Although it's a very good translation, I prefer to read the books of Plutarchos in the original Greek texts because the version of Dryden is now somewhat obsolete. And if you don't understand the ancient Greek language well, I recommend you to read several volumes of Plutarch in THE LOEB CLASSICAL LIBRARY.

After having read McCullogh's splendid series on Rome, I turned to this fat, dense book with great expectations. I was not disappointed: the stories are endlessly fascinating, from their basic details on ancient history to the bizarre asides that reveal the pre-Christianised mind-set of the author.

Like all great books, this one can be read on innumerable levels. First, there is the moralising philosophy that is perhaps the principal purpose of the author to advance - each life holds lessons on proper conduct of great and notorious leaders alike. You get Caesar, Perikles, and Alcibiades, and scores of others who are compared and contrasted. Second, there is the content. Plutarch is an invaluable source of data for historians and the curious. Third, there is the reflection of religious and other beliefs of the 1C AD: oracles and omens are respected as are the classical gods. For example, while in Greece, Sulla is reported as having found a satyr, which he attempted unsuccesfully to question for its auguring abilities during his miltary campaign in Greece! It is a wonderful window into the mystery of life and human belief systems. That being said, Plutarch is skeptical of these occurances and both questions their relevance and shows how some shrewd leaders, like Sertorious with his white fawn in Spain, used them to great advantage.

Finally, this is a document that was used for nearly 2000 years in schools as a vital part of classical education - the well-bred person knew all these personalities and stories, which intimately informed their vocabulary and literary references until the beginning of the 20C. That in itself is a wonderful view into what was on people's minds and how they conceived things over the ages. As is well known, Plutarch is the principal source of many of Shakespeare's plays, such as Coriolanus and Julius Caesar. But it was also the source of the now obscure fascination with the rivalry of Marius and Sulla, as depicted in paintings and poetry that we still easily encounter if we are at all interested in art. Thus, this is essential reading for aspiring pedants (like me).

Of course, there are plenty of flaws in the work. It assumes an understanding of much historical detail, and the cases in which I lacked it hugely lessened my enjoyment. At over 320 years old, the translation is also dated and the prose somewhat stilted, and so it took me 300 pages to get used to it. Moreover, strictly speaking, there are many inaccuracies, of which the reader must beware.

Warmly recommended as a great and frequently entertaining historical document.

Plutarch's history isn't always the most accurate -- he clashes with Arrian and Quintus Curtius on Alexander, for example -- but it sure is a lot of fun...Plutarch weaves in lots of interesting little anecdotes and his narrative arcs are always complete without being too long. It's also great for leisurely reading; there are so many Lives, you can pick one up on any rainy afternoon, long car drive, or what have you, and don't even need to know a whole lot of context to get the gist of what's going on. For fans of history and biography, or just stories in general, this is as good as it gets.

I recommend the Modern Library edition because it's complete (with the two volumes, that is) and because the Dryden translation is very colorful even though it's old-school -- you're bound to pick up a lot of cool vocabulary. Also, don't quite know how to put it, but his translation just seems more...classic. It fits, get it.

What a shame that THIS edition of them all is printed in the worst edition. The paper is brittly, gauzy and somewhat iridescent, the ink is sallow on the paper, the book lacks an introduction, any critical notes (any indication that the last words of the text are in fact the last words, and not a typo or printer's error, seeing as how they end at the bottom of the page and are followed immediately by the plastic cover).

It is perhaps because of the Aeneid that the phrase "les traductions sont comme les femmes: quand elles sont belles, elles ne sont pas fideles; quand elles sont fideles, elles ne sont pas belles." I have spent much of the summer in meticulous scrutiny of four editions of the aeneid: the lind, mandelbaum, humphries, and billson. the process has led me to some resultant nasty and pretentious slants of minds against the first and third of the abovelisted translations, which are in many parts mistaken, lacking in detail, and overall, diluted and generalized. the billson is actually a very difficult text if one is without a firm grounding in the english poetry that flourished a few centuries ago; billson takes delightful ''liberties'' in his word choices, and takes a unique and exhilarating grammar form, that is typically ''classical''.

i do not recommend reading this one, nor reading it in close comparison to all the other available translations. pick up a copy of wheelock's latin instead.

[This review refers to the Dover Thrift verse
edition of the AENEID translated into English
by Charles J. Billson in 1906.]

As incredible as it may seem, I prefer this
Billson verse translation over that of Allen
Mandelbaum (which I also have in the Bantam
Classic edition, 1970). What causes one person
to like one translation, and another to prefer
someone else's? It is a matter of taste, but
also of conditioning through aesthetic experience
and expectation. I have read a great many poems
in a great many forms. To my sense and sensibility
there is something about the Mandelbaum translation
of the AENEID which is too confining...too clipped...
it does not seem, to me, to flow freely. And yet
Billson's translation has archaic word choices --
but the flow of his translation seems more interesting
and "freer" than that of Mandelbaum.
Here is a sample of Mandelbaum:

I sing of arms and of a man: his fate
had made him fugitive; he was the first
to journey from the coasts of Troy as far
as Italy and the Lavinian shores.
Across the lands and waters he was battered
beneath the violence of High Ones, for
the savage Juno's unforgetting anger;
and many sufferings were his in war --
[Bantam Classic, 1970.]

And here is Billson in the Dover edition with
the same passage:

Arms and the Man I sing, who first from Troy
A Doom-led exile, on Lavinian shores
Reached Italy; long tossed on sea and land
By Heaven's rude arm, through Juno's brooding
ire,
And war-worn long ere building for his Gods
A Home in Latium: whence [came] the Latin race,
The Lords of Alba, and high-towering Rome.

To my senses, and sensibility, there is something
about Billson's language and flow which seems to
have more august grandeur -- epic style, sound, and
sweep.
Here is an even more telling example -- the famous
scene in which Aeneas plucks the Golden Bough:

[Mandelbaum:] ...just so
the gold leaves seemed against the dark-green
ilex;
so in the gentle wind, the thin gold leaf
was crackling. And at once Aeneas plucks it
and, eager, breaks the hesitating bough
and carries it into the Sibyl's house.

[Billson:] So on that shadowy oak the leafy gold
Glimmered, and tinkled in the rustling air.
Forthwith Aeneas grasped the clinging bough,
And plucked, and bare it toward the Sibyl's
cell.

There seems to me a fineness of poetic sensitivity
there, in Billson, to choose those words just so --
and have the words almost resonate with the sounds
of the objects they are describing.

This review is one of the this particular translation and not of Virgil's Aeneid. This translation is outstanding. It is a prose translation undoubtedly made by some nineteenth century British Classicist. That, however, takes nothing away from it. This is the one translation I have found that actually succeeds at keeping the beauty of Virgil's words. It makes for great sounding language and it is not spoiled by modern idioms or expressions. The translator keeps his text very literal and yet somehow manages not to sound redundant or awkward. Indeed, the words simply flow. I do not know who the translator is and oddly enough, the book doesn't tell you either. I highly recommend this translation especially to anyone who is tired of the classics not sounding like classics.

I had to read this book for school, which always makes reading it more difficult because I knew I would have to write about it. The story of Antony and Cleopatra is a tragic one and better then fiction but Dryden makes it uninteresting and in blank verse which makes the writing dull and prolonged. In fact, I would've stopped reading half way through if I wasn't required to read the whole thing. Trust me, there are better "classic books" out there! Dont pick this one!

John Dryden's 1677 tragedy "All For Love" or "The World Well Lost" was based on William Shakespeare's "Antony and Cleopatra." This would be a minority opinion, but I really think this Restoration Drama is comparable to the Shakespeare version in many regards. Of course "borrowing" from Shakespeare cannot be considered much of a crime when the Bard of Avon appropriated so many plots from other dramatists as well. Shakespeare's play covers ten years in settings scattered across the eastern Mediterranean, while Dryden confines all of his events to one day in the Temple of Isis. For me the dramatic highpoint of the Dryden version is the ugly confrontation between Cleopatra and Octavia, Roman wife of Mark Antony, but I also like the final death scenes better than what we find in Shakespeare. Just do not ask me to explain how "All for Love" reflects Restoration sensibilities rather than the Elizabethan values of "Antony and Cleopatra." I first read this play and decided to use it as the final play in a mini-trilogy of one-act that used Shaw's "Caesar and Cleopatra" and Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar," and had no problem given Dryden the anchor position. Certainly classes studying English drama can benefit by having students read both the Shakespeare and Dryden versions with an eye out towards better understanding the works of both playwrights. If you are only going to read one play by Dryden, then the only other choices besides this one would be "Aureng-Zebe," his last and best example of the heroic genre or his comedy masterpiece "Marriage a-la-mode." But I would still pick "All For Love."

One often wonders, when one hears everyone and their brothers spouting superlatives about a poet from a historically repressive country, whether the superlatives are based on the poet's actual work, or whether they're in some way based on the poet's admirable-- but irrelevant-- ability to perform within a culture that is repressive to the poet's art. In some cases, the superlatives are justified, for example Vladimir Holan's stunning book-length poem _A Night with Hamlet_, written while Holan was officially a non-person in Hungary in the sixties.

Akhmatova has been called "the greatest Russian woman poet ever, and perhaps the greatest woman poet ever." I can't help but think those lauding on these kinds of laurels are looking more at her life than her work. There are certainly flashes of great brilliance here, but to put Akhmativa's work up against that of, say, Elizabeth Bishop, Deborah Allbery, or even the underrated Dorianne Laux would quickly reveal many of its flaws.

This is not to say that Akhmatova's poetry is completely without merit, and one must be forced to consider the viability of the work of any translator who would consider "He, was it, through the packed hall/Sent you (or was it a dream?)" to be the best way to translate anything, much less poetry. And thus, perhaps, the original is far more eloquent than what we receive here. That taken into account, there is still the problem to contend with that much of Akhmatova's work is, for obvious reasons, overtly political, and makes no attempt to convey its message artistically; worse yet, a good deal of that work is imagist, impressionist. The end result is something that's thick, sludgy, and impossible to read.

However, every once in a while a good line will shine through, and occasionally we find ourselves staring at a poem that seems to exist well outside the boundaries of this particular collection:

* * *

Voronezh

And the town is frozen solid, leaded with ice.

Trees, walls, snow, seem to be under glass. Cautiously I tread on crystals. The painted sleighs can't seem to get a grip. And over the statue of Peter-in-Voronezh Are crows, and poplars, and a pale-green dome Washed-out and muddy in the sun-motes. The mighty slopes of the field of Kulikovo Tremble still with the slaughter of barbarians. And all at once the poplars, like lifted chalices, Enmesh more boisterously overhead Like thousands of wedding-guests feasting And drinking toasts to our happiness. And in the room of the banished poet Fear and the Muse take turns at the watch, And the night comes When there will be no sunrise.

* * *

Unfortunately, there's too little of this and too much of the rest. Giving the benefit of the doubt where the translation is concerned, I can still only manage ** 1/2.

Anna Akhmatova was one of the century's greatest lyric poets. D. M. Thomas has selected a fine overview of her poetic accomplishment, and translated the poems stunningly: both lyric cadences and the quality of spoken speech come through in his refashioning of the poems into English. (The Hayward/Kunitz tranlations are also fine, but for a brief introduction this is a wonderful book.)

The volume contains her "Requieum," a ten pagel lyric sequence which is my choice for the greatest poem of the twentieth century, as it combines personal lyricism, social witness, historical density, a primal narrative moment -- in poems which are stunning, one after another.

Perhaps only Yeats has rivalled Akhmatova's exploration of love in modern times, and there are many moments when her symbolism, her brevity, her song-like qualities are reminiscent of the best of Yeats.

This is a wonderful book, a fine introduction to a great, powerful, haunting poet.