#Greek grief

[thecrankyprofessor]

British Museum 1842,0314.3 Attic black-figure amphora, attributed to Group E

A. Death of Priam

B. Theseus and the Minotaur

Greek black figure amphora uncovered at Vulci, Italy, circa 550 BC

from The British Musuem

[cry-ptidd]

” Am I not right to weep? O my children, cursed children of a hateful mother - ”

[astraeye]

"if it was me i wouldn't have looked" "if it was me i would've taken her out of the underworld safely" not me. i would've looked. i am a looker. i look out for the people i love.

a couple of weeks ago i was at a college party with hundreds of people. my best friend and i were trying to go through all the people to get to a foodtruck. i was in front of him, leading the way. and i couldn't help but look back every five seconds to see of he was still right behind me. i couldn't help but put a hand behind my back for him to hold it so i would know he was there. i couldn't help but worry about losing him in that mass of people. and one time, when i looked back and didn’t see him right away my heart dropped. because he is my best friend and i love him and i want to make sure he is safe

if i can't lead my best friend to a foodtruck in the middle of a party without worrying, without looking, without loving, how could orpheus lead his wife, the love of his life, out of the underworld, out of death, without worrying, without looking, without loving?

[mournfulroses]

Sophocles, from "Electra: A Tragedy," translated by Anne Carson

[alibonbonn]

The Grief of Thetis (For our zine Sing, O Muse's sketches giveaway)

[bones-ivy-breath]

Preface, Tragedy: A Curious Art Form by Anne Carson, from Grief Lessons

[area420]

afterlife

[katerinaaqu]

Here is a little thing that came from the post of @deadbaguette which you can see here

Have you noticed how little dialog Achilles and Patroclus share in the Iliad? Achilles is a talkative man. He exchanges long and even philosophical dialogs with most people he encounters, with his peers and even his rivals and enemies. But his scenes that involve Patroclus hardly mention any dialog between them and yet their scenes are the most tender and most talkative.

They prepare food, they entertain their guests, they just sit by each other. They hardly speak. Homer was telling us all along; words were not needed between them. Their actions spoke for them; their closeness and their intimacy. Their scenes are peaceful amidst the war: silent amidst the loud noise and speeches. That is why the loss of Patroclus speaks so loud; the piece of peace in the flame of war was lost.

Which is why also Achilles found closeness to Antilochus next. Antilochus who also hardly exchanged a word with him and yet he was there in his lowest, just holding his hands to keep him alive out of fear that Achilles would try and kill himself. Achilles wanted someone to hold his hand. Antilochus did that both literally and metaphorically

They do not need to talk. Their closeness is enough. The absence of both of these silent yet close and intimate relationships so violently by war destroyed Achilles beyond repair. He lost Patroclus by violence and war while he was absent. He went on a lament and on absolute rampage by killing his enemies, performing human sacrifice and hubris against the dead. He lost Antilochus and he lost the last bits of his sanity, slaying Memnon and pushing carelessly the Trojans back uncovered and was killed by Paris. The strongest of Greeks fell from the hand of the arguably weakest Trojan because all that was left of his strength was gone; his strength, his will to live and his sanity. He was already tripping. At that moment he was beyond saving.

I am surprised I don't see more people talk about it

[luthienne]

George Seferis, from Collected Poems; "Last Stop" (tr. Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard)

[thinkershipman]

SHAUNA SHIPMAN: AN ORESTEIA

[gingermintpepper]

One of my biggest pet peeves is the assumption that something has to be sad for it to be tragic.

I've always been a big believer of the 'Apollo has an awful love life'/'Apollo is plain unlucky with love' line of thinking but it does bother me that the general reasoning for that statement is given to the concept of 'Apollo is somehow undesireable and thus rejected' (Cassandra/Daphne/Marpessa) or 'his lovers die young and thus their love is unfulfilled' (Cyparissus/Hyacinthus/Coronis). I personally think that's a very unfortunate way of looking at things - not only because it neglects the many perfectly cordial entanglements and affairs Apollo has had, both mortal and divine - but because it presents a very shallow interpretation of the concepts of love and loss and how loss affects people.

Apollo can still grieve lovers that have a long, healthy life. The inherent tragedy of an immortal who knows his lovers and children will die and cannot stop it does not stop being tragic simply because those lovers and children live long, fulfilled lives. The inherent tragedy of loss does not stop being tragic simply because someone knows better than to mourn something that was always going to end.

What is tragic is not that Apollo loves and loses but that loss itself follows him. Apollo does not love with the distance of an immortal, he does not have affairs and then leaves never to listen to their prayers again. He does not have offspring and then abandon them to their trials only to appear when it is time to lead them to their destinies. He raises his young, he protects the mothers of his children, he blesses the households that have his favour and multiplies their flocks that they may never go hungry. He educates his sons, he adorns his daughters and even in wrath he is quick to come to his senses and regret the punishments he doles out.

Apollo loves. And like mortals, there will always be some part of him that wishes to protect the objects of his affections. Apollo, however, is also an emissary of Fate. He knows that the fate of all mortal things is death. He knows that to love a mortal is to accept that eventually he will have to bury them. There is no illusion of forever, there is no fantasy where he fights against the nature of living things and shields his beloveds from death. Apollo loves and because of that love, he also accepts.

And that, while beautiful, is also tragic.

[1-jar-of-stars]

Why does grief feel like madness?

the ordeal of the bier, Jenő Gyárfás // unknown // Cassandra, Anthony Frederick Augustus Sandys // Hamlet: Act 4, Scene 5, William Shakespeare // The Public Theater’s performance of Hamlet, 2024 // Hamlet: Act 4, Scene 5, William Shakespeare // Royal Shakespeare Company’s 2012 production of Hamlet // Electra, Sophocles // House of the Dragon: Season 2-Episode 2, Arsonists Lullaby, Hozier // House of the Dragon: Season 2-Episode 3 // Jamie Anderson

[marysmirages]

Black Sun (watercolor version) 2023

[logandria]

✨Medusa ✨

(an illustration for a silk scarf)

[olliewrites-stuff]

In Which You Play Orpheus

In which you play Orpheus,

And you are broken-hearted and desolate.

The loss of your Eurydice for the

Second and final time

Carves your soul into

Mourning lyrics in a language

Only the bereft can decipher.

In which you stand there, frozen,

Mourning the first and only time

Turning towards your lover

Has ended in heart-break.

In which you play Orpheus,

But this time,

The Gods decide to make you

Suffer

Instead of ending you.

In which you are Orpheus and

You have just lost your Eurydice,

But also,

In which you have been granted

Immortality

Until reaching an age the Gods decide

Your existence on this plane

Without HER

Can cease.

In which you are newly-immortal,

And your immortality is certain -

And you refuse to disclose just how

You know it to be fact.

In which those pages of your book -

With the screaming and the

Crying and the

Desperate clutching,

Are stuck together never to be read aloud,

And that's how you prefer it to be.

In which you are Orpheus,

And you can't escape Her.

She whispers through the trees.

She cries desperately for you

In the thunderstorms.

The cheeky quirk of Her lip is

Reflected on other people’s faces …

And it HURTS.

By Gods,

It HURTS.

The absence in your life

And soul so profound that you

Cannot breathe.

In which you attend the group sessions,

Just like your friends suggested,

But the way in which the facilitator

Says Her name makes you

Clench your fists and

Refuse to make eye-contact with

Anyone.

This suffering is overwhelming,

But sharing it would be like

Sharing what little of Her

You have left, and -

You're not strong enough to let that go.

In which you lose control one day,

Throwing a chair across the room

When the soft-spoken woman

To your right,

Who is wearing her hair like She used to,

Speaks your name in Her timbre.

In which you become a cyclone,

A Category 5 descending on the home

You used to share,

Snatching up all of Her things and

Hurling them into a space

Never to be seen again.

Everything seems to pause as you

Come across a picture of

The two of you.

Everything gets deceivingly quiet

As the eye of Cyclone Orpheus

Overtakes you.

Your eyes dart from smiling eyes to

Lovestruck smile,

And all of a sudden,

The storm is back in action.

Smashing,

Crashing,

Banging,

Screaming,

Crying -

Your rage is

s u f f o c a t i n g

and

t e r r i f y i n g,

But FUCK

Does it feel good to cause damage,

Even though the chaos you can create

Is no match for the damage

She caused YOU, and -

...You've ripped the picture in half

And are suddenly human again,

Kneeling in the centre of your carnage

As you realise what you’ve done.

In which you quietly and reverently

Pack up the rest of Her belongings,

Vowing to actually attempt

Living

The rest of your life.

For Her if no-one else.

In which time passes and

You lose track of it;

Surviving one day becomes

Surviving two,

Then three,

And soon,

Years,

Decades - maybe even centuries -

Pass,

And it’s only after you catch yourself

Smiling as you think of the sweet

Grecian girl with the dazzling smile

You’ve bumped into a few times,

That you realise you’re not

Occupied with thoughts of

Your Eurydice.

In which you graze your shoulder as you

Scramble to where you’d left all of Her stuff

To collect dust.

Light floods the space as you scurry to

Surround yourself in Her presence again,

To prove you haven’t stopped

Thinking about Her,

That you haven’t given up on Her,

That you haven’t

f o r g o t t e n

Her.

"See? See!

I’ve still got that scarf you wore every year,

And that photo album from that one time...

And see, see?

Look at all the SHIT I have that

Proves I can’t live without you!"

You stop.

Breathe in and out deeply…

In which you play Orpheus,

And have lost your Eurydice.

In which you realise that between

Forcing yourself to be busy

So you didn’t have time to grieve,

And doing your best to live

As She would have wanted,

You had found a way to grieve.

To move on.

To live without her.

In which you no longer grieve,

But can still hear Her

Softly whispering through the trees.

You can hear Her in the thunderstorms.

You can see the cheeky quirk of Her lip

In people you’ve since befriended.

And you are okay.

The reminders bring back

Fond memories, now,

Reminding you of the time you DID

Get to spend with Her,

And the happiness you felt then

That you can recognise again now.

In which you play an immortal Orpheus who

Has lost his Eurydice,

And you realise She is gone,

But not forgotten.

© O.M.A

[deadbaguette]

Doomed mothers in greek mythology they could never make me hate you (Demeter, Thetis, Clytemnestra, Penelope, Andromache, etc)