"antigone" poems
Overcome -- O bitter sweetness,
Inhabitant of the soft cheek of a girl --
The rich man and his affairs,
The fat flocks and the fields' fatness,
Mariners, rough harvesters;
Overcome Gods upon Parnassus;
Overcome the Empyrean; hurl
Heaven and Earth out of their places,
That in the Same calamity
Brother and brother, friend and friend,
Family and family,
City and city may contend,
By that great glory driven wild.
Pray I will and sing I must,
And yet I weep -- Oedipus' child
Descends into the loveless dust.
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Antigone, the heroine.
I am proud for you,
With your high cheekbones
And your straight spine
And your low, ringing voice.
I am proud for you,
With tears in my eyes-
"Antigone, the heroine,"
He said, holding an exquisite, strong-featured mask
With delicate fingers,
And I saw your face in its sharp lines,
And I thought,
"It's true.
How saved I feel,
Knowing you."
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
How could a human
So desperate for love
Stay in a love
That will destroy her
Love does not ******
Love feels
As one flows
into the other
She is at the helm
Committed to death
When love unmasks ******
That has suicide
As a result
death has,
nothing to destroy
in her but passion
body being vessel
Giving into love
Soul acquiesces into dust
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 6:08 PM UTC
And sing
My bitter praises
To nails
And flint
And flesh...
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
My nails are ***** but I am sovereign
I don’t have to do what I think is wrongful
kicking up my heels in the mud
I wear my crown around my thigh
a victory belt suspended right above my knee
head held up high
above the assembly
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
In a different town.
The baked streets have thinner air.
The fata seem to belong less to Morgana than to the mountains.
The tall mountains that freeze
The water of the eyes to
The water of the roads a mile away.
The terrific air.
I can now only barely recall.
No sound, the film skipped,
Slightly off the projector track.
The dark insides of a native heritage.
The store with an open door.
The stern woman behind the white smoke counter.
Turquoise is expensive,
But no one buys enough for it to be in vogue.
A vogue might swallow all the sulfur
Sand.
The sharp nose,
Cheekbones that squint the little black eyes deeper inside.
I can see why they must have been afraid,
Though I’m not quite sure what I mean by “they.”
This town is different from any other one.
And you can feel it when the mountains
Pin their tongue into the sun.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 1:42 PM UTC
Είμαι η Αντιγόνη και όχι ο Ελπήνορας
Je suis Antigone oui, moi
Je suis morte oui je ne vis plus je vivais
Maintenant je suis morte mais de temps en temps
je viens et je reviens avec moi / j ‘amène le désir
de vivre encore une fois / mon corps frémit de nostalgie
de poser de questions tant des questions tant des réponses
c’ est un chemin triste mon amour pour vous
Je suis morte oui je ne vis plus/ Je vivais
mais de temps, en temps je reviens
à travers vos désirs vos aspirations vos appels
c’ est vous qui me faites venir ici / et moi
moi/ le rien et vous les tous
c’ est pour cela que je reviens
je suis ici encore une fois
pour plaire , sentir, danser et chanter
comprendre et aimer, encore une fois
©maria panoutsou Mάιος Ιούλιος 2016
http://mariapanoutsoupoetry.blogspot.gr/
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 7:44 AM UTC
i quickly became the antagonist
crushing up dead leaves
and sprinkling them on your bones
throwing a bowl of honey nut cheerios
in a public swimming
leveling the plain
creating a crater
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
The Sun in Sudan is unkind.
There beauty withers into dust.
The people there are primitive,
Their ways are alien to us.
A Christian woman, eight months pregnant,
Has been condemned to lash and rope.
convicted by Sharia law.
Our outrage is her earthly hope.
For Meriam refused to yield,
In Jesus she maintains her trust.
She would not convert by force
To a cult that seeks control of us.
A modern day Antigone,
condemned to death because of faith.
A prisoner of Conscience, she,
Like the Lamb, endures their hate.
She is not clothed as with the Sun.
The child she bears, no Savior King.
She’s labelled an adulteress
though she wears her husband’s ring.
Her faith provides no easy path,
that often is the way of things.
Like all those Martyrs who came before her,
She puts her trust in Christ the King.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
Daughter and sister
Creon king of Thebes
Great Antigone locked inside a tomb
For following divine law
Hung by her own hand
Unable to suffer injustice
Hæmon now must bleed
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
Heads bob over waves, another couple
passes. Bennett on his bath towel,
burying his fingers in the sand,
legs pointing toward the sea.
Tries to escape through summer’s haze,
but only recalls the room some years ago:
students speaking of Antigone and he
finally uttering a thought, but his thought
Is thought superfluous. A silence entering
Bennett. Bennett becoming that silence.
But suddenly he is here again,
watching the muttering old man
with his metal detector.
The old man stops, his ugly
voice hushes, and bends
down to grasp the Earth.
He wonders what is there.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
Aristotle’s arrhythmic articulations
Appeared too apologetic for Aphrodite's amusements
Aroused by antisocial media’s alacritous abundance
Amidst arteriosclerosis and amphibiously obeisant Ophiuchus
Asclepius' ascendance was almost an abortion
Arrested by Apollo’s amorous attempts at aphrodisia
Ambidextrous Artemis’ androgynous appointments
Awakened ancient antipathies accentuating allopathic artifacts
Altercations arose among ambitious acolytes and Athena’s anorexic acidoses
Awkward Adonis actively agonized by alarming aneurysms
Allowed Antigone’s ambivalent armistice an aperture of acceptance
Appointing an ambiguously appealing additive to the Argonauts
An anaerobic Acropolis arose amidst ********** asphyxiations
As Amazonian armpit hair advocates approved artificial insemination
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
Gets no love the one who doesn't love.
It's not Karma, but simple logic.
Even if he does, it's a sort of odds,
Making the canon candid.
It's not Karma, but simple logic;
The misanthrope is alone -
Who doesn't like water, will suffocate in,
Who doesn't like life, will be perishing in.
The misanthrope is alone.
This is all a matter of nature-
One may hide in a mass like serpent,
Still being poisonous, threatening.
This is all a matter of nature;
The old song of yin and yang-
Darkness isn't overthrown by brightness,
But they fulfill the scheme of destiny.
The old song of yin and yang-
The side uncursed by goodness
Is the side blessed with senselessness,
Extreme plainness and severity.
The side uncursed by goodness
Fulfills the dark side of the bright -
Without looking for doing the right
Since it's all self-implemented.
Fulfilling the dark side of the bright,
Giving chance for the light,
And bearing all the dark of the moon,
He may be a hero, the antigone.
Giving chance for the light,
Getting no love while another does,
We - people - serve perfect bad examples
For there's no hero without Antihero.
Getting no love while another does,
Even if getting that's out of odds;
Darkness isn't overthrown by brightness,
But each fulfills a scheme in destiny.
We've been and we'll be gone even as antigone.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
On a splendid sunny day with the Gestapo standing by,
A Munich Co-ed, the condemned, Sophie Scholl spoke for the last time.
Sure of her cause, strong in her Faith, the last petal of the White Rose
Bared her neck to the guillotine already wet with her brother’s blood.
Opponents of an unjust War. The White Rose defied the Fueher’s rule
In their pamphlets they exposed the horrors of the camps
until they were condemned in a court of law.
Not every German was complicit; not all revered the red and black.
Some still thought for themselves and secretly they fought back.
Like Antigone of old, Sophie stood against the State:
certain, to the very last, of Love’s victory over hate.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
Would that all we were Antigones! King Creon forbade the burial of Polynycises, Antingone's brother, but she buiried him anyway, incurring the wrath of Creon who ordered Antigone to be buried alive. But before Creon changed his mind, Antigone had hung herself. And what of Prometheus? He stole fire from Zeus and gave it to mankind. Enraged, Zeus had Prometheus chained to a mountain and sent an eagle every day to eat Prometheus's liver, which grew back every day. This torture lasted years until Hercules killed the eagle with one of his arrows. Courage to do right was met with torture and death. How many human beings over millennia have emulated Antigone and Prometheus? Not enough. Mythology is one thing, reality, sadly, another.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jan 1, 2021
Jan 1, 2021 at 4:24 PM UTC
Today is July 4, 2020. There is not much to celebrate. **** Trump leaves us in a Polynicean gloom. Fireworks remind me of wars. I would rather, and therefore will, listen to Rachmaninov's PIANO CONCERTO NO. 2 tonight.
I will celebrate beauty rather than killing. And I will give thought to Antigone as well, for she willingly gave her life for doing what was right. I shall listen to Yuja **** arpeggiate notes. I will again become fixated both by her light-
ning dexterity and the glorious sounds to which she gives birth. Humankind has this dual potential: it can either **** or care. So why, I ask myself, does it always choose the former? On this national holiday especially, why do we now not celebrate Thomas Paine and Walt Whitman and Harriet Tubman and Eugene Debs and Martin Luther King Jr.? We do we not collectively ask forgiveness for all the covert, sinister, malevolent interventions into the affairs of other nations, resulting in unjust overthrows and war crimes aplenty? Fireworks? July 4th? We did defeat the evil of ****** and his unspeakable genocide. Let us be sure to give unending thanks to all those who lost their lives in this moral victory. But Viet Nam? The lives of 58,000 American soldiers lost for the lies of our leaders? And Kissinger and McNamara and the Bushes and Cheney and so many others in our government never held accountable for their war crimes? And yet tonight we have fireworks instead of Nuremberg-like trials. Antigone knew she would die if she buried her brother, Polynices, and yet she went ahead and buried him and died for doing it. And the 4,000,000 blacks who were slaves in 1861 and the 500 indigenous nations that covered for centuries from sea to shining sea what we now call America--did they have anything to celebrate on this day, on this date? Fireworks, that's all.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 10:10 PM UTC
Hamlet missed his chance
Antigone would've ousted Creon quicker given the stance
Had Lenin the foresight he'd have placed his bets on Trotsky
What options does that leave me?
you can know you're not them
The voices in my head speak softly as the man I want dead paints what it would cost me
To exact revenge
Make his world end
And mine, its a fine line to debate on crossing
You could let it go
I'm blameless here, no?
He's the one who sold his soul
He landed a hit, but he better have another punch to throw.
Swing at me!
I promise you I won't go gently
You can forget it
What would the wise say?
If you turn away there's a price to pay
An eye for an eye and
a lie for a lie
This cuckold better say goodbye
You can forgive
Do you think Montresor has any regrets?
There was no tell-tale heart beating when he laid himself rest.
Was he satisfied?
I know what I'm doing
I'm passing this test
The wise can watch his demise
Game
Set
*Fine, you've made up your mind, enjoy your story being lost in time.
Enjoy your rhyme or reason for convincing only yourself this man is guilty of treason.
You're going to take a part of yourself with this, you've let your temper grow.*
Hey, where'd you go?
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
Dude is wide awake
His waking void understill
Five minuteplastic
The water congeals loudly
In front of his tonsure
Explode out of oceans of salt
To empty that illuminated ditch
When he parts
She supine in other days
Out of a matter filled gas
Over the shell of wellness
Or feather brush
The risen Antigone
Stuffed in her tonsure
Obviously never hearing the lie
Which carries darkness
Away from valleys of pride
The silence of the watchful Dullard
A cold stillness
******* in the forms
Exposing the Moon
She ****** medicine out of her mother's
Nose
Crawled clothed
Into her father's chair
Healing her mother's solidity
("Forget her")
Easy to remember the day
After the wake
She was found in the concrete
And the mother stuck in
Her grown-up gums
She tears his sickness
Not an apathetic ****
Away from him, black tendon
Reinforcing his unity
Without blunt gums
Eternity is drawing her hateful grunts
Of none these abrasive poems
We were a tiny Tonsure
Of the naked ***
Or a pristine sweetbird
Those sated turkeys are cowards
Empty of reverence
The sands were still
Of the red corpuscles
In that second spirit
Our divorce was undone
Sated
Against the white Moon out of his foot
Sated in the noise
This chills
The rejected plans of the impossible
That flitter on possibilities
Look behind ye
The rottings of all that remains
Never staring into
Junkyards of roses
Physical waterspray
Waking forest man
And she, last of the truly ignorant
A whisp burying opiates
Nightmares
And the obvious
Potent dwarves squinting up
From tiny depths
On those haters
Who cool
And freeze
And remain inert, careless, the missing stumps
They stop shrinking
"You lose what you don't want"
He tells her
His oft-described tonsure
Was in his toenails
"Confidence is a weak malady
Go away waking octogenarian
Go to sleep, Go to sleep..."
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
On a splendid sunny day with the Gestapo standing by,
A Munich Co-ed, the condemned, Sophie Scholl spoke for the last time.
Sure of her cause, strong in her Faith, the last petal of the White Rose
Bared her neck to the guillotine already wet with her brother’s blood.
Opponents of an unjust War. The White Rose defied the Fueher’s rule
In their pamphlets they exposed the horrors of the camps
until they were condemned in a court of law.
Not every German was complicit; not all revered the red and black.
Some still thought for themselves and secretly they fought back.
Like Antigone of old, Sophie stood against the State:
certain, to the very last, of Love’s victory over hate.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 8:25 AM UTC