The best sonnets. William Shakespeare's sonnets about female beauty

The name of William Shakespeare is well known to all schoolchildren thanks to the plays "Romeo and Juliet", "Othello" and "Hamlet". However, not all students know about Shakespeare's sonnets.

A sonnet is not a simple verse, but a poetic work of a certain form, consisting of 14 lines. In Shakespeare's sonnets, the following rhyme is adopted: abab cdcd efef gg, that is, three quatrains for cross rhymes and one couplet.

In total, Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets, and most of them were created in the years 1592-1599. The entire cycle of sonnets is divided into separate thematic groups:

  • Sonnets dedicated to a friend;
  • Sonnets dedicated to a swarthy lover;
    Joy and beauty of love.

Let's look at Shakespeare's popular sonnets in English and their translation.

Sonnet 57 (Sonnet 57)

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But like a sad slave stay and think of nought
Save where you are how happy you make those.

So true a fool is love that in your will
Thought you do any thing he thinks no ill.

For faithful servants there is nothing else
How to expect the lady at the door.
So, ready to serve your whims,
I spend time waiting. I don’t dare scold boredom to myself,
Follow the hands of your watch.
I do not curse the bitter separation,
Leaving your door at a sign.

I do not allow jealous thoughts
Cross your treasured threshold,
And, poor slave, I consider myself happy
The one who could spend an hour with you.

Whatever you want to do. I lost my sight
And there is not a shadow of suspicion in me.

Translation by S. Marshak

Watch the recitation of Sonnet 57 by BBC actors.

Sonnet 66 (Sonnet 66)

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry;
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jolity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honor shamefully misplaced,
And mained 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.

Exhausted by everything, I want to die.
Longing to watch how the poor man toils,
And how jokingly the rich man lives,
And trust, and get into trouble, And watch how impudence climbs into the light,
And the maiden's honor rolls to the bottom,
And to know that there is no progress for perfection,
And to see the power of weakness in captivity,

And remember that thoughts will shut your mouth,
And the mind takes down the stupidity of the blasphemy,
And straightforwardness is reputed to be simple,
And goodness serves evil.

Exhausted by everything, I would not live a day,
Yes, it will be difficult for a friend without me.

Translation by Boris Pasternak

You can listen to the recitation of sonnet 66 by William Shakespeare below:

Sonnet 71 (Sonnet 71)

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give a warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:Nay, if you read this line, remember not
the hand that write it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.

O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.
But let your love even with my life decay,

Lest the wise world should look into your moan
And mock you with me after I am gone.

You mourn when the poet dies
As long as the ringing of the nearest church
Will not announce that this low light
I traded worms for the lower world. And if you re-read my sonnet,
You do not regret about the hand that has cooled down.
I don't want to blur the delicate color
Eyes beloved by their memory.

I don't want these lines to echo
It reminded me again and again.
Let them freeze at the same time
My breath and your love!..

I don't want my longing
You betrayed yourself to the people's rumors.

Translation by S. Marshak

And here is the rendition of Sonnet 71:

Sonnet 90 (Sonnet 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 ‘scoped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morning,
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.

If you fall out of love - so now,
Now that the whole world is at odds with me.
Be the bitterest of my losses
But not the last straw of grief! And if sorrow is given to me to overcome,
Don't ambush.
Let the stormy night not be resolved
Rainy morning - morning without consolation.

Leave me, but not at the last moment
When from small troubles I will weaken.
Leave now, so that I can immediately comprehend
That this grief is more painful than all adversities,

That there are no adversities, but there is one trouble -
Lose your love forever.

Translation by S. Marshak

Recitation of sonnet 90 in English in the video below:

Sonnet 102 (Sonnet 102)

My love is strength'ned, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear:
That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming
The owner's tongue doth publish every where.Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
And stops his pipe in growth of riper days:

Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.

Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue,
Because I would not dull you with my song.

I love, but I rarely talk about it,
I love more tenderly, but not for many eyes.
Trades in the feeling of the one in front of the light
He puts his whole soul on display. I met you with a song, like hello,
When love was new to us
So the nightingale rumbles at the midnight hour
In the spring, but forgets the flute in the summer.

The night will not lose its charm,
When his outpourings are silenced.
But music, sounding from all branches,
Having become ordinary, it loses its charm.

And I fell silent like a nightingale:
I sang my own and I don’t sing anymore!

Translation by S. Marshak

In contact with

SONNET 14
(translated by Ya. Feldman)

NOT from the stars do I my judgment pluck

Why do I need stars on a black night?
Why do I need turquoise in the morning?
I would prefer all the luminaries
Your eyes.
I would read them without error,
Where will time take us?
And one of your smiles
Foresaw everything:
Earthquakes and wars
The end of eras, the beginning of troubles,
And a stormy year, and a calm year,
And a terrible judgment...
However, if you are with me,
I don't care about the rest.

SONNET 8
(translated by S. Marshak)

You are music, but musical sounds
You listen with incomprehensible longing.
Why do you love what is so sad
Do you meet flour with such joy?

Where is the secret reason for this torment?
Is it because you are saddened
What harmoniously coordinated sounds
Sound like a reproach to loneliness?

Listen how friendly the strings are
They enter the ranks and give a voice, -
As if mother, father and young boy
They sing in happy unity.

We are told by the accord of strings in a concert,
That the lonely way is like death.

SONNET 9
(translated by S. Marshak)

Must be afraid of widow's tears,
You have not tied yourself to anyone with love.
But if a formidable fate took you away,
The whole world would put on a widow's veil.

In her child, a mournful widow
Favorite features are reflected.
And you do not leave the creature,
In which the light would find consolation.

Wealth that wastes
Changing place, remains in the world.
And beauty will vanish without a trace
And youth, having disappeared, will not return.

Who betrays himself
Doesn't love anyone in this world!

SONNET 20
(translated by S. Marshak)

The face of a woman, but stricter, more perfect
Nature has been sculpted by craftsmanship.
As a woman, you are beautiful, but alien to treason,
King and queen of my heart.

Your tender gaze is devoid of evil play,
But it gilds everything around with radiance.
He is courageous and majestic in power
Friends captivates and smits girlfriends.

You are the nature of a sweet woman
I thought, but, captivated by passion,
She separated me from you
And she made women happy.

So be it. But here is my condition:
Love me, and give them love.

SONNET 21
(translated by S. Marshak)

I do not compete with the creators of one,
Which to the painted goddesses
The sky is presented as a gift
With all the earth and the ocean blue.

Let them decorate the stanzas
They repeat in verse, arguing among themselves,
About the stars of the sky, about the wreaths of flowers,
About the treasures of the earth and the sea.

In love and in the word - the truth is my law,
And I write that my dear is beautiful,
Like all who are born by a mortal mother,
And not like the sun or a clear moon.

I don't want to praise my love,
I'm not selling it to anyone!

SONNET 25
(translated by S. Marshak)

Who is born under a happy star -
Proud of fame, title and power.
And I was more modestly rewarded by fate,
And for me, love is the source of happiness.

Under the sun, the leaves spread luxuriantly
Confidant of the prince, henchman of the nobleman.
But the sun's benevolent gaze goes out,
And the golden sunflower goes out too.

Warlord, minion of victories,
In the last battle, he is defeated,
And all his merits lost track.
His destiny is disgrace and oblivion.

But there is no threat to my titles
Lifetime: loved, love, love.

SONNET 29
(translated by S. Marshak)

When in discord with the world and fate,
Remembering the years full of adversity,
I worry with a fruitless plea
Deaf and indifferent sky

And, complaining about the woeful lot,
Ready to change your lot
With those who are more successful in art,
Rich in hope and loved by people, -

Then, suddenly remembering you,
I swear a pitiful cowardice,
And a lark, contrary to fate,
My soul is on the rise.

With your love, with the memory of her
I am stronger than all the kings in the world.

SONNET 35
(translated by S. Marshak)

Don't be sad when you admit your guilt.
There is no rose without thorns; the purest key
Muddy grains of sand; sun and moon
Hides the shadow of an eclipse or clouds.

We are all sinners, and I am no less than all
I sin in any of these bitter lines,
Comparisons justify sin,
Forgiving unlawfully your vice.

As a defender I come to court
To serve the enemy side.
My love and hate lead
Internecine war in me.

Though you robbed me, dear thief,
But I share your sin and sentence.

SONNET 55
(translated by S. Marshak)

Mossy marble of royal graves
Will disappear before these weighty words,
In which I saved your image.
The dust and dirt of centuries will not stick to them.

Let the war overturn the statues,
The rebellion will dispel the labor of masons,
But the letters embedded in the memory
Running centuries will not erase.

Neither death will carry you to the bottom,
No dark oblivion enmity.
You and distant offspring are destined,
The world is worn out, see the day of judgment.

So, live until you wake up
In verses, in hearts full of love!

SONNET 65
(translated by S. Marshak)

If copper, granite, land and sea
They won't stand when their time comes
How can it survive, arguing with death,
Is your beauty a helpless flower?

O bitter reflection!.. Where, what
Find a refuge for beauty?
How, stopping the pendulum with your hand,
Save the color from time to time?..

There is no hope. But the light face is cute
Save, perhaps, black ink!

SONNET 66
(translated by S. Marshak)

I call death. I can't bear to see
Dignity that begs for alms
Over simplicity mocking lie,
Nothingness in luxurious attire,
And perfection is a false sentence,
And virginity, rudely desecrated,
And inappropriate honor shame
And power is a prisoner of toothless weakness,
And directness, which is reputed to be stupid,
And stupidity in the mask of a sage, a prophet,
And inspiration clamped mouth
And righteousness in the service of vice.

Everything is disgusting that I see around ...
But how to leave you, dear friend!

SONNET 93
(translated by S. Marshak)

Well, I will live, accepting as a condition,
That you are true. Though you have become different
But the shadow of love seems like love to us.
Not with your heart - so be with me with your eyes.

Your gaze does not speak of change.
He harbors neither boredom nor enmity.
There are faces on which crimes
Draw indelible marks.

But, apparently, it is so pleasing to higher powers:
Let your beautiful lips lie
But in this look, tender and sweet,
The purity still shines.

The apple from the tree was beautiful
Eve thwarted Adam.

SONNET 94
(translated by S. Marshak)

Who, owning evil, will not cause evil,
Without using the full power of this power,
Who moves others, but like granite,
Unshakable and not subject to passion, -

Heaven grants grace to him,
The earth brings dear gifts.
He was given greatness,
And others are called to honor greatness.

Summer cherishes its best flower,
Though he himself blooms and withers.
But if vice found shelter in it,
Any weed will be worthy of it.

Thistle is sweeter and sweeter to us
Corrupted roses, poisoned lilies.

SONNET 95
(translated by S. Marshak)

You know how to decorate your shame.
But, like an invisible worm in the garden
He draws a disastrous pattern on roses, -
So your vice stains you.

Rumor talks about your deeds,
Guesses generously adding to them.
But praise becomes blasphemy.
Vice is justified by your name!

In what a magnificent palace
You give shelter to low temptations!
Under the beautiful mask on the face,
In a magnificent outfit they will not be recognized.

But beauty cannot be saved in vices.
Rusting, sharpness loses the sword.

SONNET 105
(translated by S. Marshak)

Don't call me a pagan
Do not call the deity an idol.
I sing hymns full of love
Him, about him and only for him.

His love is softer every day
And dedicating a verse to constancy,
I can't help but talk about him
Not knowing the themes and intentions of others.

"Beautiful, faithful, kind" - these are the words,
Which I say in many ways.
They have three definitions of the deity,
But how many combinations of these words!

Goodness, beauty and fidelity lived apart,
But it's all in you merged.

SONNET 107
(translated by S. Marshak)

Neither my own fear, nor a prophetic look
The whole universe, looking diligently into the distance,
They don't know how long I've been given
A love whose death seemed inevitable.

Its eclipse the mortal moon
Survived in spite of the lying prophets.
Hope is back on the throne
And a long peace promises the flowering of olives.

Separation death does not threaten us.
Let me die, but I will rise in verse.
Blind death threatens only the tribes,
Not yet enlightened, wordless.

In my poems and you will survive
Crowns of tyrants and coats of arms of nobles.

SONNET 109
(translated by S. Marshak)

Don't call me an unfaithful friend.
How could I change or change?
My soul, the soul of my love
In your chest, like my pledge, is stored.

You are my shelter, given by fate.
I left and came back
As he was, and brought with him
Living water that washes away stains.

Let my sins burn my blood
But I did not reach the last edge,
So that from wanderings not to return again
To you, the source of all blessings.

What is this spacious light without you?
You are alone in it. There is no other happiness.

SONNET 115
(translated by S. Marshak)

Oh how I lied once when I said:
"My love cannot be stronger."
I did not know, with a full flame of grief,
That I know how to love even more tenderly.

Accidents foreseeing a million
Invading every moment
Breaking the immutable law
Wavering and oaths and aspirations,

Not believing in changeable fate,
But only an hour that has not yet lived,
I said: "My love for you
So big that there can be no more!"

Love is a child. I was wrong about her
Calling the child an adult woman.

SONNET 116
(translated by S. Marshak)

Interfere with the union of two hearts
I don't intend to. Can treason
Love boundless put an end to?
Love knows no loss and decay.

Love is a beacon raised above the storm,
Not fading in darkness and fog.
Love is the star that sailor
Defines a place in the ocean.

Love is not a pathetic doll in your hands
By the time that erases the roses
On fiery lips and cheeks,
And she is not afraid of time threats.

And if I'm wrong and my verse lies,
Then there is no love - and there are no my poems!

SONNET 128
(translated by S. Marshak)

As soon as you, my music,
Take up music, disturbing the system
Frets and strings with skillful play,
I am tormented by jealous envy.

It's a shame to me that the caresses of gentle hands
You give to the dancing frets,
Tearing off a brief, fleeting sound, -
And not my languishing lips.

I would like to become the keys,
So that only your fingers are light
Walked on me, making me tremble,
When you touch the strings in oblivion.

But if happiness fell on a string,
Give your hands to her, and your lips to me!

SONNET 130
(translated by S. Marshak)

Her eyes don't look like stars
You can’t call the mouth corals,
Not snow-white shoulders open skin,
And a strand twists like a black wire.

With a damask rose, scarlet or white,
You can not compare the shade of these cheeks.
And the body smells like the body smells,
Not like a violet delicate petal.

You won't find perfect lines in it
Special light on the forehead.
I don't know how goddesses walk
But the darling walks the earth.

And yet she will hardly yield to those
Who was slandered in lush comparisons.

SONNET 132
(translated by S. Marshak)

I love your eyes. They me
Forgotten, regret unfeignedly.
Burying a rejected friend
They, like mourning, wear their color black.

Believe that the sun's shine is not the way it goes
To the face of the gray-haired early east,
And the star that leads us to the evening -
Transparent skies western eye -

Not so radiant and not so bright
Like this look, beautiful and farewell.
Ah, if you would clothe your heart
In the same mourning, soft and sad, -

I would think that beauty itself
Black as night, and brighter than light - darkness!

SONNET 138
(translated by S. Marshak)

When you swear to me that you are all
Serve worthy of the truth as a model,
I believe even though I see you lie
Imagining me as a blind youth.

flattered that I can still
To seem young in spite of the truth,
I lie to myself in my vanity,
And we are both far from the truth.

Won't you tell me you lied to me again
And it makes no sense for me to admit my age.
Love holds on to imaginary trust,
And old age, having fallen in love, is ashamed of years.

I lie to you, you lie unwittingly to me,
And we seem to be quite happy!

SONNET 139
(translated by S. Marshak)

Don't force me to justify
Your injustice and deceit.
It's better to conquer force by force,
But do not hurt me with cunning.

Love another, but in the minutes of meetings
Don't take your eyelashes away from me.
Why cheat? Your gaze is a smashing sword
And there is no armor on the loving chest.

You yourself know the power of your eyes,
And, perhaps, looking away,
You are preparing to kill others,
Sparing me out of mercy.

Oh, have no mercy! Let your direct look
If he kills me, I will be glad to die.

SONNET 141
(translated by S. Marshak)

My eyes are not in love with you, -
They see your vices clearly.
And the heart is none of your fault
He does not see and does not agree with his eyes.

And yet, external feelings are not given -
Not all five, not each separately -
Assure the heart of a poor one,
That this slavery is fatal to him.

In my misfortune I am glad alone,
That you are my sin and you are my eternal hell.

SONNET 145
(translated by S. Marshak)

I hate - these are the words
What from her sweet lips the other day
Broke in anger. But hardly
She noticed my fear, -

How to hold the tongue
Which me so far
He whispered caress, then reproach,
Not a harsh sentence.

"I hate," - subdued,
The mouth spoke, and the look
Already changed to mercy anger,
And the night rushed from heaven to hell.

SONNET 147
(translated by S. Marshak)

Love is a sickness. My soul is sick
An agonizing, unquenchable thirst.
She demands the same poison
Who poisoned her once.

My mind-doctor healed my love.
She rejected herbs and roots,
And the poor doctor was exhausted
And he left us, losing his patience.

From now on, my illness is incurable.
The soul finds no peace in anything.
Abandoned by my mind
And feelings and words roam at will.

And for a long time to me, devoid of mind,
Hell seemed like heaven, and darkness seemed to be light!

SONET 150
(translated by S. Marshak)

Where do you get so much power from?
To rule in powerlessness over me?
I instill lies in my own eyes,
I swear to them that the light of day did not shine.

So infinite is the charm of evil,
Confidence and power of sinful forces,
That I, forgiving black deeds,
Your sin, as a virtue, fell in love.

Everything that would feed enmity in another,
Feeds the tenderness in my chest.
I love what everyone curses around,
But don't judge me with everyone.

He deserves special love
Who gives his unworthy soul.

SONNET 153
(translated by S. Marshak)

God Cupid dozed in the silence of the forest,
And the young nymph at Cupid's
I took a burning tar torch
And lowered it into a cold stream.

The fire went out, and there is water in the stream
Warmed up, boiled, boiled.
And here the sick converge there
Heal the infirm body with bathing.

Meanwhile, the evil god of love
Got fire from my girlfriend's eyes
And set my heart on fire for experience.
Oh, how ailments have tormented me ever since!

But not a stream can heal them,
And the same poison is the fire of her eyes.

The sonnet is a special form of poem that originated in the 13th century in the poetry of the Provencal troubadours. From Provence, sonnet poetry passed to Italy, where it reached perfection in the works of Dante Alighieri, Francesco Petrarca, Giovanni Boccaccio.

The classic Italian sonnet consists of fourteen lines and is divided into two parts - an octave (octave), which includes two quatrains (quatrains), and a sextet (six lines), which breaks up into two tercetes (three lines). From Italian poets, the Spanish, French and English adopted the sonnet form in the 17th century. Sonnet poetry reached its peak in England at the end of the 16th and beginning of the 17th centuries.
The sonnet form was used by Thomas Wyeth, Henry Howard, Earl Surry, Philip Sidney, Edmund Spenser. In the last decade of the 16th century, Shakespeare also wrote his Sonnets. At that time, another form of the sonnet was developed, which was called the English, or Shakespearean. Shakespeare's sonnet also has fourteen lines, but it consists of three quatrains and a final couplet (couplet).

From the very beginning of sonnet poetry, poems were dedicated to one person. This is how the cycles of sonnets, connected by internal unity, arose.

Dedications also unite Shakespeare's "Sonnets". In the original, 126 sonnets are addressed to a friend, the rest - to a beloved. However, in Russian translations, some sonnets dedicated to a friend are addressed to a woman. In some cases, this is due to the absence of the grammatical category of gender in the English language, which often makes it difficult to unambiguously determine the addressee of the sonnet.

The sonnet form of a poem is still relevant and is used by modern poets as a classical form of creating a poetic work. Poems in the form of sonnets are popular in teaching versification, as writing a sonnet requires a certain level of poetic skill.

1.2. William Shakespeare - master of the sonnet

William Shakespeare was an English playwright, poet and Renaissance actor. He was born in the small town of Stratford-upon-Avon on April 23, 1564 and died there on April 23, 1616. In world history, he is undoubtedly the most famous and significant playwright who had a huge impact on the development of all theatrical art. The stage works of Shakespeare still do not leave the theater stage all over the world today.
Continues to remain a mystery to this day, despite countless studies, the most famous part of Shakespeare's poetic legacy is his sonnets. There are 154 of them in total and most of them were written in 1592-1599. They were first printed in 1609 without the knowledge of the author.

The entire cycle of sonnets is divided into separate thematic groups:

Sonnets dedicated to a friend: 1-126
Chanting a friend: 1-26
Friendship Trials: 27-99
Bitterness of separation: 27-32
First disappointment in a friend: 33-42
Anguish and fear: 43-55
Growing alienation and melancholy: 56-75
Rivalry and jealousy towards other poets: 76-96
"Winter" of separation: 97-99
A celebration of renewed friendship: 100-126
Sonnets dedicated to the swarthy beloved: 127-152
Conclusion - the joy and beauty of love: 153-154
Shakespeare is one of the creators of the so-called English form of the sonnet, often even called Shakespearean.

The English sonnet consists of three quatrains (12 lines) and a final couplet, usually summing up what has been said or, on the contrary, containing a thought that contrasts with the main part of the sonnet. Shakespeare's sonnets are usually written in iambic pentameter with a predominantly masculine rhyme. However, Shakespeare handles the meter quite freely and in many cases one can detect metric fluctuations.

W. Shakespeare's sonnets represent one of the pinnacles of world poetry.

1.3. History of translations of W. Shakespeare's sonnets in Russia

Shakespeare's sonnets did not immediately become known to the general public. For almost a century, the Russian public got acquainted with translations and reworkings of Shakespeare's tragedies, knowing nothing about sonnets, and for almost a century, until the appearance of Marshak's translations, considering them at best a source of information about the life of the great playwright, and at worst - an elegant but empty fun genius.

One of the first mentions of Shakespeare as the author of sonnets belongs to Pushkin. In his famous "Sonnet" he, following the example of Wordsworth and Sainte-Beuve, whose poems served as his source, names Shakespeare among the classics of the genre, although he does not give his poetry a laconic, but clear characterization, similar to that which he gives to Petrarch's sonnet work. , Camoens, Miscavige and Wordsworth himself. In 1841, Belinsky, in his article "The division of poetry into genera and types," included Shakespeare's sonnets and poems among the works that make up "the richest treasury of lyric poetry."

The beginning of the 40s of the XIX century was the time of the greatest popularity of Shakespeare in Russia, a genuine Shakespearean cult. In an effort to present Shakespeare's work as fully as possible, Russian journals also turn to his lyrics. “Apparently, everything happened as it is written,” summed up the author of “Son of the Fatherland”. In 1841, a note translated from French appeared in the Literary Gazette. Its author, referring to the minor English writer Rogers, argued that “he sins against the name of Shakespeare who reveres him as the author of sonnets. In all Shakespearean dramas there are many places that bear an irrefutable sign of his spirit ... sonnets, on the contrary, do not contain a single line that any other poet could not write.

The following year, in 1842, an article by V.P. Botkin "Shakespeare as a man and a lyricist" - the first analysis of Shakespeare's sonnets in Russian criticism. According to Botkin, they "complete what, regarding Shakespeare's inner mood, cannot be learned from his dramas."

In 1865-1868, N. Gerbel prepared the first complete collection of Shakespeare's dramatic works in Russia. His appeal to the translation of sonnets is explained by the desire to present in his new edition all the works of Shakespeare. It was N.V. Gerbel who really introduced the Russian reader to the sonnets, although, despite some successes, these translations were aesthetically unequal, and some were simply weak.

N. Gerbel's translations were negatively received by Russian critics. “It is ridiculous and pitiful to look at this unequal struggle of a dwarf with a giant, a frog with an ox,” N.I. wrote in a review of this translation. Storozhenko and advised Gerbel to atone for his guilt before the readers by translating the sonnets once again into prose.

In 1914, Modest Tchaikovsky first translated almost all sonnets in iambic pentameter. In addition, it is worth noting that the edition carried out by Tchaikovsky was bilingual - the translator invited the reader to compare his work with the original. However, this desire for maximum accuracy, not supported by a sufficiently high level of poetic technique, often made Tchaikovsky's translations heavy and clumsy. And although Tchaikovsky had his luck, his work could not replace the Hungarian edition in the mind of the Russian reader.

The main event in the history of the perception of Shakespeare's sonnets on Russian soil, of course, were the translations of S. Marshak. The first of them (sonnet 32) appeared in 1943 in the Znamya magazine. The poet here was still trying on Shakespeare - the rhyming system, style, basic lexical means had already been found, but individual inaccurate expressions, intonation interruptions, and most importantly, an awkward combination of five-foot and six-foot verse gave the sound of the sonnet some kind of fuzziness, especially noticeable against the background of printed in the same issue of the journal of mature translations by S. Marshak from Wordsworth and Burns. Shakespeare's lyrics had already been seen and comprehended by him, it remained to bring the focus, as it were. And in Marshak's translations, which began to be published in 1945, there is no trace of this vagueness - they are strict and polished. Success was determined immediately.

In 1948, S. Marshak was awarded the State Prize for his translations of sonnets.

At the end of 1969, several sonnets were published in the Alma-Ata magazine "Prostor", and in 1977 in the collection "Shakespeare's Readings" - all Shakespeare's sonnets translated by the Kharkov linguist A.M. Finkel, never published during the life of the author. In the preface to the latest publication, A. Anikst noted that Finkel's translations are more difficult to read than Marshakov's, but this "difficulty in reading is not a consequence of inability, but the inevitable result of Finkel's desire to convey as fully as possible the full complexity of Shakespeare's lyrics" . A. Finkel is characterized by the desire to get as close as possible to the original. And often he manages to quite accurately reproduce the intricate contours of Shakespeare's images, but sometimes the price of this approximation is some kind of academic dryness of intonation.

This year marks 402 years since the publication of the sonnets. For the last century and a half they have been known in Russia.

N.V. Gerbel introduced sonnets into the circle of Shakespearean works, subject to translation and comprehension. S.Ya.Marshak turned them into an outstanding phenomenon of national culture.

Interfere with the union of two hearts
I don't intend to. Can treason
Love boundless put an end to?
Love knows no loss and decay.

Love is a beacon raised above the storm,
Not fading in darkness and fog.
Love is the star that sailor
Defines a place in the ocean.

Love is not a pathetic doll in your hands
By the time that erases the roses
On fiery lips and cheeks,
And she is not afraid of time threats.

And if I'm wrong and my verse lies,
Then there is no love - and there are no my poems!

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:

Oh no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering 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 an error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Sonnet 130
Her eyes don't look like stars
You can’t call the mouth corals,
Not snow-white shoulders open skin,
And a strand twists like a black wire.

With a damask rose, scarlet or white,
You can not compare the shade of these cheeks.
And the body smells like the body smells,
Not like a violet delicate petal.

You won't find perfect lines in it
Special light on the forehead.
I don't know how goddesses walk
But the darling walks the earth.

And yet she will hardly yield to those
Who was slandered in lush comparisons.

My mistress" eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips" red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask "d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music has a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Sonnet 27
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body "s work" s expired:

For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see

Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghostly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.

Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee and for myself no quiet find.

Work exhausted, I want to sleep,
Blissful rest to find in bed.
But as soon as I lie down, I start on my way again -
In their dreams - to the same goal.

My dreams and feelings for the hundredth time
They come to you by the way of the pilgrim,
And without closing tired eyes,
I see the darkness that even the blind can see.

With the diligent gaze of the heart and mind
In the darkness I'm looking for you, devoid of sight.
And the darkness seems glorious
When you enter it as a light shadow.

I can't find peace from love.
Day and night, I'm always on the go.

Sonnet 29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope
Featured like him, like him with friends possess "d,
Desiring this man "s art and that man" s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven "s gate;

For your sweet love remember "d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

When in discord with the world and fate,
Remembering the years full of adversity,
I worry with a fruitless plea
Deaf and indifferent sky

And, complaining about the woeful lot,
Ready to change your lot
With those who are more successful in art,
Rich in hope and loved by people, -

Then, suddenly remembering you,
I swear a pitiful cowardice,
And a lark, contrary to fate,
My soul is on the rise.

With your love, with the memory of her
I am stronger than all the kings in the world.


Sonnet 18

Can I compare your features with a summer day?
But you are sweeter, more moderate and more beautiful.
The storm breaks May flowers,
And our summer is so short-lived!

Then the heavenly eye blinds us,
That bright face hides bad weather.
Caresses, undead and torments us
By its random whim, nature.

And your day does not decrease,
The sunny summer does not fade.
And a mortal shadow will not hide you -
You will live forever in the lines of the poet.

Among the living you will be until then,
As long as the chest breathes and sees the gaze.


Sonnet 99

Violet early I reproached:
The evil one steals his sweet smell
From your mouth and every petal
He steals his velvet from you.

Lilies have the whiteness of your hand,
Your dark curl is in marjoram buds,
A white rose has the color of your cheek,
At the red rose - your fire is ruddy.

At the third rose - white, like snow,
And red as the dawn - your breath.
But the impudent thief did not escape retribution:
The worm eats him as a punishment.

What flowers are not in the spring garden!
And everyone steals your scent or color.


Sonnet 104

You don't change over the years.
The same you were when you first
I met you. Three winters are gray
Three magnificent years have powdered the trail.

Three gentle springs have changed color
On juicy fruit and fiery leaves,
And three times the forest was undressed in autumn ...
And the elements do not rule over you.

On the dial, showing us the hour,
Leaving the figure, the golden arrow
Slightly moves invisible to the eye,
So I don’t notice years on you.

And if the sunset is necessary, -
He was before your birth!


Sonnet 130

Her eyes don't look like stars
You can’t call the mouth corals,
Not snow-white shoulders open skin,
And a strand twists like a black wire.

With a damask rose, scarlet or white,
You can not compare the shade of these cheeks.
And the body smells like the body smells,
Not like a violet delicate petal.

You won't find perfect lines in it
Special light on the forehead.
I don't know how goddesses walk
But the darling walks the earth.

And yet she will hardly yield to those
Who was slandered in lush comparisons.

William Shakespeare

Paintings by Emile Vernon.

To the question Shakespeare's easiest sonnet. Tell me, what do you think is the easiest Shakespeare's sonnet. It needs to be learned urgently. given by the author Anna kissil the best answer is Her eyes don't look like stars
You can’t call the mouth corals,
Not snow-white shoulders open skin,
And a strand twists like a black wire.
With damask rose scarlet or white
You can not compare the shade of these cheeks,
And the body smells like the body smells,
And not violets delicate petal.
You won't find perfect lines in it
Special light on the forehead.
I don't know how goddesses walk
But the darling walks the earth.
And yet she will give in to those hardly,
Who was slandered in lush comparisons.

Answer from Neurologist[guru]
I call death. I can't bear to see
Dignity that begs for alms
Over simplicity mocking lie,
Nothingness in luxurious attire,
And perfection is a false sentence,
And virginity, rudely desecrated,
And inappropriate honor shame
And power is a prisoner of toothless weakness,
And directness, which is reputed to be stupid,
And stupidity in the mask of a sage, a prophet,
And inspiration clamped mouth
And righteousness in the service of vice.
Everything is disgusting that I see around...
But how can you leave my dear friend!


Answer from Doubt..[guru]
I don't know about lightness, just one of my favorites
sonnet 54. I like Marshak's translation.


Answer from way[guru]
I like this:
Sonnet 45 (The other two foundations of the universe) Trans. S. Marshak
The other two foundations of the universe -
Fire and air are lighter.
The breath of thought and the fire of desire
I send to you, despite the space.
When they are two free elements -
Love will fly to you as an embassy,
The rest stay with me
And burden my soul with weight.
I yearn, out of balance,
While the elements of spirit and fire
They won't rush back to me with the news,
That a friend is healthy and remembers me.
How happy I am! . But again in a moment
Fly to you and thoughts and aspirations.
Although, I think you should choose the sonnet that warms the soul and matches exactly your mood, then it will be easy to remember ...


Answer from petitioner[guru]
If you fall out of love - so now,
Now that the whole world is at odds with me.
Be the bitterest of my losses
But not the last straw of grief!
And if I can overcome grief,
Don't ambush.
Let the stormy night not be resolved
Rainy morning, morning without consolation...
Leave me, but not at the last moment
When from small troubles I will weaken.
Leave me to understand again
That this grief is more painful than all adversity.
That there are no adversities, but there is one trouble -
Lose your love forever!
Sonnet 90. Translation by S. Ya. Marshak.


Answer from Galina Kitcha[guru]
Sneak time with fine craftsmanship
A magical holiday poses for the eyes.
And the same time in a circular run
It takes away everything that makes us happy.
Hours and days unrestrained flow
Leads the summer into the twilight of winter days,
Where there is no foliage, the juice froze in the trees,
The earth is dead and a white cloak is on it.
And only the aroma of blooming roses -
Flying prisoner, locked in glass -
Reminds me of cold and frost
That summer was on earth.
The flowers have lost their former brilliance,
But they kept the soul of beauty.



Answer from Alyona[guru]
if you fall out of love, so now


Answer from well now[active]
Her eyes are not stars, I will not hide
And the redness of the lips with coral cannot be compared,
And the chest is not as white as snow in winter,
And hair is like a wire thread.
I met many roses at the time of flowering,
But there are none like her on her cheeks;
From the smells of others I am in admiration,
Than those that left their mark on her.
I love her conversation, but I know
That music is more pleasant to listen to;
Slender goddesses gait - I admit:
It is not given to her, as they do, it is easy to step.
And yet, oh heaven, there is no comparison:
My love, you are rare!


Answer from Lyosha Donetsk[newbie]
The heart with the eye has a secret pact:
They relieve each other's pain
When your gaze searches in vain
And the heart suffocates in separation.
Your image of a keen eye
Gives and heart to admire plenty.
And the heart to the eye at its appointed hour
Dreams of love give way to share.
So in my thoughts or in the flesh
You are in front of me at any moment.
You can go no farther than a thought.
I am inseparable from her, she is with you.
My gaze draws you in a dream
And wakes up the heart sleeping in me.