Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Antigone: A Poem

Ismene and Antigone—two sisters
outside the gates of Thebes,
Ismene with vacillating determinations,
Antigone indomitable to the closing.
Recently returned from a journey lately ceased,
they hear their brothers both are lately deceased.
Strong Eteocles, defending his country
slain by his brother Polyneices, traitorous and greedy
in a tussle for the throne. 
The loss of two brothers once,
turned enemies at the end,
sisters too late to save them,
just in time to hear the decree,
as they heartbrokenly mourn
they hear: Polyneices never shall be borne
into the earth, left above ground. 
Their royal uncle Creon, jealous is he
Jealous of the throne, intent on bending
the population to his will, 
as he honors Eteocles as Hero
censures Polyneices as Renegade
—forbidding his burial—
vultures for the traitor will fit his bill.
Dismayed by this revelation, Antigone mourns,
the sister’s heart inside her bewailing the loss
she suffers by her brothers’ death, 
furthered by disrespect shown Polyneices.
Determined, she declares “I’ll do my best,
to honor both brothers, disobey,
and bury Polyneices.
Will you join me?”
Ismene refuses to accompany
Antigone on her wily
attempt to honor their brother,
“Why risk more woe?”
And so Antigone goes alone
to do what she may to pay respects to the dead.
Antigone lingers, sprinkling dust on Polyneices’ body
weeping, mourning the memory of her brother…
But a wandering countryman finds her handiwork,
rushing to the palace, to inform Creon,
 “Burial rites performed on Polyneices’—
but please it was not me!”
The incensed king orders the witness,
“Find that person or peril on your existence!”
Terrified, the man apprehends Antigone, caught her in the act,
and to the tyrant Creon, brings her back.
Enraged that a citizen, his own niece
disregards his will so totally
he orders her to be imprisoned,
buried alive and left to die.

Despair encompasses Ismene
fearful to live with her sister not
determined to share Antigone’s lot
But the condemned testifies to her innocence
and Creon cares only for the violator, not the sister,
—Ismene left in tears
—Antigone sealed without fears.

Remembering the crimes of her father,
destiny visiting her today for yesterday’s sin,
Antigone knows her fate, ready to
wed personified death, her expiration,
peaceful, glad, in the face of death.
Finding a rope, twists it to a knot, 
“O welcome Death! Now you have me, I am yours!”
these were her last words.

Tiresias, blind prophet, approaches,
warns Creon of his error,
“Your offsprings’s ruin,
your son for the murder of your niece,
punishment for the destruction of budding beauty.”
The gods against him, they be,
incensed by your cheek,
to make yourself into one like them.”
Creon irritated that his decree
be overturned by those holding 
greater power than he, 
he vacillates, unwilling.
“How dare you say
the gods, clear as day,
want the girl released?”
Townspeople cry, “Tiresias never lied to Thebes, 
and all his prophecies ring true,
your grief shall surely come
if you leave the girl to die, you’ll rue.”
Decided, Creon realizes
the petty risks he takes
to uphold himself, why try
if it only brings more misery?
Creon rushes to the tomb,
intent now to free Antigone to save his own.
But alas, too late:
already Antigone has strung and swung her rope,
acquiescent to death, she’s welcomed her grave, wide-armed—
Haëmon is distraught. He came
to rescue her, that they may live together,
free from his father’s limits,
but he found her dead already,
swinging on her rope.
Creon has arrived too late, 
to free her now useless,
as his flesh and blood Haëmon 
turns on him in rage
brandishing a sharp sword
but Creon springs away, does not witness
his son running on the sword in distress.

Sentry reaches royal palace first, 
announces ruin of Haëmon and Antigone,
and Eurydice, lady of the house,
struck by the sudden death 
of son and daughter both, 
whirling emotions, retreating to her chambers with a knife…
Mourning Creon enters his home,
“Oh, what have I done?”
The messenger enters—Haëmon’s suicide—
the prophecy fulfilled,
the weak-willed boy too tormented
to live without the love
his father has destroyed.
Creon anguished further,
turns for consolation,
reaching for Eurydice, a warm embrace,
only to receive more woe—
his wife—a son’s death—despair—and she has pierced herself,
slain herself like Haemon,
devastated by a mother’s grief…

All for a mistake of his proud whims,
no family or relief for him—
with wails and moans,

Creon is left alone.
.
.
.
.
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—I wrote this last month in place of an essay while I studied Sophocles. I particularly like it, so I wanted to share. I am currently working on a prose reworking of The Aeneid, about which I am also excited. I have really enjoyed choosing creative writing projects rather than the dry essays I typically am tasked (at least, I find them dry. I have not quite struck a balance in essays, though I am finding a groove.) Peace.