shakespeare sonnets 127/147/66/113/107/44/129/87/154

 

 

shakespeare sonnets 

순서는 임의대로 정한게 아니라

Robert Wilson의 SHAKESPEARES SONNETTE 

일부를 순서대로 구성한 거에요

 

우리의 좋은 시들도 노래로, 연극으로 만든다면 참 좋을 것 같아요 

 

 

 

 

 

sonnet 127

ORIGINAL TEXT

MODERN TEXT

In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were, it bore not beauty’s name. But now is black beauty’s successive heir, And beauty slandered with a bastard shame. For since each hand hath put on nature’s pow'r, Fairing the foul with art’s false borrowed face, Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bow'r, But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, Sland'ring creation with a false esteem.   Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,   That every tongue says beauty should look so.

In the olden days, dark complexions weren’t considered attractive or, if they were, no one called them beautiful. But now darkness is officially accepted as beautiful, and the fair complexions that used to be called beautiful have gotten a bad reputation. For since everyone has seized the power to make themselves beautiful (which used to belong to nature), and ugly people can be beautiful by artificial means, no one can legitimately be called beautiful. Beauty has no special home but is commonplace or even lives in disgrace. Therefore my mistress’s eyes are as black as a raven, well suited to today’s fashion, and in their blackness they seem to be lamenting those people who were born ugly but make themselves beautiful, giving beauty a bad name by faking it. But her black eyes lament so beautifully that everyone now says all beautiful eyes should look like hers.

 

 

sonnet 147

 

ORIGINAL TEXT

MODERN TEXT

My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desp'rate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic mad with evermore unrest, My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are, At random from the truth vainly expressed;   For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,   Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

My love is like a fever, always making me yearn for what will prolong my disease. It lives on whatever will preserve the illness, in order to prop up my fickle desire. My reasoning has acted as doctor and treated my love, but then it left me because I wasn’t following its instructions. Now that I’m finally desperate enough, I realize that sexual desire, which was against the doctor’s orders, is lethal. Now that my mind is past caring, I’m past the point where I can be cured, and I’ve gone frantically crazy and grown increasingly restless. My thoughts and speech are like a madman’s, pointlessly expressing random untruths. For I have sworn that you’re beautiful and thought you radiant when you’re actually as black as hell and as dark as night.

sonnet 66

 

ORIGINAL TEXT

MODERN TEXT

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, And simple truth miscalled simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill.   Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,   Save that to die, I leave my love alone.

Because I’m tired of all of these things, I cry out for restful death: deserving people destined to be beggars, and worthless people dressed up in fancy clothes, and sacred vows broken, and rewards and honors shamefully bestowed on the wrong people, and chaste women turned into whores, and people perfectly in the right disgraced with slander, and the strong disabled by authorities who are weak, and artists silenced by authority, and fools controlling the wise like a doctor does the sick, and simple truth mistaken for simplemindedness, and good enslaved by evil. I’m tired of all these things and would like to escape them, except that if I die I’ll be leaving the person I love all alone.

 

 

소넷66

 

이 모든 것에 싫증나 나 죽음을 희구하노라

 

재덕(才德)이 걸인(乞人)으로 태어난 것을 보고

 

공허가 화려하게 성장한 것을 보고,

 

순진한 신의는 불행히 기만당한 것을 보고,

 

찬란한 명예가 부끄럽게 잘못 주어진 것을 보고,

 

처녀의 정조가 무참히도 짓밟히는 것을 보고,

 

올바른 완성이 부당하게 욕을 당한 것을 보고,

 

강한 힘이 절름발이에 제어되어 무력화된 것을 보고,

 

예술이 권력 앞에서 벙어리가 된 것을 보고,

 

바보가 박사인 양 기술자를 통제하는 것을 보고,

 

솔직한 진실이 잘못 불리는 것을 보고,

 

선한 포로가 악한 적장을 섬기는 것을 볼 때,

 

이 모든 것에 싫증 나 나 죽고자 하노라,

 

죽는 것이 사랑을 두고 가는 것이 아니라면

 

 

sonnet 113

 

ORIGINAL TEXT

MODERN TEXT

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind, And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function, and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out; For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flow'r, or shape which it doth latch. Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch; For if it see the rud’st or gentlest sight, The most sweet favor or deformed’st creature, The mountain, or the sea, the day, or night, The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature.   Incapable of more, replete with you,   My most true mind thus makes mine untrue.

Since I left you, I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I partly see where I’m going and partly don’t. For my vision doesn’t focus on the shapes of birds or flowers or anything else it lands on. My mind simply isn’t on the living things that my eyes show it, nor do I remember the things I see. For whether I see the rudest or gentlest sight, the sweetest-looking or the most deformed creature, the mountain or the sea, the day or the night, the crow or the dove, my vision shapes them so they look like you. Incapable of seeing anything else and filled with your image, my faithfulness to you is making me see everything wrongly.

sonnet 107

 

ORIGINAL TEXT

MODERN TEXT

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured And the sad augurs mock their own presage; Incertainties now crown themselves assured, And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, Since spite of him I’ll live in this poor rhyme, While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.   And thou in this shalt find thy monument,   When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.

Neither my own fears nor the speculations of the rest of the world about the future can continue to keep me from possessing my beloved, who everybody thought was doomed to remain in prison. The MOON This sonnet is puzzling because it seems to refer to actual events in Shakespeare’s time, but it’s impossible to know for certain which events it refers to. One possibility is that it alludes to Queen Elizabeth’s death (represented by the moon’s eclipse, described in line 5) and the subsequent release from prison of the earl of Southampton, whom some readers believe to be the young man of the sonnets. However, even in Shakespeare’s time, this sonnet was probably somewhat mysterious. moon, which was always mortal, has finally been eclipsed, and the gloomy fortune-tellers now laugh at their own predictions. Things that once seemed doubtful have become certainties, and peace has come to stay. Now, with the blessings of these times, my beloved looks fresh again and death itself submits to me, since in spite of death I’ll live on in this poor poem while death only exults over the stupid and illiterate peoples that he’s overcome. And you will find this poem to be your monument when tyrants reach the end of their reigns and tombs of brass fall into decay.

sonnet 44

 

ORIGINAL TEXT

MODERN TEXT

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, Injurious distance should not stop my way; For then, despite of space, I would be brought From limits far remote where thou dost stay. No matter then although my foot did stand Upon the farthest earth removed from thee, For nimble thought can jump both sea and land As soon as think the place where he would be. But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, But that so much of earth and water wrought, I must attend time’s leisure with my moan,   Receiving naughts by elements so slow   But heavy tears, badges of either’s woe.

If I were made of thought instead of slow, dull flesh, this wicked distance between us wouldn’t keep me from where I wanted to be. No matter the distance—from the farthest possible regions—I would bring myself to where you are. It wouldn’t matter that my feet were standing on the spot on earth farthest from you: Thought is nimble enough to jump over both sea and land as quickly as it can think about the place it wants to be. But, ah, it’s killing me to think that I’m not made of thought and can’t leap over the many miles when you are gone. Instead my body is made of so muchEARTH AND WATER The speaker alludes to the belief that all matter is made up of four ele earth, water, air, and fire. Earth and water were believed to be the heaviest, most tangible elements. earth and water that I have to fill the long time without you with my moans. The leaden, deep earth and slow, wet water of which I am made give me nothing but heavy tears.

 

소넷44

 

내 육체의 둔한 물질이 상념과 같이 가볍다면,

 

나를 괴롭히는 거리(距離)도 나의 길을 방해하지 않으리.

 

그렇다면 공간에 매이지 않고, 나는 먼 끝으로부터

 

그대 있는 곳으로 데려가지리.

 

내가 서 있는 곳이, 그대 계신 곳으로부터

 

가장 먼 곳이라 한들 어떠리,

 

민첩한 상상은 그대가 있을 곳을 생각만 하면

 

곧 바다와 육지를 뛰어넘을 수 있나니.

 

그러나, 아! 생각하면 괴로워라, 지금 그대는 가고

 

나는 먼 거리를 뛰어넘는 상상이 아니기에,

 

나는 주(主)로 물과 흙으로 만들어졌나니

 

신음을 하며 시간이 가는 것을 기다려야 하느니.,

 

물과 흙 이렇게 느린 성분으로부터 받은 것은,

 

슬픔의 ‘배지’인 눈물뿐이로다.

 

sonnet 129

 

ORIGINAL TEXT

MODERN TEXT

Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action, and till action, lust Is perjured, murd'rous, 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.

Sex is a way of squandering vital energy while incurring shame. In anticipation of sex, lust makes people murderous, violent, blameworthy, savage, extreme, rude, cruel, and untrustworthy. No sooner do people enjoy sex than they immediately despise it. They go to absurd lengths in its pursuit only to hate it out of all proportion once they’ve had it, insisting it was put in their path on purpose to make them crazy. They’re extreme when they’re pursuing sex, extreme when they’re having it, and extreme once they’ve had it. It’s blissful while you’re doing it and, once you’re done, a true sorrow. While you’re anticipating it, it seems like a joy; afterward, like a bad dream. The world knows all this very well, yet no one knows enough to avoid the heavenly experience that leads us to this hell.

 

 

sonnet 87

 

ORIGINAL TEXT

MODERN TEXT

Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know’st thy estimate. The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting, And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing, Or me, to whom thou gav’st it, else mistaking; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making.   Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter:   In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

Goodbye; you’re too valuable for me to hold onto, and you probably know exactly what you’re worth. Your high value gives you the right to leave me; you have severed the ties that bind me to you. For what hold do I have over you except the hold that you choose to give me, and how do I deserve such a treasure? There’s nothing in me to justify such a beautiful gift, so my right to possess you is reverting back to you. When you gave yourself to me, you didn’t know your own worth, or else you were mistaken about me, the person you gave yourself to. So the great gift you gave me, being based on a false estimate, goes back to you now that you’re able to make a better judgment. Thus, the time in which I had you was like a flattering dream; while I was asleep, I thought I was a king, but when I woke up, I found that was not the case.

sonnet 154

 

ORIGINAL TEXT

MODERN TEXT

The little love-god lying once asleep Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire, Which many legions of true hearts had warmed; And so the general of hot desire Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from love’s fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,   Came there for cure, and this by that I prove:   Love’s fire heats water; water cools not love.

Once, while sleeping, little Cupid put down his love-inducing torch while many of Diana’s nymphs, who had all made lifelong vows of chastity, came tripping by. But the most beautiful of Diana’s nymphs picked up that fire that had warmed the hearts of legions of faithful lovers. In this fashion, the commander of hot desire was disarmed by the hand of a virgin as he was sleeping. She quenched this torch in a cool spring nearby, and the spring took a perpetual heat from love’s fire. It turned into a hot bath and healthy remedy for diseased men. But when I, enslaved by my mistress, went to the bath to be cured, this is what I learned: Love’s fire heats water, but water doesn’t cool love.