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Владимир Высоцкий "Прерванный полёт"

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Uploaded on Jul 23, 2009

Прерванный полёт

Кто-то высмотрел плод, что неспел, неспел,
Потрусили за ствол - он упал, упал...
Вот вам песня о том, кто не спел, не спел,
И что голос имел - не узнал, не узнал.

Может, были с судьбой нелады, нелады,
И со случаем плохи дела, дела,
А тугая струна на лады, на лады
С незаметным изъяном легла.

Он начал робко - с ноты "до",
Но не допел ее не до...
Недозвучал его аккорд, аккорд
И никого не вдохновил...
Собака лаяла, а кот
Мышей ловил...

Смешно! Не правда ли, смешно! Смешно!
А он шутил - недошутил,
Недораспробовал вино
И даже недопригубил.

Он пока лишь затеивал спор, спор
Неуверенно и не спеша,
Словно капельки пота из пор,
Из-под кожи сочилась душа.

Только начал дуэль на ковре,
Еле-еле, едва приступил.
Лишь чуть-чуть осмотрелся в игре,
И судья еще счет не открыл.

Он хотел знать все от и до,
Но не добрался он, не до...
Ни до догадки, ни до дна,
Не докопался до глубин,
И ту, которая одна,
Не долюбил, не долюбил!

Смешно, не правда ли, смешно?
А он спешил - недоспешил.
Осталось недорешено,
Все то, что он недорешил.

Ни единою буквой не лгу -
Он был чистого слога слуга,
И писал ей стихи на снегу,-
К сожалению, тают снега.

Но тогда еще был снегопад
И свобода писать на снегу.
И большие снежинки и град
Он губами хватал на бегу.

Но к ней в серебряном ландо
Он не добрался и не до...
Не добежал, бегун-беглец,
Не долетел, не доскакал,
А звездный знак его - Телец -
Холодный Млечный Путь лакал.

Смешно, не правда ли, смешно,
Когда секунд недостает,-
Недостающее звено -
И недолет, и недолет.

Смешно, не правда ли? Ну, вот,-
И вам смешно, и даже мне.
Конь на скаку и птица влет,-
По чьей вине, по чьей вине?

1973

Aborted Flight

Someone spotted a fruit still young
Shook the trunk of the tree it fell
I'll sing of the one who left songs unsung
Never learned if his voice would excel

Maybe Fate wouldn't cover his bets
And he got poor luck of the draw
Taut strings settled down on frets
With a barely visible flaw

He started with a cautious beat




But never managed to complete
Unfinished cord rung out flat
Did not inspire or entice
A dog was barking while some cat
Was hunting mice

It is ironic, don't you think?
He left unfinished jokes and quips
He left untasted golden drink
And didn't even wet his lips

For debates he just opened the doors
Still unsure and slow to begin
And like droplets of sweat though the pores
His soul seeped right from under the skin

Only barely started to aim
Only barely stepped on the floor
Hardly even got into the game
And the judge hadn't opened the score

He reached for knowledge A to Z
But his ascent was not to be
No revelations to impart
The well of wisdom hardly drilled
And love for she who held his heart
Left unfulfilled

It is ironic, don't you think?




Stopped rushing hands on broken dial
And still remain out of synch
All that he did not reconcile

From my lips not a falsehood could flow:
For the pure verse fervor he felt
Wrote poems for her in the snow
But regrettably, snow poems melt

At the time blizzards dumped by the bale
There was freedom to write in the snow
And the biggest snowflakes and hail
He would catch with his lips on the go

He rode a silver-clad landau
But never made it to her door
He ran, but did not break confine
He flew, but only reached partway
While Taurus, his celestial sign
Was lapping frigid Milky Way

It is ironic, don't you think?
When by few seconds one falls short
When just a single missing link
Makes flight abort

Ironic, isn't it? Alright,
You laugh, and I cannot refrain
Horse in mid-race, bird in mid-flight
Who is to blame?

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