Translation of Marshak Translation of Shakespeare's Sonnet No. 56

 

Shakespeare Sonnet No. 56

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay’d,
To-morrow sharpened in his former might:
So, love, be thou, although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
As call it winter, which being full of care,
Makes summer’s welcome, thrice more wished, more rare.

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Line glosses:

Line 1: love, here meaning the spirit of love, not the beloved person

Line 2: edge: keenness; appetite: lust

Line 6: wink: shut in sleep

Line 9: sad interim: period of estrangement, or period of being apart

Line 10: two contracted new: two lovers newly betrothed

d

 

 

У. Шекспир
Sonnet No. 56

Samuil Marshak translation

Проснись, любовь! Твое ли острие
Тупей, чем жало голода и жажды?
Как ни обильны яства и питье,
Нельзя навек насытиться однажды.

Так и любовь. Ее голодный взгляд
Сегодня утолен до утомленья,
А завтра снова ты огнем объят,
Рожденным для горенья, а не тленья!

Чтобы любовь была нам дорога,
Пусть океаном станет час разлуки,
Пусть двое, выходя на берега,
Один к другому простирают руки.

Пусть зимней стужей будет этот час,
Чтобы весна теплей согрела нас.

(Перевод сонета )
Самуил Маршак

 

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Literal Translation of Marshak Translation

Awaken, love! Is your blade

Duller than the sting of hunger and thirst?

No matter how bountiful the spread of food and drink,

It’s impossible to eat enough at one sitting to fill you up for all time.

 

So too is love. Its hungering gaze

May today be sated to the point of languishment,

But tomorrow you’ll be enveloped once more in fire,

Born to burn, and not to rot!

 

So that love might be dear to us,

Let the hour of our parting be vast as an ocean,

Let the two us, going out onto the shore,

Stretch hands out to one another.

 

Let that hour be like unto the winter chill,

So that the spring warm us even warmer.

 

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Literary Translation/Adaptation of Marshak Translation by U.R. Bowie

Awaken, love! Could be thy sharpened blade

Is duller than the sting of thirst or hunger?

Though bountiful be food and drink purveyed,

At just one meal all wants one can’t discumber.

 

So too is love. Its ravening fey gaze

Today may sate itself and fade away,

Tomorrow, though, you’ll writhe in fiery blaze,

You’re born, you see, to burn and not decay!

 

So that love be precious, ever dear,

Let vast as seascapes be our parting hour,

Let each of us stretch hands till hands cohere,

Pledge troth, the air with fervent love embower.

 

That hour let be like as winter chill,

Still warmer then will be spring’s bloom and trill.

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From Website “No Sweat Shakespeare”

 

Sonnet 56 in modern English

Sweet Love, renew the strength you once had. Don’t let it be said that your love is blunter than lust, which can be only temporarily allayed by satisfaction and comes back the next day, even stronger and sharper. Be like that, Love. Although you see so much of your love today that you want to shut your eyes with satiety, open them again tomorrow and don’t kill the love you have in you by blunting it. Let this sad separation be like the ocean between two shores, where two newly betrothed lovers come daily to the banks, and when they catch the occasional sight of each other, feel more blessed. Or call this period of separation winter, which being so miserable, makes the beginning of summer, so longed for, so much more special.

The 1609 Quarto Sonnet 56 version

SWeet loue renew thy force, be it not ſaid
Thy edge ſhould blunter be then apetite,
Which but too daie by feeding is alaied,
To morrow ſharpned in his former might.
So loue be thou, although too daie thou fill
Thy hungry eies, euen till they winck with fulneſſe,
Too morrow ſee againe, and doe not kill
The ſpirit of Loue, with a perpetual dulneſſe:
Let this ſad Intrim like the Ocean be
Which parts the ſhore, where two contracted new,
Come daily to the banckes, that when they ſee:
Returne of loue, more bleſt may be the view.
As cal it Winter, which being ful of care,
Makes Somers welcome, thrice more wiſh’d, more rare.

 

Translation of Marshak Translation of Shakespeare's Sonnet No. 116

 

William Shakespeare, Sonnet No. 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments, love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come,
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

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William Shakespeare, Sonnet No. 116

Translated by Samuil Marshak

 

Перевод: С.Я. Маршак

Мешать соединенью двух сердец
Я не намерен. Может ли измена
Любви безмерной положить конец?
Любовь не знает убыли и тлена.

Любовь – над бурей поднятый маяк,
Не меркнущий во мраке и тумане.
Любовь – звезда, которою моряк
Определяет место в океане.

Любовь – не кукла жалкая в руках
У времени, стирающего розы
На пламенных устах и на щеках,
И не страшны ей времени угрозы.

А если я не прав и лжет мой стих,
То нет любви – и нет стихов моих!

Literal Translation of Marshak Translation

To hinder the merging of two hearts

I do not intend; can betrayal of

A limitless love put an end to it?

Love knows no diminution nor decay.

 

Love is a lighthouse raised above a storm,

Which fades not in darkness nor in fog.

Love is the lodestar, by which a seaman

Determines his location in the ocean.

 

Love is not a pitiful doll in the hands

Of time, which wipes away the rose

On the fiery lips and on the cheeks,

And she [love] fears not the threats of time.

 

And if I am wrong and my verse lies,

Then there is no love—and my verses don’t exist!

 

 

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation of Marshak Translation by U.R. Bowie

To part the meld of two hearts intermingled

I do not wish; if boundless love one chances to betray,

Are hearts that once were blended once more singled?

No. Love knows not diminution nor decay.

 

Love is like a lighthouse standing tall above a storm;

Love’s beam fades not in darkness, nor in fog.

Love is polar star by which a seaman sails past harm,

Succor’s benefactor and bright hope’s fond analog.

 

Love is not a wretched fool that time torments and tweaks,

While wiping sheen of rose from aging lips,

And dimming fervent fire on a lover’s ardent cheeks.

Love feels no threat, knows time won’t love eclipse. 

And if my words are false and my verse lies,

There’s no such thing as love, and this poem dies!

 

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From the Website “No Sweat Shakespeare”

Sonnet 116: Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds

Shakespeare’s sonnet 116 can be seen as the definitive response to the ‘what is love’ question. The language of the sonnet is as deep and profound as any philosopher’s could be, expressed in the most beautiful language. Love is given an identity as an immortal force, which overcomes age, death, and time itself. Love, unlike the physical being, is not subject to decay.

Shakespeare employs an amazing array of poetic devices throughout the sonnet to convey the eternal nature of love, and ends by staking everything on his observations by asserting that if he is wrong, then no-one ever wrote anything, and no-one ever loved. And in sonnet 116 – as with all of his sonnets – Shakespeare manages to squeeze all of these thoughts and words into just fourteen lines.

Sonnet 116 Explanation In Modern English

I would not admit that anything could interfere with the union of two people who love each other. Love that alters with changing circumstances is not love, nor if it bends from its firm state when someone tries to destroy it. Oh no, it’s an eternally fixed point that watches storms but is never itself shaken by them. It is the star by which every lost ship can be guided: one can calculate its distance but not gauge its quality. Love doesn’t depend on Time, although the rosy lips and cheeks of youth eventually come within the compass of Time’s sickle. Love doesn’t alter as the days and weeks go by but endures until death. If I’m wrong about this then I’ve never written anything and no man has ever loved.

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From shakespeareonline.com

SONNET 116 PARAPHRASE

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Let me not declare any reasons why two True-minded people should not be married. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Which changes when it finds a change in circumstances, Or bends with the remover to remove: Or bends from its firm stand even when a lover is unfaithful: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark! it is a lighthouse That looks on tempests and is never shaken; That sees storms but it never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Love is the guiding north star to every lost ship, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Whose value cannot be calculated, although its altitude can be measured. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Love is not at the mercy of Time, though physical beauty Within his bending sickle's compass come: Comes within the compass of his sickle. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, Love does not alter with hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. But, rather, it endures until the last day of life. If this be error and upon me proved, If I am proved wrong about these thoughts on love I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Then I recant all that I have written, and no man has ever [truly] loved.

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Translator’s Comments

(U.R. Bowie)

You wonder to what extent a writer whose native language was not English understood some of the sixteen-century words, which often present huge problems even for native speakers. Marshak does, nonetheless, capture the gist of the original. For me the use of the word doll (kukla) in the next-to-last stanza strikes a false note: “love is not a pitiful doll in the hands of time.” Shakespeare is saying, quite clearly here, “love is not Time’s fool,” so I see no need to bring in the image of a doll. Only Marshak could tell us where and why he came up with that. To fix the problem he would have to change only one word in one line: kukla (doll) to dura (fool): Любовь – не кукла (дура) жалкая в руках/ У времени . . . I made that change for him in my translation.

Samuil Marshak

Translating Marshak's Translation of Shakespeare's Sonnet #81 Back Into English

 

Перевод Самуила Яковлевича Маршака

Samuil Marshak

(1887-1964)

Translation into Russian of Shakespeare’s Sonnet #81

 

Тебе ль меня придется хоронить
Иль мне тебя, - не знаю, друг мой милый.
Но пусть судьбы твоей прервется нить,
Твой образ не исчезнет за могилой.

Ты сохранишь и жизнь и красоту,
А от меня ничто не сохранится.
На кладбище покой я обрету,
А твой приют - открытая гробница.

Твой памятник - восторженный мой стих.
Кто не рожден еще, его услышит.
И мир повторит повесть дней твоих,
Когда умрут все те, кто ныне дышит.

Ты будешь жить, земной покинув прах,
Там, где живет дыханье, - на устах!

 

 

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Literal Translation of Modern Russian (Back into Modern English)

Will it be up to you to bury me

Or me to bury you? I don’t know, my dear friend.

But though the thread of your destiny be broken,

Your image will not disappear beyond the grave.

 

You’ll preserve both your life and your beauty,

While of me nothing will be preserved.

In graveyard I shall attain to peace,

While your refuge will be an open sepulchre.

 

Your monument is my ecstatic verse.

He not yet born will hear it.

And the world will repeat the tale of your days,

When all those who breathe today are dead.

 

You will live on, having left behind your earthly dust,

There where breath lives: on lips!

 

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

 

Will my lot be dear you, my friend, to bury,

Or will you be the one to me immure?

But though fate lead you but to naught and nary,

Beyond the grave your image will endure.

 

Your life and beauty both shall be sustained,

While of me void and emptiness persever.

In graveyard and at peace I’ll lie constrained,

But your tomb will be airy, open ever.

 

Your monument will be my verses’ glory,

He not yet born my poems will hear, esteem.

The world will tell and retell your life’s story,

When men who breathe today are mist and dream.

 

You’ll live on after flesh’s apocalypse,

Where breath dwells ever moistly, on men’s lips!

 

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Shakespeare, Sonnet No. 81

 

Or I shall live your epitaph to make
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten.
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die.
The Earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombèd in men’s eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o’erread;
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this world are dead.
You still shall live—such virtue hath my pen—
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.

 

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The 1609 Quarto Version

OR I fhall liue your Epitaph to make,
Or you ſuruiue when I in earth am rotten,
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortall life ſhall haue,
Though I ( once gone) to all the world muſt dye,
The earth can yeeld me but a common graue,
When you intombed in mens eyes ſhall lye,
Your monument ſhall be my gentle verſe,
Which eyes not yet created ſhall ore-read,
And toungs to be, your beeing ſhall rehearſe,
When all the breathers of this world are dead,
You ſtill ſhal liue (ſuch vertue hath my Pen)
Where breath moſt breaths, euen in the mouths of men. 

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Translator’s Notes

Fearing being overinfluenced by the great, I avoided looking at Shakespeare’s masterpiece while translating Marshak’s Russian translation back into English. Of course, Marshak writes his translations in modern Russian, not attempting what would be for any modern writer a horrendously difficult feat: trying to translate 16^th century English into 16^th century Russian. In his acclaimed translations of Shakespeare’s plays Pasternak has taken the same approach. Given this initial premise, it is no surprise that what I come up with in my modern translation has a multitude of words not in common with the original Shakespeare poem.

Reading the original after completing my effort, chained to Marshak, I cannot help feeling jealous of so many wonderful lines. An interesting lacuna in Marshak; while Shakespeare has a trio of body parts yet to be born engaging in the glorification of his subject—eyes, tongues, mouths—Marshak settles for just one, and that one is a part of the body not specifically mentioned in the original: lips.

A few more points about the original. When reading Shakespeare I always find myself wondering how words were pronounced in his time. The rhymes here—those that are non-rhymes in modern English: have/grave; shall read/dead—provide clues. Judging by his other sonnets, the words love and move, e.g., probably rhymed back then. Maybe most fascinating of all is how many of the words in this poem, now four hundred years old, still retain essentially their same meaning and same pronunciation.

For the life of me I can’t get Shakespeare’s third line to scan metrically, in what is supposed to be iambic pentameter: “From hence your memory death cannot take.” Only way I can make it work is to assume pronunciations that change memory as well as death into two syllables: From hence your mem’ry de-ath cannot take (da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM). I suppose commentators have dealt with this issue somewhere, but in a cursory look at analyses of the poem online, I find no one addressing it. The last line won’t scan either, unless we pronounce even as e’en, which is probably how Shakespeare pronounced it.

                                                                            Kandinsky

Experiment in Reverse Translation, Translating from Samuil Marshak's Russian Robert Burns Back Into English, "COMING THROUGH THE RYE"

                                                                            S.Ya. Marshak

                                  "Coming Through the Rye," Drawing by William Bell Scott

Note: this is an experiment in reverse translation. Marshak translates Robert Burns into Russian, and I translate Marshak’s Russian poem back into English, then compare it with the original. I try not to look at the original in advance, so as not to be influenced by it. But the poem, for all that, is probably one that I’ve read at some time in my life, and it may have left residual rhythms and words somewhere deep in my brain.

                                                                        U.R. Bowie

 

Samuil Marshak

(1887-1964)

 

Из Роберта Бернса

From Robert Burns

(Coming Through the Rye)

Пробираясь до калитки

Полем вдоль межи,

Дженни вымокла до нитки

Вечером во ржи.

 

Очень холодно девчонке,

Бьет девчонку дрожь:

Замочила все юбчонки,

Идя через рожь.

 

Если кто–то звал кого–то

Сквозь густую рожь

И кого–то обнял кто–то,

Что с него возьмешь!

 

И какая вам забота,

Если у межи

Целовался с кем–то кто–то

Вечером во ржи!..

 

 

Literal Translation

Making her way to the wicket gate,

Through the field alongside the verge,

Jenny got drenched all through,

In the evening in the rye.

 

The girl was very cold,

The girl was shivering:

She got her skirts all wet,

Coming through the rye.

 

If someone called out to someone

Through the thick rye,

And someone embraced someone,

What’s to make of that!

 

And what’s for you to be concerned,

If by the boundary verge

Someone kissed another someone

In the evening in the rye!

 

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

Coming Through the Rye

 

Making for the wicket gate,

Through fields whose verge was nigh,

Dripping wet, went Jenny Thwaight,

That evening in the rye.

 

Sodden, chilled, the girl did fret,

She shivered, moaned a sigh,

She got her skirt all sopping wet,

While coming through the rye.

 

If some someone called to someone,

Through the thick, soaked rye,

And someone embraced a someone,

So? What care you and I!

 

And why should you go glower-glum,

If there where verge is nigh,

Kissed someone some other someone,

Some evening in the rye!

 

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Original Words and Commentary from Wikipedia

 

Origin and meaning

G. W. Napier, in an 1876 Notes and Queries, wrote that,

The original words of "Comin' thro' the rye" cannot be satisfactorily traced. There are many different versions of the song. The version which is now to be found in the Works of Burns is the one given in Johnson's Museum, which passed through the hands of Burns; but the song itself, in some form or other, was known long before Burns.^[1]

The protagonist, "Jenny", is not further identified, but there has been reference to a "Jenny from Dalry" and a longstanding legend in the Drakemyre suburb of the town of Dalry, North Ayrshire, holds that "comin thro' the rye" describes crossing a ford through the Rye Water at Drakemyre to the north of the town, downstream from Ryefield House and not far from the confluence of the Rye with the River Garnock.^[2][3] When this story appeared in the Glasgow Herald in 1867, it was soon disputed with the assertion that everyone understood the rye to be a field of rye, wet with dew, which also fits better with other stanzas that substitute "wheat" and "grain" for "rye".^[4] An alternative suggestion is that "the rye" was a long narrow cobblestone paved lane, prone to puddles of water.^[2]

While the original poem is already full of sexual imagery, an alternative version makes this more explicit. It has a different chorus, referring to a phallic "staun o' staunin' graith" (roughly "an erection of astonishing size"), "kiss" is replaced by "fuck", and Jenny's "thing" in stanza four is identified as her "cunt".^[5][6][7]

Burns' Lyrics

O, Jenny's a' weet,^[A] poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry:
She draigl't^[B] a' her petticoatie,
Comin thro' the rye!

Chorus:
Comin thro' the rye, poor body,
Comin thro' the rye,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
Comin thro' the rye!

Gin^[C] a body meet a body
Comin thro' the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?^[D]

(chorus)

Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the glen
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need the warl'^[E] ken?^[F]

(chorus)

Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the grain;
Gin a body kiss a body,
The thing's a body's ain.^[G]

(chorus)

·         ^A weet – wet

·         ^B draigl't – draggled

·         ^C gin – given, in the sense of "if"

·         ^D cry – call out [for help]

·         ^E warl – world

·         ^F ken – know

·         ^G ain – own

Lyrics usually sung ("Ilka lassie")

Even the "cleaner" version of the Burns lyrics is quite bawdy, and it is this one, or an "Anglicized" version of it, that is most commonly "covered".

Gin a body meet a body
Comin' thro' the rye
Gin a body kiss a body
Need a body cry?

Chorus:
Ilka lassie has her laddie
Nane, they say, hae I
Yet a' the lads they smile at me
When comin' thro' the rye.

Gin a body meet a body
Comin' frae the town
Gin a body kiss a body
Need a body frown?

(Chorus)

Gin a body meet a body,
Comin' frae the well,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body tell?

(Chorus)

'Mang the train there is a swain
I dearly lo'e myself
But what his name or whaur his hame
I dinna care to tell

(Chorus)

 

Translator’s Note

Don’t know where Marshak got his English verses for the Burns poem that he “translated.” I’m not one to advocate for literal translation—far from it. My free method of literary poetic translation—down, Nabokov, down big fella, easy there, easy—allows a lot of leeway to the translator, as long as the gist of the original poem is maintained, and the translator produces a genuine poem to translate a poem, not a simple pony.

But while retaining something of the Burns gist, Marshak seems to take huge liberties with the text. To be sure we would have to see the original text that he was working from. Did he have the lines we are provided in the article from Wikipedia? Or some other lines?

One thing he shied away from at the start: he made no attempt to come up with Russian dialect words to translate the Scottish dialect of Burns. That appears to be the most common approach when Russians translate dialect or archaic language.

The Russian translators of Shakespeare do not attempt to find sixteenth century Russian words to translate sixteenth century Shakespearian words. If anyone attempted such a Herculean task it’s doubtful he would have any chance of success. Then again, if you read Pasternak’s translations of Shakespeare’s plays into modern Russian you are certainly losing something very important to Shakespeare’s art: the archaic language.

                                                                            Robert Burns