Alexei escaped this fate only because Losev was that day at the cottage in the village of Kratovo. Valentina, the wife Losev, rushed to Moscow and found the house a yawning funnel, which killed her mother, and among the brick rubble could be seen the wreckage of furniture, children’s toys, scraps of paper and books… It was losevskie manuscripts and books from his huge – more than 10 thousand volumes of rare books! library. A large part of it was the works of the German philosophers.
the Bomb dropped valiant aces of the Fuhrer, was buried in a common grave of Kant, Hegel, Schelling, Feuerbach, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche.
After the bombing, the house was burning, firefighters flooded ruins. The water completed the fact that not managed to kill the fire. With books you can say good-bye.
News of this could ruin Losev, whose health in the early 1930s was undermined by the arrest and camp. And here Valentina together with his old friends began to get books out of the mud and stone fighting. They carried the wounded book to the barn, dried them on the clothesline, cleaned from lime and dirt was ironed iron irons page.
Today, this epic tells the exhibition “Saved library”. Its the 75th anniversary of the Victory was prepared by the staff of the Moscow Library “A. F. Losev House”, where now there are more than 2000 victims “bombing” books. The exhibition (and it’s more of a documentary) can be seen on the website of the library Museum.
And now we return to the village of Kratovo, where they remained Alexei Fedorovich. What was he doing at that time when the evil would triumph over the world? It is clear that the hard life, emotions and anxiety does not always give focus on the fundamental works. And then the philosopher wrote… verses.
the Poetic experiments of Losev may seem untimely. They will take little war. And although most of Alexei repeats in verse the word “anxiety”, his lines seem aloof, from them sometimes emanates a subtle chill of the Silver age, or the youth of the future philosopher.
still, poetry was not only pleasant for Losev leisure. And certainly not trinkets. It was his intelligence before the battle, before the great spiritual and intellectual work.
As a sculptor, before you take up sculpting, kneads clay, warms it in his hands, so Losev was warmed by the words and thoughts in poetic lines. Poetry as clay soul. I somehow think that this image would have liked Alexei Fedorovich.
His poems Losev anyone, except his wife, not shown, and they saw the light only after his death.
During the war Alexey Fedorovich lectured in hospitals, and the wounded one gave him in gratitude, a miniature horseshoe. It says: “the 101st separate cavalry regiment”. The regiment fought on the Volkhov front in the 13th ��kavaleriyskogo corps of the 2nd Shock army. In February he participated in severe fighting at Cold Forest, got surrounded with heavy losses escaped from him. By the summer of 1942, the corps lost almost the entire staff and all the horses and was disbanded.
P. S. For their help in preparing this release thank you Professor, Moscow state University, Chairman of the Commission of Sciences Losevsky Elena Takho-godi.
– All philosophy that is not powered by the doctrine of the Home, is naive and unnecessary philosophy.
– he Who loves, he dies peacefully. Who has the Motherland, the one dying if not for her, though only in it, on it, dying is always cozy, like a child, falling asleep in a soft and warm bed, at least this death was in battle, even if it was the death of the pilot that crashed with a kilometer of height on the stone ground.
– Only homeland gives inner comfort, for all native – cozy, and the only comfort is the overcoming of fate and death.
*A. Losev. The contempt for death. 1942.
23 Sep 1893-born philosopher and poet Alexei Losev
the Purple twilight a migraine,
Snow empty eyes,
Sorrow misty lilac
And the futility of a winter night;
the Drill of tears,
Buzzing deadness
mists
And wisps rearing of dreams,
Bleak grin Durmanov;
the Crackling of the living dead dream
Sleepless dreams films
blackened sky
shot of the Mind rejoicing, –
Here dim all buried,
Rots obediently and humbly,
And snow swept everything
For the world smolders covertly.
the Bungalow sleeps under a blue haze,
The hard-Duma snows
As if the grave is under a pine tree,
People forgotten over the years.
Cozy winter evening
Look at sweet hut,
On the beautiful windbreak,
In pine forest, on the edge.
the Picture kind of us
was Given in childhood with primers…
Here is why are you glad
And then came the house under the snow.
27-28/IV-42
(excerpt)
the mind Secretly makes a noise like a forest,
Anxiety thin.
Life worrying haze of miracles
Rydale-voiced.
Void spirit soar
Alarms swings.
the Face of fate anxiety swelled,
What is in the darkness Anneli.
Heart usuaria empty
Alarms nebula.
Ice cold anxiety evil
Worlds nastranost.
Waiting anxiously for old and young
Days of future…
17/I-43
(excerpt)
…a Delight all new
speculations
Inexhaustible wave
Lifts the youth in our fight
a young For eternity revelations.
Unknown to us another answer
Other do not know excuses:
the Limit of all earthly hopes
Imperishable youth vow.
Baby, girl, child,
both mother And virgin, and jumper,
And Inositol, and minx,
God Bless you.
28/XII-<43>
