Philoctetes
By Sophocles
3.5/5
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Sophocles
Sophocles is one of three ancient Greek tragedians whose plays have survived. His first plays were written later than or contemporary with those of Aeschylus, and earlier than or contemporary with those of Euripides.
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Reviews for Philoctetes
41 ratings4 reviews
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A new translation of the old play, this is rendered in modern English, including modern slang. While keeping the basic storyline intact, it loses most of its original poetry. The goal here was plainly to make it more accessible to modern readers who don't want to work too hard at their literature. The ease of reading does not make up for the loss of the ancient sound. The story is another stage in the Trojan war, of a Greek hero left by his shipmates to die of his wounds on a deserted island; now the Greeks want his weapons, which were left with him, and they determine to get them back by deceit or force. A concise telling, not a lot of wasted time, and an interesting legend.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Philoctetes is the story of the moaning hero that Odysseus left on an island but has returned to with Neoptolemus (son of Achilles) to retrieve the bow. In convincing Neoptolemus to take part in his ploy: "I well know, my son, that by nature thou are not apt to utter or contrive such guile; yet, seeing that victory is a sweet prize to gain, bend they will thereto; our honesty shall be shown forth another time. Son of brave sire, time was when I too, in my youth, had a slow tongue and a ready hand: but now, when I come forth to the proof, I see that words, not deeds, are ever the masters among men."
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Almost one of the all-time great dramatizations of the wounded heart and psyche. Philoctetes is rejected by his fellows for the stinking wound that he incurs committing an act of kindness that no one else will (lighting Heracles’s funeral pyre); he is exiled to an island, Homo sacer, anti-sirene, to writhe alone and scream and hear his screams echo from the cliffs, mocking his solitude, his lost humanity. But then they need him! And he can speak to people again! And then he’s a person again! And he weeps when Neoptolemus finds him and just sits with him for a while. But it's all a trick—sleazy Odysseus wants his mighty bow for the war effort; and while that hurts, it also puts him in the position fantasized about by everyone who ever felt alone and unloved: the one who can tell them to fuck off and have them beg him to come back and say a hundred times how sorry they are. But just like in real life, they don’t give any more of a shit than they ever did; rather than beg, they trick him again, hurt him once more, compound his trauma. It’s an unresolvable knot, and the play shows that so well—which is why it’s such a shame when Heracles deus ex machinates in to tell Mr Moral High Ground to fucking get in the boat and go kill Paris already. Cheap, I mean by “a shame.” Probably there’s some Greek drama rule why that ending is better and not worse that Aristotle could explain to us, but Aristotle’s not here right now and so this play gets a perhaps unnecessarily punitive four stars.
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5This short play did not really do it for me. The themes expressed, as well as the plot and character development, were not to my liking and seemed to be sorely lacking. These reasons are why I give it it's low ranking.
2 stars.
Book preview
Philoctetes - Sophocles
Sophocles
Sophocles
Philoctetes
LONDON ∙ NEW YORK ∙ TORONTO ∙ SAO PAULO ∙ MOSCOW
PARIS ∙ MADRID ∙ BERLIN ∙ ROME ∙ MEXICO CITY ∙ MUMBAI ∙ SEOUL ∙ DOHA
TOKYO ∙ SYDNEY ∙ CAPE TOWN ∙ AUCKLAND ∙ BEIJING
New Edition
Published by Sovereign Classic
www.sovereignclassic.net
This Edition
First published in 2015
Copyright © 2015 Sovereign Classic
Contents
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
PHILOCTETES
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
ULYSSES, King of Ithaca
NEOPTOLEMUS, son of Achilles
PHILOCTETES, son of Poeas and Companion of HERCULES
A SPY
HERCULES
CHORUS, composed of the companions of ULYSSES and NEOPTOLEMUS
PHILOCTETES
A lonely region on the shore of Lemnos, before a steep cliff in which is the entrance to PHILOCTETES’ cave. ULYSSES, NEOPTOLEMUS and an attendant enter.
ULYSSES At length, my noble friend, thou bravest son
Of a brave father- father of us all,
The great Achilles- we have reached the shore
Of sea-girt Lemnos, desert and forlorn,
Where never tread of human step is seen,
Or voice of mortal heard, save his alone,
Poor Philoctetes, Poeas’ wretched son,
Whom here I left; for such were my commands
From Grecia’s chiefs, when by his fatal wound
Oppressed, his groans and execrations dreadful
Alarmed our hosts, our sacred rites profaned,
And interrupted holy sacrifice.
But why should I repeat the tale? The time
Admits not of delay. We must not linger,
Lest he discover our arrival here,
And all our purposed fraud to draw him hence
Be ineffectual. Lend me then thy aid.
Surveying round thee, canst thou see a rock
With double entrance- to the sun’s warm rays
In winter open, and in summer’s heat
Giving free passage to the welcome breeze?
A little to the left there is a fountain
Of living water, where, if yet he breathes,
He slakes his thirst. If aught thou seest of this
Inform me; so shall each to each impart
Counsel most fit, and serve our common cause.
NEOPTOLEMUS (leaving ULYSSES a little behind him) If I mistake not,
I behold a cave,
E’en such as thou describst.
ULYSSES Dost thou? which way?
NEOPTOLEMUS Yonder it is; but no path leading thither,
Or trace of human footstep.
ULYSSES In his cell
A chance but he hath lain down to rest:
Look if he hath not.
NEOPTOLEMUS (advancing to the cave) Not a creature there.
ULYSSES Nor food, nor mark of household preparation?
NEOPTOLEMUS A rustic bed of scattered leaves.
ULYSSES What more?
NEOPTOLEMUS A wooden bowl, the work of some rude hand,
With a few sticks for fuel.
ULYSSES This is all
His little treasure here.
NEOPTOLEMUS Unhappy man!
Some linen for his wounds.
ULYSSES This must be then
His place of habitation; far from hence
He cannot roam; distempered as he is,
It were impossible. He is but gone
A little way for needful food, or herb
Of power to ‘suage and mitigate his pain,
Wherefore despatch this servant to some place
Of observation, whence he may espy
His every motion, lest he rush upon us.
There’s not a Grecian whom his soul so much
Could wish to crush beneath him as Ulysses.
(He makes a signal to the Attendant. who retires.)
NEOPTOLEMUS He’s gone to guard each avenue; and now,
If thou hast