!

He grabbed his sister

And locked it in the barn.

He said to his sister:

Play here!

Firewood he diligently

Washed with boiling water,

Four plates

Smashed with a hammer.

But it took a long time

To fight with a rooster -

He didn't want

Go to bed.

ABLE BOY

Lemele once

I ran home.

Oh, - said my mother, - What's the matter with you?

You're bleeding

Scratched forehead!

You with your fights

Drive your mom into the coffin!

Lemele answers,

Pulling a hat:

This is me by accident

I bit myself.

Here is a capable boy!

The mother was surprised. -

How are you teeth

Did you manage to get the forehead?

Well, I got it, as you can see, - Lemele answered. -

For such a case

Climbed onto a stool!

Lev Kvitko!
How could I forget about him!
From childhood I remember: "Anna-Vanna, our squad wants to see piglets!"

Kind, lovely poems!

DANDELION

On a leg stands on the path
Fluffy silver ball.
He doesn't need sandals
Boots, colored clothes,
It's a bit of a pity, though.
It glows with a radiant light,
And I know for sure
That he is both rounder and fluffier
Any tame animal.
A week will pass in a week,
And the rain will thunder into the drum.
Where and why did you fly
Dashing Seed Squadrons?
What routes attracted you?
Indeed, in a clearly measured time
You were left without parachutes -
The breeze carried them further.
And summer returns again -
We hide from the sun in the shade.
And - woven from moonlight -
The dandelion sings: "Treen, trek!"

I did not know anything about the fate of the poet - I just read it on the Internet:

Lev Kvitko is the author of a number of translations into Yiddish from Ukrainian, Belarusian and other languages. The poems of Kvitko himself were translated into Russian by A. Akhmatova, S. Marshak, S. Mikhalkov, E. Blaginina, M. Svetlov and others. On the text of L. Kvitko's poem "Violin" (translated by M. Svetlov), the second part of the Sixth Symphony by Moses Weinberg was written.

I broke the box -
Plywood chest, -
Looks like a violin
Boxes are a barrel.
I attached it to a branch
Four hairs, -
No one has ever seen
A similar bow.
Glued, set up,
He worked day after day ...
Such a violin came out -
There is no such thing in the world!
In my hands obedient,
Plays and sings ...
And the chicken thought
And it doesn't bite grains.
Play, play, violin!
Trai-la, trai-la, trai-li!
Music sounds in the garden
Lost in the distance
And the sparrows are chirping
They shout in eager rivalry:
"What a delight
From such music! "
The kitten lifted its head
The horses are racing
Where is he from? Where is he from -
An unseen violinist?
Three-la! The violin fell silent ...
Fourteen chickens
Horses and sparrows
They thank me.
Didn't break, didn't stain,
I carry it with care
A little violin
I'll hide it in the forest.
On a high tree,
In the middle of the branches
The music slumbers quietly
In my violin.
1928
Translated by M. Svetlov

Here you can listen to:

By the way, Weinberg wrote the music for the films "The Cranes Are Flying", "The Tiger Tamer", "Afonya" and - for the cartoon "Winnie the Pooh", so "Where we are going with Piglet is a big, big secret!" Winnie the Pooh sings to Weinberg's music!

a lion (Leib) Moiseevich Kvitko(Yiddish; October 15, 1890 - August 12, 1952) - Soviet Jewish (Yiddish) poet.

Biography

From the middle of 1921 he lived and published in Berlin, then in Hamburg, where he worked in the Soviet trade mission, was published in both Soviet and Western periodicals. Here he joined the Communist Party, led communist agitation among the workers. In 1925, fearing arrest, he moved to the USSR. He published many books for children (17 books were published in 1928 alone).

For caustic satirical poems published in the magazine "Di Roite Welt" ("Red World"), he was accused of "right-wing bias" and was expelled from the editorial board of the magazine. In 1931 he entered the Kharkov Tractor Plant as a worker. Then he continued his professional literary activity. Lev Kvitko considered an autobiographical novel in verse "Yunge yorn" ("Young Years"), which he worked on for thirteen years (1928-1941, first publication: Kaunas, 1941, in Russian only in 1968).

Since 1936 he lived in Moscow on the street. Maroseyka, 13, apt. 9. In 1939 he joined the CPSU (b).

During the war years he was a member of the Presidium of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee (EAK) and the editorial board of the EAK newspaper "Einikite" ("Unity"), in 1947-1948 - a literary and artistic almanac "Heimland" ("Motherland"). In the spring of 1944, on the instructions of the EAK, he was sent to Crimea.

Arrested among the leading figures of the EAK on January 23, 1949. On July 18, 1952, he was accused by the Military Collegium of the USSR Supreme Court of treason, sentenced to capital punishment, on August 12, 1952, he was shot. Burial place - Moscow, Donskoye cemetery. Posthumously rehabilitated by the HCVS of the USSR on November 22, 1955.

Translations

On the text of L. Kvitko's poem "Violin" (translated by M. Svetlov), the second part of the Sixth Symphony by Moses Weinberg was written.

Awards

Order of the Red Banner of Labor (01/31/1939)

Editions in Russian

On a visit. M.-L., Detizdat, 1937
When I grow up. M., Detizdat, 1937
In the forest. M., Detizdat, 1937
Letter to Voroshilov. M., 1937 Fig. V. Konashevich
Letter to Voroshilov. M., 1937. Fig. M. Rodionova
Poems. M.-L., Detizdat, 1937
Swing. M., Detizdat, 1938
Red Army. M., Detizdat, 1938
Horse. M., Detizdat, 1938
Lam and Petrik. M.-L., Detizdat, 1938
Poems. M.-L., Detizdat, 1938
Poems. M., Pravda, 1938
On a visit. M., Detizdat, 1939
Lullaby. M., 1939. Fig. M. Gorshman
Lullaby. M., 1939. Fig. V. Konashevich
Letter to Voroshilov. Pyatigorsk, 1939
Letter to Voroshilov. Voroshilovsk, 1939
Letter to Voroshilov. M., 1939
Mihasik. M., Detizdat, 1939
Talk. M.-L., Detizdat, 1940
Ahahi. M., Detizdat, 1940
Conversations with loved ones. M., Goslitizdat, 1940
Red Army. M.-L., Detizdat, 1941
Hello. M., 1941
War game. Alma-Ata, 1942
Letter to Voroshilov. Chelyabinsk, 1942
On a visit. M., Detgiz, 1944
Horse. M., Detgiz, 1944
Sledging. Chelyabinsk, 1944
Spring. M.-L., Detgiz, 1946
Lullaby. M., 1946
Horse. M., Detgiz, 1947
A story about a horse and about me. L., 1948
Horse. Stavropol, 1948
Violin. M.-L., Detgiz, 1948
To the sun. M., Der Emes, 1948
To my friends. M., Detgiz, 1948
Poems. M., Soviet writer, 1948.

a lion (Leib) Moiseevich Kvitko(Yiddish לייב קוויטקאָ; October 15 - August 12) - Soviet Jewish (Yiddish) poet.

Biography

Translations

On the text of L. Kvitko's poem "Violin" (translated by M. Svetlov), the second part of the Sixth Symphony by Moses Weinberg was written.

Editions in Russian

On a visit. M.-L., Detizdat, 1937
When I grow up. M., Detizdat, 1937
In the forest. M., Detizdat, 1937
Letter to Voroshilov. M., 1937 Fig. V. Konashevich
Letter to Voroshilov. M., 1937. Fig. M. Rodionova
Poems. M.-L., Detizdat, 1937
Swing. M., Detizdat, 1938
Red Army. M., Detizdat, 1938
Horse. M., Detizdat, 1938
Lam and Petrik. M.-L., Detizdat, 1938
Poems. M.-L., Detizdat, 1938
Poems. M., Pravda, 1938
On a visit. M., Detizdat, 1939
Lullaby. M., 1939. Fig. M. Gorshman
Lullaby. M., 1939. Fig. V. Konashevich
Letter to Voroshilov. Pyatigorsk, 1939
Letter to Voroshilov. Voroshilovsk, 1939
Letter to Voroshilov. M., 1939
Mihasik. M., Detizdat, 1939
Talk. M.-L., Detizdat, 1940
Ahahi. M., Detizdat, 1940
Conversations with loved ones. M., Goslitizdat, 1940
Red Army. M.-L., Detizdat, 1941
Hello. M., 1941
War game. Alma-Ata, 1942
Letter to Voroshilov. Chelyabinsk, 1942
On a visit. M., Detgiz, 1944
Horse. M., Detgiz, 1944
Sledging. Chelyabinsk, 1944
Spring. M.-L., Detgiz, 1946
Lullaby. M., 1946
Horse. M., Detgiz, 1947
A story about a horse and about me. L., 1948
Horse. Stavropol, 1948
Violin. M.-L., Detgiz, 1948
To the sun. M., Der Emes, 1948
To my friends. M., Detgiz, 1948
Poems. M., Soviet writer, 1948.

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An excerpt characterizing Kvitko, Lev Moiseevich

Natasha was 16 years old, and it was 1809, the same year she had counted on her fingers with Boris four years ago after she kissed him. Since then, she has never seen Boris. In front of Sonya and her mother, when the conversation turned about Boris, she spoke quite freely as if about a decided matter, that everything that had happened before was childishness, which was not worth talking about, and which had long been forgotten. But in the deepest depths of her soul, the question of whether the commitment to Boris was a joke or an important, binding promise tormented her.
Ever since Boris left Moscow for the army in 1805, he has not seen the Rostovs. He visited Moscow several times, passed not far from Otradnoye, but never once visited the Rostovs.
It sometimes occurred to Natasha that he did not want to see her, and these guesses of her were confirmed by the sad tone in which the elders used to say about him:
“They don't remember old friends in this century,” the countess said after the mention of Boris.
Anna Mikhailovna, who recently visited the Rostovs less often, also behaved in a particularly dignified manner, and each time spoke enthusiastically and gratefully about the merits of her son and about the brilliant career on which he was. When the Rostovs arrived in St. Petersburg, Boris came to visit them.
He rode to them not without excitement. The memory of Natasha was the most poetic memory of Boris. But at the same time, he rode with the firm intention to make it clear to both her and her family that the childhood relationship between him and Natasha could not be an obligation either for her or for him. He had a brilliant position in society, thanks to intimacy with Countess Bezukhova, a brilliant position in the service, thanks to the patronage of an important person, whose trust he fully enjoyed, and he had nascent plans to marry one of the richest brides of St. Petersburg, which could very easily come true ... When Boris entered the Rostovs' drawing-room, Natasha was in her room. Upon learning of his arrival, she almost ran into the living room, flushed, beaming with a more than affectionate smile.
Boris remembered that Natasha in a short dress, with black eyes shining from under her curls and with a desperate, childish laugh, whom he had known 4 years ago, and therefore, when a completely different Natasha entered, he was embarrassed, and his face expressed enthusiastic surprise. This expression on his face made Natasha happy.
- What, do you recognize your little friend as a minx? Said the countess. Boris kissed Natasha's hand and said that he was surprised at the change that had taken place in her.
- How prettier you are!
"Of course!", Natasha's laughing eyes answered.
- Has dad got older? She asked. Natasha sat down and, without entering into Boris's conversation with the countess, silently examined her child's fiancé down to the smallest detail. He felt the weight of this stubborn, affectionate gaze on himself and from time to time glanced at her.
Boris's uniform, spurs, tie, Boris's hairstyle, it was all the most fashionable and comme il faut [quite decent]. Natasha noticed it now. He sat a little sideways on an armchair beside the Countess, straightening with his right hand a clean, drenched glove on his left, spoke with a special, refined purse of his lips about the amusements of the highest Petersburg society and with gentle irony recalled the old Moscow times and Moscow acquaintances. Not accidentally, as Natasha felt, he mentioned, calling the highest aristocracy, about the ambassador's ball, which he attended, about invitations to NN and to SS.
Natasha sat all the time in silence, looking at him from under her brows. This look more and more, both worried and embarrassed Boris. He looked more often at Natasha and interrupted in his stories. He sat no more than 10 minutes and got up, bowing. All the same curious, defiant and somewhat mocking eyes looked at him. After his first visit, Boris told himself that Natasha was just as attractive to him as before, but that he should not give in to this feeling, because marrying her - a girl with almost no fortune - would be the death of his career, and resuming the old relationship without the goal of marriage would be an ignoble act. Boris decided to avoid meeting with Natasha with himself, but, despite this decision, he arrived a few days later and began to travel often and spend whole days with the Rostovs. It seemed to him that he needed to explain to Natasha, to tell her that everything old should be forgotten, that, despite everything ... she cannot be his wife, that he has no fortune, and she will never be given for him. But he did not succeed and it was embarrassing to proceed with this explanation. Every day he became more and more confused. Natasha, as noted by her mother and Sonya, seemed to be in love with Boris as she used to. She sang him his favorite songs, showed him her album, forced him to write in it, did not allow him to remember the old, letting him know how wonderful the new was; and every day he left in a fog, without saying what he intended to say, not knowing what he was doing and why he came, and how it would end. Boris stopped visiting Helene, received reproachful notes from her every day, and nevertheless spent whole days with the Rostovs.

One evening, when the old countess, sighing and groaning, in a nightcap and blouse, without overhead brooches, and with one poor tuft of hair protruding from under a white, calico cap, was laying down prostrations of the evening prayer on the rug, her door creaked, and in In shoes on her bare feet, also in a blouse and papillotes, Natasha ran in. The Countess looked around and frowned. She was finishing her last prayer: "Will I really have this coffin's bed?" Her prayer mood was destroyed. Natasha, red and lively, seeing her mother at prayer, suddenly stopped on her run, sat down and involuntarily stuck out her tongue, threatening herself. Noticing that her mother was continuing to pray, she tiptoed to the bed, quickly sliding one small foot on the other, kicked off her shoes and jumped onto the bed for which the Countess was afraid that he might be her coffin. This bed was high, featherbed, with five ever-shrinking pillows. Natasha jumped up, drowned in a feather bed, rolled over to the wall and began to fiddle with under the covers, laying down, bending her knees to her chin, kicking her legs and laughing barely audibly, then closing herself with her head, then looking at her mother. The Countess finished her prayer and went up to the bed with a stern face; but, seeing that Natasha was closed with her head, she smiled her kind, weak smile.
“Well, well, well,” said the mother.
- Mom, you can talk, huh? - said Natasha. - Well, in the darling once, well, again, and will be. And she hugged her mother's neck and kissed her chin. In her dealings with her mother, Natasha showed an outward rudeness of manner, but she was so sensitive and dexterous that no matter how she clasped her mother in her arms, she always knew how to do it so that the mother was neither painful, nor unpleasant, nor awkward.