On this day:

Penalty squadrons in the Air Force

On August 4, 1942, the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command sent an order to the troops to create penal squadrons. They were formed in every air army. But they didn't last long. In the spring of 1943, the order was canceled.

Penalty squadrons in the Air Force

On August 4, 1942, the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command sent an order to the troops to create penal squadrons. They were formed in every air army. But they didn't last long. In the spring of 1943, the order was canceled.

On August 4, 1943, Semyon Vasilyevich RUDNEV (born February 27, 1899), one of the organizers and leaders, died partisan movement in Ukraine, Hero Soviet Union. Rudnev is a native of the village. Moiseevka, now Rudnevo, Putivl district, Sumy region. In September 1941 he headed partisan detachment, since October - Commissioner of the united Putivl detachment S.A. Kovpaka, member of the underground Central Committee of the Communist Party (Bolsheviks) of Ukraine.

Death of the partisan commissar Rudnev

On August 4, 1943, Semyon Vasilyevich RUDNEV (born February 27, 1899), one of the organizers and leaders of the partisan movement in Ukraine, Hero of the Soviet Union, died. Rudnev is a native of the village. Moiseevka, now Rudnevo, Putivl district, Sumy region. In September 1941, he headed a partisan detachment, and from October - commissar of the united Putivl detachment S.A. Kovpaka, member of the underground Central Committee of the Communist Party (Bolsheviks) of Ukraine.

He died during a breakout from encirclement near the village of Delyatin, Stanislav region. A few days later, his partisan son also died. Both were buried in a mass grave in the city of Yaremcha, Ivano-Frankivsk region.

On August 4, 1983, Yuri Borisovich LEVITAN (born 10/02/1914), announcer, People's Artist of the USSR, who during the Great Patriotic War considered the main voice of the Fatherland.

Yuri Levitan - the voice of war and Victory

On August 4, 1983, Yuri Borisovich LEVITAN (born 10/02/1914), announcer, People's Artist of the USSR, who during the Great Patriotic War was considered the main voice of the Fatherland, died suddenly.

Since childhood, he dreamed of becoming an artist, but accidentally ended up in a group of Moscow Radio trainees. One day I.V. Stalin heard from the loudspeaker the voice of a young announcer who was reading an article from Pravda. The leader entrusted the 19-year-old intern to voice the text of his report on the radio at the opening party congress.

Levitan gained particular fame during the Great Patriotic War, when I read the Sovinformburo reports every day, and then announced the Victory. After the war, Levitan conveyed the most important state messages.

He died on the Prokhorovsky field, where he arrived to cover the celebration of the 40th anniversary of the Battle of Kursk.

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Transcript

1 EKATERINA NOVIKOVA-STANKEVICH Stylobate

5 Vidnovo deanery of the Moscow Diocese of the Russian Orthodox Church Department of the Administration of the Leninsky Municipal District of the Moscow Region Department for Youth, Culture and Sports of the Administration of the Leninsky Municipal District of the Moscow Region, the Moscow Regional Organization of the Union of Writers of Russia, Series Winners of the annual Orthodox district literary creativity “Blessing” PRIZE OF THE ALMANAC OF THE VIDNOVSKY DEANORY “LETTER TO YOUR SOUL”

7 EKATERINA NOVIKOVA-STANKEVICH Stylobate Vidnoye 2014

8 Ekaterina Novikova-Stankevich. Author's collection. Stylobate Publication of the Local religious organization of the Orthodox parish of the Assumption Church in the city of Vidnoye, Moscow region, Moscow diocese of the Russian Orthodox Church, Signed for printing Order ISBN Editorial address: , MO, Vidnoye, Belokamenny highway, Assumption Church. Tel./fax 8 (495) Printed at OJSC “First Exemplary Printing House” Branch “Chekhov Printing Yard”, Moscow Region, Chekhov, st. Polygraphists, no. 1. T copies. Format 130x200, 4.7, Minion Pro headset. Responsible for the publication are Hieromonk Sophrony (Gorokholsky), A.P. Zimenkov Illustrations by O.V. Podivilova Technical editor E.A. Koberidze Design, layout D.S. Sukharev

9 EDITORIAL BOARD Dean of the churches of the Vidnovsky district, Archpriest Mikhail Egorov; assistant dean of the churches of the Vidnovsky district, member of the Union of Writers of Russia, Hieromonk Sophrony (Gorokholsky); Head of the Department for Youth Affairs, Culture and Sports of the Administration of the Leninsky Municipal District M.I. Shamailov; member of the Board of the Moscow regional organization of the Union of Writers of Russia, chairman of the regional literary association named after F. Shkulev A.P. Zimenkov; Head of the Department of Economics and Law of the Editorial Board of the newspaper “Vidnovskie Vesti” MAUK “Vidnovskaya Cinema Network Directorate” E.A. Koberidze; supervisor methodological unification teachers of Russian language and literature of the Leninsky municipal district G.N. Emelyanova.

10 Welcoming speech by the Chairman of the Missionary Department of the Moscow Diocese of the Russian Orthodox Church, Archpriest Mikhail Egorov In 2012, on the Vidnovskaya land, an interesting and, as it later turned out, very necessary business was launched: the Annual Orthodox regional competition literary creativity“Blessing” for the prize of the almanac “Letter to your soul.” I sincerely thank the Department of Education and the Department of Youth Affairs, Culture and Sports of the Leninsky Municipal District Administration, as well as the Leninsky branch of the Moscow regional organization of the Union of Writers of Russia for supporting this good collaboration. Involving authors in the revival of the spiritual and moral traditions of Russian literature, attracting public attention to the anthology “Letter to Your Soul” and publishing the winners’ original books are the main goals of the competition. Right now you are holding in your hands a collection of one of the winners. It is filled with a special, deep, touching experience of the world around us, talentedly expressed in words. And I would like to note the importance of such creativity, the need to support authors who are able to see the good and tell everyone about it so that through reading good literature we can think about the Eternal Truths. And through this, excite ourselves to create and create goodness and beauty in the world around us! I prayerfully wish the organizers and participants of the competition, all authors and readers God’s help and blessing, a pure mind and heart, striving for God and life according to His commandments! 10

11 Welcoming speech from the Chairman of the Board of the Moscow Regional Organization of the Union of Writers of Russia, member of the Executive Committee of the International Community of Writers' Unions, Secretary of the Board of the Union of Writers of Russia Lev Konstantinovich Kotyukov In Russia, the task of a writer has never been reduced to simply composing poems, stories, novels and novels. The best and most honest of them treated their work as a public service, as the fulfillment of an important spiritual and moral mission. Their goal was, using the power of the artistic word, to sow the rational, the good, the eternal. Today, in conditions market economy, these lofty goals, unfortunately, receded into the background. That is why the Moscow regional organization of the Union of Writers of Russia reacted with such great attention and interest to holding the “Blessing” competition in the Leninsky district, which seeks to connect literary creativity with the enduring values ​​of Orthodoxy and the great humanistic traditions of Russian literature. I sincerely thank the organizers of this competition, the dean of the churches of the Vidnovsky district, Archpriest Mikhail Egorov, and his assistant, Hieromonk Sophrony (Gorokholsky), for an extremely important and relevant initiative in today’s circumstances. I wish the “Blessing” competition a successful and long future, and its participants bright creative achievements. eleven

12 From the author Every person has his own destiny, everyone is given the opportunity to find themselves and realize their dreams. And if the Creator gave you the ability to form words, you should follow this path with gratitude, resignedly experiencing all kinds of obstacles and hardships along it. Poetry for me is not only rhyming words and deep conceptual meanings, but an attempt to conclude the world into a rhythmic shell, to hear music, the breath of life. An attempt to go beyond the everyday descriptive framework pushes me to rethink my fate through the fate of the world around me. To peer into what is happening, breaking it into small pieces, refract the light, and then try to assemble it, relying on my vision, intuition, this is what I strive for. Struggling with emotions, excessive pathos of perceptions, I look for quiet joy in poetry, simple and understandable words for the reader, a truthful attitude to reality and love that permeates everything that exists. Being honest with myself is the main tenet that I try to follow. I am trying to convey the pulsating intonation of time in a poetic form, to keep pace with the age that is accelerating movement, to follow the chosen vector without losing individuality. Some may find this name “Stylobate” unusual, which in Greek literally means the upper surface of the stepped base of an ancient Greek temple and refers the reader to antiquity. I remember distant times, a giant platform 12 appears before my eyes

13 Greek temple, stone slabs under slender high columns. Temple construction requires a solid foundation that can support all the splendor of the temple. The name “Stylobate” carries a deep metaphorical and semantic load. In my understanding, the stylobate is faith. A powerful, unshakable basis for the growth of creative possibilities, an eternal base of values, attempts to peel off stereotypes, search for and find divine truths. For me personally, “Stylobate” is my foundation, the approach to high literature. Difficult, inexperienced steps in creativity and, of course, hope. This book includes poems written over the past few years; they are dedicated to people, events that mark our time, of which I happened to be a contemporary, discreet, but at the same time majestic nature, love for near and dear ones. To the life-giving light of Christianity, which lights an imperishable fire in our hearts. I would like to express special gratitude to the dean of the churches of the Vidnovsky district, Archpriest Mikhail Egorov, for the publication of my first book. For prayerful support, warmth of heart, goodwill, and patronage assistance in the creation of the book, I express great gratitude to the assistant dean of the churches of the Vidnovsky district, the rector of the Assumption Church in Vidnoye, Hieromonk Sophrony (Gorokholsky). The deep knowledge of Father Sophrony, a member of the Russian Writers' Union, of the modern literary process, and subtle life observations seriously helped me in working on the book. I thank the chairman of the board of the Moscow regional organization of the Union of Writers of Russia L.K. Kotyukov, who believed in me back in 1997, upon admission to the Writers' Union. Heartfelt thanks for the help in working on this publication to the head of the Leninsky regional literary community - 13

14 unity named after. F. Shkuleva A.P. Zimenkov, publishing editor of the Vidnovsky deanery almanac “Letter to your soul” E.A. Koberidze. The joy of drinking from the Orthodox springs of Russian life in the hope of becoming their little drop and flowing into the river of Russian spiritual space draws me to poetic creativity. And how joyful it is to realize, feel, experience that dreams come true along this path. 14

15 DON'T BE SAD 15

16 Light of spring I would not sleep through the beginning of spring, smile at the miracle of life with my heart! I would like to see how the whole world rocks a cloud of lilacs in the air! I would like to breathe in the blue sky, sprout green grass, feed the first birds with bread from the palm of my hand Oh, spring, I am happy with you! I’ll make some delicious cabbage soup from young nettles, sit down at the table and try it. You need to be happy in nature, use primrose to drive away the sickness. Oh, I wish I could overlook the light of spring! It is radiant, like a whirlwind of splashes in a fountain. Take a ride on the carousel with me, And let spring deceive me. 16

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18 Russia Here there is enough snow and rain for everyone, Here the red rowan is like fire. Here our souls from childhood begin to look at the world through the eye sockets of icons! Such people live around me! And the sky is grace for half the world! We do not judge two-faced Europe, We live the dream of becoming holy Russia. 18

19 Country Elegy The fruits have been gathered, summer has passed. The last flowers are sad in the beds. The tops have hung, the plantings have been made. The earth is tired, the warmth is gone. The stream is ready to go under thin ice. We are preparing apples for wintering. Let's throw three carrots to the red hares: It's fun for us, but it's like honey for them. The gifts of nature are hard work. The world is colored with the inspiration of autumn. Yesterday's day said goodbye with an oblique ray, And the nearby gardens were empty. The earth's axis is turned towards winter, and everything around seems to be surviving. And the chariot of summer drives away, And the birds will fly only in spring. 19

20 Don't be sad Don't be sad, let the sun burn out in the already cold mirror of water, Where flocks of autumn birds swim by and purple traces of clouds. Don't be sad, fate will be kind, Spring will break through the ice and snow. And life will become desirable to people again, And the sun will become red-hot. 20

21 * * * The star is frightened, its flight is merciless, In the dark sky its path is so clear. Saying goodbye to summer, it will soon fall. Its short-lived light is mysteriously beautiful. Fly, burn for the joy of earth. The moon got tangled in my eyelashes. All the mystery of nature is for me alone Yes to the nameless and noisy birds! 21

22 Marina Tsvetaeva The water at the landing stage Does not reflect the sun's spots. Trouble struck in Yelabuga. Which is now clear to everyone. Trains pass by, the wheels are knocking, as if they were crying. Marina, your star means so much in my destiny. Everything is like water and silence then. All terms are known. You are here with me. But you are silent, And August melts into the surrounding darkness. 22

23 Spring What a luxury spring! The sparrows chirped. Youth again has no time for sleep. The sun smiles on everyone. Soon the streams will flow, The branches will be covered with leaves. Maybe we'll stay here, or take a ride to the pier. We'll walk until the morning. Oh, the pleasure of time! The heart rejoices: hurray! Enough of the cold burden. 23

24 Lonely wind A lonely wind blows through the shutters, Says that he is in love. On this night he is the most important. Suddenly I understand: you are like him! I would like to forget about that, and that’s all here: Such a soul hurts from love. Go out onto the porch, at least for a minute, We can talk to you. Get out. Give me a smile. And in response, the heart will sing loudly in the chest. Next to you, I will forget about everything in the world. Just don't leave. 24

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26 Return Gray city, dark canals. There are lights on the granite bridge. For you, I will be the very best, Best of all, despite doubts. Partings, quarrels and losses An enormous testing burden But I don’t believe in your betrayal. Like a circle, I hold on to love. Bad things won't happen far away, And it won't be better than with me. The plane is landing. He brought you back home! 26

27 Autumn morning The passing wind rings like a rattle. Sadness floats in leaden clouds. And my hand rests on the pillow. In the garden, a different picture awaits: Under the thin snow, trembling slightly, the threads of the web sparkle, And the frozen boundary freezes. 27

28 * * * Dress yourself in golden vestments, The evening is red-ochre, crimson. Light in the window, shine with a glimmer. The smell of mignonette, spill, spicy. “I am known as a poet among people.” Everything I touch is dear to my heart. I live in my Fatherland and try to sing it in poetry. How beautiful rose and jasmine are! But birch lace is more wonderful. Without reserve, Motherland, take the Soul overflowing with song! 28

29 * * * The February cold plays with the city, ringing with crystal vexation. The short day fades away so quickly, The sunset chills the sky with melancholy. But February will not freeze our souls. The Orphan Universe is silent. Play Grieg for me, let me be carried away to that wondrous land where youth is easy. Where all my sorrows will dissipate, Where not words, but looks are so important, Where is the May day, where everything is still at the beginning. Where you and I need each other so much. 29

30 * * * Let the star light up with the light of March. The prayer to the hermit prophesies for eternity. Trains are rushing towards unknown valleys. For what? No one can answer you exactly. We are hollow at heart, we sense trouble, We do not know the purpose of our earthly life. Blind before the deadline, through a succession of days We walk, swallowing unleavened bread and thoughts. thirty

31 * * * Without red autumn, I feel sad in a scorched and sunny land. Believe me, I love you, my dear, just as I love my Motherland. Don't listen if someone says that I began to forget you. My poems will tell about love, In them I feel sad and rejoice again. I can’t sleep on stuffy nights, I see the dawn alone. Come soon. I miss you, I send you greetings from afar! Come under the golden sun, With Russian speech, Russian soul. In this sultry but alien peace, only you can give me peace. 31

32 * * * Why do poets die? Death circles above them all the time. Under a dagger, a pistol or slander, we stand up against dirt and lies. We bear the difficult cross unobstinately for our own and others’ sins. And we weave love for our dear Motherland, like threads, into poetry. 32

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34 * * * Let's get through the bad times, You and I are not tired of it together. There, in front of you, look, you can see part of the white strip already behind the black. Let's get through bad times, Hand in hand and the soul becomes warmer. And the moon shines for us again in the night, And the winter day becomes clearer. 34

35 * * * Autumn slowly peeked under the roof. What to do?! The water, the duckweed, the shore in the reeds. Everything was shrouded in white fog. Like a silent roll, the blue elements are all covered in lambs. Autumn leaf, a small frigate, sailing on the waves to other lands! It's pouring rain, bad luck! The rye was collected, only stacks on the field. I would like to tie my melancholy in a knot, and not cry at the maiden will. The day is slowly turning to sleep, everything breathes autumn coolness. Am I the only one who loves spring? Am I the only one who needs joy? 35

36 * * * Moscow is a wonderful origami city, Here my dreams are stamped. I will build my day not according to the program And I will go out to greet the city joyfully. Familiar strangers meet: Fathers of families, a respectable widow. Fortune hunters squint in the sun. And timid words fall. In the portals of the city of mystery there is a miracle, a seal of the Invisible chosen ones. And youth, it would seem, from where it returned to the house to become a memory. 36

37 Letter to my son Questions will hang, words are an empty magpie's business. I was probably a bad mother. And inept. Probably some trifle, some insignificant incident, and everything turned out wrong, so that I could live, suffering and tormented. There must have been a day of change, similar to a crossroads, where you wanted to leave me forever, my seedling. I take all the blame upon myself, admitting defeat. But life is so empty without you, my boy, my reflection. 37

38 * * * Ocher, rusty, dried sedge. I can walk along the prickly stubble until my time, To the honey pasture, cornflower blue. How dear you are to me, Motherland Russia! Where the raven's nest is not high enough to reach, Where the spacious land lies far away. Where the snow does not melt underground until August, Where cherished words sprout in the heart, Where they are greeted with joy by a friendly round dance, Where suffering is equally shared by all the people. 38

39 * * * The spruce forest has been destroyed to its roots. He no longer makes noise with the green roof. Here people now hear from all sides only the mournful voice of the wind. Probably, this is how fate has written: The neighbor across the street is pouring a new foundation, And we are sitting under the roof with you And remembering the old spruce forest. 39

40 Memory besieged Leningrad* * * An ice hole has been cut at Liteiny, The lonely drifting snow is crying. How cold and hunger kill me, surrounded by grief! The blue haze has descended so low, I look at the houses dumbly. And I pray, as best I can, for my loved ones. And I keep my fear in my bosom. And strangers are not strangers to me, But brothers in tearless pain. This is my native city, not a foreign land. He dies in the bitter frost. The entire broken Ligovka is groaning. Trams once ran here. All black, turned into a skeleton, the Burnt Foundry sobs. Leningrad is my devastation and hunger, Will this curse end soon? The day will come when my city will be reborn. But now he is in the arms of death. 40

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42 With Yesenin’s book With hidden sadness I flip through the pages. If only I could sing so skillfully as a free bird. I would like a light swallow to soar over the meadow, over the forest, To surrender to the space in the high sky. I would like free air, I would like to drink greedily and not get drunk. I would like to disappear into a pink cloud without a trace! I'm crying from the autumn gloom like Yesenin. Only lines are my salvation, I only have luck with rhymes! 42

43 Clouds There are miracle clouds in the midday sky. Don't take your excited gaze away! Their white swiftness is light, Ah, clouds, I’m terribly glad to see you! I wave my hand desperately, The smile on my lips is frozen. I will certainly write lines about your snowiness, your light-wingedness. 43

44 * * * August leaves in a series of lights, The day is divided into small worries. And in the evening you will blink like an asterisk from the outside. Or someone distant? The distance of my memory sounds stronger, And the sounds chill me. And the deafness of the closed doors dressed the blind night as if in a robe. Kuga is dozing wearily on the river. I will collect the fragments of light in my palms and, placing my hands on the windowsill, I will look into the distance where the meadows are mown 44

45 Autumn Jazz Smells like a bitter almond smell. The autumn quadriga rushes along the distant road with Grieg's sorrowful song. Like an icy drop of mercury, the rain knocks on the old roof. The mighty oak flies around, The branches are old pegs. The crow over the gray forest cries so painfully. The cloudy leaden curtain of the long past hurts the heart. 45

46 Autumn There are a few days left of summer, The glow of autumn shines through the foliage of the aspen trees. The grass turns yellow, the dead wood is ready, and the woodpecker lays waste to the wood. If you look into autumn, don’t expect any warmth! A ridge of lead clouds overhead. In the dacha village it rains all day long, We will wait out the fall together with you. Signs of the day are withered flowers, like a colorful printed tablecloth, and the fraction of monotonous rain under the windows is boring in the morning. 46

47 * * * Do not frighten us with onslaught and force, We know how to withstand any blow. We are happy to love you, Russia! God gives us the ability to win! I foresee big changes: Temporary workers will have no place here. Let us collectively, with the Orthodox faith, return dignity and honor to our Beloved Motherland. My people, open the door of trust, Dry up the tears of despondency and grief. May we have enough love and patience, and the wisdom of a responsive soul. 47

48 * * * The huge moon casts light, In its rays my garden looks different. Crickets sing, anticipating the dawn, And a star falls at random for me. The breeze sleeps in the green crown. Like musical signs, little birds sleep on branches. A shadow lay like a path on my threshold, and wrapped a scarf around the gazebo. Heavy dew showered the grass. Owls, like children, are crying somewhere. My house is silent, it will wake up in the morning, And there is no happier person in the world! 48

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50 * * * I won’t look sadness in the eyes, Nightingales’ weddings are in my heart. I wouldn’t write poems about love, so that a dry tear would fade away! I wouldn't have to write lines about her. Don't think at night, fall asleep, forget yourself. But invariably I fall into the same snare, stupid bird. I will mix the ashes of the past with my hand. Oh, my Heavenly Guide, thank you! Everything in this sublunary world is marked by Your Fates in star italics. 50

51 * * * How much good and good will come from sad feelings not called by the soul? The long-awaited autumn cold will strike with the first chill. The edge will draw in some water. The grass will freeze from frost. A blizzard all in white The Tsar Maiden will overturn the shroud to the ground. Everything will be covered with brittle silver, Shining with the diamond edge of light. He will order the troika with a loud whistle to rush through the snowfalls into the summer. 51

52 Autumn At the forks of old streets, Autumn leaves rustle. With golden, thick poison, the Judgment violently administers. Between ocher and antimony you will not find a boundary. A cloud floats over Moscow from the south. And he knocks and knocks on the roofs, exactly beating the beat, The drummer involuntarily, The rain is my friend and brother. The evening is fading, quiet, meek, in the dim light of the lanterns. Through the window from the church, a voice clearly flows like oil! 52

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55 NO NEED TO INvent ANYTHING 55

56 * * * The gospel sounds everywhere, Birds soar over the crosses. And it comes to us from heaven: “Christ is Risen! God be with us! Spring streams are singing, The world is glorified by renewal. And we, happy, shout: “Christ is Risen! God be with us! Rejoice! As promised, the Lord trampled the gravestone. He rose from the dead on the third day. Christ is Risen! God be with us! 56

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58 Midnight Does such a thing happen at midnight? The moon is shining silver in the sky. God-bearing from edge to edge The whole earth is filled with silence. Is it really midnight? I'll open my eyes wider, wider. Here a star is looking at me, not blinking, from the distance of space. Is it really midnight? Light from unexpected joy. The wonderful world glorifies the Creator, Whose great love warmed up 58

59 Star of Bethlehem The bull rattled his ring in the sheepfold, Breathed heavily, snoring. In the manger, the Child of God slept quietly, carefree. Sparrows flew in a bold crowd to see. The donkey with black and white bangs continued to sniffle in his sleep. And the wise men, drawn by the star, brought gifts from home, from their distant countries, into a fragile cocoon at the feet of Christ. And the star lit up victoriously, illuminating the mountains! Imperceptibly, imperceptibly transforming everything around. 59

60 * * * If you are with God, why be afraid? The eyes beam with bright joy. If you are with God, there is no need for despondency! Fasting and prayer are your light and joy. If you are with God, all human intrigues will pass by like thunderstorms. If you are with God, anger is helpless. Faith with hope is your staff until the grave. 60

61 * * * In Rus', not everything is food and songs, There is a vast blue sky. It’s interesting to walk around the world, We can only be our own here. Light the lights, dawn, give God's cheerful light to us. We, like birds, in a thin line are returning to our native shores. 61

62 * * * Like a little bird that strives for its native land, I go to God’s temple without fear. The soul will find peace in it. Days flow and fly away, Dahl bursts into your eyes. Time melts away during prayer. Heavenly light in images! The world of anxiety and doubt is receding every day. My Spirit, given to me by the Father, passionately thirsts for healing. 62

63 God save mercy from mistrust, evil, from dark thoughts, from deceit, from lack of participation. Bless us for good deeds, Protect us from sinful passion. Do not complain or cry, my soul, And do not look ahead with such sadness. The Heavenly Pilot will lead us all at the appointed hour to the shelter at the beginning. 63

64 First visit to Optina Pustyn I stand with you in the temple. It's not like he's made of stone. And with admiration I recognize the marvelous limits of space. The suffering here cannot be counted, and the temple gives hope to everyone. Grace comes here. God allowed the soul to rejoice! I want to approach the pulpit with repentance and prayer. The treasured cross on my chest will help me find forgiveness. 64

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66 * * * “There is no need to invent anything, Everything has already been invented for us”: The golden coolness of autumn, the silver full face of winter days, the azure, playful light of spring, the green grace of summer, and the Arkhangelsk choirs from heaven. But how to tell about it? 66

67 * * * “You are lying in bed again” Archpriest Alexander Derzhavin How long can you stay in bed and be sick? Let's get up! Soon our corncrakes will fly away for the winter. Look out the window quickly, shake off the sadness and melancholy. The sun began to play brighter and sparkle across the sand. It increased hopes, illuminating the earth with light. Put on your clothes, respond to my impulse. And let's go for a walk in the garden, unspeakable beauty. The streak of bleak, sad life has ended! Let violins play in your soul! Bed captivity is behind us! Let's start the day with a smile, with changes that are dear to our hearts. 67

68 Christmas Prayer You are that Source, having sipped which, you feel even more thirsty. We are all worthy of Your reproach, But everyone is treated with mercy in return. And I ask before the Feast of Christ: Help me overcome my sorrows, Instruct me with your heavenly Word, So that the paths to You become straighter. 68

69 Trinity Trinity. Cheerful eyes. Joyful, noisy leaves. A dragonfly flies over the bush. And the guys are splashing around the barrel. From a blue ringing height a radiant wind falls onto the garden. Let the world have enough warmth and fun for old people and children. 69

70 * * * And in the end there was a fence, a peeling cross. A small grave, where I am not together with you. The day is quilted with stitches, A path winds through the snow. Only the cross, only memory, Only eternal sky. 70

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72 * * * Like a sparrow on a branch, The cold day sways. My head is filled with thoughts. February is running out. Between the sun and the moon, a part of my awkward life flows unnoticed and grows my sadness. On the day of parental Saturday, I stand in front of a bright icon in a cold church and ask the Almighty, So that all questions are resolved and sorrows dissipate Before the bright icon, a candle quietly glows. 72

73 * * * I want to soar above the clouds, to meet the flame of the sun at sunrise, to fly away, to forget, and not to look back. Only Cherub will notice me. I'll open the window quickly. I’ll push off and forget about the suffering. It’s more fun for me to fly across the sky in the golden-blue glow. The veil is melting beyond the edge of the forest, A voice in the highest spheres will respond. And the veil will fall from my soul, And it will flutter like a bird. And it will smell like honey and flowers From the bright, fragrant icons. And my throat will choke from admiration, Lord, forgive us, foolish ones! 73

74 In the temple It is quiet in the temple. God's saints are looking at me from the lectern. I will quietly stand in a row with the parish, asking for peace for my soul. It's easy and safe here. Wonderful temple. How many humble seekers are there! How many troubles, tragedies, how many dramas, Requests, prayers these walls know How many saving conversations here have reached the suffering heart! Our Lord will forgive, he is merciful, the door to God's house is always open. The candle melts in my hands. By the flickeringly burning lamp I will repent of my own sins, foolish child of Christ. 74

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76 * * * To a simple flower, a little undergrowth, Gray wormwood, I whisper on the road, on the roads, From my heart, from everything: I love. Ancient chanting tales, Rain-washed fields. Do you believe me, Rus' is melodious, I am yours from birth! Smoke from the chimneys flies excitedly Somewhere to distant lands You have conquered me forever, my Holy Motherland. And let the crows turn black in the sky, Let the enemies trumpet in victory. The Lord has given me joy to live and pray for you! 76

77 * * * “Bless me, sadness” Georgy Zaitsev Bless me, my home, Here are all the signs of my parents, When I leave you unnoticed with a faded ray. I’ll go to distant lands, into the endless pool of falling stars. Bless me, dawn, So that I may be glad to leave. 77

78 Bell The boiling melt is poured into the mold, the bell is poured and overshadowed with a cross, so that later from the ancient bell tower its crimson voice will sound clearly, calling for the revival of the Russian city, being a barrier to sinful feelings and thoughts. From now on there is human rejoicing in it. Grandmothers are being baptized! God! Son! 78

79 Repentance The skies shone with a melodious dawn, The path winds like a thin ribbon. I want to look at the fields and forests, Let my soul smile at beauty. Above me is blue, the sun is a fireball. It is impossible to take your eyes off them. I go to church for mass quietly, slowly, my soul is both light and anxious. In repentance I want to tell you about everything, Which, oh God, I don’t dare be proud of. Before the holy icon in Your house I will pray for forgiveness. 79

80 Atheists What kind of fashion is it to boast of godlessness, to thunder and thunder with emptiness?! In order to live a true life, we must have Faith in our hearts. We all need to understand: We are just ripples on the great water. We must bring repentance, Or there will be general misfortune. Or we will never be able to touch God's truth. Like leaves, with the wind of the road, the hour strikes, we will fly away to nowhere. 80

81 Prayer of a Russian woman Don’t allow bloodshed, Don’t let the innocent be destroyed. Do not let us, vain ones, forget that the spark of God is hidden in us. Do not allow bloody days, civil strife, clashes. For sinners, for your children, I humbly pray on my knees. Let brother not go against his brother, After all, we were once friends: Mordvin, a Ukrainian, a Buryat, And a Russian boy from the Arbat. 81

82 Living Rus' Great Rus' does not live in illnesses, grief, troubles, but in accomplishments and victories. Stand shoulder to shoulder, people! Sergius, our Saint, is with us! In Russian life for centuries He is an intercessor and guardian. The hand of the Lord is with us! 82

83 83

84 My Russia Russia is not in a glamorous diva, But in a Russian woman at the porch, Who, working in the field, wiped seven sweats from her face. Oh, my Lord, forgive the sad Betrayals, shame and disgrace. And help us with Heavenly power to Transform Russia. 84

85 Ruth Ruth, the Maobite woman with widow's eyes, A tear is caked on her sunken cheek. On the dusty road you follow her, your mother-in-law, for many long days. Ruth, do not kill the good aspirations in your heart, love joy, love pity. Under the moon the barley must be pounded again. Your dinner this night will also be meager. The smell of the world flows, the light of a star is distant. A sip of water will be mercy. 85

86 * * * There are no pastures closer, There is no dearer sun. There is no holier and higher than my Russian share. Filled with blood, fly away, crow. My Heart is full only of Christ’s love. Under the shirt the cross is a stronghold of new Life. The messenger of a new world My great people! 86

87 * * * The minutes flowed faster, Spring plays out the drama. The days are getting warmer before our eyes, stubbornly hurrying beyond the horizon. The rains saturate the earth, like a drum, knocking on the roof. The whole look is me. To higher powers I will listen. And I almost don’t hear your words. Here the Grass wakes up in alarm, like an explosion, an earthquake. And the roads lengthen, And life strives for Resurrection. 87

88 Afterword by a member of the editorial board of the Moscow Diocesan Gazette, a member of the diocesan department for interaction with funds mass media, editor-in-chief of the Orthodox almanac of the Vidnovsky deanery “Letter to your soul”, co-chairman of the competition commission of the Annual Orthodox regional literary competition “Blessing” by Hieromonk Sophrony (Gorokholsky) You can ask the question: “Why does the church publish secular literature and organize such competitions?” The answer is very simple. The Church uses every good opportunity to develop and enlighten people with the rays of the Divine gift of talent. It is very important to help him not only grow, but also become stronger and mature: from the small sprout of unclear sensations and primitive worldview to the wealth of his own experience, great mental insights, spiritual purity and, most importantly, the search for immutable Truth. Only then will this talent turn into a real diamond, and in our case, a tome of literature. And its source will never become scarce, because it will be pure. Also relevant for the church is the task of helping to revive the culture of the Russian language, especially among children and youth. A person must be able to express his thoughts in a humane way. Unfortunately, few people now think that the word is a double-edged weapon, capable of killing or resurrecting, and they use it without any reasoning. Nothing can ever replace a book, which, in addition to content, also has different shapes perception. Feeling the texture of a leaf; the smell of printing ink, library dust or an old house; blots, scratches, wrinkled corners and bends; the realization that this book, just like you now, was once upon a time held in the hands of your ancestors or loved ones 88

89 you people, all this, if you want, is a way of personal self-awareness, a convenient accessibility to the feeling of connections between times, memories, life destinies. And how our modern and lonely humanity lacks it now! If any of you have ever taken part in competitions or tried to be creative, then you know how difficult this process is. It involves the enormous work of many people, a bouquet of talents, a fountain of ideas, author’s inspirations, the experience of professionals, disputes, emotions, work on mistakes and colossal workloads. This is how each of our books is born into the world, and if it touched your soul, warmed your heart and inspired you to do something bright, then all this was not in vain. 89

91 91

92 About the author Ekaterina Nikolaevna Novikova-Stankevich (pseudonym). Born in Moscow on June 30, 1964. Higher pedagogical education (Krupskaya Moscow Pedagogical Institute), specialty “philologist”, completed graduate school. Member of the Russian Writers' Union. Head of the Moscow literary association "Fatyanovskaya Spring", an association of literary associations in Moscow. He is engaged in active social and creative work: he teaches at the “university of the third age” at the Center for Social Services in Orekhovo-Borisovo South; organizes and conducts literary and musical events dedicated to significant events, memorable dates, holidays, patriotic events, creative festivals for children, veterans, poetry competitions. In my creativity Special attention pays attention to current problems of society, love of the Fatherland, moral and religious issues. Published in literary almanacs and collections: “Origins”, “Consonances”, “Poetic Moscow”, “Shine of the Lyre”, “Our Otradnoe”, “Literary Council”, “Moscow Parnassus”, “Interuniversity Collection”, “Moskovsky Komsomolets”, “ People's Teacher", "Red Star", "Tsvetaevsky Bonfires", "Literary Republic", etc. He is a laureate of poetry competitions of international literary communities and the Moscow city organization of the Union of Writers of Russia. For victory in creative competitions awarded with diplomas. S. Yesenin and M. Tsvetaeva with the presentation of commemorative personalized medals. In 2013, she won the II Annual Orthodox literary creativity competition “Blessing” for the almanac prize “Letter to Your Soul” in the age category “30 years and older.” 92

93 93

94 CONTENTS Welcoming speech by the Chairman of the Missionary Department of the Moscow Diocese, Archpriest Mikhail Egorov. Welcoming speech by the Chairman of the Board of the Moscow regional organization of the Union of Writers of Russia L.K. Kotyukova From the author YOU ARE NOT SAD Spring light Russia Country elegy You are not sad “The star is frightened, the flight is merciless” Marina Tsvetaeva Spring Lonely wind Return Autumn morning “Put on golden vestments” “The February cold is playing with the city” “Let the star light up with the March light” “ I feel sad without red autumn” “Why do poets die?” “We will survive the bad times” “Autumn has arrived slowly” “Moscow is a wonderful origami city” Letter to my son “The ocher, rusty sedge has dried up” “The spruce forest has been completely destroyed” “An ice hole has been cut at Liteiny” With Yesenin’s book

95 Clouds “August is leaving in a series of lights” Autumn jazz Autumn “Don’t frighten us with onslaught and force...” “The huge moon throws light” “I won’t look sadness in the eyes” “There will be a lot of good and good” Autumn NO NEED TO INvent ANYTHING “The gospel sounds everywhere” Midnight Star of Bethlehem “If you are with God, why be afraid?” “In Rus', not everything is food and songs” “Like a little bird” Mercy First visit to Optina Pustyn “You don’t need to invent anything” “How long can you stay in bed and be sick?” Christmas prayer Trinity “And in the end a fence” “Like a sparrow on a branch” “I want to fly above the clouds” In the temple “To a simple flower, little one” “Bless me, my home” Bell

96 Repentance Atheists Prayer of a Russian woman Living Russia My Russia Ruth “There is no pasture closer” “The minutes flowed faster” Afterword by the editor-in-chief of the Orthodox almanac of the Vidnovsky deanery “Letter to your soul” Hieromonk Sophrony (Gorokholsky) Afterword by a senior researcher at the A.M. Institute of World Literature . Gorky Russian Academy Sciences A.P. Zimenkova About the author

97 Printed with the support of the National Saint Tryphon Foundation

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When you sometimes get bored, and something bothers you, remember that there is a heart in the world that loves you! Oh, how insignificant all comparisons are, I know one thing: I always need you - In the sun, in the moon, in the crowd

Everything around me distracts me, And everyone interferes with me in some way, I don’t understand anything... I miss you so much! Don't rush... don't... keep quiet... Words are carried away by the wind, you'll forget them... Don't shout about happiness, about love,

I want to correct my mistake and improve our relationship, I hope you will forgive me and stop being offended, know that I love you, baby! The snow is swirling outside the window, It’s winter outside, Where are you, my beloved person?

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