Mikhail Doroshin, A Poem about Hate. March 29, 1933

This poem was one of the first off many to appear during the media campaign to elevate little Pavlik to saintly status.

Original Source: "Pavlik Morozov. Iz Poemy o nenavisti," Pionerskaia pravda, 29 March 1933.

Pale lakes
And
The taiga woods.
From the country, the city
Is as far off as heaven.
There's no place remoter
Around the Urals.
It was here,
Pavlusha,
Your life ran its course.
You crack the door open
And beasts barge in
For a visit
With a litter of cubs.
With a friendly roar:
Hi!
They're back in the woods.
But the village predators
Have sharper teeth.

His uncle's army hat
Make his head feel too small.
But still Pashka
Has big things to do.
Pavlik neatly chops
Firewood for Mother.
Pavlik learns new words
For school.
He plays hide-and-seek
Or leap-frog,
But his notebooks
Are heavy
With all his thoughts.
Outside the village
The sunset is settling
In its nest
Like a bird,
But Pavlusha is rushing
Off to his Pioneer troop.
Then he hears
The trumpet's
Muted wail.
"What should we do, Pavlusha?
What should we do?"
Pavlik gives the boys
A spirited answer:
"I will be
The leader,
Since there's nobody else!"
In his calm and simple manner
He calls them into ranks:
"Line up by height,
And march off after me!"

The swamp's all around-
He's scared to take a step.
Then someone blocks
The Pioneer's path.
Like a fog,
Or shadow,
And whispers
Like a deaf-mute:
"Get down
On your knees!"
Maybe it's the wind,
Or maybe-No,
Pashka sees
His granddad.
Kulikanov stands
Right behind his back,
And the men surround
Pavlik like a wall.
"Listen to your elders!
Chuck the Pioneers!"
And they point their fists
At Pavlik.

And just like they're singing:
"Pavlik! Pashka! Pash!
No matter what, you be
Ours! Ours! Ours!"
They wave their fists at him
Like a big oak club.
"If you don't become ours,
Then we'll kill you."
Let them roar
Like thunder.
Pavlik Morozov
Can't be scared off
By his enemies' threats.

They looked around.
The village sleeps.
At table in the soviet
The chairman sits.
By the window Pashka
Looks into the depths.
The chairman writes papers
For the kulaks.
The words are a flourish,
The seal is a wheel.
Again they can steal
And not answer for it!
It's alright to embezzle
Again.
Stop! Don't!
Pavlik could scream...
The soviet's empty.
How can he find
The traitor's
just desserts.
If his very own
father
Is chairman.
All around
are lakes
and the taiga forest.
From the country, the city
Is as far off as heaven.
And Pavlik decides:
"I'll go to the raikom
And force my father
To answer the court.
Let father tell us
What protection
He gave kulaks
In the village soviet.
Let him say
Straight
How he helped
The enemy
Dig pits
For the grain.
"Judge him, uncles!
My words are simple!
Answer, parent!"

The court is in session!..
Rise!..

The boys hung up
On a rough-hewn fence
Slogans and posters
That proclaim:
For shame!
The house
Is branded
With burning
Shame.
Everyone knows
The fences, and
Which hides
A thief.
Kulikanov
Can see
Them dance
In a circle,
And everyone's
Finger
Is pointed at him.
Their merry laughter
Angers
And wounds him.
They're all
Even singing
The very same song.
And all of their shirts
Are abloom with red ties:
"Pashka! Pashka! Pashka!
Here! There! Everywhere!"

They gathered nicely
In a neighborly way.
Good times, Danila!
Have a good time!
That pre-war brew
Is some pretty strong stuff!
And hey, sing a song
For the funeral day!
And while the fool
Cranked up the crowd,
Pavlik and Fedya
Went out to the woods.

Danila's head
Was spinning
With wine.
Danila
Can't feel
His hands
Or feet.
His uncle
Sergei
Burns
For revenge.
He blesses Danila:
"God be with you!
Don't get chicken!
Kill him!"
The knife was on fire
Like it
Was drunk too!
What happened?
What's that?
Pavlik, what's wrong?
Oh, no!
He cries out
And falls:
"Fedik!
Run!
They're not kith-
They're vipers!
They're not kin-
They're enemies!
Run!"
Grandpa grabs little Fedya:
"Stop,
You're not going anywhere!"
The blade of the knife
Catches in his thin shirt.

The branches shake
On a mossy pine tree,
Two brothers lie still
At the foot of the tree.
The pine is touched
By their awful peace:
What's this?

Silence.

Muter and muter
Stand the woods round the boys.
Pavlusha won't be going
To the Pioneers anymore.
Joyful and curly,
He won't come to school.
But his great glory
Will outlive everything.
"Pavlik is with us,
Pashka the Communist!"
Out in front, like a banner,
Friendly and merry.
(That's how
Everyone should live).
How much
Every schoolchild
Resembles him
Somehow.
All of their shirts
Are abloom with red ties:
"Pashka! Pashka! Pashka!
Here! There! Everywhere!"

Source: James von Geldern and Richard Stites, eds., Mass Culture in Soviet Russia (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1995), pp. 153-156.