inkpoint (inkpoint) wrote,

  • Music:

пока не кончилась вода


Это фрагмент дневника лётчика, который неделю провёл в пустыне у разбитого самолёта, в надежде что его найдут и спасут. Его нашли - скелет под крылом самолёта, - через 29 лет. Бортжурнал, который он вёл всю неделю, пока не кончилась вода, был привязан под крылом самолёта.  Под катом - ссылки на текст дневника и дайджест на английском.

Текст дневника, в советском переводе 1976-го года, со статьёй Льва Василевского:

То же с современными комментариями:

Дайджест на английском:

И не могу удержаться, песня (или просто стихи).  

The Westbound Mail  (1925)

A drizzlin rain was falling
A nearby clock tolled eight.
They watched the sky with an eager eye
For the Westbound mail was late.

The rain beat down on the old tin roof
The hangar chief stood by.
Then the drumming tone of a motor’s drone
Came from the misty sky.

The beacon sent its welcome beam
To the rider of the night,
’N he brought her down to the soggy ground
Up to the landing light.

They swap the mail ’n shout “Okay”
Then she roars n’lifts her tail.
She’s up again in the snow ’n rain
On with the Westbound mail.

The dim, blurred lights of a city
Loom in the space below.
Their work is done but the mail flies on
And on, through the blinding snow.

The rain is freezing on her wings.
She seems to feel the weight.
It’ll soon be dawn but she staggers on
Hopin’she won’t be late.

The crystals stick on the windshield
Formin’a silvery veil.
Icy struts ’n a man with guts
’N a sack 0’Westbound mail.

Over the peak of a mountain now,
Clear 0’the treacherous rim,
Away up there in the cold night air,
Just God ’n the mail ’n him.

His thoughts turn back to a summer night
’N a girl, not so long ago
Who shook her head ’n firmly said,
“As long as you’re flying, no.”

He tried to quit the bloomin’job
’N stick to the concrete trail,
But the wish came back for the canvas sack
’n the feel 0’the Westbound mail.

The wind kept whisperin’secrets
It had heard the stars confide,
So back he went to the big blue tent
Back to the long, black ride.

The sleet ’n snow were far behind,
Before the night was gone.
Out of the rain the gray dawn came
’N found him flyin’on.

He tilted her stick ’n banked her in
She seemed to feel the gun,
’N voiced her wrath at the cinder path
At the end of a perfect run.

The three points touched ’n she taxied in
Up to the hangar rail.
He stretched a grin as they checked him in
“On time” with the Westbound mail.

И вот ещё, молитва жены лётчика:
The Airport Widow’s Prayer

O Lord,
After you have safely delivered my birdman to
the field
please guide him
Past the Lounge
Past the Bar
Past Old Friends
Through traffic
Safely to our door
Tags: текст

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