Enough the anguish I endure. Be of good cheer; though I be proved the son Of a bondwoman, aye, through three descents Triply a slave, thy honor is unsmirched. O woe is thee, poor wretch! With that last word I leave thee, henceforth silent evermore. Why, Oedipus, why stung with passionate grief Hath the queen thus departed? Much I fear From this dead calm will burst a storm of woes.
Let the storm burst, my fixed resolve still holds, To learn my lineage, be it ne'er so low. It may be she with all a woman's pride Thinks scorn of my base parentage.
But I Who rank myself as Fortune's favorite child, The giver of good gifts, shall not be shamed. She is my mother and the changing moons My brethren, and with them I wax and wane. Thus sprung why should I fear to trace my birth? Nothing can make me other than I am. If my soul prophetic err not, if my wisdom aught avail, Thee, Cithaeron, I shall hail, As the nurse and foster-mother of our Oedipus shall greet Ere tomorrow's full moon rises, and exalt thee as is meet.
Dance and song shall hymn thy praises, lover of our royal race. Phoebus, may my words find grace! Child, who bare thee, nymph or goddess? Of did Loxias beget thee, for he haunts the upland wold; Or Cyllene's lord, or Bacchus, dweller on the hilltops cold? Did some Heliconian Oread give him thee, a new-born joy? Nymphs with whom he love to toy? Elders, if I, who never yet before Have met the man, may make a guess, methinks I see the herdsman who we long have sought; His time-worn aspect matches with the years Of yonder aged messenger; besides I seem to recognize the men who bring him As servants of my own.
But you, perchance, Having in past days known or seen the herd, May better by sure knowledge my surmise. I recognize him; one of Laius' house; A simple hind, but true as any man.
No wonder, master. But I will revive His blunted memories. Sure he can recall What time together both we drove our flocks, He two, I one, on the Cithaeron range, For three long summers; I his mate from spring Till rose Arcturus; then in winter time I led mine home, he his to Laius' folds.
Did these things happen as I say, or no? Know then the child was by repute his own, But she within, thy consort best could tell. Through pity, master, for the babe. I thought He'd take it to the country whence he came; But he preserved it for the worst of woes. For if thou art in sooth what this man saith, God pity thee! Ah me! O light, may I behold thee nevermore! I stand a wretch, in birth, in wedlock cursed, A parricide, incestuously, triply cursed! For he who most doth know Of bliss, hath but the show; A moment, and the visions pale and fade.
Thy fall, O Oedipus, thy piteous fall Warns me none born of women blest to call. By him the vulture maid Was quelled, her witchery laid; He rose our savior and the land's strong tower. We hailed thee king and from that day adored Of mighty Thebes the universal lord.
Who now more desolate, Whose tale more sad than thine, whose lot more dire? O Oedipus, discrowned head, Thy cradle was thy marriage bed; One harborage sufficed for son and sire. How could the soil thy father eared so long Endure to bear in silence such a wrong? O child of Laius' ill-starred race Would I had ne'er beheld thy face; I raise for thee a dirge as o'er the dead. Yet, sooth to say, through thee I drew new breath, And now through thee I feel a second death.
Most grave and reverend senators of Thebes, What Deeds ye soon must hear, what sights behold How will ye mourn, if, true-born patriots, Ye reverence still the race of Labdacus! Not Ister nor all Phasis' flood, I ween, Could wash away the blood-stains from this house, The ills it shrouds or soon will bring to light, Ills wrought of malice, not unwittingly.
The worst to bear are self-inflicted wounds. Grievous enough for all our tears and groans Our past calamities; what canst thou add? By her own hand. And all the horror of it, Not having seen, yet cannot comprehend. Nathless, as far as my poor memory serves, I will relate the unhappy lady's woe. When in her frenzy she had passed inside The vestibule, she hurried straight to win The bridal-chamber, clutching at her hair With both her hands, and, once within the room, She shut the doors behind her with a crash.
Then she bewailed the marriage bed whereon Poor wretch, she had conceived a double brood, Husband by husband, children by her child. What happened after that I cannot tell, Nor how the end befell, for with a shriek Burst on us Oedipus; all eyes were fixed On Oedipus, as up and down he strode, Nor could we mark her agony to the end.
For stalking to and fro "A sword! Then we beheld the woman hanging there, A running noose entwined about her neck. But when he saw her, with a maddened roar He loosed the cord; and when her wretched corpse Lay stretched on earth, what followed—O 'twas dread! He tore the golden brooches that upheld Her queenly robes, upraised them high and smote Full on his eye-balls, uttering words like these: "No more shall ye behold such sights of woe, Deeds I have suffered and myself have wrought; Henceforward quenched in darkness shall ye see Those ye should ne'er have seen; now blind to those Whom, when I saw, I vainly yearned to know.
Such evils, issuing from the double source, Have whelmed them both, confounding man and wife. Till now the storied fortune of this house Was fortunate indeed; but from this day Woe, lamentation, ruin, death, disgrace, All ills that can be named, all, all are theirs.
He cries, "Unbar the doors and let all Thebes Behold the slayer of his sire, his mother's—" That shameful word my lips may not repeat. He vows to fly self-banished from the land, Nor stay to bring upon his house the curse Himself had uttered; but he has no strength Nor one to guide him, and his torture's more Than man can suffer, as yourselves will see.
For lo, the palace portals are unbarred, And soon ye shall behold a sight so sad That he who must abhorred would pity it.
Woeful sight! Whence this madness? None can tell Who did cast on thee his spell, prowling all thy life around, Leaping with a demon bound.
Hapless wretch! Though to gaze on thee I yearn, Much to question, much to learn, Horror-struck away I turn. Ah whither am I borne! How like a ghost forlorn My voice flits from me on the air! On, on the demon goads. The end, ah where? The horror of darkness, like a shroud, Wraps me and bears me on through mist and cloud.
Ah me, ah me! What spasms athwart me shoot, What pangs of agonizing memory? No marvel if in such a plight thou feel'st The double weight of past and present woes. I know thee near, and though bereft of eyes, Thy voice I recognize. How, How, could I longer see when sight Brought no delight? Say, friends, can any look or voice Or touch of love henceforth my heart rejoice? Haste, friends, no fond delay, Take the twice cursed away Far from all ken, The man abhorred of gods, accursed of men.
He meant me well, yet had he left me there, He had saved my friends and me a world of care. Then had I never come to shed My father's blood nor climbed my mother's bed; The monstrous offspring of a womb defiled, Co-mate of him who gendered me, and child. Was ever man before afflicted thus, Like Oedipus. I cannot say that thou hast counseled well, For thou wert better dead than living blind. What's done was well done.
Thou canst never shake My firm belief. A truce to argument. For, had I sight, I know not with what eyes I could have met my father in the shades, Or my poor mother, since against the twain I sinned, a sin no gallows could atone. Aye, but, ye say, the sight of children joys A parent's eyes. What, born as mine were born? No, such a sight could never bring me joy; Nor this fair city with its battlements, Its temples and the statues of its gods, Sights from which I, now wretchedst of all, Once ranked the foremost Theban in all Thebes, By my own sentence am cut off, condemned By my own proclamation 'gainst the wretch, The miscreant by heaven itself declared Unclean—and of the race of Laius.
Thus branded as a felon by myself, How had I dared to look you in the face? Nay, had I known a way to choke the springs Of hearing, I had never shrunk to make A dungeon of this miserable frame, Cut off from sight and hearing; for 'tis bliss to bide in regions sorrow cannot reach. Why didst thou harbor me, Cithaeron, why Didst thou not take and slay me? Then I never Had shown to men the secret of my birth.
O Polybus, O Corinth, O my home, Home of my ancestors so wast thou called How fair a nursling then I seemed, how foul The canker that lay festering in the bud! Now is the blight revealed of root and fruit. Ye triple high-roads, and thou hidden glen, Coppice, and pass where meet the three-branched ways, Ye drank my blood, the life-blood these hands spilt, My father's; do ye call to mind perchance Those deeds of mine ye witnessed and the work I wrought thereafter when I came to Thebes?
O fatal wedlock, thou didst give me birth, And, having borne me, sowed again my seed, Mingling the blood of fathers, brothers, children, Brides, wives and mothers, an incestuous brood, All horrors that are wrought beneath the sun, Horrors so foul to name them were unmeet.
O, I adjure you, hide me anywhere Far from this land, or slay me straight, or cast me Down to the depths of ocean out of sight. Come hither, deign to touch an abject wretch; Draw near and fear not; I myself must bear The load of guilt that none but I can share. Lo, here is Creon, the one man to grant Thy prayer by action or advice, for he Is left the State's sole guardian in thy stead.
What cause has he to trust me? In the past I have bee proved his rancorous enemy. Not in derision, Oedipus, I come Nor to upbraid thee with thy past misdeeds. Leave not thus nakedly for all to gaze at A horror neither earth nor rain from heaven Nor light will suffer. Lead him straight within, For it is seemly that a kinsman's woes Be heard by kin and seen by kin alone.
O listen, since thy presence comes to me A shock of glad surprise—so noble thou, And I so vile—O grant me one small boon. I ask it not on my behalf, but thine. Forth from thy borders thrust me with all speed; Set me within some vasty desert where No mortal voice shall greet me any more. His will was set forth fully—to destroy The parricide, the scoundrel; and I am he.
Aye, and on thee in all humility I lay this charge: let her who lies within Receive such burial as thou shalt ordain; Such rites 'tis thine, as brother, to perform. But for myself, O never let my Thebes, The city of my sires, be doomed to bear The burden of my presence while I live. Synopsis In pre-war Italy, a young couple have a baby boy. Pier Paolo Pasolini.
Franco Citti as Edipo. Julian Beck as Tiresia. Alida Valli as Merope. Pier Paolo Pasolini as High Priest. Tech specs p. BLU p.
BLU Italian 2. Login to leave a comment Login to leave a comment. Home Browse Login. Register Requests Suggestions. The father, however, is jealous of his son - and the scene moves to antiquity, where the baby is taken into the desert to be killed. He is rescued, given the name Edipo Oedipus , and brought up by the King and Queen of Corinth as their son. One day an oracle informs Edipo that he is destined to kill his father and marry his mother.
Horrified, he flees Corinth and his supposed parents - only to get into a fight and kill an older man on the road Belle Reve, the prison with the highest mortality rate When LeBron and his young son Dom are trapped in a digital space by a rogue After saving the life of their heir apparent, tenacious loner Snake Eyes is welcomed In the s, five men struggling with being gay in their Evangelical church started An aging hairdresser escapes his nursing home to embark on an odyssey across his Horrified, he flees Corinth and his supposed parents - only to get into a fight and kill an older man on the road Levene durham.
Not Rated. Did you know Edit. Trivia Sophocles , the author of the original Greek tragedy on which this film is based, is given no on-screen credit. Connections Edited into Days of Nietzsche in Turin User reviews 18 Review. Top review. Autobiographical sensorium. This tale of Oedipus starts off and ends in the twentieth century, though for the most part is set in a primitive version of ancient Greece.
There is not much rational connection between the stories, but Pasolini manages to forge himself a free pass on that one. Whilst the Oedipus Complex theme of the first story is meant to be taken quite literally, and is basically autobiographical, the middle story, recognisably Sophoclean, is more, in my opinion, meant to be about an angry confused man who cannot stomach his fate nor confront truths about his identity.
As both sections do genuinely feel autobiographical they knit together just fine. The first section of the film set in the s is the best piece of filming I have seen from Pasolini and made me really excited. There's a wide open scene of children running off around a playing field on a hot piercing day, one of those thick childhood days when the emotions battened down the hatches on squire intellect.
The end of the playing field scene features Jocasta suckling Oedipus. She gazes directly at the camera and thus the audience for a long period, in which she goes through a range of emotions, including what could be arousal, followed by disquiet, which ultimately turns into a distanced understanding.
For me this is cinematically equivalent to the Mona Lisa, which is also a gay man's meditation on his mother, greatly cryptic yet provocative, set in against a natural backdrop. Silvana Mangano, who plays the mother in both parts of the movie and would star in Pasolini's Teorema the following year , carries a lot of it.
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