Though I ADORE Rickman's voice, I've never heard him recite anything before (though I was meaning to look for such things eventually). I happened upon this during a search for something else. I figured it must sound rather nice and pleasurable, too, because it's Alan Rickman. So I clicked it, ONLY intending to save it for later though (when I could simply appreciate the substance and sound of it without interruption) and of course it started to play right away, as RU-vid videos do. Normally I'd ignore the audio, temporarily mentally label it as "noise" so I could hit pause -- as I do with many of my "watch later" videos. But... I actually STOPPED BREATHING at the first word without even realizing it. Caught me completely off-guard. I didn't move. Three words in and I shook myself out of it, frantically going for the pause button. My cheeks are as hot and red as if I were walking outside during a heat advisory, on the edge of heat stroke -- no joke. Now I'm short of breath and having a bit of an asthma attack. Dear gods! That voice.. It's like he's physically close to me, in a small space, and speaking right in my ear. Yet, I'm somehow hearing it and feeling it all over my skin and in every bone of my body. Deep, liquid, velvet. And that's just on my phone! Only three words..! Later tonight, I'll definitely want my good headphones so I can fully appreciate the audio and substance as I take it in full. ... For now, I'm going to continue trying to regain proper function of my lungs with breathing exercises. I'll be back later with something more substantial to say about the recitation -- of it and him. I may be beyond words though, so we'll see. HOLY
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 damasked, 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 hath 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.
Despite the imperfections, he loves her . . . Exactly the opposite poetic argument we might expect. And so the unexpected (breath that reeks, hair like wires) piques our curiosity, pulls us along to the very last line with humor and irony. Brilliant! Only Shakespeare can pull off the reverent tone of love penetrating strong physical drawbacks, almost bringing us to believe that these drawbacks really are only inventions, not reality, indeed making a tongue in cheek ridicule of the genre of love poems.
This was the first Shakespeare Sonnet I ever read. We analyzed it in class. I still feel the struggle to understand the poem and the satisfaction when I finally grasped its meaning. Also, RIP Alan Rickman.
Absolutely sublime, sensual, dulcet tones...I feel as though his voice is speaking to my soul. Alan Rickman truly had a gift. This is modern day ASMR. Just stunning!
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 damasked, 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 hath 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.
Oh, no, not at all! First of all, it's not about his lover. It's a scathing critique of the poets who completely fail to see the women because they're too busy making up absurdly exaggerated metaphors (they "belied with false compare"). He knows his lady "treads upon the ground" (he recognizes her humanity) and knows that she is so lovely that she doesn't need any hyperbolic flights of fancy to describe her. (Shakespeare actually used this same trope as the catalyst in King Lear, when Lear fell for Regan and Goneril's wildly overstated lies about their "love" for him and dismissed Cornelia's simple but sincere declaration of devotion.)
In the final line it sounds like SHE BELIED someone. Why would she belie anybody? :( ...a very disappointing climax. This sort of intonation ruins the meaning of the sonnet.
You're right. The line should be read, "As any 'she' belied by false compare." (As any woman described with exaggerated metaphors.) Too few people understand this poem. They think it's about an imperfect woman whose lover cherishes her anyway. NO, NO, NO!!!!
@@ivanppillay914 the sonnet is a parody of the conventional love sonnet (Petrarchan sonnet). Shakespeare criticises misrepresentation of women by ridiculous comparisons and breaking women into parts in order to praise their beauty. In the final couplet the speaker declares that he refuses to fall back on cliches - he loves a normal human being, not some poetic ideal.
Од слонця ніц в очах моєї пані, Кораль ружанець рожевіш од губ, Ґдиж сьнєґ єст бялим - в неї перса тьмяні, Ґдиж влос єст дротем - з дроту в неї чуб; Дамасці ружі, білі і червоні, Зась видівєм - не в неї на щоках, І більш приємні вшелькі інне воні, Ніж подиху моєї пані пах. Люблю я слухати, ґди розмовляєт, Хоч музика миліші звуки тче: Не зрівєм, як богиня походжаєт - Моя ж бо пані, йшовши, ґрунт товче: Та, пробі, дорожу моїм коханням, Як та якась - брехливим порівнянням. Переклад - Ігор Костецький (стилізація під давньоруську мову).
Alan Rickman certainly has a soft and pleasing voice but he completely misses the point in the very last line by not making a short break after, and emphasising, the word "she", ......"any she belied" meaning "any woman who is belied"
I would say that, of the two, the English RADA trained actor, who did Shakespeare on stage multiple times... probably has a better understanding of this sonnet than you do.
I would say that, of the two, the English RADA trained actor, who did Shakespeare on stage multiple times... probably has a better understanding of this sonnet than you do.
@@vestaantonia-aurelia3127 it's about beauty and love, Shakespeare describing a women, her lovely features, what she looks like. It's really not that hard to understand.
@@AbbySnow333 Well. . . no. In fact, he hardly refers to his woman at all. He's actually commenting about the poetic trend of the day: absurd hyperbole and wildly exaggerated metaphors. He's saying that, because they "belied with false compare," they actually FAIL to see the REAL woman who "treads on the ground."
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 damasked***, 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 hath 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.***** Ее глаза на солнце не похожи, Коралл краснее, чем ее уста, Снег с грудью милой не одно и то же, Из черных проволок ее коса. Есть много роз пунцовых, белых, красных, Но я не вижу их в ее чертах, - Хоть благовоний много есть прекрасных, Увы, но только не в ее устах. Меня ее ворчанье восхищает, Но музыка звучит совсем не так. Не знаю, как богини выступают, Но госпожи моей не легок шаг. И все-таки, клянусь, она милее, Чем лучшая из смертных рядом с нею.
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 damasked, 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 hath 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.