Olga Berggolts. Voice of besieged Leningrad

"No one is forgotten and nothing is forgotten," this is her voice. The voice that was broadcast on the snow-covered streets of the city, who deserved from hunger, cold and feelings of an inevitable misfortune. Voice of Leningrad himself. Voice of Olga Bergolz.

Silent and gentle on kind of blonde with transparent eyes - who would have thought that there could be so many strength in it? Olga moved the blockade, and the most often remembered about it. But even the blockade was not the biggest nightmare, the biggest misfortune in her life. And she was able to survive, and she was able to create.

Olga was born in the family of a surgeon-surgeon of German blood in 1910. This means that when she turned 4, the war began. The war was replaced by the revolution, revolution - a new war, civilian. It has come what seemed peace, and from the height of the story it turned out to be lined between wars. The poem of Fifteen-year-old Olga was published in the Leninist Sparks newspaper, the story is in the magazine "Red Tie". Olga met her first husband, studied at the Philfak of the University of Leningrad. Divaled with her husband: life. Immediately married again: And this is life. Beginning to publish in the journal "Chizh". God gave birth to the daughters of Iru and Maya.

In 1933, Olga's younger daughter died, a year old Maya. From illness. In 1936, the older daughter died, eight-year-old Ira. From heart defect. In 1938, the first husband was shot, and Olga herself was arrested. After cruel interrogation, the unborn daughter of Olga died. I did not have any name. The accusation for which Olga was arrested was recognized as false, and she was released. She no longer had other daughters. Never.

A year later she wrote in his secret diary:

The feeling of prison is now, after five months of will, arises in me sharper than at first after liberation. Not only really feel, I smell this heavy smell of the corridor from prison in a large house, the smell of fish, damp, onion, a knock of steps on the stairs, but also the mixed state ... doomed, hopelessness, with whom there was interrogations ... Delivered the soul, rested in it stinking fingers, spoiled in her, gadil, then jumped her back and say: "Live"

And I had to live. Olga recovered in the Union of Writers, joined the party, worked. She literally pulled on this light, back, husband, Nikolai Molchanov. Without his love, she would disappear. Then he happened 1941. War. And immediately - blockade. My husband was no longer around, he went to the front. Now Olga pulled Leningrad on himself, as Nikolai pulled before Olga. Despite the quiet, delicate voice, she was taken to work for Leningrad Radio. She read the native and beloved city of poems. She encouraged him, comforted, poured his strength into him. Little woman who mentioned from dystrophy, the author of children's books, suddenly became a symbol of the resistance of the Leningraders. It is said that Hitler considered her a personal enemy, along with Ilya Ehredburg. And Nikolai Molchanov died. In 1942.

Hell did not end with war. He just became quieter. Olga was friends with Akhmatova; Olga wrote the book "Says Leningrad," where it was, as it turned out, is overly honest, excessively observed. Olga was dismissal. She became unnecessary. In 1948 her father died.

Beautiful. Talented. Strong. All the components in order to become happy. Everything except history itself. Olga Berggolts began to drink, and no one will turn his tongue to reproach it in it. Maybe she will completely disappear. But she had too much life inside, and she lived. Tried to adapt, writing the right things, the right poems. I composed a praising obituary to the death of Stalin. (And it was against her, and then there is no no, no, let it in guilt).

Thaw helped her. Again began to print a lot. She gained recognition that was worthy of, she was awarded. And she lived not so little, died in 1975. Her diaries were immediately classified and sent to Spetcran. Again, someone was not the heart of her voice. Entries were published only in 2010.

But the poet's voice sounds while there are his poems. He is still with us.

The redhead and funny daughter Bayekaya His, I'm a loose, night lullaby to sleep,

From the parachute neighboring tower dropped the only dream, under the windows pegs a blue sky umbrella.

Broke out in the sky stars, rays in all ends; Sokolita wander in the nests, and in the benchmarks of the Skvortsa.

Star at night, bird night Slowly Berge I: "Who are you, my daughter, daughter, red, are you mine?

You will be a paratrooper, fly to fly: the sky is low, the stars are close, to dawn a hand!

A white silk will open over the green round world, says Marshal Voroshilov: "That'sked, good!"

Old Marshal Voroshilov will say: "Well, we will know: I decided to send you to the main battle."

And you will come very proud, cry: "Mom, look! Golden beautiful Order, exactly the sun, on the chest ... "

My falcon, parachute, sleep ... Do not have a hump ... Time to sleep ... The sky is low, the stars are close, to dawn a hand ...

Olga often asked about the misfortune of war and never about her personal troubles, the same, maybe huge. She complained:

It is necessary to know the "life of the people", but mine, my bitter and outgoing life - it also means something!

So. So much!

... I will not care my enemies of my enemies, so that in false tears they could choose. It is still not a hook, which will hang. Not bought. Not dug ore from the ground. I will stand over the life of the bottomless, over the fear of her, over the Iron Stop ... I know about many things. I remember. I dare. I also stand something terrible ...