We have seen an old man, through suffering, become wise.

I am dead already.

creon. Pain . . .There was hatred inside me, the urge to destroyDrove me like a maniac, an insanePlunge towards death – your death my boy.See here, the killer and his victim!See here, the father and his son!I was responsible. My actions killed him.There is no blame for him, none.Blasted in the morning of your life,My hope, my joy,My hand powered the knife,My arrogance determined your fate.

And the poor lad, hysterical with griefAnd self-disgust, held his sword at arm’s lengthAnd plunged it between his own ribs.And then, still conscious, he lifted the girlDown into the crook of his armAnd cradled her there, in his own blood.His breathing got harder and shorter, as his lifeFlooded away before our eyes, like a fountain,Soaking her body – so that her white cheeksFlushed red again with the bloodstains.

creon. Yes . . . I’ll go, myself, at once!Somebody, everybody, bring spades and sledge-hammersOut onto the mountain. I’m coming with you!If I’ve changed my mind, I’ll act upon itWith exactly the same determination.I sentenced her, and I’ll set her free,Tear down the bricks with my own handsIf necessary. Perhaps it is wiserTo let the old laws stand. My fearTells me it is. And that’s a voiceEvery prudent man must listen to

Other cities too, other States,Will turn upon you for the crime you have committed.Dogs and vultures will swarm in their streetsDropping fragments of the unburied manAt corners, on doorsteps, in the public squares.They will smell the pollution, and turn to you,Its author! That’s all I have to say

creon. That is because all fortune-tellersAre money grubbers and charlatans.teiresias. Kings too have been known to be acquisitive.creon. Do you realise the man you are talking to?I am the king!teiresias. You are the king, yes.My good advice helped to make you one.

A man can fall: he can fall like a stone,Especially if he pretends to give good advice,And wraps it up in a profound cloakOf religiosity, when all the timeNaked self-interest, and the greed for profitAre the only motives that matter to him!

Any manCan make a mistake, or commit a crime.The man who can recognise what he has done,See that he was mistaken, or morally wrong,Admit it, and put it right, that manProves that it is never too late to becomeWise, and no one will condemn him.But if he compounds his stupidityWith stubbornness, and an obstinate refusalTo face the facts, he is nothing but a fool.Is there anyone more stupid than the stupid manWho cannot see his own stupidity?

Then for god’s sake, listen to me now.You’re like a man balanced on a razor,Likely to fall – or cut himself to pieces.

Man’s fate is determined, will not be denied.The child Antigone pays for the parents’ pride.

A daughter of kings. And I die his victim,Unjustly, for upholding justiceAnd the humanity of humankind.

She hasn’t changed, even now. The angerInside her still blows like a hurricane.

Spare me your sympathy,Weep no false tears,I know the path that I must follow,To the sunless country of eternal sorrow,The bleak waters of eternity,The unimaginable years.No grief where none is felt. I shall go aloneAnd in silence to my house of stone

To pay respect to the deadIs praiseworthy, an act of love,And religion must have its due:But no civilised State can eschewAuthority. Laws must be obeyed,Whether we approve or disapprove.If you refuse to sanctionThe power of the StateBy indulging your obsessionYou connive at your own fate.

ntigone. Nothing more painful than that, the remembranceOf my father’s long agony, and the curseOn my suffering family from the beginning.So much grief from the unlucky chanceOf the son finding the mother’s bed, and worseThan anything, the benighted offspringOf that unspeakable marriage: and I,With the others, share that terrible destiny.Conceived in incest, no repentanceCan soften the punishment: the yearsPass, the agonies increase

But your action is famous,In every streetMouths whisper ‘Antigone’.You go down to the deadWith the promise of glory ringing in your headAnd nothing to devalue your beauty.No sword has scarred you, plague visited:Unmarked, untouched, you passFrom the dangerous lightInto the safety of eternal night,Alive, alone, and free.