Wednesday, June 29, 2022

Translation into Modern English of MARSHAK Translation into Modern Russian of SHAKESPEARE Sonnet No. 129

 


Samuil Marshak

(1887-1964)

 

Translation into Modern Russian of Shakespeare Sonnet No. 129

Издержки духа и стыда растрата -

Вот сладострастье в действии. Оно

Безжалостно, коварно, бесновато,

Жестоко, грубо, ярости полно.

 

Утолено, - влечет оно презренье,

В преследованье не жалеет сил.

И тот лишен покоя и забвенья,

Кто невзначай приманку проглотил.

 

Безумное, само с собой в раздоре,

Оно владеет иль владеют им.

В надежде - радость, в испытанье - горе,

А в прошлом - сон, растаявший, как дым.

 

Все это так. Но избежит ли грешный

Небесных врат, ведущих в ад кромешный?

 

d

 

Literal Translation

 

Expenditure of spirit and squandering of shame—

That’s lust [voluptuousness] in action. It is

Pitiless, crafty, devilish,

Cruel, rude, full of fury.

 

Once slaked, it entails [results in] contempt,

In pursuit [of one] it does not spare any effort.

And he who by chance swallows the bait

Is deprived of peace and forgetfulness.

 

Insane, at odds with its very self,

It either masters (possesses) [one] or is mastered.

Hoping [for it] is joy, putting it to the test [assaying it] is grief,

And once past it’s a dream that dissipates like smoke.

 

All of that is so. But can a sinner avoid

Those heavenly gates that lead to the pitch black of Hades?


d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

Disbursement of spirit and shame’s dissipation—

Those are the workings of unbridled lust,

Which is pitiless, crafty, devilish vexation,

Crude and uncouth, frenzied mayhem in musth.

 

Once slaked, leaving taste that’s abhorrent, derisible,

Lust spares no effort when sensing the spoor.

Deprived of all peace and on edge, sorely miserable

Is he who by happenstance swallows the lure.

 

One maddened with lust possesses tempestuously;

He’s insatiable, ravenous, avid always.  

He strives for it joyfully, suffers it grievously,

And when the deed’s done what was bliss is but haze.

 

All that is so. But can sinning souls shun

The heavenly lewdness that’s hell when it’s done?



                                          SHAKESPEARE SONNET NO. 129

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action: and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad.
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.



d

Paraphrase in Modern English

(From the website No Sweat Shakespeare)

Squandering vital energy in a wasteland of moral decay is what satisfying one’s lust amounts to. And in the anticipation of it lust makes one dishonest, murderous, violent, blameworthy, savage, extreme, rude and not to be trusted. As soon as its goal has been achieved one despises it. It’s hunted beyond reason and as soon as it’s had it’s hated beyond reason, like an irresistible bait put in front of one on purpose to make the taker mad. One is crazy in the pursuit of sex, and during sex too: having had it, having it and hunting for it one goes to extremes. It’s blissful while it’s happening and a true sorrow afterwards – before an anticipated joy, afterwards nothing but a dream. Everyone knows this very well, yet no-one knows it well enough to avoid the heaven that leads men to this hell.

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Translator’s Note

(U.R. Bowie)

My usual method in working on Shakespeare’s sonnets by way of Russian translations: I depend solely on the Russian version, not peeking in advance at the original in old English. One unfortunate consequence is that if the Russian translation contains serious inaccuracies I perpetuate these in my modern English translation.

 

Marshak’s translations of Shakespeare’s sonnets are wonderful, and one can only marvel at how he rendered all of them into Russian. His translation of #129 is, for the most part, faithful to the original; he comes up with some lovely lines. But it seems to me that in the first two lines of the third quatrain he goes far astray. Shakespeare’s text here has roughly the following meaning: [One afflicted with lust is] mad while pursuing his goal and remains mad while possessing it (engaged in copulation)/ [He is] extreme, a maximalist having had sexual concourse, while in the process of having it and in its quest to have it. The “having had” presents a problem, a contradiction in Shakespeare’s text. Why? Because the gist of the whole sonnet suggests that “having had” sex one is in for a letdown. Take, for just one example, Shakespeare’s line # 5: “Enjoyed no sooner but despisèd straight.”

 

How does Marshak render these first two lines of the third quatrain? Like this: [Lust is] mad, at odds with its very self/[Lust] either masters (possesses) one or is mastered itself. Here the meaning deviates radically from the original text. Shakespeare never says anything about how lust is at odds with itself. On the contrary. Lust always knows what it wants; lust rages on in a straight line toward its goal, intolerant of resistance and suffering no inner contradictions. It is the human being consumed by lust who is divided egregiously within him/herself. Shakespeare also says nothing about how lust either possesses one or is defeated (possessed, mastered). Again on the contrary. Nothing in the original suggests that one can master lust.

 

Given these radical deviations from the original, in translating Marshak’s poem I have done something I do not usually do. I have gone back to the original and tried to render in my variant something closer to the meaning of that original. Of course I do not capture perfectly the sense of the original either, but such is the nature of literary translation.

 

d

Online commentary quotes several pertinent passages, which suggest that the central idea of this poem—disillusionment with sexual intercourse—was already well-established long before Shakespeare’s time. One example is the folk proverb: “Omne animal post coitum triste est” (any animal after coitus feels sad).

 

Ben Jonson’s translation from the Latin of Petronius is contemporaneous with Shakespeare:

“Doing a filthy pleasure is, and short,

And done, we straight repent us of the sport.”





Saturday, June 25, 2022

UNDER THE AUSPICES, from Bobby Goosey's Nonsense Verse for Kids

                                                                    Delo on Pixabay


Bobby Goosey

 

Under the Auspices

(An Invitation)

 

Come and join your colleagues for a red-hot fling and whing-ding,

With stinging and singing and whing-ding pinging,

With raspeses of haspeses and lots and lots of gaspeses,

Gaspeses that last and last, no lapseses in gaspeses,

With mobs of mopping mopseses and whirling topless topseses,

With bunny-rabbit hopseses and popcorn-popping popseses.

 

Join us here at Sapseses (see the enclosed mapseses).

Wear your whing-ding capseses with earlobe-flapping flapseses.

Come and sing and sting and ping,

Have a sting-ping singing fling!

This dance, held in aid of midnight-dripping tapseses,

Is under the auspices of ghosteses of waspeses.



Monday, June 20, 2022

Translation into Modern English of Boris Pasternak's Russian Translation of Shakespeare Sonnet No. 73

                                                               Image by Zayda C. on Pixabay


Boris Pasternak

(1890-1960)

 

Translation into Modern Russian of Shakespeare’s Sonnet No. 73

То время года видишь ты во мне,

Когда из листьев редко где какой, 

Дрожа, желтеет в веток голизне, 

А птичий свист везде сменил покой. 


Во мне ты видишь бледный край небес, 

Где от заката памятка одна, 

И, постепенно взявши перевес, 

Их опечатывает темнота. 


Во мне ты видишь то сгоранье пня, 

Когда зола, что пламенем была, 

Становится могилою огня, 

А то, что грело, изошло дотла. 


И, это видя, помни: нет цены 

Свиданьям, дни которых сочтены.

 

d

 

Literal Translation

 

You see in me that time of year (season)

When of the leaves only one or two,

Tremble yellow amidst the nakedness of branches,

And [silent] calm has replaced the sound of birdsong.

 

In me you see the pallid edge of the skies,

Where of the sunset [there remains] little but a memory [memorandum],

And, gradually achieving ascendancy,

Darkness seals them [the skies] up.

 

In me you see the burning away of a tree stump,

When cinders that were flame

Become the grave of the fire,

And that which warmed one has dissipated into ashes.

 

And seeing [all of] this, remember: priceless

Are the meetings [time spent together] of those whose days are numbered.

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation (into Modern English) by U.R. Bowie

 

You look at me and see that time of year

When withered leaves await their sad decease,

When yellowed, trembling, hang they on in fear,

And sounds of birdsong yield to silent peace.

 

You look at me and see the sky’s pale rim,

Where sunset’s light diminished fades away,

And gradually, as dimmer goes more dim,

Dark night seals up the doors of what was day.

 

In me you see a burning stump expire,

You watch the embers that just now were flame,

As they become the grave of what was fire,

And ashes victory over warmth proclaim.

 

And seeing this, remember, precious be

The time that’s all too short for you and me.   

 

                                                         Shakespeare Sonnet No. 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

 

d

 

Modern English Paraphrase

(from website No Sweat Shakespeare)

 You may see that time of year in me when few, or no, yellow leaves hang on those branches that shiver in the cold bare ruins of the choir stalls where sweet birds sang so recently. You see, in me, the twilight of a day, after the sun has set in the west, extinguished by the black night that imitates Death, which closes everything in rest. You see in me the glowing embers that are all that is left of the fire of my youth – the deathbed on which youth must inevitably die, consumed by the life that once fed it. This is something you can see, and it gives your love the strength deeply to love that which you have to lose soon.

 

 


 


Thursday, June 16, 2022

Translation into Modern English of Marshak's Russian translation of SHAKESPEARE, SONNET NO. 90

 


Top of Form

Bottom of Form

Вильям Шекспир. Сонеты (в переводе Маршака)

Samuil Marshak

(1887-1964)

William Shakespeare, Sonnet No. 90

 

Уж если ты разлюбишь - так теперь,

Теперь, когда весь мир со мной в раздоре.

Будь самой горькой из моих потерь,

Но только не последней каплей горя!

 

И если скорбь дано мне превозмочь,

Не наноси удара из засады.

Пусть бурная не разрешится ночь

Дождливым утром - утром без отрады.

 

Оставь меня, но не в последний миг,

Когда от мелких бед я ослабею.

Оставь сейчас, чтоб сразу я постиг,

Что это горе всех невзгод больнее,

 

Что нет невзгод, а есть одна беда -

Твоей любви лишиться навсегда.

 

d

Literal Translation

 

If you stop loving me, then [do it] now,

Now, when I’m at odds with all the world.

Be the most bitter of my losses,

Only don’t be the final drop of grief!

 

And if it’s given to me to overcome sorrow,

Don’t deliver a blow from some ambush spot.

Let the turbulent night not end up as

A rainy morning—a morning without joy.

 

Leave me, but not at the final moment,

When I’ve become weakened from petty woes.

Leave me now, so that I might straightaway comprehend

That of all the adversities this grief is the most painful,

 

That there are no adversities, but there is one true calamity:

To be deprived of your love for all time.

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

If you’re to bid farewell to loving me,

Act now, when I’m at odds with all mankind.

Of my vile miseries the most bitter be,

But not the one that leaves all hopes behind.  

 

If I’m to have a chance to cope with grief,

Don’t strike me unawares from ambuscade.

For turbulence of night I would as lief

To see the sunrise ease and mitigate.

 

So leave me then, but not when strife has bent me,

When pettiness and spite my will depleted.

Leave me today, so I can plainly see

That here’s the pain most painful, most deep-seated;

 

All other doleful woes that now seem woe,

Compared to losing you are far from so.

 

 

d

 

Shakespeare Sonnet No. 90

 

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
Ah! do not, when my heart hath ‘scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come: so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune’s might;
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so.

 

d

Paraphrase in Modern English

(from Online site, No Sweat Shakespeare)

So hate me whenever it pleases you, but if you are going to, do it now – now while the world is determined to frustrate all my actions. Join with the spitefulness of Fortune, make me bow under the burden, but don’t come and bite me from behind just when I’ve got over this particular blow. Don’t be a rainy morning after a stormy night, drawing out the defeat that you’re determined to impose on me. If you’re going to go, don’t leave it to the end, when other small sorrows have done their worst but do it at the beginning so that I’ll experience the very worst misfortune first. Then other painful things that are hurting now won’t seem so bad compared with the loss of you.