Edipo Rey es la primera obra de la trilogía de Edipo, de Sófocles, escrita para los concursos de teatro de la antigua Atenas.
Cuándo es joven el oráculo de Delfos anuncia para Edipo un destino atroz, por lo cual sus padres lo envían a vivir a otra ciudad para evitar el cumplimiento del vaticinio.
Pero es difícil escapar al destino, y en este caso, cómo en muchas tragedias griegas, el hombre termina siendo una pieza cuyo destino es decidido por los dioses, a pesar de su intento por evitarlo.
Una buena obra, que me impactó un poco menos, por ser una historia conocida.

ya no quedan hombres como los de antes 3 (capaces de arrancarse los ojos al darse cuenta de que han hecho las cosas fatal)

relectura : lo que más me ha sorprendido esta vez es lo poco preocupado que se muestra edipo... son todos los hombres heterosexuales así? yo siento que las chicas y las minorías sobrepensamos todo aunque quizá solo se deba a la culpabilidad cristiana fruto de la herencia católica

Já tinha lido esta peça muitos anos atrás. Mas agora li-a com muito mais proveito, pois li a Ilíada recentemente e estava, portanto, muito mais familiarizado com o "espírito" grego. E a tradução portuguesa da Edições 70, apesar de ser em prosa, é de leitura muito, muito poética, como aliás é tão típico dos portugueses. As frases são tão bem redigidas, a sonoridade é tão bem construída e natural ao mesmo tempo! Foi um grande prazer.

Quanto ao conteúdo, uma das coisas que mais me marcaram foi a idéia de a progênie carregar consigo o legado dos atos abomináveis cometidos pelos pais. Prefiguração do tema judaico-cristão do pecado original? Antes, creio eu, expressão de uma mesma realidade, porém num plano menos profundo, menos abrangente, já que os gregos concebiam a transcendência de uma maneira mais, por assim dizer, naturalista; isto é, como algo que se passaria em um mundo quase que contíguo a este aqui.

Σύμφωνα με τον Αριστοτέλη το συγκεκριμένο έργο αποτελεί την τελειότερη τραγωδία. Έχει μια στυνομική πλοκή, διαπνέεται απο μια μεγαλειώδη τραγικότητα και ειρωνεία, λογοτεχνικά παιχνίδια και συμβολισμούς(σταυροδρόμι=σημείο μοιραίων αποφάσεων/Οιδίποδας=αυτός που έχει πρησμένα πόδια+ γνωρίζει και το τρίτο πόδι του αινίγματος της Σφήκας). Ο Σοφοκλής ενδιαφέρεται για τα όρια της ανθρώπινης γνώσης. Πόση αλήθεια μπορεί να αντέξει ο άνθρωπος ?? Εξέρχεται ηττημένος αλλα πιο σοφός. Η τύφλωση του περα απο το οτι προκαλεί τον έλεο στον θεατή, συμβολίζει και την εσώτερη συνειδητοποίηση της αλήθειας ( η όραση δεν του χρησιμεύει πλεόν, έχει ανακαλύψει αυτό που ζητά). Οι θεοί συντρίβουν τον Οιδίποδα υπογραμμίζοντας το εφήμερο της ευτυχίας, την τραγικότητας της ύπαρξης(εδώ δεν υπάρχει η σωτηρολογία των θρησκειών). Όμως ο Οιδίποδας πορεύεται ελεύθερα στο μονοπάτι που επέλεξε κρίνοντας και αποφασίζοντας χωρις έξωθεν παρεμβάσεις. Ο λιμός θα είναι απλά η η αφορμή και ο τρόπος των θεών για την αποκατάσταση της κοσμικής τάξης. Εδώ οι Θεοί σε οδηγούν στην γνώση μεσα απο τον πονο, την ντροπή, και τέλος την λυτρωση. Προσπαθούν να σε κάνουν κάτοχο της αλήθειας δι' ελέου και φόβου. Ο Οιδίποδας χωρίς να το γνωρίζει έχει διαπράξει θηριωδίες και πρέπει να απομονωθεί απο τους ανθρώπους. Και θα το κάνει γιατι ενω δεν είναι ένοχος (αφου δε γνώριζε τι έκανε) θα αυτοτυφλωθεί και θα εξοριστεί λογω ντροπής. Σύμφωνα με τον Νίτσε η τραγωδία είναι σύζευξη του έλλογου με το ενστικτώδες στοιχείο. Ο λόγος υπάρχει για να τιθασεύσει το άγριο ένστικτο. Ο Σοφοκλής θεωρείται δικαίως ο καλύτερος τραγικός συνδυάζοντας το θείο(Αισχύλος) με τον ανθρωπισμό και τα παθη(Ευρυπίδης) σε ένα απο τα πιο συγκλονιστικά έργα που γράφτηκαν ποτέ.

Let every man in mankind's frailty consider his last day; and let none presume on his good fortune until he find Life, at his death, a memory without pain.


Quick question for the day: how can one love Antigone and not have read Oedipus Rex? While dishonorable, it wasn't difficult given how prevalent the play is in our reality, the Freudian safeguards, the Lizard King finding such delight in a Florida retelling.

Much like those Star-Crossed Lovers I was prepared for enjoyment but found the crafting amazing, the chorus most stirring. I appreciate how the royal arrogance turns to ashes amidst revelation. This is a foundational text, a lesson for the perils of self-awareness.

"..nasıl bir felakete uğradığını, nerede oturduğunu, kimin yanında ömür geçirdiğini görmedikten sonra o gözlerin neye yarar?"

"Sadık bir dostu reddetmek, bence kendi kendimizi hayatın en aziz bildiğimiz bir parçasından yoksun bırakmaktır."

What a dark story. Some of the biggest taboos are explored: incest and parricide. Some important existential questions are asked: are we masters or victims of our fates and to what extent? Do we have a destiny? Is there such thing as God’s (or the gods’) plan for us? Can we fight and escape it?

The real culprits are Œdipe’s natural and adopted parents’. The first pair ordered the killing of their child to escape the fate announced by The Oracles. The second pair never told their child that he was adopted.

Œdipe just tried to live a good life and never meant to harm anyone unless in self-defence. He was a victim... until he became paranoid and threw around insults and threats, and pronounced unfair punishments to anybody who crossed him.

The dialogues are superb (wasn’t expecting that!) and helped to digest the sadness of the play.

I'm being irreverent, but whenever I think of this work I cannot help recalling Mel Brooks in History of the World Part 1.

Apart from the legendary, and infamous, incest, this is an ancient tale of psychological terror and angst. Human nature does not change and the themes Sophocles explored are still relevant today, this is truly a timeless work.

A legendary play about listening to oracles yet fate still has its way of happening.

I would rather suck a moldy lemon out of the ass of a dead skunk than read this book again.

Prophecies suck: our lives are mapped.

I really do not like my mother.

I realize that moms (mums for the English) have many hats to wear. There is the tumult she has with the husband who never listens to her, and the children who end up at the principal’s office, and the clothes that need mending, and the purveying and construction of victuals to meet everyone’s different palate. Got it. I cannot even imagine what extra toll and toil the 1960’s will bring on these unappreciated females. But that is still years away. I like to focus on the now. Why? Sounds good, I think. Please pass the black and white corn on the cob.

But some mothers are…well…mothers. I include mine in this subsection. She is so bad I do not hesitate to walk little old ladies across the interstate. She is so bad that occasionally I will borrow a granny's walker for few minutes and ask them to lean against a wall while I spin it around. She is so bad that I consciously walk through the make-up departments at big chains and offer an ersatz opinion to elderly mothers on their rouge or their eyeliner or whatever it is that they buy for their faces.

I will say, in passing, “No, the lipstick is too vermillion.” Of course, they will think it over, because what kind of man knows the word vermillion. “Periwinkle eye-shadow? In the summer?” will cause them to blush vermillion, as I roll my eyes (drama). You can never use the word vermillion enough, I have always thought. It’s the opposite of pizza. One slice of it after forty-years old and you have gained twelve pounds. Two slices, straight away to a triple bypass at the local emergency room. Three slices and a Parson delivers the box, and waits.

And even after many attempts at self-normalizing behavior, I still do not like my mother. I know, it is against one of those ten commandments, but we just do not get along. It happens. Why are you trying to make me feel guilty?

“Tell me about your mother, david?”
“Oh no, not again.”
“Is she pretty?”
“What?”
“Is she malicious?”
“Well…”
“Oops. Sorry. The session is up. See you again next Monday at nine?”
“Cannot. I must give a speech at the Greater NY Jockey association. The topic is ‘Organic Horse Feed, Worth the Cost?’”
“You sound resentful?”
“I thought our time was over? Hmm.”
“One hundred dollars, please.”
“A little resentful, now.”

Sophocles, what’s your deal? This is Greece. It is friggin’ hot here. There are no “Saturday Morning food fairs” and you do not like fishing? Why not go to Santorini for the week? They are having a sale on last year’s togas and this year’s newest flip-flops.

No. Instead, you go off on your own, chisel in hand and rocks on the ground, no one around for hectares, and you start writing a story about a boy and his mommy, in an intimate way? Perhaps you also wrote for Penthouse forum? Our Athenian audience is all men, this is not Off-Off Broadway. They ain't going to like it. Well, maybe the politicians...

Listen to me, your friend Socratberg. Go to the nearest dispensary and buy yourself some hybrid hemlock. Have it with a little vino. Don’t forget it may take an hour before the effects set in.

Okay, basta. Y’all know how the story goes. A tragedy indeed for the son/husband and serendipity for Sophocles, who, so far has about twenty-five hundred years run on this production.

Next time, take my mother, please.