salt, after, after we filmed the audition for this, he shook us by the shoulders, kissed us on the cheeks and said, “you will play in this,” that’s why he approved us, so i wanted to ask, maybe there were some artistic tips, not that there was any advice, but the first word was like a statement from a front-line soldier, and we received a blessing from uncle sasha bukhvalov, our pyrotechnician, how great is that, uncle?

a beautiful face, just a beautiful face, by the way, thanks to my eyes they approved me, because vyacheslav mikhailovich shumsky, the operator after the audition said: “stasya, do you remember the girl in the geek they called the geek from the geek, she came to us with such sad eyes, they called me.” you

, of course, remember that in the middle of our program there is a presenter's section, and i do one of three, either i read a poem, some kind of classical one and comment if necessary, or i show an old book from my library, or i quote prose, well now i’ll read a poem: arseny aleksandrovich torkovsky, who fought, worked as a poet, it was just like that in his life the military military book says that he is not a correspondent, but he worked in the front-line newspaper battle alarm, he has many poems written during the period of the war, and there is a poem published in this book zemlya zemnoye, this is the second collection of arseny torkovsky, in sixty-six a book was published and a poem was written. fourth

year, it’s amazing, i think without comment everything will be clear, you know that he lost his leg in the war, yes, and this is a description of the operation, death and then resurrection under the psalms of david, a field hospital, the table was turned towards the light, i lay upside down, like meat on a scale, my soul was pounding on threads, and i saw myself from the outside, i without appendages... i was balanced by a market fat weight, it was in the middle of the snow shield, chipped along the western edge, in a circle of ice-free swamps, trees with broken legs and railway stops with split skulls, black with snow caps, sometimes double, sometimes triple, that day time stopped, hours and souls of trains did not pass... .weddings, no snowstorms, no

there were no thaws in that limbo where i lay in shame in my nails, in my blood, outside the field of gravity of the future, but a shield of blinding snow moved on its axis and went in a circle, and low above my head seven planes turned around, and gauze, like the tree bark on my body hardened, and someone else's blood ran from the flask into my veins, and i breathed like a fish on the sand, swallowing hard, mica, earthly, cold blessed air, my lips were swept over, and they also spoon-fed me, and more... i couldn’t remember my name, but

the dictionary of king david lived on my tongue, and then the snow melted, and early spring rose above the tiptoes and enveloped the trees in its green cloak. here is a poem by arseny torkovsky, which captures the unbearable military experience and memory in war. and it is very consonant with the lieutenant’s prose, because it was written in the same years when the lieutenant’s prose began to gain strength, and let’s pavel, let’s talk a little more about boris vasiliev. his fate, about his books, maybe we’ll remember the drama, the play tankers, on which the film officers was based, much later, well, boris vasiliev, what about it can be said, after all, that in a strange way i had a bit of a personal history with boris.