Biography Ravil Shammas

I was looking for a man to cut it to us, I myself could not chop it, I was a boy ... Father often talked about life in the rear during the Great Patriotic War. About work on a collective farm, hunger and hardships, about families of evacuated Ukrainians with whom the soul lived in the soul. He recalled how a boy harnessed a cow in the plow, how to pass cattle with an armpit textbook, about his early growing up.

And often with a special bitterness he said how to then meet a real man on the street, not an old man, not a woman, not a teenager, but a man. And as one blessed night, all seven children, sobbing with happiness, rushed to Sahiulla, who returned from the front after a wound. And he, trying to stay on crutches, hugged his whole family tightly. The theme of war for the father was a saint.

She permeates all his work. He came to great literature with his “lights” about the labor feat of women and children in the rear. This poem, which immediately received the recognition of such masters as Mustai Karim and Rami Garipov, was included in the list of “mandatory reading works of Bashkir literature”. And his “Mom, tell me about my father ...”, in my opinion, one of the best poems about the tragedy of war.

And there are many other verses, poems, stories about the feat of the Soviet people. This is a special view of a wartime teenager, the hardshop of the rear - his father was very proud of his medal "For Valiant Labor during the Great Patriotic War - Years." The nationality of the literature was for the Sacred Father. He could argue with any critic and for hours to prove that the nationality is the cornerstone of creativity.

And he saw her in his own way.

The nationality, according to Shammas, is a love of its heroes and its readers. And love implies that you respect them, do not dare to bring them, try to support everything in everything. He tried to delight the reader with his “kind, radiant creativity”, as academician Gays Husainov wrote. If you are a genius, people themselves will tell you about this, ”he told his students.

He did not like arrogant intellectual games with the public. If you can’t write and just talk about the difficult, then you are worthless. And he himself tried to convey to the reader eternal truths in a real human language. As his father and mother said. As the front -line soldiers said. As his friends and beloved fellow villagers said. As his land said, his homeland.

And he transferred this language to his literary planet. As I wrote in the poem "My Star": I do not make your golden mountains, I do not promise the eternal benefits of great. I will give you, people, a seed of kindness and a bright ray will light you on the road, so that you have a light step and your step is a step when you go through fire and water. My melodies are not in heaven, they sing nature to my land.

I do not need an empty praise - to get you unquenchable light from the sky. My star,.