среда, 12 ноября 2014 г.

Мікола Чарняўскі. Я зьбіраюся на БАМ. Койданава. "Кальвіна". 2014.








                                                              Я ЗЬБІРАЮСЯ НА БАМ
                                                                       Брат Андрэй
                                                                       Прызнаўся маме:
                                                                        “Маразы пякуць
                                                                       На БАМе...
                                                                       Ды не скардзімся
                                                                       Пахмура,
                                                                       Параднім
                                                                       Байкал з Амурам...”
                                                                       Мама ўбок
                                                                       Пісьмо адклала,
                                                                       Мама кончыла чытаць,
                                                                       Пацішэла,
                                                                       Заўздыхала —
                                                                       Неспакойна ёй,
                                                                       Відаць.
                                                                       — Як ён там?
                                                                       Ці ў цёплым ходзіць?
                                                                       Можа, сівер
                                                                       Пальцы зводзіць?..
                                                                       Што такое БАМ —
                                                                       Я знаю:
                                                                       З дзецьмі ў БАМ
                                                                       Люблю гуляць.
                                                                       А яшчэ
                                                                       Не забываю
                                                                       Тэлевізар уключаць.
                                                                       — Можа, зноў
                                                                       Пра БАМ раскажуць? —
                                                                       Мама скажа
                                                                       Мне падчас,—
                                                                       Можа, нам, сынок,
                                                                       Пакажуць
                                                                       І Андрэя ў гэты раз?
                                                                       Тэлевізар
                                                                       Уключалі,
                                                                       І чакалі,
                                                                       І маўчалі.
                                                                       Мне было
                                                                       Ніякавата:
                                                                       Бачыў БАМ,
                                                                       Не бачыў
                                                                       Брата.
                                                                       — Мусіць, дужа ён заняты,
                                                                       Мусіць, некалі зусім
                                                                       Перад
                                                                                  кінаапаратам
                                                                       Паказацца нам
                                                                       І ўсім...
                                                                       І чаго ўздыхае мама,
                                                                       Не магу я
                                                                       Зразумець.
                                                                       Я туды б
                                                                       Махнуў таксама,
                                                                       Каб сказала толькі:
                                                                       — Едзь!
                                                                       Я ў тайзе
                                                                       Кастры паліў бы,
                                                                       Чай з дымком
                                                                       Рабочым грэў.
                                                                       І пельмені
                                                                       Ім варыў бы,
                                                                       Завіхаўся,
                                                                       Не дурэў.
                                                                       І мядзьведзяў
                                                                       Не баяўся б —
                                                                       Як-ніяк будую БАМ!
                                                                       Раз патрэбна,
                                                                       Раз узяўся,
                                                                       То дрыжаць
                                                                       Не буду сам!..
                                                                       — Што, сынок,
                                                                       Напішам брату? —
                                                                       Мама кінула ўздыхаць.
                                                                       — Прыляціць няхай
                                                                       На сьвята,
                                                                       Ён жа водпуск
                                                                       Можа ўзяць?..
                                                                       Мне пісаць —
                                                                       Двух тыдняў мала,
                                                                       Я зьнямог бы і прыстаў...
                                                                       Мама ручку,
                                                                       Ліст дастала.
                                                                       Фарбы, пэндзаль —
                                                                       Я дастаў.
                                                                       Я, што думаў,
                                                                       Намалюю:
                                                                       Гэта мне
                                                                       Лягчэй, прасьцей.
                                                                       Я працую.
                                                                       Я шчырую...
                                                                       Ёсьць малюнак на лісьце!
                                                                       ...Лес дрымучы.
                                                                       Шпалы. Рэйкі.
                                                                       Домік нізкі.
                                                                       І касьцёр.
                                                                       Я стаю
                                                                       Каля Андрэя,—
                                                                       Брат
                                                                       Паказвае ў прастор.
                                                                       А ў прасторы,
                                                                       Перад намі —
                                                                       Сонца ўсход,
                                                                       Блакіт нябёс...
                                                                        “Я і брат Андрэй на БАМе” —
                                                                       Вывеў я
                                                                       Крыху наўскос.
                                                                       Брат, малюнак атрымаўшы,
                                                                       Можа, скеміць,—
                                                                       І здалёк,
                                                                       Згоды ў мамы
                                                                       Не спытаўшы,
                                                                       Выклік дасьць:
                                                                        “Імчы, браток!..”
                                                                       Мама ўцешна
                                                                       Пазірае:
                                                                       — Болей брату напішы.
                                                                       Твой малюнак
                                                                       Атрымае —
                                                                       Стане цёпла на душы...



                                                                          ДАВЕДКА
   Мікола Мікалаевіч Чарняўскі нар. 16 студзеня 1943 г. у в. Буда-Люшаўская Буда-Кашалёўскага раёну Гомельскай вобласьці БССР (СССР), у сялянскай сям’і.
    Скончыў Беліцкую сярэднюю школу ў Рагачоўскім раёне, а ў 1966 годзе – вячэрняе аддзяленьне філфака БДУ імя У. І. Леніна. Адначасова з вучобай ва унівэрсытэце працаваў у рэдакцыі газэты “Піянер Беларусі”, рэдактарам зарубежнага вяшчаньня Беларускага радыё. Ад 1966 па 2007 г. – у рэдакцыях часопісаў “Бярозка” і “Вясёлка”.
    Узнагароджаны мэдалём Францыска Скарыны, Граматай Вярхоўнага Савета БССР. Выдатнік народнай асьветы. Выдатнік друку Беларусі. Ганаровы член Саюза пісьменьнікаў Беларусі.
    Суматра Калупайка,
    Койданава.