Andrew and Eugene studied at the literary Institute. Jack came in 1939 and in 1941 he volunteered to the front.
Turkova called to 43. not long before, he saw a telegram that hung in the College hall, and remembered her text for life: “MOSCOW LITERARY INSTITUTE MY BOY EUGENE the POLES MURDERED MOTHER.”
Eugene died in Stalingrad, and find information about it, I went to the site of the Museum “Stalingrad battle”. There I met this story.
“My uncle, Eugene S. Poles, died in Stalingrad in October 1942. I don’t know much about it, although I was named Eugene in honor of him at the insistence of my grandmother, his mother, Anna Polyakova Andrianovna.
having been Baptized as an adult, I took the Holy name of Sergius, in honor of my grandfather, father Eugene. Recently, going through papers, I found a part of the family archive. There were letters, photographs, poems, funerals.
My grandmother all his life refused to believe the death of his son, assured everyone and himself that Jack was missing.
His life was simple and short. Born in Moscow in 1920 – exactly 100 years ago! – graduated from high school, worked as an artist in Theatre, while studying at the correspondence Department of the literary Institute.
I spent my childhood there, where he lived, Jack, – on the 1st Brestskaya, d. 36, in the 7th apartment on the 2nd floor in a small room in a communal apartment. On the 9th of May be sure to stop by the courtyard this so far preserved at home.
Eugene served as a translator in the 39th Guards rifle division lost more than half of the Stalingrad. Died 25 Oct 1942. He was 21 years old. To marry did not.
13 Sep ‘ 42, Jack wrote to my father: “my Dear brother, take care of mother”.
don’t worry, Jack, I will live your life for you. I will do all that.
Eugene (Sergius) of the Poles.”
PS Returned at dawn
the Morning of June 24 guests of the celebrations in red square, got a haversack with a memorable, but devoid of the pathos of gifts: field cap, binoculars, Cape.
one of the things was a gift from the “Russian newspaper”: “Gone at dawn. Fate and verses 25 young poets who died during the great Patriotic war”.
This book was born in the eyes of our readers. For many years “Calendar of poetry” Dmitry Shevarov told about the dead young men-the poets first published their poems, diaries and letters.
Dot early: many names are still to rescue from captivity oblivion.
in the meantime, a new book we mailed to the relatives of the poets and to all the readers who helped in its creation, as well as in museums, archives and libraries, took an active part in our search.
I want you to think
the night think of me,
the night sleepwalking
and thought was thinking about me.
I loved you in the spring
and the evening as a thick brew,
ad nauseam watered,
in the eyes of Doil,
I was one
(in the former Holy),
and to say I was
Oh! You in those years was proud.
Oh! You in those years did not know
I now, my love,
I thy name, the cities
But the silence
through the mortar drone
even in the silence
on the thinnest branch
we are apt cuckoo
And, maybe the hour
I get such a wound,
to tighten the belt
and I to dinner
when you think you just
strikethrough in the cells of the Windows,
and streets one hint
and the soldiers go,
, and each young wife
looking into the darkness,
at the light and wonder:
kill, do not kill,
kill don’t kill…
in his youth?
over the moon
with a curse the plane
pulls the space.
today b drank,
I’m in the Park would be staggering
Who complains of his youth?
the Plane went into a dive.
my Dear man!
Again there was a big break – I’m a long time did not write. You’re probably worried. The fact that we again lost some time. Misleading you, dear, that while I am alive, healthy and generally cheerful. Our part led 3 cruel big fight. I lost a lot of his fellow…
From my mother I don’t have any letters. How do they live there? Recently sent them another 500 RUB. by the Way, you got money?
Hello to all. A whole. Jack.