He wrote poetry (terrible in my opinion), military prose (nothing), children's books (very cute, but nothing more). His real vocation and all-consuming passion was something else - he was the editor-in-chief, and this is a rare craft.
That night there was an earthquake in Dushanbe. My colleague and I, returning from the guests, did not notice him.
In the lobby of the hotel, despite the late or rather early hour, an excited crowd swirled. Our boss was sitting on the sidelines, clutching a voluminous package to his chest.
- How are you - intact? - excitedly
he grew.
- Seems Yes. And what?
- Like what? Five points! Didn't you feel anything?
- It shook a little. But we decided that these were natural consequences of a friendly meeting. And what are you holding in your hands, Sergey Alekseevich?
- Books. I only took them, getting out of the room.
The books were
for the Nurek library, and the Nurek library was known as the second passion of the editor-in-chief of the magazine "Friendship of Peoples" Sergei Alekseevich Baruzdin. A unique collection of books autographed by the authors - ay, where is it now? It is unlikely that the books were rolled up - the militants preferred "Marlboro" or "Camel", but
Urek and Rogun and the Vakhsh valley remained the territory of hostilities for so long that the books of the infidels hardly survived in this inferno.
Baruzdin, fortunately, did not know about this.
He wrote poetry (terrible in my opinion), military prose (nothing), children's books (very cute, but nothing more). His
the real vocation and all-consuming passion was something else - he was the editor-in-chief, and this is a rare craft. Take my word for it: I have had exactly 19 editors-in-chief in journalism over the long decades, but only three of them have had jobs. Egor Yakovlev in "Journalist", Anatol
Golubev in "Change", Sergei Baruzdin in "Friendship of Peoples". They are all different: Yakovlev is a satrap who knew how to make a person work at such a limit of strength that he did not suspect; Golubev is a gentleman, he didn’t seem to interfere in anything, but he selected and arranged people in such a way that the editorial machine was cool
it was as if she were on her own; Baruzdin was an athlete.
According to Soviet times, he became the editor-in-chief very early - at the age of 39. He got a dull magazine, which was called "the mass grave of fraternal literature." And with the passion of an ambitious athlete, Baruzdin entered into a competition with recognized whales of the then
his sea of thick magazines - "New World", "Banner", "October". And not that he won this marathon, but the magazine forced him to respect himself. Under Baruzdin, the magazine published "Different days of the war" by Konstantin Simonov and the late novels of Yuri Trifonov, the best things of Vasil Bykov and the scandalous novel by Anatoly Ryb
akova; Estonian, Lithuanian, Georgian novelists gained world fame by publishing in Russian in the Friendship of Peoples. All this was worth painful explanations in Kitaisky Proyezd, where our censors were sitting, and on Old Square, where the Central Committee was located. He had to maneuver, humiliate himself, but there was no case
to frame one of us. Having gone to the front as a boy, mortally ill, even at 50 he looked like a very old man, he knew how to take a hit like no other.
He had a strange, wasteful habit: after the publication of each issue of the magazine, he wrote by hand letters of thanks to all the authors.
A man lived in our house. Big or small, it's hard to say. From diapers, he grew up a long time ago, but he has not yet grown to school. Read...
A goby was grazing at the edge of the forest. Small, a month old, but quite dense and lively. Read...
In Odessa, I wanted to find my old front-line comrade, who was now serving as a long-distance sailor. I knew that the ship on which he sails had just returned from a foreign voyage. Read...
It was late autumn in the last year of the war. There were battles on Polish soil. Read...
In the summer we traveled around Ukraine. One evening we stopped on the banks of the Sula, decided to spend the night. The time was late, the darkness impenetrable. Read...
A new theater building was built in the old Ural city. The townspeople eagerly awaited its opening. Finally this day has come. Read...
A new film was being shot at the studio. There should have been a scene like this in the movie. A bear climbs into the hut where a man tired from the road sleeps. Read...
I lived as a child in a village in the Yaroslavl region. He was pleased with everything: the river, the forest, and complete freedom. Read...
On the way to the village of Ozerki, we overtook a chaise. But, to our surprise, there was no rider in it. Read...
During the war years I had a friend. We jokingly called him a fur breeder. This is because he is a livestock specialist by profession, he used to work at a fur farm. Read...
For many years, the state farm herd grazed on the large meadow of the Kamenka river. The places here were quiet, spacious, with low, but juicy grasses. Read...
Ravi and Shashi are small. Like all children, they often play pranks and sometimes cry. And they also eat like little children: they put rice porridge with milk and sugar directly into their mouths. Read...
Little Svetlana lived in a big city. She not only knew how to say all the words correctly and count to ten, but also knew her home address. Read...
Svetlana was once small, but she became big. She used to go to kindergarten, and then went to school. And now she does not go to the first grade, not to the second, but already to the third. Read...
Our cities are growing rapidly, and Moscow is growing by leaps and bounds. Svetlana grew as fast as her city. Read...
It was raining outside the window. Boring, small, turning into a downpour and again small. Spruces and pines do not rustle in the rain, like birches and aspens, and you can still hear them. Read...
She read a lot about the sea - a lot of good books. But she never thought about him, about the sea. Probably because when you read about something very distant, this distant always seems unrealizable. Read...
And yet it is amazing - the forest! Spruce, pine, alder, oak, aspen and, of course, birch. Like those that stand in a separate family at the edge of the forest: all sorts - young and old, straight and short-haired, beautiful and not at all seemingly attractive to look at. Read...
Sergey Baruzdin's stories are different. Most of them are devoted to the relationship between people and animals. The writer vividly and colorfully describes how people show their best qualities in communication with nature. Through his stories, he conveys to us that animals need our care and love. See for yourself by reading "Snowball, Rabbi and Shashi", "Moose in the Theater", "Unusual Postman" and other stories.
Sergey Baruzdin describes the world of a little man in a very interesting and loving way using the example of the boy Alyoshka from “Alyoshka from Our Yard” and “When People Are Happy”. They simply and clearly tell about kindness, about responsibility and growing up. Children's stories by Sergei Baruzdin carry a large positive charge. Read them and see for yourself.
“Baruzdin as a person, as a person who subsequently chose for himself that type of service to society, which is called writing, began in the war, and almost everything, and maybe even everything further in his writing path was determined by this starting point, rooted there , in the blood and sweat of war, in its roads, hardships, losses, defeats and victories.
K. Simonov, "Reference point", 1977
The boy Seryozha Baruzdin lived in pre-war Moscow. Studied at school. Drew. Wrote poetry.
In Moscow there was a literary studio of the Palace of Pioneers, where a talented boy was sent. Since 1937his poems were published in Pioneer. Sergey was a kid. His poems were different from the poems of other children of the younger circle in which Sergei studied, they were full of seriousness. Even as a child, Baruzdin believed: “Poems are poems and they should not be written the way you speak or think”.
The Great Patriotic War began suddenly for him. Instead of studying, the fourteen-year-old had to go to work. Sergey thought: “Who can I be? I had dreams. [… ] But these were dreams of what should not be soon. When I grow up. When I finish school, in which I still have to trumpet and trumpet. When I finish college. And of course, in these dreams there was no today - the war.
He got a job at the printing house of the newspaper "Moskovsky Bolshevik" on the debtor of the katoshnik(rolled rolls of paper to a rotary machine). And even in this work, he felt a great responsibility.
Baruzdin was enlisted in the voluntary squad, and during the air raid he had to be at his post - on the roof of his house. “I experienced a feeling close to delight. Alone on a huge roof, and even when there is such a light show around! This is much better than being on duty at the gate or at the entrance of the house. True, it was possible to chat there, there were many people on duty, and I was alone. And I still feel better! I seem to be the owner of the whole roof, the whole house, and now I see what no one sees. he said.
The printing house registered volunteers for the people's militia, but they did not take him there, because he was only 15 years old. But on the other hand, he was taken as a volunteer for the construction of defensive structures at Chistye Prudy.
On October 16, 1941, his father took Sergei to the front in a special battalion, which was formed from the workers of the people's commissariats who remained in Moscow. I took it myself and defended it before some higher authorities when they tried to object. Even added a year to Sergei.
Like all boys, Sergei was more attached to his father than to his mother. He rarely saw his father before the war, and especially during the war, but they always found a common language with each other in both big and small matters. Sergey was especially proud of the fact that his father sometimes trusted him with such secrets that he did not even trust his mother.
The very, very first poem Sergey wrote about his father:
Dad lived,
very kind,
Just came late
And he took work home.
This made his mother angry.
I thought:
Brought the car
And he got the job
Put her on the shelf
The work has not been opened.
Every day
Papa is coming
Only sleep at home.
From so much work
Our dad is mean.
Sometimes it happens like this:
Our dad
Takes a job
And he sits over it all night.
Morning dad
Tea swallows
And he runs to the service with her.
On October 18, 1941, Sergei's father died from a fragment of a German mine. He was buried on the fifth day at the German cemetery. Among the hundreds of people with German surnames buried there now lay a man with a Russian surname.
The deaths didn't end there. Every day there were more and more of them. Sergei saw how people he knew and did not know die. This was the horror of war.
What all the same different people the war brought together. Sergey had never looked at people like that before. They were different, and he always accepted them as they were. But it was during the war that Sergey thought that different people are different human qualities inside each person. No people are entirely good or entirely bad. In every person there is both good and bad, and everything. And it depends on the person himself, if he is a person and knows how to manage himself, what qualities prevail in him ...
In 1945, Baruzdin took part in the capture of Berlin, and it was there that he especially felt homesickness for his homeland. He said: “Perhaps none of us need to say these words aloud now. Neither to me, nor to all the others who came a thousand miles from their native places to Berlin. These words are in our hearts, or rather, they are not even words. It's a feeling of home".
During the Great Patriotic War, S. Baruzdin was on the fronts: near Leningrad, in the Baltic states, in the Second Belorussian, in the Far East (in Mukden, Harbin, Port Arthur).
“Of all my awards, the medal “For the Defense of Moscow” is one of my most expensive,” Sergey Alekseevich admitted. - And more medals "For the capture of Berlin" and "For the liberation of Prague." They are my biography and geography of the war years.”
In 1958 Baruzdin graduated from the Gorky Literary Institute.
Sergei created military books: the novel "Repetition of the Passed", "The Tale of Women", the story "Of course" and the novel "Noon", which, alas, remained unfinished.
Everyone remembers the smart, kind, funny Baruzda works for childhood and youth:"Ravi and Shashi", "How Chickens Learned to Swim", "Moose in the Theater"and many others. More than two hundred children's and adult books of poetry and prose with a total circulation of over 90 million copies in 69 languages!
Since 1966 Sergey Alekseevich V headed the all-Union magazine "Friendship of Peoples". Thanks to the energy, will, and courage of the editor-in-chief, the magazine has always carried words of high artistic truth to its readers from its pages.
On March 4, 1991, Sergei Alekseevich Baruzdin passed away. The writer's books are reprinted and read today.
