CHAPTER EIGHT

FROM ANTIGONE TO CREON:

TRADITIONAL MASCULINE MODELS
IN THE POETRY OF ALFONSINA STORNI
AND ROSARIO CASTELLANOS

TANIA PLEITEZ VELA,

UNIVERSITY OF BARCELONA

To Elisenda, who passed onto me

her passion for Zambrano’s Antigone.

Antigone, Sophocles’ tragic heroine who was condemned to death by

her own uncle Creon due to her wish to give a proper burial to her brother
Polynices–whom according to social laws she loved too much–is a myth
which has been interpreted on a number of occasions by various thinkers.
As we know, the fatal destiny of the characters in Greek tragedies is the
result of destabilising acts; they dare to exceed the limits imposed upon the
mortals by the Gods, they commit hubris–“excess”, “imbalance”.
According to Sophocles’ text, Antigone’s hubris lies in the love that
dominates her, a love of such magnitude and scope that it cannot be
accepted by society since accepting it would weaken its own foundations.
Her excessive love defies both human and divine laws and therefore,
Antigone must die. Even though later interpretations of the myth differ in
several aspects,1 all of them coincide in that they underline Antigone’s
audacity due to the fact that she is a woman. This is precisely the reason
why Creon is so inflexible when confronting the challenge of a woman
who behaves like a man:

So we must vindicate the law; we must not be

Defeated by a woman. Better far
 From Antigone to Creon 123

Be overthrown, if need be, by a man

Than to be called the victim of a woman. (Sophocles 1998, 24)

This analysis will begin with the interpretation of the Antigone myth
by the Andalusian philosopher María Zambrano. I will then move on to
comment on some poems by Alfonsina Storni and Rosario Castellanos
where the poetic I becomes a kind of Zambranian Antigone who tries to
shape or establish a communication with different versions of man, or with
diverse representations of the traditional masculine values. These
traditional values form a centre of reference from which the authors were
marginalized and, in some extreme occasions, relegated to a metaphoric
grave, as also happened to Antigone herself. However, being consigned to
this anguish-ridden space has enabled them to look to their inner selves in
order not only to interpret human relationships, but also to ask themselves:
if men have traditionally been the reference point, is it possible for women
to establish a non-hierarchical affective and intellectual relationship with
them?

***

María Zambrano’s philosophical proposal defends what she called

“poetic reason”. For Zambrano, reason is one of the highest human
capacities, but not the only one. From her Cuban exile, she contributed to
the innovation of the Spanish intellectual scene of her time, and proposed
a new type of philosophical approach which attempted to incorporate
another type of knowledge into the rationalist epistemological method.
This was an intuitive, emotional and aesthetic knowledge, a knowledge
that is not only born of reason but also of the mysterious and hidden
domain of the poetic revelation; something that is not definable in
empirical terms. In other words, it is a method that tries to give a voice to
those hidden levels of reality in order to “ir llevando el sentir a la
inteligencia” (Zambrano 1989, 93). It attempts to use delirium, loneliness
or crying as catalysts to achieve knowledge of the private and the secret. It
is a knowledge that is born from the etymological sense of passion, that is,
from pathos: “capacidad de sufrir”. According to Zambrano, this new
knowledge must be incorporated into the purely rational one in order to
revitalise and widen the function of philosophy as well as to try to elevate
it through the poetic word. Her Antigone is shaped around these
philosophical premises.
María Zambrano wrote two pieces about the character: “Delirio de
Antígona” and La tumba de Antígona.2 In both versions, Antigone is saved
from her death by philosophy, that is, she moves away from the destiny
124 Chapter Eight

Sophocles imposes on her (suicide by hanging). This is justified in the text

by Zambrano, who wonders: “¿Podía Antígona darse muerte, ella que no
había dispuesto nunca de su vida?” (Zambrano 1986, 2001). By contrast,
Zambrano gives Antigone the crucial time she needs to be able to acquire
self-consciousness. Thus, through these texts Zambrano describes
Antigone’s poetic-philosophical journey towards those “oscuras cavernas
del sentido” (1948b, 7). The reader witnesses this descent when Antigone
enters her own grave, that intermediate space between death and life and–
through a ritual process characterised by pain, loneliness and delirium that
finally allows her a different and more authentic perspective on life–she is
reborn, she reveals her soul and, finally, she rebels. The life she had not
lived until that moment awakes; she is. In other words, Zambrano gives
Antigone a chance to live, to develop a different idea of desire, to express
her love in a visible way through the poetic word, through a process that
will make that love intelligible both to Antigone and to the readers. This
heroine represents the crisis, the questioning of the universal character of
the social norms that impose the terms on which legitimate love should be
recognized. This is precisely the reason why Antigone must be eliminated,
according to the supporters of such norms. However, Zambrano’s
Antigone embodies a type of love that transcends binary oppositions; it
goes beyond the hierarchies that regulate both private and collective life.
Thus, Antigone becomes a reinvented archetype; she is the founder of a
new lineage of nonconformist beings who will devote themselves to their
hidden dreams, to the hope of a New Law.
The new type of knowledge proposed by Zambrano arises from the
factors denominated as “pathical” (pathis) which are connected to the
experience of feeling and suffering. Thus, Zambrano places this
knowledge:

En un orden anterior al meramente teórico, en el orden del corazón, en el

orden cordial, el lugar de la auténtica comprensión de la existencia, pues
sentirse siendo, sentir el propio acto de ser, constituye la primera forma de
autoconcienca, de descubrimiento de uno mismo. (Gómez Blesa 2004, 16)

Roland Barthes expresses a similar opinion in A Lover’s Discourse

(1977):

The subject (since Christianity) is the one who suffers: where there is a
wound, there is a subject […] and the deeper the wound, at the body’s
center (at the “heart”), the more the subject becomes a subject: for the
subject is intimacy […]. Such is love’s wound: a radical chasm (at the
 From Antigone to Creon 125

“roots” of being), which cannot be closed, and out of which the subject
drains, constituting himself as a subject in this very draining. (1996, 434)

In other words, the recognition of what takes place in the interior affective
domain permits the growth of the transcendent aspects that will shape the
subject as such. This is the domain where the self establishes its deepest
relationships with itself, from and within intimacy, and therefore the
subject discovers herself, becomes conscious of her persona, she exists.
As previously stated, Zambrano’s Antigone–not Sophocles’–enters her
own grave and transforms the suffering her love causes her into something
intelligible, which brings as a consequence her self-discovery. Hence, she
becomes a full and active subject. It is this reinterpretation of Antigone
that can be related to the poetic I found in Storni and Castellanos.3 In the
same way as Zambrano’s Antigone–who confronted Creon, the old law–it
is only after an intimate process of self-consciousness that grows from
suffering that both Storni and Castellanos created an I that presents itself
as an active subject in their poetry. It is thanks to her passionate feelings
that this I is impelled to rethink, examine and question some of the
concepts inherited from the patriarchal order.4
Thus, the poetic I of both Storni and Castellanos descend to the inferno
and, from that experience of pain, they adopt a position that allows them to
break down traditional forms of loving and the conventional codes of
masculinity.5 The poets analyse both their female condition and the
prejudices that surround that condition with the intention of outlining a
different paradigm of the female being. Storni exemplifies the first
representation of the modern woman, the one who freely expresses her
desires and her identity. Castellanos embodies the woman who breaks the
mirror in which she has seen herself reflected in order to invent a new
feminine image free from inherited codes. Three common aspects can be
identified in their poetic propositions: they both choose the lucidity of
irony–Castellanos, in fact, admired Storni’s “ironic smile” (Castellanos
1995, 199)–; they opt to express themselves through intelligence and
awareness without renouncing the feminine body; and they also manifest
the fervent commitment to interpreting their own experience. In this way,
they both search for knowledge about humanity, whether female or male,
and it is precisely this type of human knowledge which will define the
concepts developed in their poetry.
The aforementioned experiences were determined by an inherited and
immobile system of beliefs: a system that decides both women and men’s
social circumstances and cultural constructions. If in that conventional
system man is the centre of reference–the law of reason–it is not surprising
that in both authors’ poetry man becomes a recurring figure that is
126 Chapter Eight

portrayed as the Lord, the undefeated one, the hero, the alleged guardian
of morality in opposition to a female poetic I who depicts him with irony,
who challenges and interrogates him whilst, at the same time, reinforcing
her own different paradigm of female selfhood. The underlying dilemma
in Storni’s and Castellanos’ poems that question the relationships between
sexes, seems to be the following: is it possible to reconcile the rejection or
the distrust found in the traditional man due to our gender, with our need
to love and be loved? In synthesis, these authors attempted to undertake a
critical analysis of relationships as the starting point for a possible,
tentative human dialogue.
In this respect, it is essential to mention, among others, Michael
Kimmel and David Gilmore’s recent studies in which they attempt to
prove that masculinity, as well as femininity, is nothing but a cultural
construct.6 These critics have brought to our attention some aspects that,
though traditionally considered masculine, have caused psychological and
emotional harm in men to the extent that, nowadays, we are living a real
“crisis de la masculinidad” (Carabí 2000, 17). For instance, why do men
have to renounce the emotional, the instinctive, the affective, the pathos,
in order to be men? More and more published studies are critical of the
traditional concepts of masculinity and make an effort to redefine this
conceptualisation as more complex.7 A relationship free of hierarchies
between men and women will be established when both become conscious
of the fact that gender conceptualisations are cultural products. More
importantly, when both parties understand that they are not the way they
were expected to be, the way they have been idealised and constructed; but
rather that both males and females are complex, heterogeneous, plural and
diverse human beings. However, female writers and poets have also
questioned different discourses about masculinity, often even before their
male counterparts did. In other words, men had already been “escritos por
mujeres” (Puleo 2000, 65), in which women had questioned the distant
and prejudiced masculine attitudes in affective relationships, by ironically
commenting on their unquestioned position of power or by analysing their
sense of losing the battle.8

Alfonsina Storni (1892-1938)

Storni’s personal story is widely known: at twenty she became a single
mother, something mercilessly censured by social conventions and moral
prejudices of the time. She also dared to create a truthful poetry in which
the erotic, the questioning of the relationships between sexes and the ironic
went hand in hand with broken-heartedness, pain and a denunciation of
 From Antigone to Creon 127

patriarchy, whilst using at the same time heart-rending images of feminine

self-sufficiency. By the end of the 1920s, she had become a professional
woman with an established position in the intellectual scene of Buenos
Aires: there are several photographs in which she appears as the only
woman in various literary gatherings. In a few words, Storni broke the
feminine mould of her time and helped to outline the modern Argentine
woman.
Even in early poems such as “Tú me quieres blanca” (El dulce daño,
1918), Storni creates images in which man can see himself reflected. In
this poem, the poetic I does not merely give back the myth of feminine
purity to her interlocutor, but she destroys it. Whilst attempting to make
the superficiality of this patriarchal ideal clear, Storni allegorically
describes the man in such a way that she reveals his double morality and
not only ridicules his demands, but at the same time transforms them into
an accusation. Thus, as Rachel Phillips pointed out (1975, 34), Storni
creates images and uses them as a mirror for him to see himself naked,
deprived of both soul and body. The aforementioned technique results in a
portrait in which the masculine being resembles a degenerated and
decaying skeleton: “Tú que en el banquete / Cubierto de pámpanos /
Dejaste las carnes / Festejando a Baco / … / Tú que el esqueleto /
Conservas intacto / No sé todavía / Por cuales milagros, / Me pretendes
blanca” (143). She seems to ask herself: “Is it really you who tries to ask
for my purity?” With a lively rhythm, the poem creates a strong visual
impression; however, it is not that of a woman, but one of a man who lives
in an illusory and decaying world. In the final stanzas, the narrator uses
various imperative verbs while urging the man to regenerate himself
through an integral contact with nature (“Huye hacia los bosques/ Vete a la
montaña…”). The poet tries to make him understand that only when he is
clean of hypocrisy he will be able to love her for what she really is and not
for his idealised image of her:

Y cuando las carnes

Te sean tornadas,
Y cuando hayas puesto
En ellas el alma
Que por las alcobas
Se quedó enredada,
Entonces, buen hombre,
Preténdeme blanca,
Preténdeme nívea,
Preténdeme casta. (144)
128 Chapter Eight

Nevertheless, even though the hope for regeneration is present in the

poem, it is also true that there exists a dramatic sensation of being
confronted with a silent and impassive interlocutor incapable of any
reaction. In the poem “Hombre pequeñito” (Irremediablemente, 1919), the
poetic I declares to her interlocutor that she is calling him pequeñito
because he does not understand her; nevertheless, she also realizes that she
does not understand him either:

Hombre pequeñito, hombre pequeñito,

Suelta a tu canario que quiere volar...
Yo soy el canario, hombre pequeñito,
Déjame saltar.

Estuve en tu jaula, hombre pequeñito,

Hombre pequeñito que jaula me das.
Digo pequeñito porque no me entiendes,
Ni me entenderás.

Tampoco te entiendo, pero mientras tanto

Ábreme la jaula que quiero escapar;
Hombre pequeñito, te amé media hora,
No me pidas más. (189)

It is possible that the reason why she calls him pequeñito is that she
now knows she is a human being with the same rights as a man and, also,
she knows she has an erotic desire that is her own and that exists
independently of her masculine counterpart. In her personal imagery, he is
not the mythical being, the hero of yesteryear. The essential message of
the poem seems to be that the relationship between the sexes is always
under threat due to the fact that to love somebody does not automatically
mean to understand his or her needs. But in this mutual state of
incomprehension it is the man who embodies a certain cruelty: it is he who
wants to keep the canary imprisoned. As is known, Lacan claimed that it is
not reality that gives language meaning but that our linguistic system is the
means we use to understand the world (Morris 1993, 103).9 The arrival of
the infant into the linguistic system is what provides him with his social
and gender identity since he will only be able to recognise himself in the
available oppositional terms (binary oppositions). Once we enter the social
order, we are subject to its laws thanks to the language system–otherwise,
this order would only be a flux of non-differentiated experiences. Thus,
our identity is created from what we can represent and symbolise, and that
is why Lacan calls language the symbolic order, our total organization of
meaning. In this sense, in “Hombre pequeñito”, Storni uses the symbol of
 From Antigone to Creon 129

freedom in opposition to that of the cage. In other words, she emphasises

the binary opposition between freedom and captivity: a bird that has
always enjoyed an absolute freedom and has never been imprisoned is
incapable of conceptualising it. Only the captive bird knows the meaning
of freedom, since he recognises it as something he lacks. Only the bird in
the cage can conceptualise the opposition and ask for freedom.
Storni was a liberated woman, especially if we take into consideration
the time period in which she lived.10 Therefore, it cannot be argued that
“Hombre pequeñito” is a call for freedom on the part of a traditional
woman imprisoned in her home. Storni is making reference to the prison
of customs, of the cultural ideas of her time. In an erotic relationship in
which woman is independent and is fully conscious of that independence
(“[...] te amé media hora, / No me pidas más”), the framework of cultural
ideas that attempt to limit the way in which she loves seems ridiculous and
out of date. Consequently, she also sees the attitude of the “hombre
pequeñito”, who does not want to accept her erotic and amorous freedom,
as ridiculous.
In general, there are two main interconnected ideas that seem to stand
out in the poems in which Storni refers to men: men refuse to develop their
emotional capacities and that is the reason why it is easier for them to
remain free and without emotional attachments. In fact, one of the
constants that can be found in her work after Ocre (1925) is that the poetic
I scrutinises man and, even though in some of the poems he remains
untouchable and superior, the new tone she uses to portray him reveals a
biting irony. For instance, in “Saludo al hombre”, she emphasises the fact
that woman is a prisoner of the situation of her body–on one hand, she
longs for enjoyment and pleasure and at the same time these desires are
repressed and controlled by social conventions–whilst man, with his
“adiestrada libertad” (306) (men are taught to be free, they grow up
believing in their freedom), has a privileged position free of hindrances.
He is the Master, that is, the Father, the embodiment of authority, the
Lord. Even though the woman in the poem surrenders to the ancestral
differences between genders which seem impossible to change
(“Omnivoro: naciste para llevar la cota”) (306), she also attacks them in a
subtle but sarcastic way:

Con mayúscula escribo tu nombre y te saludo,

Hombre, mientras depongo mi femenino escudo
En sencilla y valiente confesión de derrota.
Omnívoro: naciste para llevar la cota
Y yo el sexo, pesado como carro de acero,
Y humilde (se delata en función de granero)
130 Chapter Eight

Brindo por tu adiestrada libertad, la soltura

Con que te sientes hijo claro de la natura […]

¿No eres el Desligado, Sire, por excelencia?

¡Salud! En versos te hago mi fina reverencia. (306)

As can be observed, thanks to its ironic tone, the poem reverses the
terms of masculine “independence”; the qualities apparently praised are
transformed into defects, since they are subject to mockery and attack.
Man moves from being portrayed as victorious to being portrayed as
defeated due to the witty poetic I who seems to accept the facts of
traditional life but in reality, ridicule them through mockery. By praising
them in this manner, the poem parodies a traditional masculine attitude.
The poem alludes to the common notion of woman being inferior due to
her sensitivity, whilst man is superior due to his supposed capacity to be
part of a relationship without being hurt. However, the poet’s attitude
clearly shows some sort of pessimistic determinism concerning the
different gender roles: woman is chained to her body–“pesado como el
acero”–and therefore she is more bound to the unstoppable passing of time
than man is. She is conscious of the fact that according to tradition her
body is conceptualised as something desired but also as a receptacle of the
forbidden. This is why she and her body represent darkness, sin and death
whilst he will certainly think of himself as light, integrity and life: “La
soltura/ Con que te sientes hijo claro de la natura” (306).
The poem “Duerme tranquilo” seems to follow the same line of
thought. Here, the poetic I talks to a flattering lover in an open way. She
advises him to avoid suffering and to sleep well in order to be able to
continue with his romantic conquests since, rather than being censured,
those conquests will always be celebrated by a system in which other
supposedly heroic actions–such as those committed in irrational wars–are
also highly appreciated: “Te reclaman destinos más gloriosos / Que el de
llevar, entre los negros pozos / De las ojeras, la mirada en duelo. / ¡Cubre
de bellas víctimas el suelo! / Más daño al mundo hizo la espada fatua / De
algún bárbaro rey. Y tiene estatua” (283).
In other poems, women demand their own right to flirt as well as
man’s right to cry. For instance, in “Tímido amante”, we are presented
with a man who complains about the fact that the woman in the poem has
had lovers previously. She then answers to him: “Palpando las almas / Mi
alma se afinó, / En el desencanto / Concebí tu amor” (317). Feeling hurt,
he tells her he repudiates her “experienced” mouth and he is not ashamed
to cry in front of her. A similar idea can be found in the earlier poem “El
hombre sombrío” (Irremediablemente, 1919). Although in this text we
 From Antigone to Creon 131

find a colder and more arrogant man who “ama a muchas mujeres”; the
confident poetic I emphasizes the following in the last verses: “Mas mi
mano de amiga, que destrona sus galas, / Donde aceros tenía le mueve un
brote de alas / Y llora como el niño que ha extraviado la ruta” (186). Thus,
the traditional gender attitudes of the earlier decades of the twentieth
century are revised and reversed.
It is also worth noting that these poems coexist with those in which the
poetic I seems to be longing for the love of a man.11 However, through the
pages of the collections we can observe how man loses his mythical
character; little by little he ceases to be a menacing being. Storni insists on
portraying man as a beautiful but fickle lover and, in that sense, she seems
to be ambivalent. On the one hand she desires him and she offers dreamed
images of the masculine body; there is an attitude of emotional
dependence on the lover. On the other hand, she openly expresses her
disagreement with the existing relational hierarchies, partly due to her own
failed amorous experiences, but mostly due to her acquired consciousness
of the uneven terms of erotic-affective structures. This consciousness is
clearly portrayed in “Veinte siglos”: “Para decirte, amor, que te deseo, /
Sin los rubores falsos del instinto, / Estuve atada como Prometeo, / Pero
una tarde me salí del cinto. / Son veinte siglos que movió mi mano…”
(193).
The personal dilemma of the poet draws mainly on a dichotomy: she
considers man to be emotionally stunted, but she always reacts when in his
presence, faced with his beauty or when hearing his voice (this can be
seen, among others, in her poems “Ante un héroe de Iván Mestrovic”,
“Una voz”, “Uno”) (303, 305, 360). Therefore, even though man is
somehow dissected, the poetic I always gives in when the possibility of
love exists. Storni acquired a consciousness of the fragility of the man of
her time, and she does not hesitate to confront him with stereotypes of
masculinity. However, in her best moments, she moves beyond mere
sexual conflict to attempt a real knowledge of the relationship between
male and female. Thus, there are three aspects that stand out in her poetry:
the modern woman, the conventional man, and social prejudices, three
aspects which are tightly related. The poet tries to be faithful to herself.
She attempts to reinforce her identity in a patriarchal and hostile
environment through a vital process that carries with it both a painful
emotional lesson and personal awareness. Storni’s suffering is palpable in
many of her poems but we can also notice her genuine conviction that in
order to achieve self-knowledge, one must descend into the hellish pain:
“Al regresar, ya de tu amor cortada, / me senté al borde de la Sombra y
sola / lo estoy juntando al sol con gran cordura” (“Regreso a la cordura”,
132 Chapter Eight

408). In these verses it can be observed that like Zambrano, she knew that
the only honest way to express herself must necessarily imply a
devastating process: “pues vivir humanamente debe ser ir sacando a la luz
el sentir, el principio oscuro y confuso, ir llevando el sentir a la
inteligencia” (Zambrano 1989, 93).
Although Storni in her poems is proud of her singularity, she knows
that her position in life comes with a wound that may never heal.
However, in her later poetry–especially that composed around the 30s–
Storni adopts a lighter tone when dealing with this topic; the woman over
forty seems to have learned to enjoy masculine beauty without any
resentment. She is not shy to proclaim her desire for younger men (“Uno”,
“Retrato de un muchacho que se llama Sigfrido”, “El adolescente del
Osito”, included in Mundo de siete pozos, 1935), although she limits
herself to simply observing from afar, adopting more a Platonic or
idealistic attitude, probably in order to avoid the irremediable
disappointment that occurs when real interaction takes place.

Rosario Castellanos (1925-1974)

As Norma Alarcón pointed out, Castellanos “deconstruye las
estructuras metafórico-conceptuales para reconstruir críticamente lo
femenino” (1992, 105). That is to say, she breaks down the feminine being
into two opposed forms; on the one hand, there are the old aesthetic-
philosophical representations of the feminine. On the other hand, there is
the emerging being (already filtered by a critical consciousness), who is
her own daughter and a product of her own dreams. In her first collections
of poems,12 Castellanos deals with the limits imposed upon our
imaginations which are derived from the cultural symbols of eroticism and
maternity. She has no doubt about the fact that these symbols reduce our
possibilities of imagining the female being in her true and authentic
dimension. This is the reason she needs to project herself into a wider
arena through the adventure of poetry; a poetry capable of shedding light–
and overcoming–the traditional concepts and metaphors devised by men
and male poets.
Conversely, the poems in her second stage13 are a way of distancing
herself from those aesthetic-philosophical representations. This separation
is achieved through language; a new, reinterpreted, and subverted
language, the purpose of which is to discover meanings that diverge from
those we have inherited and do so from the margins of difference. In her
poetry, there are some paradigmatic figures that embody these revisionist
re-inscriptions: Eve, Salome, Judith, Dido and Hecuba. When
 From Antigone to Creon 133

subverting/inverting these feminine prototypes (biblical, literary,

historical, mythological and traditional), Castellanos brings forth a
differentiated paradigm of the female being and she reinterprets, not only
the Bible and the classic authors of Antiquity, but also those authors who
have worked on the very same figures, transforming their meaning into
something immobile and unchanging. In literature in particular or in the
arts in general, these female figures have been portrayed as sexual agents,
provocative and fearsome. The only exceptions are those whose actions
helped save their own people (Judith) and those who were assimilated
(Dido); although this latter group faced a bleak end. Castellanos seems to
ask to herself: how can we freely perceive feminine archetypes so that they
can be appreciated in a different way to conventional conceptions, and so
change their fixed meaning? Due to her interest in relational constructions,
this same question applies to masculine models and archetypes.
In general, in her first stage, the poetic I does not relate to man in
everyday terms, but rather in mythical terms. That is, the traditional hero
from the epic stories of a bygone age is recreated with the aim of showing
the difference between him and the woman who loves him. In other words,
Castellanos plays with the classical archetypes of masculinity and
accompanies them with a feminine counterpart who has her own voice and
presence. Therefore, the woman becomes an epic heroine capable of
overcoming the hero thanks to her acute ability to feel. Such is the case,
for instance, in “Lamentación de Dido” (Poemas, 1957). As it is widely
known, Dido is condemned by Virgil to a dismal end: when Aeneas
abandons her, she lights a pyre and throws herself on to the flames.
Virgil’s Dido tragically and inevitably accepts the masculine system of
thought and morality: Aeneas must fulfil a destiny more heroic and
transcendental than simply loving Dido; he must found Rome far away
from the African shores as Jupiter commanded. In contrast, Castellanos’s
Dido narrates her own story and acquires consciousness not only of herself
but of her acute pain. This gives the reader the chance to understand why
her survival is even more heroic than her lover’s deeds and allows Dido to
displace both Virgil (the man who “invented” her14) and Aeneas. The most
interesting aspect of this Dido is the fact that she represents the counter-
epic; her deed does not work within the recognisable terms of tradition,
but her heroism acquires value within a different system of meaning.
Aeneas is the paradigm of bravery, the protagonist of an epic story who
undertakes heroic actions: “Nada detiene al viento. ¡Cómo iba a detenerlo
la rama de sauce que llora en las orillas de los ríos!” (109). Dido is the
paradigm of the heroic survival, of the emotional strength, of the epic of
134 Chapter Eight

the pathos: “Rasgué mi corazón y echó a volar una bandada de palomas

negras” (109).
It is in this way that throughout the poem, Dido stands out as the
subject that embodies the metaphor of pain. Thus, the way in which
Aeneas’ loss “illuminates” Dido’s heroism is more important than the loss
itself (Alarcón 1992, 122). It is precisely this new heroism that eventually
prevents her death: “Yo sé que para mí no hay muerte. / Porque el dolor
−¿y qué otra cosa soy más que dolor?− me ha hecho eterna” (109). As can
be seen, this Dido mirrors Zambrano’s Antigone since both of them adopt
pathos as another form of knowledge and, while doing it, they become
immortal. When she presents Aeneas as the paradigm of the heroic search
in mortal opposition to Dido’s passion, eroticism and nature, Castellanos
is really making reference–in a critical and poetic way–to ontological
predetermination, to the roles imposed a priori by the symbolic Order:
“Hombre con el corazón puesto en el futuro. / −La mujer es la que
permanece; rama de sauce que llora en las orillas de los ríos−” (107-108).
Castellanos brings to light some beliefs that are rooted in our traditional
imagery: the hero’s character and values are determined by his actions; he
does not hesitate, he stands firm, he renounces love because he must
accomplish a more transcendental task, a task that represents collective
ties. In this sense, battles reinforce his virility because they represent
sublime goals. Conversely, in this imagery women represent the “natural
law of affection”.
In summary, Castellanos shows us the dark side of that epic known and
invented by the male poet. If “nada detiene al viento” and Dido is
sacrificed by “el poder y la gloria”, in Castellanos’s counter-epic, the
heroine has no end, since she is eternal. In other words, Dido’s spirit
reveals the most human and truthful story of the hero: “Y cada primavera,
cuando el árbol retoña, / es mi espíritu, no el viento sin historia, es mi
espíritu el que estremece y el que hace cantar su follaje” (105). Therefore,
it is also her pain that sets the story into motion. From this perspective,
Aeneas’s figure shrinks and Dido’s grows; since her story has no end, it
repeats itself over and over. In synthesis, it is a story that overcomes those
political and kinship arrangements inspired by the divine and situated in
the heroic. The merit that can be attributed to Castellanos’s Dido is the
illumination of experiences of those persons condemned to “la mitad
oscura de la casa” (Alarcón 1992, 130), as it was the case with Virgil’s
Dido. The figure of Dido is important in Castellanos’s work because in
creating a new version of the character, she also created a poetic being
capable of assuming her pain and, most importantly, interpreting and
understanding it. In general, the opposition found in her work is the
 From Antigone to Creon 135

following: “those who suffer” versus “those who conquer”, or “the

repressed ones” versus “the ones in charge”. From Al pie de la letra (1959)
onwards, it seems that Dido splits into two and maintains a dialogue with
Aeneas’s descendants or with that hero’s prototypes. Castellanos seems to
point out that, through the centuries, these masculine topics or archetypes
have created certain models of conduct in male-female relationships.
Therefore, these archetypes have been transformed into paradigmatic
figures in a deterministic historical and cultural scene. At the same time,
sisters or descendants of Dido, of the survivors, appear in her poetry.
In the second part of “Dos meditaciones” (Al pie de la letra) the
following can be read:

Hombrecito, ¿qué quieres hacer con tu cabeza?

¿Atar al mundo, al loco, loco y furioso mundo?
¿Castrar al potro Dios? (122)

As can be observed, this kind of modern Dido wonders about the

hombrecito’s position of power. However, when using the diminutive –ito
to describe the man (which strongly reminds us of Storni’s “hombre
pequeñito”), Castellanos ironically addresses his absurd pretensions of
undisputed power and of conquering the world, as if he were a god. In her
poetry, the reader is constantly presented with the antagonistic positions of
certain masculine cultural prototypes and the variety of feminine voices
which oppose them. The drama resides in the fact that both of them exist
within a suffocating world built precisely by a patriarchal imagery. In this
sense, the images recreated are always inspired by her Dido in opposition
to Aeneas. That is the reason why, on several occasions, the wind is used
as a symbol of the marginalising and subordinating masculine principle.
Even if it is true that the first Dido suffers, her descendants will reject the
hero hungry for supremacy and domination. This is emphasised in
“Agonía fuera del muro” (Lívida luz, 1960):

No te acerques a mí, hombre que haces el mundo

déjame, no es preciso que me mates.
[…]
Yo muero de mirarte y no entender. (196-197)

The man is not Aeneas anymore, or more accurately, he is not the

unquestionable hero in the eyes of the woman. In the twentieth century,
the hero must confront the world he himself has created, that is, he must
confront his own symbolic constructions, a fact that, in the long term, has
also harmed his identity and self-esteem. Norman Mailer has already
136 Chapter Eight

written that being a man is a never ending battle that takes place
throughout an entire life (Alsina y Borràs Castanyer 2000, 83). Studies on
masculinity precisely emphasise that man has no enemy but himself, or to
be more specific, his own inherited constructions. In this sense,
Castellanos reverses some traditional masculine values in some of her
poems. In “Una palabra para el heredero” (Al pie de la letra), she
describes a declining, vulnerable and lost man; a man in crisis:

Aquí la planta del jardín, que antaño

era lujo y adorno,
hoy medra devorando lo constuido.
[…]

Pues ¿quién soy yo, paseante de una ciudad que duerme?

[…]

A veces rememoro y se encabrita en mí

el potro del heroísmo y la rapacidad,
el ulular del rapto.
[…]

No, no escuchéis mi pulso. Su latido es tan débil

como el del grillo oculto en la hojarasca.
[…]

Ved mi botín después de la pelea:

no es más que una perdiz de torpe vuelo.

¿Quién me castró de mi posteridad?

¿Quién me puso esta giba monstruosa del pasado?
(129-130)

That man must confront the images of historical and cultural

prototypes, of the inheritors of the nation, of Aeneas’s paradigms. The past
glory contrasts with the present ruins and this comparison allows him to
see himself: what he was and what he is. This vision ends up in a real
crisis; the hero has been defeated by his own yearning for power.
Therefore, man has nothing to live for but the heroic memories he insists
on recreating. But when remembering the past grandeur, he feels
diminished due to the fact that he has been dispossessed of his inheritance.
Because he has ceased to be the man of action (“Hago lo que no hicieron
los que vivían: sueño”), he feels trapped in his personal nostalgia and
paralysed by the weight of History. In the same way as Virginia Woolf in
Three Guineas (1938) when she ironically commented on the mistakes in
 From Antigone to Creon 137

History and the irrationality of war and destruction, Castellanos also writes
about the self-defeating man who still embodies the centre of reference.
In “Ajedrez” (En la tierra de en medio, 1972), Castellanos portrays a
couple embarking on an intellectual duel. She attempts to unravel male-
female relationships which, even though they have existed from time
immemorial, do not seem to quite come together. In this confrontation, it
is evident that the female being has undergone an important process; she
has strengthened her expression, she has not silenced herself and, due to
this, she is capable of speaking to the man face to face: “Porque éramos
amigos y, a ratos, nos amábamos; / quizá para añadir otro interés / a los
muchos que ya nos obligaban / decidimos jugar juegos de inteligencia”
(321). This new position in their relationship has allowed her to know the
masculine world and its rules: “Aprendimos las reglas, les juramos respeto
/ y empezó la partida”. The woman is conscious of the social hierarchy
that affects intellectual relationships with the man; in other words, it is not
only that she is conscious of herself, but she is also conscious of the man’s
position. Even though in the poem the winner of the game is not revealed,
the sharpness of the poetic I seems to stand out due to her ability to see
beyond the result of the game. She is interested in the reality that
surrounds them both and that is the reason she explains it to him, so that
he can think about the different cultural roles each of them has to follow;
roles that prevent true human empathy and understanding: “Henos aquí
hace un siglo, sentados, meditando / encarnizadamente / cómo dar el
zarpazo último que se aniquile / de modo inapelable y, para siempre, al
otro”.

Conclusion
Russian linguist Mikhail Bahktin claimed that being able to
“communicate dialogically” means to be. In other words: “Nos
convertimos en sujetos mediante el lenguaje y tan sólo podemos afirmar la
existencia de un ‘yo’ si existe un ‘tú’” (Carabí 2000, 20). However, as
Pierre Bordieu stated, due to the way cultural codes have been conceived:
“Être homme, c'est être installé d'emblée dans une position impliquant des
pouvoirs” (1990, 21). This is why we need to establish a relational
dialogue and, in order to achieve this, it is important that men become
conscious that masculinity is not only a stereotype but also an ideology. In
this sense, by transforming themselves into the subject of the discourse,
Storni and Castellanos have contributed to drawing attention to the
“dualismo jerarquizado” (Puleo 2000, 81). It could be argued that they
gave men the chance to see themselves reflected in the mirror; not as an
138 Chapter Eight

act of vengeance but in an attempt to redefine inherited concepts. Men

could also break that mirror to give masculinity the chance to become a
rich structure without the need to oppress and build upon the subordination
of other social groups; an anti-sexist, anti-racist and anti-homophobic
masculinity. According to Alicia Puleo, it should be “una redefinición del
ser humano que supere los dualismos jerarquizados. Tanto los hombres
como las mujeres somos naturaleza y cultura, razón y afectividad, intelecto
y cuerpo” (2000, 81).
In their search for alternative feminine meanings, both Storni and
Castellanos asked themselves: is the realisation of romantic/erotic love
compatible with the search for a differentiated female being? By killing
Eros in her poem “A Eros” (Mascarilla y trébol, 1938) Storni seems to
deny that possibility. Castellanos seems to agree with Storni when she
writes in the last poem of “Viaje redondo” included in Poesía no eres tú:
“Ninguno es necesario / ni aun para ti que, por definición / eres
menesterosa” (377). In their attempt to reformulate themselves using their
own realities as a basis, both writers knew they were condemned to pain
and loneliness, the metaphorical grave previously mentioned. If irony was
the sword and shield they used to attack and defend themselves from the
inherited system of beliefs, loneliness was the price they had to pay.
From her own grave, Zambrano’s Antigone thinks about the necessity
of a New Law and, talking about Creon, she states:

Si el del poder hubiera bajado aquí de otro modo, como únicamente debía
haberse atrevido a venir, con la Ley Nueva, y aquí mismo hubiese reducido
a cenizas la vieja ley, entonces sí, yo habría salido con él, a su lado,
llevando la Ley Nueva en alto sobre mi cabeza. Entonces, sí. Pero él ni lo
soñó siquiera, ni nadie allá arriba lo sueña. (Zambrano 1986, 258)

Storni and Castellanos dreamed of such a change; they dreamed of a

relationship between genders which would be sincere and non-hierarchical
in every field of life. Even though the opposition to change on the part of
patriarchal society caused both authors frustrations, disappointments,
disillusions and pain, their merit resides in the fact that they bravely
embraced their dreams. Loneliness together with intelligence allowed
them to observe complex human phenomena which gave them the chance
to discover, to value and to understand. Both Storni and Castellanos were
and still are the Antigone María Zambrano imagined, the one that will
continue to be delirious whilst things remain immovable: “No podemos
dejar de oírla, porque […] Antígona está enterrada viva en nosotros, en
cada uno de nosotros” (Zambrano 1948a, 18).
 From Antigone to Creon 139

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H.D.F. Kitto, Oxford: Oxford university Press
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Notes

1
One of the more widely known interpretations of the myth is the one by Hegel
who thought Antigone represented the interest of the family–as a form of inferior
organisation with a religious nature–in opposition to Creon, the defender of the
State–a superior form of human organisation, based on secular laws and
appreciated due to the fact that it is the result of the transcendence of the family
ties in favour of collective interests. In other words, Creon represents those values
that, protected by written laws, act for the benefit of the State; values that could
even sacrifice and destroy the interests of the family itself. In Hegelian dialectics,
Antigone’s transgression lies solely in the fact that her disproportionate action
makes her confront the social laws. Hegel does not take the nature of her love into
consideration, since in his opinion this falls into the traditional realm of the
domestic and familiar: it is an image that responds to the need of a sister to offer a
respectful burial to her dead brother. However, Judith Butler, in her essay
Antigone’s Claim: Kinship Between Life and Death questions this Hegelian
approach. Developing an argument critical of Hegel’s idea originally stated by
Jacques Derrida, Butler wonders how Antigone is able to represent the normative
principles of kinship if she is precisely a descendant of a family saga sustained on
 From Antigone to Creon 141

incest; that is, the descendant of a dramatic and fatal transgression of such
principles. Butler also questions the interpretation of the myth that Jacques Lacan
offers in his Seminar: Book VII (“The Ethics of Psychoanalysis”). Lacan thinks of
the problem as an internal conflict that lies in the sphere of desire; therefore,
Antigone’s problem has to do with the nature of her love. This can only lead her to
her own death since her desire (the ambiguous and profound love towards her
father Oedipus, her brother at the same time, and towards her brother Polynices,
both her nephew and uncle since she is at the same time daughter and
granddaughter of her mother Jocasta) is unbearable and scandalous within the
symbolic order and therefore, unintelligible to society. In summary, Antigone’s
struggle is not only with the State, as Hegel argued, but also with her own psyche,
which has also been regulated by social discourse and by the immovable laws of
the collective. As observed, her desire escapes the control of any recognised and
established laws, and consequently it must be eliminated. Both in Hegel’s and
Lacan’s analysis, Antigone’s death exemplifies the necessary punishment for the
transgression of the norms–those of the State for Hegel, and those of the symbolic
for Lacan–which, from their particular perspectives, allow for the development and
intelligibility of social order. Lacan elevates the norms of the symbolic order to
universal principles, almost eternal, not subject to social changes and immovable.
Regarding this, Butler attacks Lacan’s separation of the social and the symbolic.
For her, according to Lacan’s definition the symbolic is also a by-product of the
sedimentation of various social practices. Due to this, Butler thinks that kinship
relationships need to be redefined within Lacanian Structuralist assumptions.
(Lobato 2006, 15-20; Butler 2001, 6-62).
2
The essay “Delirio de Antígona” was first published in the Cuban magazine
Orígenes in July 1948. This essay was the seed of the book La tumba de Antígona
published in Madrid nineteen years later.
3
Therefore, the argument defended in this article differs from that proposed by
Jean Franco in her essay “On the Impossibility of Antigone and the Inevitability of
La Malinche: Rewriting the National Allegory” (1989, 129-146) since the present
article is based on Zambrano’s reinterpretation of the myth. While Franco
confronts the emphasis on the archetype of la Malinche in Mexican national
discourse with the archetype of the classic Antigone, this study suggests a reading
of the poetry of Storni and Castellanos through the philosophical proposal that
Zambrano develops and that ultimately takes shape in the revision of the character
of Antigone. It is thanks to this innovative proposal that Antigone asserts her self-
consciousness without ever denying her pathos. This new circumstance–self-
discovery, self-consciousness–is what allows her to question the old law from a
strong position. That is, Zambrano’s version of Antigone represents the
embodiment of the Poetic Reason. This study will attempt to prove that Storni and
Castellanos’ poetic I’s present some of the characteristics of this revised Antigone
on various occasions.
4
Even though this study will not deal with the references to the Greek mythology
found in both authors’ works, it may be worth mentioning some of them. For
instance, in Storni’s poetic work, texts such as “A Eros”, “Las euménidas
142 Chapter Eight

bonaerenses” y “Máscara griega” stand out. Also, in one of her farces included in
Dos farsas pirotécnicas (1931), Polixena y la cocinerita, Storni adapts Euripides’
Hecuba to Argentinean reality in order to draw a satiric portrait of the customs of
her time. Both Sonia Jones (1979, 96-101) and Rachel Phillips (1975, 66-74)
mention this farce in their studies on Alfonsina Storni. Also Castellanos
reinterprets Greek mythological characters in two of her poems: “Lamentación de
Dido” and “Testamento de Hécuba”. However, Castellano’s poetry tends to deal
more with reinterpretations and subversions of characters, symbolisms and
episodes from pre-Columbian Mexico or the Bible.
5
In the final stages of the construction of this essay I came across Milena
Rodríguez Gutiérrez’s Lo que en verso he sentido: La poesía feminista de
Alfonsina Storni (1916-1925) published by the University of Granada in 2007.
Rodríguez dedicates a whole section to the study of the representations of the
masculine figure and to the proposal of a new model of relationships in Storni’s
poetry.
6
See Harry Brod (1987), David Gilmore (1990), Lynne Segal (1990) and Michael
Kimmel (1996).
7
See Marta Sagarra y Àngels Carabí, eds (2000), Judith Kegan Gardiner, ed.
(2002), and Michael Kimmel, Jeff Hearn, Robert W. Connell, eds., (2004).
8
In 1978, the magazine Achilles Heel published the testimony offered by a group
of men conscious of the cultural construction of conventional masculinity. In their
testimonies, they gave evidence of the limitations imposed by it: “Nuestro poder en
la sociedad, no solamente aprisiona a las mujeres, sino que nos aprisiona en una
masculinidad tan rígida, que mutila todas nuestras relaciones entre nosotros, con
las mujeres y con nosotros mismos” (Segal 1990, 287).
9
See Jacques Lacan, “The Function and Field of Speech and Language in
Psychoanalysis”, en Écrits: A Selection (1977).
10
According to some testimonies, Storni used to express her desires aloud, without
any inhibitions, provoking confusion among her masculine interlocutors who were
not used to such frankness coming from a woman. Manuel Mujica Lainez, a writer
who used to visit her in 1927, wrote in his diary: “A Alfonsina Storni la conocí
cuando tenía yo diecisiete años […]. Solía visitarla yo por entonces, en su alto y
pequeño departamento de Córdoba y Esmeralda. Era muchísimo mayor que yo
[tenía treinta y cinco años], desgreñada y vehemente. Una admirable poetisa, sin
duda, pero los matices se me escapaban. Dejé de ir, mejor dicho, me escabullí de
su casa, espantado, el día que quiso besarme. [Y ella me afirmó]: ‘yo considero
amigo a un hombre sólo después de haberlo besado’” (Delgado 2001, 156). In
another occasion, in the lobby of the hotel where she was spending the summer in
Mar de Plata, she was introduced to Francisco López Merino, a young poet fifteen
years her junior. The grey sky and the rough sea that foreshadowed a stormy
afternoon could be seen through the lobby’s windows. The young poet commented
on the unpleasantness of the weather to which Stormi replied: “Sí, sí, pero ideal
para estar entre dos sábanas, con alguien como usted, por ejemplo” (Delgado 2001,
187).
 From Antigone to Creon 143

11
Many poems in this phase (1916-1925) belong to what is known as the “miel
romántica”, a type of verses that coexist with the purely feminist ones. Most of the
literary historians consider those poems in which the poetic I appears as passive,
“Nacido para amar”, and waiting for her lover (“Oye”, “Desolación”, “Sábado”…)
to be representative of the author. Delfina Muschietti has analysed the inherent
contradiction found in Storni’s poetry very thoroughly: “Mientras un poema
levantaba la figura de la yo-loba que se disponía firmemente a combatir toda
convención hipócrita y todo prejuicio, otro-yo defendía la débil y lánguida figura
[…]. Dos voces, dos retóricas, dos formas de decir yo” (Muschietti 1999, 15). See
also Delfina Muschietti, “Las mujeres que escriben, aquel reino anhelado, el reino
del amor”, Nuevo Texto Crítico, 2:4, 1989, pp. 79-102.
12
Apuntes para una declaración de fe (1948), Trayectoria del polvo (1948), De la
vigilia estéril (1950), El rescate del mundo (1952).
13
Her transitional collection of poems is Poemas (1957); her second stage begins
with Al pie de la letra (1959) and is developed in Salomé y Judith (poemas
dramáticos) (1959), Lívida luz (1960) y Materia memorable (1969). The maturity
of this stage (with a colloquial, direct and ironic tone that contrasts with the
hermetic, allegorical and metaphorical tone of her earlier poetry) is portrayed
within the works En la tierra de en medio, Diálogos con los hombres más
honrados, Otros poemas, y Viaje redondo, which were published together for the
first time in the collection Poesía no eres tú (1972).
14
The legend of Dido, Queen of Carthage, is known thanks to Virgil’s Aeneid.
However, Virgil built his Aeneid using an even more primitive story as a base. It
narrates an episode of the Phoenician migrations towards the West of the
Mediterranean sea (Grimal 1981, 137).