Black Antigone , livre ebook

Title Page
BLACK ANTIGONE
Sophocles’ Tragedy Meets the Heartbeat of Africa
by
George Porter



Publisher Information
First published in 2012 by
Chaplin Books
1 Eliza Place
Gosport PO12 4UN
Tel: 023 9252 9020
www.chaplinbooks.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed in 2012 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © George Porter
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder for which application should be addressed in the first instance to the publishers. No liability shall be attached to the author, the copyright holder or the publishers for loss or damage of any nature suffered as a result of the reliance on the reproduction of any of the contents of this publication or any errors or omissions in the contents.
Application for performance should be made before commencement of rehearsal to Chaplin Books at the address below. No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained, and no alterations may be made to the title or to the text of the play without the author’s prior written consent.



Introduction
‘Sophocles’ ANTIGONE is just not any text. It is one of the enduring and canonic acts in the history of our philosophic, literary, and political consciousness.’
Professor George Steiner, Antigones, OUP 1984
BLACK ANTIGONE is a new interpretation of Sophocles’ tragedy and stems from my belief that the potent rhythms of the people of Africa were much more a part of Bronze Age Greece, and therefore had much more influence on the development of western literature, than has ever been suggested - especially by the Victorian classics professors on whose translations of Antigone many generations have relied. It has not been my intention to outsmart the knowledge and expertise of these translators: what I have attempted to do instead is to present a fresh perspective on the play. Is it provocative? Yes, in the sense that it attempts to show that the blossoming of the theatre of ancient Greece might have had its roots in places that academics have shown themselves reluctant to accept.
In Black Antigone , these ‘roots’ are most evident in the controversial treatment of the Chorus. In his Notes on the Dance Rhythms used by Sophocles, Professor H D F Kitto says ‘We know nothing about Greek music and can only make indirect inferences about their dances.’ Arguably, if we know nothing according to one of the foremost translators, then anyone’s considered conjecture on the presentation of music and dance could be worthy of respect, regardless of the extent of their knowledge of ancient Greek. In this connection, the meters contained in the body of the play and the Chorus in Black Antigone are based, as far as I am able, on some of those indicated by Professor Kitto. I have not attempted to construct the more obscure forms where indicated by him (such as iambs, trochees, dactyls and anapaests), not because this presents too severe a challenge, but because to do so would get in the way of the regularity of the rhythms which, as they stand, present a pattern which, partly at least, satisfies academic convention.
The similarity ends here. What the academic translations of the Chorus lack are any feeling for rhythm apart from esoteric precision. Vibrancy is absent, although the meters indicated are those which are associated with strong rhythmic patterns. Why is this? Could it be a subliminal intent on the part of classical translators to effect an attitude to rhythm eschewing the basic human instincts even today plainly visible in most societies, quashing the vitality of simple unadulterated rhythmic patterns and substituting them with less potent and more intricate ones which can only be appreciated by an ear trained to assimilate them? If these translations are true to the spirit of the original, then Sophocles must have bored his audiences, which numbered into thousands, into a state of catatonic submission. Surely, if ‘we know nothing’, we could be just a little more imaginative with our lack of knowledge.
Perhaps the following comparisons taken from my Chorus and compared with that of a translation by Sir Richard Jebb, to whom most subsequent translators pay homage, may elucidate my point. Jebb produced a superb translation, in the precise scholastic meaning of the term, but using metaphor and rhythm more freely can bring a staid and uninspiring speech to life. In short, what I have tried to accomplish is to claw back some of the spirit I believe was lost in translation by the ponderous and haughty use of the English language aimed at a very narrow section of Victorian elitist academics, who were convinced that nothing black could ever taint the purity of western civilization. To read Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet is to feel the power and beauty of the English language; to read translations from ancient Greek of Antigone , from which Shakespeare’s own work is possibly inspired, and poetic power and beauty, as mere mortals know it, is nowhere to be perceived:
Chorus 1 (Jebb)
For Zeus abhors the boasts of a proud tongue; and when he beheld them coming on in a great stream, in the haughty pride of clanging gold, he smote with brandished fire one who was now hasting to shout victory at his goad upon our ramparts.
Chorus 1 ( Black Antigone )
Now Zeus ain’t so cool when a man starts to brag,
And these slick suited soldiers were not in his bag,
So he flashed off a thunderbolt into their ranks,
He frightened them witless and finished their pranks.
Down to the Earth he did flash with a smack,
Waving his torch like a crazy on crack,
Raging and raving and screaming for blood,
Ares the God was delivering the goods.
Chorus 4 (Jebb)
Love, unconquered in the fight, Love, who makest havoc of wealth, who keepest thy vigil on the soft cheek of a maiden; thou roamest over the sea, and among men whose life is for a day; and he to whom thou has come is mad.
The just themselves have their minds warped by thee to wrong, for their ruin; victorious is the love-kindling light from the eyes of the fair bride, it is a power enthroned in sway beside the eternal laws; for there the goddess Aphrodite is working her unconquerable will.
Chorus 4 ( Black Antigone )
Love is crazy, love is mad.
Love is blind and love is sad,
Love takes strong men, makes the weak,
At night it strokes the young girl’s cheek.
It’s in the country, in the town,
It’s in the sky and in the ground.
Eyes that flash the lights of love,
Are equal to the laws above.
No man can beat the love goddess;
She wants your heart and nothing less.
I hope it will be apparent to readers that my interpretation of both the complete text and the Chorus do not stray from the sentiments expressed in Jebb’s translation, although I have deliberately omitted certain references which I believe have little or no bearing on the performance of the play to a modern audience and which would tend to clutter the minds of all but the classical scholar.
If my contemporary expressions used in interpretation of the translations seem vulgar and out of place to some, I make no apology. I believe that a modern colloquialism used as a defamiliarising device to enrich the concept of an idea does much to enliven and enhance an otherwise uninspiring piece of text. Such cavalier treatment of scholarly translations places me open to criticism as being nothing more than a vulgar populist intent on degrading the beauty of what is arguably one of the greatest dramatic texts ever written. My response is that if the interpretation sparks the imagination of an audience - for this interpretation is intended to be performed and not just studied - then my effort will be justified. Furthermore, I take refuge in the words of the literary criticism of Longinus from On the Sublime:
Now the homely term is sometimes much more expressive than elegant diction, for, being taken from everyday life, it is at once recognized, and carries the more conviction from its familiarity. These expressions are on the very edge of vulgarity but the expressiveness saves them from actually being vulgar.
For instance, take the words mumbo-jumbo. We all know what mumbo-jumbo is in present-day parlance, but are we aware of where the words came from, or what (or who) they actually are? Mumbo Jumbo is a grotesque idol said to have been worshipped by West Africans. If these words are chanted, what we are presented with is a rhyming foot of iambic containing strident assonance. Did the African who coined it know this? Should we be bothered? The fact is that the meter employed by the Homeric poets, regardless of the language it is recited in, is by no means the preserve of the Greeks. It has been used throughout the world since people began to grunt. The much exalted dithyramb, (a choral hymn danced in honour of Dionysus) for all its present-day elitist veneration, could perhaps be no more than a successor to the tribal dances which are still performed by the ancestors of many ancient races to this day. Native Americans and Australian Aborigines are two examples which spring to mind. I can remember that as a child, in the company of others, I would run around a lamppost imagining it to be a totem pole chanting the nonsense words “walla walla woola” while waving an imaginary tomahawk. These words, nonsensical as they are, contain rhythm. The magic occurs when the words and the rhythms combine and weld themselves into something more.
The iambus is as universal as, and in actuality is, a heartbeat. It resides in the womb, and its tempo