Marjan's modern Merchant of Venice

I don't need his body, no
But I want to hurt him so.

He hurts me because I'm a Jew?
But we're all people!
I wish everyone else knew.

We are so similar, don't you see?
And if so, then don't you agree,

that,

If a Jew hurts a Christian,
then,
Revenge is fine.
But, if a Christain hurts a Jew,
like me,
then revenge is mine.

Merchant of Venice - To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else

Here is the original  "To bait fish withal"

To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else,
it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and
hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses,
mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my
bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine
enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath
not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,
dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with
the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject
to the same diseases, healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as
a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison
us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not
revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will
resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian
wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by
Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you
teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I
will better the instruction.

 I will post my new interpretation soon.

Marjan Siklic

My version of Romeo's monologue

Here is my simple version of William Shakespeare's "But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?".

This poem is a very short summary of the actual monologue.The original monologue.

Be quiet! Wait, what’s this light

Why It’s Juliet, only she could be so bright.

Like the sun in the heavens above,

Only she is my true love.

But does she notice me, does she care?

She is so lovely, I can only stare.

By Romeo

by Marjan Siklic

Here is the original "But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?"

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek! 

I will post a very short modern version soon. Here it is

Marjan Siklic 

Here is my simple version of William Shakespeare's "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow".

This poem is a very short summary of the actual monologue.The original monologue.

 She would have died anyways,
Too bad.

Another day. One after another.

And each one brings us closer to death, I might add.

Life really is nothing much,

It's much like an actor on stage and such:

Life is like speaking a short tale

Just noise and to little if any avail.

Macbeth's "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow"

by

Marjan Siklic

Macbeth - To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow - original

Here is the original "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow":

She should have died hereafter;

There would have been a time for such a word.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury

Signifying nothing.

I will post a very short modern version soon. Here it is

Marjan Siklic

My version of Othello's monologue (2)

Here is my simple version of William Shakespeare's "Her father loved me; oft invited me".

This poem is a very short summary of the actual monologue. The actual monologue

Her father asked me
about my life
And I answered with
stories of war and strife

Many places and many
faces and many races

Desdemona liked to
listen very much
But she had chores
to do and such

She would get very
emotional
To the point of being
devotional

Actually,

She wanted a man to
tell her stories
or my life
So he could make her
his wife.




What a hint!

 She loves my life
no matter how tragic
That is all,
that's my magic

Othello's "Her father loved me; oft invited me"

by

Marjan Siklic

Othello - Her father loved me; oft invited me - original

Here is the original "Her father loved me; oft invited me"

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have passed.
I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it;
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field
Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,
Of being taken by the insolent foe
And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence
And portance in my travels' history:
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,
Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven
It was my hint to speak,--such was the process;
And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
The Anthropophagi and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline:
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence:
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively: I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:
She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange,
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:
She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story.
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used:

I will post a very short modern version soon. Here it is


Marjan Siklic

My version of Othello's monologue

Here is my simple version of William Shakespeare's "Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors".

This poem is a very short summary of the actual monologue. The actual monologue

Gentlemen,

Have I taken her away?

I have married her,

that's all I can say.



I speak very roughly,

because all I do is fight.

I'll explain this whole situation,

if you'll allow me to recite.

Othello's "Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors"

by

Marjan Siklic

Othello - Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors - original

Here is the original "Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors"

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approved good masters,
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her:
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,
And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace:
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field,
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle,
And therefore little shall I grace my cause
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration and what mighty magic,
For such proceeding I am charged withal,
I won his daughter.

I will post a very short modern version soon. Here it is.

Marjan Siklic