Killing Antigone

She steps out of ancient myth
created from time's
dark stillness.
Her long black hair
surrounds
an empty face.
She tells her own story
without effort or guile,
and we know the ending.
Her character is bleak
and bare.
Sophocles loved her all too well,
so he rendered such a beauty
in bold blacks and whites.
Creon was the villain,
she the heroine,
and death in the end,
inevitable.

"I know how it turns out,"
my friend said,
"Why bother seeing the play at all?
The characters aren't even original,
nor the story," he went on.
"All of it happens in two dimensions,
and nothing is interesting
in the least.
Sophocles should have written
convoluted, unpredictable plots
with complex, deeply tortured characters.
Instead, the Greeks borrowed
on folk tales."

So for us today,
why bother with Antigone
at all?

A Greek-style drama
is a Rorsach frame.
You get out of it
what you bring.
To the shallow, the story bores,
but it takes those who truly see
into a another realm.
Myth and vision repulse the dead,
but give life
to those with spirit and breath.
Their souls can thrive
on a single, simple act.

Who killed Antigone?
Was it Creon,
that dark-hearted king,
or did we?
Do we refuse to see her winsome smile
even now?
We're spoiled and angry children,
always crying,
demanding something new,
a plastic or software package
made for today.
Some well-contrived little bauble
will surely fascinate
us all.

But the classic, the stark,
dark and spare
remain
sleeping there.
They frighten us away.
We don't want Antigone any more,
so let's bury her forever
beneath our
torrent
of empty words.

 

What did you think of this article?




Trackbacks
  • No trackbacks exist for this post.
Comments

Leave a comment

Submitted comments are subject to moderation before being displayed.

 Name

 Email (will not be published)

 Website

Your comment is 0 characters limited to 3000 characters.