Homer
The Odyssey Abridged

Translated by
Ian Johnston
Vancouver Island University
Nanaimo, BC
Canada

(Third Edition 2010)

translator’s note

This abridged version of Homer’s Odyssey is taken from the full translation by Ian Johnston available online at the following site:

http://records.viu.ca/~johnstoi/homer/odysseytofc.htm.

This text is about one third the length of the original.

Every word in the translation comes from Homer’s poem, except for a very few linking phrases. From time to time there is a short prose summary of omitted material (inside square brackets and in italics). Such summaries are intended to maintain the continuity of the abridged narrative, not to include all details of the material which has been removed.

The numbers in square brackets refer to the lines of the Greek text; the line numbers without brackets refer to this English text. In the tally a short indented line is usually included with the short line which precedes it, so that the two partial lines count as a single line.

The footnotes in the text and the Glossary of names at the end have been provided by the translator.

This translation may be used, in whole or in part, for normal teaching purposes. It may be distributed to students in print or electronic form, and teachers should feel free to edit it to suit their needs. However, any commercial use of this translation without the permission of the translator (Ian.Johnston@viu.ca) is prohibited.

This text is available as a paperback book from Richer Resources Publications (for details check the site http://www.richerresourcespublications.com/) and as a recorded version from Naxos Audiobooks.

Book One
Athena Visits Ithaca

Muse, speak to me now of that resourceful man
who wandered far and wide after ravaging

The Muses, the divine patrons of the arts, are daughters of Zeus. [Back to Text]

the sacred citadel of Troy.* He came to see
many people’s cities, where he learned their customs,
while on the sea his spirit suffered many torments,
as he fought to save his life and lead his comrades home.
But though he wanted to, he could not rescue them—
they all died from their own stupidity, the fools.
They feasted on the cattle of Hyperion,
god of the sun—that’s why he snatched away their chance 10
of getting home someday. So now, daughter of Zeus,
tell us his story, starting anywhere you wish. [10]

The other warriors, all those who had escaped
being utterly destroyed, were now back safely home,
facing no more dangers from battle or the sea.
But Odysseus, who longed to get back to his wife
and reach his home, was being held in a hollow cave
by that mighty nymph Calypso, noble goddess,
who wished to make Odysseus her husband.
But as the seasons came and went, the year arrived 20
in which, according to what gods had once ordained,
he was to get back to Ithaca, his home—
not that he would be free from troubles even there,
among his family. The gods pitied Odysseus, [20]
all except Poseidon, who kept up his anger
against godlike Odysseus and did not relent
until he reached his native land.

But at that moment,
Poseidon was among the Ethiopians,
a long way off. But other gods had gathered
in the great hall of Olympian Zeus. Among them all, 30[1]
the father of gods and men was first to speak.
In his heart he was remembering royal Aegisthus,
whom Orestes, Agamemnon’s famous son,
had killed. With him in mind, Zeus addressed the gods:

“It’s disgraceful how these humans blame the gods.
They say their tribulations come from us,
when they themselves, through their own foolishness,
bring hardships which are not decreed by Fate.
Now there’s Aegisthus, who took for himself
the wife of Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, 40
and then murdered him, once the man came home.
None of that was set by Fate. Aegisthus knew
his acts would bring on his total ruin.
For Orestes would avenge the son of Atreus,
once he grew up and longed for his own land. [40]
So he has paid for everything in full.”*

Aegisthus had seduced Agamemnon’s wife, Clytaemnestra, while Agamemnon was in Troy, and, when he returned from the war, the two lovers killed Agamemnon and took control of Argos. Orestes, who was away at the time, came back to Argos in disguise and avenged his father. This famous story is referred to a number of times in the Odyssey. [Back to Text]

Athena, goddess with the gleaming eyes, answered Zeus:

“Son of Cronos and father to us all,
you who rule on high, yes indeed, Aegisthus
now lies dead, something he well deserved. 50
May any other man who does what he did
also be destroyed! But my heart is torn
for skillful Odysseus, ill-fated man,
who has had to suffer such misfortune
for so many years, a long way from friends.
He’s on an island, surrounded by the sea,
the one that forms the ocean’s navel stone.* [50]

The Greek word omphalos (navel stone) Homer uses here to describe Calypso’s island of Ogygia. [Back to Text]

In the forests of that island lives a goddess,
who stops the sad, unlucky man from leaving.
But Odysseus yearns to see even the smoke 60
rising from his native land and longs
for death. And yet, Olympian Zeus, your heart
does not respond to him. Did not Odysseus [60]
offer you delightful sacrifices
on Troy’s far-reaching plain beside the ships?
Why then, Zeus, are you so angry with him?”

Cloud-gatherer Zeus then answered her and said:

“My child,
what a speech has passed the barrier of your teeth!
How could I forget godlike Odysseus,
preeminent among all mortal men 70
for his intelligence and offerings
to the immortal gods, who hold wide heaven?
But Earthshaker Poseidon is a stubborn god,
constantly enraged about the cyclops,
the one whose eye Odysseus destroyed,
Still, he has no plans to kill him. But come,
let’s all of us consider his return,
so he can journey back to Ithaca.
Poseidon’s anger will relent. He can’t
fight the immortal gods all by himself, 80
not with all of us opposing him.”

Goddess Athena with the gleaming eyes replied to Zeus: [80]

“Son of Cronos and father to us all,
ruling high above, if the immortal gods
now find it pleasing for the wise Odysseus
to return back home, then let’s send Hermes,
killer of Argus, as our messenger,
over to the island of Ogygia,
so he can quickly tell that fair-haired nymph
our firm decision—that brave Odysseus 90
will now leave and complete his voyage home.*

The god Hermes, a son of Zeus, killed the monster Argus, whom Hera had told to guard the goddess Io, to prevent her getting into sexual mischief with Zeus. Hermes acted on Zeus’ instructions. [Back to Text]

I’ll go to Ithaca and urge his son
to be more active, put courage in his heart,
so he will call those long-haired Achaeans [90]
to assembly, and there address the suitors,
who keep on slaughtering his flocks of sheep
and shambling bent-horned cattle.* I’ll send him
on a trip to Sparta and sandy Pylos,
to learn about his father’s voyage home—
he may hear of it somewhere—and to gain 100
a worthy reputation among men.”

The suitors are the rich young aristocratic men of Ithaca and the islands who are seeking to marry Penelope, Odysseus’ wife, in the belief that Odysseus is dead. [Back to Text]

Athena spoke. Then she tied those lovely sandals
on her feet, the immortal, golden sandals
which carry her as fast as stormy blasts of wind
across the ocean seas and endless tracts of land.
She raced down from the peak of Mount Olympus,
sped across to Ithaca, and then just stood there,
at Odysseus’ outer gate before the palace,
on the threshold, gripping a bronze spear in her fist.
She looked like Mentes, a foreigner, the chief 110
who ruled the Taphians. There she met the suitors,
those arrogant men, who were enjoying themselves
playing checkers right outside the door, sitting down
on hides of cattle.

Godlike Telemachus
observed Athena first, well before the others.
He moved up near Athena, then he spoke to her—
his words had wings:

“Welcome to you stranger.
You must enjoy our hospitality.
Then, after you have had some food to eat,
you can tell us what you need.”

Saying this, 120
Telemachus led Pallas Athena into his home.
He brought Athena in and sat her in a chair,
a beautifully crafted work. Under it
he rolled out a linen mat and then arranged [130]
a foot stool for her feet. Beside her he drew up
a lovely decorated chair for him to sit in.
A female servant carried in a fine gold jug
and poured water out into a silver basin,
so they could wash their hands. Beside them she set down
a polished table. Then the worthy housekeeper 130
brought in the bread and set it down before them.
Next, she laid out a wide variety of food,
drawing freely on supplies she had in store. [140]
A carver sliced up many different cuts of meat
and served them. He set out goblets made of gold,
as a herald went back and forth pouring their wine.

Then, one after another, the proud suitors came.
They sat down on reclining seats and high-backed chairs.
Heralds poured water out for them to wash their hands,
and women servants piled some baskets full of bread, 140
while young lads filled their bowls up to the brim with drink.
The suitors reached out with their hands to grab
the tasty food prepared and placed in front of them.
When each and every man had satisfied his need [150]
for food and drink, their hearts craved something more—
dancing and song—the finest joys of dinner feasts.
A herald gave a splendid lyre to Phemius,
so he was forced to sing in front of all the suitors.
On the strings he plucked the prelude to a lovely song.
But then Telemachus, leaning his head over 150
close to Athena, so no one else could listen,
murmured to her:

“Dear stranger, my guest,
if I tell you something, will I upset you?
These men here, they spend all their time like this,
with songs and music—it’s so easy for them,
because they gorge themselves on what belongs [160]
to someone else, and with impunity,
a man whose white bones now may well be lying
on the mainland somewhere, rotting in the rain,
or in the sea, being tossed around by waves. 160
If they saw him return to Ithaca,
they’d all be praying they had swifter feet
rather than more wealth in gold or clothes.
But by now some evil fate has killed him,
and for us there is no consolation,
not even if some earthbound mortal man
should say that he will come. But tell me,
and speak candidly—Who are your people?
What city do you come from?

Then Athena,
goddess with the gleaming eyes, answered Telemachus: 170

“To you I will indeed speak openly.
I can tell you that my name is Mentes, [180]
son of the wise Anchialus, and king
of the oar-loving Taphians. My ship
is berthed some distance from the city.
But come, speak openly and tell me this—
What is this feast? Who are these crowds of men?
Why do you need this? Is it a wedding?
Or a drinking party? It seems clear enough
this is no meal where each man brings his share. 180
It strikes me that these men are acting here
in an insulting, overbearing way,
while dining in your home.”

Noble Telemachus [230]
then said to Athena in reply:

“Stranger,
since you’ve questioned me about the matter,
I’ll tell you. Our house was once well on its way
to being rich and famous—at that time
Odysseus was alive among his people.
But now the gods with their malicious plans
have changed all that completely. They make sure 190
Odysseus stays where nobody can see him—
they’ve not done this to anyone before.
But it’s not him alone who makes me sad
and cry out in distress. For now the gods
have brought me other grievous troubles.
All the best young men who rule the islands,
Dulichium and wooded Zacynthus,
and Same, as well as those who lord it here
in rocky Ithaca—they are all now
wooing my mother and ravaging my house.* 200

Dulichium . . . Zacynthus . . . Same: these are islands close to Ithaca, part of Odysseus’ kingdom. [Back to Text]

She won’t turn down a marriage she detests,
but can’t bring herself to make the final choice.
Meanwhile, these men are feasting on my home [250]
and soon will be the death of me as well.”

This made Pallas Athena angry—she said to him:

“It’s bad Odysseus has wandered off
when you need him here so much! He could lay
his hands upon these shameless suitors.
Listen now to what I’m going to tell you.
Tomorrow you must call Achaea’s warriors 210
to an assembly and address them all,
appealing to the gods as witnesses.
Tell the suitors to return to their own homes.
As for your mother, if her heart is set
on getting married, then let her return
to where her father lives, for he’s a man
of power with great capabilities.
He’ll organize the marriage and arrange
the wedding gifts, as many as befit
a well-loved daughter. Now, as for yourself, 220
if you’ll listen, I have some wise advice.
Set off in search of news about your father,
who’s been gone so long. Some living mortal
may tell you something, or you may hear
a voice from Zeus, which often brings men news.
Sail first to Pylos—speak to noble Nestor.
After you’ve been there, proceed to Sparta
and fair-haired Menelaus, the last one
of all bronze-clad Achaeans to get home.
You must not keep on acting like a child— 230
the time has come when you’re too old for that.

Prudent Telemachus then answered her:

“Stranger, you’ve been speaking as a friend,
thinking as a father would for his own son—
and what you’ve said I never will forget.
But come now, though you’re eager to be off,
stay here a while. Once you’ve had a bath [310]
and your fond heart is fully satisfied,
then go back to your ship with your spirit
full of joy, carrying a costly present, 240
something really beautiful, which will be
my gift to you, an heirloom of the sort
dear guest-friends give to those who are their friends.”

Goddess Athena with the gleaming eyes then said to him:

“Since I’m eager to depart, don’t keep me here
a moment longer. And whatever gift
your heart suggests you give me as a friend,
present it to me when I come back here,
and pick me something truly beautiful.
It will earn you something worthy in return.” 250

This said, Athena with the gleaming eyes departed,
flying off like some wild sea bird. In his heart she put [320]
courage and strength. She made him recall his father,
even more so than before. In his mind, Telemachus
pictured her, and his heart was full of wonder.
He thought she was a god. So he moved away.
And then the noble youth rejoined the suitors.
Celebrated Phemius was performing for them,
as they sat in silence, listening. He was singing
of the return of the Achaeans, that bitter trip 260
Athena made them take sailing home from Troy.

In her upper room, the daughter of Icarius,
wise Penelope, heard the man’s inspired song.
She came down the towering staircase from her room, [330]
but not alone—two female servants followed her.
When beautiful Penelope reached the suitors,
she stayed beside the door post in the well-built room,
with a small, bright veil across her face. On either side
her two attendants stood. With tears streaming down,
Penelope addressed the famous singer:

“Phemius, 270
you know all sorts of other ways to charm
an audience, actions of gods and men
which singers celebrate. As you sit here,
sing one of those, while these men drink their wine
in silence. Don’t keep up that painful song, [340]
which always breaks the heart here in my chest,
for, more than anyone, I am weighed down
with ceaseless grief which I cannot forget.
I always remember with such yearning
my husband’s face, a man whose fame has spread 280
far and wide through Greece and central Argos.”

Sensible Telemachus answered her and said:

“Mother, why begrudge the faithful singer
delighting us in any way his mind
may prompt him? One cannot blame the singers.
It seems to me it’s Zeus’ fault. He hands out
to toiling men, each and every one of them,
whatever he desires. There’s nothing wrong
with this man’s singing of the evil fate [350]
of the Danaans, for men praise the most 290
the song which they have heard most recently.
Your heart and spirit should endure his song.
For Odysseus was not the only man
at Troy who lost his chance to see the day
he would come back. Many men were killed.
Go up to your rooms and keep busy there
with your own work, the spindle and the loom.
Tell your servants to perform their duties.
Talking is a man’s concern, every man’s,
but especially mine, since in this house 300
I’m the one in charge.”

Astonished at his words, [360]
Penelope went back to her own chambers,
setting in her heart the prudent words her son had said.
With her attendant women she climbed the stairs
up to her rooms and there wept for Odysseus,
her dear husband, until bright-eyed Athena
cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.

In the shadowy halls
the suitors started to create an uproar,
each man shouting out his hope to lie beside her.
Then shrewd Telemachus began his speech to them: 310

“You suitors of my mother, who all have
such insolent arrogance, let us for now
enjoy our banquet. But no more shouting,
for it’s grand to listen to a singer [370]
as fine as this one—his voice is like a god’s.
Then in the morning let us all assemble,
sit down for a meeting, so I can speak
and tell you firmly to depart my home.
Make yourself some different meals which eat up
your own possessions, moving house to house. 320
But if you think it’s preferable and better
for one man’s livelihood to be consumed
without paying anything, I’ll call upon
the immortal gods to see if Zeus
will bring about an act of retribution.
And if you are destroyed inside my home, [380]
you will not be avenged.”

Telemachus finished.
They all bit their lips, astonished at the boldness
in his words. Then, Antinous, son of Eupeithes,
declared:

“Telemachus, the gods themselves, 330
it seems, are teaching you to be a braggart
and give rash speeches. I do hope that Zeus,
son of Cronos, does not make you king
of this sea island Ithaca, even though
it is your father’s legacy to you.”

At that point, the suitors
switched to dancing and to singing lovely songs.
They amused themselves until dark evening came.
Then each man went to his own house to sleep.
Telemachus moved up to where his room was built,
high in the splendid courtyard, with a spacious view, 340
his mind much preoccupied on his way to bed.
Accompanying him, quick-minded Eurycleia
held two flaming torches. She was Ops’ daughter.
Of all the female household slaves she was the one
who loved him most, for she had nursed him as a child.
He opened the doors of the well-constructed room,
sat on the bed, and pulled off his soft tunic,
handed it to the wise old woman, who smoothed it out,
and folded it, then hung the tunic on a peg
beside the corded bedstead. Then she left the room, 350 [440]
pulling the door shut by its silver handle.
Telemachus lay there all night long, wrapped up
in sheep’s wool, his mind thinking of the journey
which Athena had earlier proposed to him.

Book Two
Telemachus Prepares for His Voyage

As soon as rose-fingered early Dawn appeared,
Odysseus’ dear son jumped up out of bed and dressed.
He slung a sharp sword from his shoulders, then laced
his lovely sandals over his shining feet.
At once he asked the loud-voiced heralds to summon
all the long-haired Achaeans to assembly.
They issued the call, and the Achaeans came,
gathering quickly. When the assembly had convened,
Telemachus moved to the meeting. Among the men [10]
heroic Aegyptius was the first to speak, 10
an old man stooped with age,

“Men of Ithaca,
listen now to what I have to say.
We have not held a general meeting
or assembly since the day Odysseus
sailed off in his hollow ships. What man
has made us gather now? What’s his reason?
Has he heard some news about the army [30]
and will tell us details of its journey home,
or is it some other public business
he will introduce and talk about?” 20

Odysseus’ dear son Telemachus began to speak,
talking to Aegyptius first of all:

“Old man, [40]
the one who called the people to this meeting
is not far off, as you will quickly learn.
I did. For I’m a man who suffers more
than other men. But I have no reports
of our returning army, no details
I’ve just heard myself to pass along to you,
nor is there other public business
I’ll announce or talk about. The issue here 30
is my own need, for on my household
troubles have fallen in a double sense.
First, my noble father’s perished, the man
who was once your king and my kind father.
And then there’s an even greater problem,
which will quickly and completely shatter
this entire house, and my whole livelihood
will be destroyed. These suitors, the dear sons [50]
of those men here with most nobility,
are pestering my mother against her will. 40
They don’t want to journey to her father,
Icarius, in his home, where he himself
could set a bride price for his daughter
and give her to the man he feels he likes,
the one who pleases him the most. Instead,
they hang around our house, day after day,
slaughtering oxen, fat goats, and sheep.
They keep on feasting, drinking sparkling wine
without restraint, and they consume so much.
My home is being demolished in a way 50
that is not right. You men should be ashamed.”

Telemachus spoke, then threw the sceptre on the ground [80]
and burst out crying. Everyone there pitied him,
so all the others men kept silent, unwilling
to give an angry answer to Telemachus.
Antinous was the only one to speak. He said:

“Telemachus you boaster, your spirit
is too unrestrained. How you carry on,
trying to shame us, since you so desire
the blame should rest on us. But in your case, 60
Achaean suitors aren’t the guilty ones.
Your own dear mother is, who understands
how to use deceit. It’s been three years now—
and soon it will be four—since she began
to frustrate hearts in our Achaean chests. [90]
She gives hope to each of us, makes promises
to everyone, and sends out messages.
But her intent is different. In her mind
she has thought up another stratagem:
in her room she had a large loom set up, 70
and started weaving something very big,
with thread that was quite thin. She said to us:

‘Young men, those of you who are my suitors,
since lord Odysseus is dead, you must wait,
although you’re keen for me to marry,
till I complete this cloak—otherwise
my weaving would be wasted and in vain.
It is a shroud for warrior Laertes,
for the day a lethal fate will strike him. [100]
Then none of the Achaean women here 80
will be annoyed with me because a man
who acquired so many rich possessions
should lie without a shroud.’

“That’s what she said.
And our proud hearts agreed. And so each day
she wove at her great loom, but every night
she set up torches and pulled the work apart.
Three years she fooled Achaeans with this trick.
They trusted her. But as the seasons passed,
the fourth year came. Then one of her women
who knew all the details spoke about them, 90
and we caught her undoing her lovely work.
Thus, we forced her to complete the cloak [110]
against her will. The suitors now say this,
so you, deep in your heart, will understand
and all Achaeans know—send your mother back.
Tell her she must marry whichever man
her father tells her and who pleases her.
But we are not going back to our own lands,
or some place else, not until she marries
an Achaean man of her own choosing.” 100

Prudent Telemachus then said in reply:

“Antinous, there’s no way I will dismiss [130]
out of this house against her will the one
who bore and nursed me. As for my father,
he’s in a distant land, alive or dead.
It would be hard for me to compensate
Icarius with a suitable amount,
as I would have to do, if I sent her back.
If I didn’t do that, then her father
would treat me badly, and some deity 110
would send other troubles, since my mother,
as she left this house, would call upon
the dreaded Furies.* Men would blame me, too.

The Furies are the fearful goddess of blood revenge, especially within the family. [Back to Text]

That’s why I’ll never issue such an order.
Just give me a swift ship and twenty rowers—
so I can make a journey and return
to various places, to sandy Pylos
and then to Sparta, to see if I can find
some news about my father’s voyage home.
If I hear my father is still living 120
and returning home, I could hold out here
for one more year, although it’s hard for me.
If I learn he’s dead and gone, I’ll come back [220]
to my dear native land, build him a tomb,
and there perform as many funeral rites
as are appropriate. And after that,
I’ll give my mother to a husband.”

Telemachus said this and soon dissolved the meeting.
The men dispersed, each man to his own house.

Telemachus walked away to the ocean shore. 130 [260]
There, once he’d washed his hands in grey salt water,
to Athena he made this prayer:

“O hear me,
you who yesterday came to my home
as a god and ordered me to set out
on board ship across the murky seas,
to learn about my father’s voyage back
after being away so long. All this
Achaeans are preventing, most of all,
the suitors with their wicked arrogance.”

As he said this prayer, Athena came up close to him, 140
looking and sounding just like Mentor. She spoke—
her words had wings:

“You must not delay
that trip you wish to make. I am a friend
of your ancestral home, so much so that I
will furnish a fast ship for you and come
in person with you. But now you must go home.
Mingle with the suitors. I’ll go through the town
and quickly round up a group of comrades,
all volunteers. In sea-girt Ithaca,
I’ll choose from the many ships, new and old, 150
the best one for you, and then, when that ship
has been made ready and is fit to sail,
we’ll launch it out into the wine-dark sea.”

[Telemachus goes down into the storage rooms of the palace and tells the slave Eurycleia to get some supplies ready for his voyage. He swears her to secrecy.]

Telemachus went up into the dining hall
and there rejoined the company of suitors.

Then goddess Athena with the gleaming eyes
thought of something else. Looking like Telemachus,
she went all through the city. To every man
she came across she gave the same instructions,
telling them to meet by the fast ship that evening. 160
Next, she asked Noemon, fine son of Phronius,
for a swift ship, and he was happy to oblige.
Then the sun went down, and all the roads grew dark.
Athena dragged the fast ship down into the sea
and stocked it with supplies, all the materials [390]
well-decked boats have stowed on board, then moved the ship
to the harbour’s outer edge. There they assembled,
that group of brave companions, and the goddess
instilled fresh spirit in every one of them.
Then bright-eyed Athena told Telemachus 170
to come outside, by the entrance to the spacious hall. [400]
In her voice and form she resembled Mentor:

“Telemachus, your well-armed companions
are already sitting beside their oars,
waiting for you to launch the expedition.
Let’s be off, so we don’t delay the trip
a moment longer.”

With these words, Pallas Athena
quickly led the way, and Telemachus followed.
Then, with Athena going on board ahead of him,
Telemachus embarked. She sat in the stern. 180
Telemachus sat right beside her, as the men
untied the stern ropes, then climbed aboard the ship
and went to seat themselves beside their oarlocks.
Bright-eyed Athena arranged a fair breeze for them, [420]
a strong West Wind blowing across the wine-dark sea.
As the ship sliced straight through the swell on its way forward,
around the bow began the great song of the waves.
Then all night long and well beyond the sunrise,
their ship continued sailing on its journey.

Book Three
Telemachus Visits Nestor in Pylos

[Telemachus and his crew reach Pylos and are welcomed and enter-tained by Nestor, king of Pylos; Nestor provides a chariot for Telemachus to journey to Sparta and sends his son Peisistratus with him on the trip.]

Book Four
The Suitors Plan to Kill Telemachus

[Telemachus and Peisistratus reach Menelaus' home in Sparta; Menelaus gives a long account of his travels in Egypt, especially his adventures with the Old Man of the Sea, the death of the lesser Ajax, and the death of Agamemnon; Menelaus invites Telemachus to stay, but Telemachus declines.]

Meanwhile, back in Telemachus’ Ithaca,
the suitors were outside Odysseus’ palace,
enjoying themselves by throwing spears and discus
on level ground in front—with all the arrogance
they usually displayed. Their two leaders,
Antinous and handsome Eurymachus,
were sitting there—by far the best of all the suitors. [630]
Then Noemon, Phronius’ son, came up
to question Antinous. He said:

“Antinous,
in our hearts do we truly know or not 10
when Telemachus will be coming back
from sandy Pylos? He went away
taking a ship of mine which I now need
to make the trip across to spacious Elis.”

He finished. In their hearts the suitors were amazed.
They had no idea Telemachus had gone
to Pylos, land of Neleus, and still believed
he was somewhere with the flocks on his estates.
Antinous, Eupeithes’ son, then spoke to them. [660]
He was annoyed, his black heart filled with rage, 20
his flashing eyes a fiery blaze:

“Here’s trouble.
In his overbearing way Telemachus,
with this voyage of his, has now achieved
significant success. And we believed
he’d never see it through. Come now,
give me a swift ship and twenty comrades,
so I can watch for him and set an ambush, [670]
as he navigates his passage through the strait
dividing Ithaca from rugged Samos,
and bring this trip searching for his father 30
to a dismal end.”

Antinous picked out his men,
twenty of the best. They went down to the shore
and dragged a swift black ship into deep water. [780]
The suitors then embarked and sailed away
on their trip across the water, minds fully bent
on slaughtering Telemachus. Out at sea,
half way between Ithaca and rugged Samos,
there’s the rocky island Asteris. It’s small,
but ships can moor there in a place with openings
in both directions. The Achaeans waited there 40
and set up their ambush for Telemachus.

Book Five
Odysseus Leaves Calypso and Reaches Phaeacia

As Dawn stirred from her bed beside lord Tithonus,
bringing light to eternal gods and mortal men,
the gods were sitting in assembly, among them
high-thundering Zeus, whose power is supreme.
Athena was reminding them of all the stories
of Odysseus’s troubles—she was concerned for him
as he passed his days in nymph Calypso’s home.

“Father Zeus and you other blessed gods
who live forever, let no sceptred king
be prudent, kind, or gentle from now on, 10
or think about his fate. Let him instead
always be cruel and treat men viciously, [10]
since no one now has any memory
of lord Odysseus, who ruled his people
and was a gentle father. Now he lies
suffering extreme distress on that island
where nymph Calypso lives. She keeps him there
by force, and he’s unable to sail off.
And now some men are setting out to kill
the son he loves, as he sails home. The boy 20
has gone to gather news about his father,
off to sacred Pylos and holy Sparta.” [20]

Cloud-gatherer Zeus then answered her and said:

“My child,
did you not organize this plan yourself,
so that Odysseus, once he made it home,
could take out his revenge against those men?
As for Telemachus, you should use your skill
to get him to his native land unharmed—
that’s well within your power. The suitors
will sail back in their ship without success.” 30

Zeus spoke and then instructed Hermes, his dear son:

“Hermes, tell the fair-haired nymph [30]
my firm decision—the brave Odysseus
is to get back home. He’ll get no guidance
from the gods or mortal men, but sail off
on a raft of wood well lashed together.”

Zeus finished speaking. The killer of Argus,
his messenger, obeyed.* At once he laced up

Hermes, divine son of Zeus and Maia, killed the monster Argus which Hera had set to keep watch on Zeus. Hermes killed Argus on Zeus’ instructions. [Back to Text]

on his feet those lovely golden ageless sandals
which carry him as fast as stormy blasts of wind. 40
When he reached the distant island, he rose up,
out of the violet sea, and moved on shore,
until he reached the massive cave, where Calypso,
the fair-haired nymph, had her home. He found her there,
a huge fire blazing in her hearth—from far away
the smell of split cedar and burning sandal wood [60]
spread across the island. With her lovely voice
Calypso sang inside the cave, as she moved
back and forth before her loom—she was weaving
with a golden shuttle. All around her cave 50
trees were in bloom, alder and sweet-smelling cypress,
and poplar, too, with long-winged birds nesting there—
owls, hawks, and chattering sea crows, who spend their time
out on the water. A garden vine, fully ripe
and rich with grapes, trailed through the hollow cave.
From four fountains, close to each other in a row, [70]
clear water flowed in various directions,
and all around soft meadows spread out in full bloom
with violets and parsley. Even a god,
who lives forever, coming there, would be amazed 60
to see it, and his heart would fill with pleasure.
The killer of Argus, god’s messenger, stood there,
marvelling at the sight. But once his spirit
had contemplated all these things with wonder,
he went inside the spacious cave. And Calypso,
that lovely goddess, when she saw him face to face,
was not ignorant of who he was, for the gods
are not unknown to one another, even though
the home of some immortal might be far away. [80]
But Hermes did not find Odysseus in the cave— 70
that great-hearted man sat crying on the shore,
just as before, breaking his heart with tears and groans,
full of sorrow, as he looked out on the restless sea
and wept. Calypso invited Hermes to sit down
on a bright shining chair. Then the lovely goddess
questioned him:

“Hermes, honoured and welcome guest,
why have you come here with your golden wand?
You haven’t been a visitor before.
Tell me what’s on your mind. My heart desires
to carry out what you request, if I can, 80
and if it’s something fated to be done.” [90]

After this speech, Calypso set out a table
laden with ambrosia, then mixed red nectar.
And so the messenger god, killer of Argus,
ate and drank. When his meal was over and the food
had comforted his heart, Hermes gave his answer,
speaking to Calypso with these words:

“You’re a goddess,
Since you’ve questioned me, I’ll tell you the truth.
Zeus told me to come here against my will.
He says that you have here with you a man 90
more unfortunate than all the other ones
who fought nine years round Priam’s city,
which in the tenth year they destroyed and left
to get back home. Now Zeus is ordering you
to send him off as soon as possible.”

The killer of Argus, the gods’ great messenger,
said these words and left. The regal nymph Calypso,
once she’d heard Zeus’s message, went off to find [150]
great-hearted Odysseus. She found him by the shore,
sitting down, with his eyes always full of tears, 100
because his sweet life was passing while he mourned
for his return. The nymph no longer gave him joy.
At night he slept beside her in the hollow cave,
as he was forced to do—not of his own free will,
though she was eager enough. Moving up,
close to him, the lovely goddess spoke:

“Poor man, [160]
spend no more time in sorrow on this island
or waste your life away. My heart agrees—
the time has come for me to send you off.
So come now, cut long timbers with an axe, 110
and make a raft, a large one. Build a deck
high up on it, so it can carry you
across the misty sea. I’ll provision it
with as much food and water and red wine
as you will need to satisfy your wants.” [170]

As soon as rose-fingered early Dawn appeared,
Odysseus quickly put on a cloak and tunic,
and the nymph dressed in a long white shining robe, [230]
a lovely woven dress. Then she organized her plans
so brave Odysseus could leave. She handed him 120
a massive axe, well suited to his grip, and made
of two-edged bronze. It had a finely crafted shaft
of handsome olive wood. Next she provided him
a polished adze. Then she led him on a path
down to the edges of the island, where tall trees grew,
alder, poplar, and pine that reached the upper sky,
well-seasoned, dried-out wood, which could keep him afloat. [240]
Once she’d pointed out to him where the large trees grew,
Calypso, the lovely goddess, went back home.
Odysseus then began to cut the timber. His work 130
proceeded quickly. He cut down twenty trees,
used his bronze axe to trim and deftly smooth them,
then lined them up. The fair goddess Calypso
then brought him augers, so he bored each timber,
fastened them to one another, and tightened them
with pins and binding. Next he set up a mast
with a yard arm fastened to it and then made
a steering oar to guide the raft. Calypso,
the beautiful goddess, brought him woven cloth
to make a sail—which he did very skillfully. 140
On it he tied bracing ropes, sheets, and halyards, [260]
and then levered the raft down to the shining sea.

By the fourth day he had completed all this work.
So on the fifth beautiful Calypso bathed him,
dressed him in sweet-smelling clothes, and sent him
from the island. The goddess stowed on board the raft
a sack full of dark wine and another large one,
full of water, and a bag of food, in which she put
many tasty things for him to eat. She sent him
a warm and gentle wind, and lord Odysseus sailed 150
for ten days on the water, then for seven more,
and on the eighteenth day some shadowy hills appeared,
where the land of the Phaeacians, like a shield [280]
riding on the misty sea, lay very close to him.

Poseidon watched Odysseus sailing on the sea,
and his spirit grew enraged. He shook his head
and spoke to his own heart:

“Something’s wrong!
The gods must have changed what they were planning
for Odysseus, while I’ve been far away
among the Ethiopians. For now 160
he’s hard by the land of the Phaeacians,
where he’ll escape the great extremes of sorrow
which have come over him—so Fate ordains.
But still, even now I think I’ll push him [290]
so he gets his fill of troubles.”

Poseidon spoke.
Then he drove the clouds together, seized his trident,
and shook up the sea. He brought on stormy blasts
from every kind of wind, concealing land and sea
with clouds, so darkness fell from heaven. East Wind
clashed with South Wind, while West Wind, raging in a storm, 170
smashed into North Wind, born in the upper sky,
as it pushed a massive wave. Odysseus’ knees gave way,
his spirit fell, and in great distress he spoke aloud,
addressing his great heart:

“I’ve got such a wretched fate!
How is all this going to end up for me? [300]
I’m afraid everything the goddess said
was true, when she claimed that out at sea,
before I got back to my native land,
I’d have my fill of troubles.”

As he said this,
a massive wave charged at him with tremendous force, 180
swirled round the raft, then from high above crashed down.
Odysseus let go his grip on the steering oar
and fell out, a long way from the raft. The fierce gusts
of howling winds snapped the mast off in the middle.
Then Athena, Zeus’s daughter, thought up something new.
She blocked the paths of every wind but one
and ordered all of them to stop and check their force,
then roused the swift North Wind and broke the waves in front,
so divinely born Odysseus might yet meet
the people of Phaeacia, who love the oar, 190
avoiding death and Fates.*

The phrase “divinely born,” which is sometimes applied to Odysseus, is a mark of his nobility. It is not to be taken literally. Odysseus is the son of a mortal, Laertes. [Back to Text]

So for two days and nights
he floated on the ocean waves, his heart filled
with many thoughts of death. But when fair-haired Dawn [390]
gave rise at last to the third day, the wind died down,
the sea grew calm and still. He was lifted up
by a large swell, and as he quickly looked ahead,
Odysseus saw land close by. He kept swimming on
and reached the mouth of a fair-flowing river,
which seemed to him the finest place to go onshore.
There were no rocks, and it was sheltered from the wind. 200
Odysseus recognized the river as it flowed
and prayed to him deep in his heart. At once the god
held back his flow, checked the waves, calmed the water,
and brought him safely to the river mouth. Both knees bent,
he let his strong hands fall—the sea had crushed his spirit.
All his skin was swollen, sea water flowed in streams
up in his mouth and nose. He lay there breathless,
without a word, hardly moving—quite overcome
with terrible exhaustion. Then by the water
he found a place with a wide view. So he crept 210
underneath two bushes growing from one stem—
one was an olive tree, the other a wild thorn.
Athena then poured sleep onto his eyes,
covering his eyelids, so he could find relief,
a quick respite from his exhausting troubles.

Book Six
Odysseus and Nausicaa

While much-enduring lord Odysseus slept there,
overcome with weariness and sleep, Athena
went to the land of the Phaeacians, to their city,
to arrange a journey home for brave Odysseus.
She moved into a wonderfully furnished room
where a young girl slept, one like immortal goddesses
in form and loveliness. She was Nausicaa,
daughter of great-hearted Alcinous. Like a gust of wind, [20]
Athena slipped over to the young girl’s bedside,
stood there above her head, and then spoke to her. 10
Her appearance changed to look like Dymas’ daughter—
a young girl the same age as Nausicaa,
whose heart was well disposed to her. In that form,
bright-eyed Athena spoke out and said:

“Nausicaa,
how did your mother bear a girl so careless? [30]
Your splendid clothes are lying here uncared for.
And your wedding day is not so far away,
when you must dress up in expensive robes
and give them to your wedding escort, too.
You know it’s things like these that help to make 20
a noble reputation among men
and please your honoured mother and father.
Come, at daybreak let’s wash out the clothing.
Ask your noble father to provide you,
this morning early, a wagon and some mules,
so you can carry the bright coverlets,
the robes and sashes. That would be better
than going on foot, because the washing tubs
are located some distance from the town.” [40]

As soon as Dawn on her splendid throne arrived 30
and woke fair-robed Nausicaa, she was curious
about her dream. So she moved through the house. [50]
Nausicaa went to stand close by her father
and then spoke to him:

“Dear father, can you prepare
a high wagon with sturdy wheels for me,
so I can carry my fine clothing out
and wash it in the river? It’s lying here
all dirty. And it’s appropriate for you
to wear fresh garments on your person
when you’re with our leading men in council. 40
You have five dear sons living in your home—
two are married, but three are now young men
still unattached, and they always require
fresh-washed clothing when they go out dancing.
All these things I have to think about.”

Nausicaa said these words because she felt ashamed
to remind her father of her own happy thoughts
of getting married. But he understood all that
and answered, saying:

“I have no objection,
my child, to providing mules for you, 50
or any other things. Go on your way.
Slaves will get a four-wheeled wagon ready
with a high box framed on top.” [70]

Once he’d said this,
he called out to his slaves, and they did what he ordered.
They prepared a smooth-running wagon made for mules,
led up the animals, and then yoked them to it.
Nausicaa brought her fine clothing from her room.
She placed it in the polished wagon bed. Her mother
loaded on a box full of all sorts of tasty food.
She put in delicacies, as well, and poured some wine 60
into a goat skin. The girl climbed on the wagon.
With a clatter of hooves, the mules moved quickly off,
carrying the clothing and the girl, not by herself,
for her attendants went with her as well.

When they reached the stream of the fair-flowing river,
the girls picked up the clothing from the wagon,
carried it in their arms down to the murky water,
and trampled it inside the washing trenches,
each one trying to work more quickly than the others.
Once they’d washed the clothes and cleaned off all the stains, 70
they laid the garments out in rows along the sea shore,
right where the waves which beat upon the coast
had washed the pebbles clean. Once they had bathed themselves
and rubbed their bodies well with oil, they ate a meal
beside the river mouth, waiting for the clothes to dry
in the sun’s warm rays. When they’d enjoyed their food,
the girl and her attendants threw their head scarves off [100]
to play catch with a ball, and white-armed Nausicaa
led them in song. But when the princess threw the ball
at one of those attendants with her, she missed the girl 80
and tossed it in the deep and swirling river.
They gave a piercing cry which woke up lord Odysseus.
So he sat up, thinking in his heart and mind:

“Here’s trouble! In this country I have reached,
what are the people like? Are they violent
and wild, without a sense of justice? [120]
Or are they kind to strangers? In their minds
do they fear the gods? A young woman’s shout
rang out around me—nymphs who live along
steep mountain peaks and by the river springs 90
and grassy meadows. Could I somehow be
near men with human speech? Come on then,
I’m going to try to find out for myself.”

With these words, lord Odysseus crept out from the thicket.
With his strong hands, he broke off from thick bushes
a leafy branch to hold across his body and conceal
his sexual organs. He emerged, moving just like
a mountain lion which relies on its own strength— [130]
though hammered by the rain and wind, it creeps ahead,
its two eyes burning, coming in among the herd 100
of sheep or cattle, or stalking a wild deer—
his belly tells him to move in against the flocks,
even within a well-built farm. That’s how Odysseus
was coming out to meet those fair-haired girls,
although he was stark naked. He was in great distress,
but, caked with brine, he was a fearful sight to them,
and they ran off in fear and crouched down here and there
among the jutting dunes of sand. The only one
to stand her ground was Alcinous’ daughter.
So he quickly used his cunning and spoke to her 110
with soothing language:

“O divine queen,
I come here as a suppliant to you.
Are you a goddess or a mortal being?
If you’re one of the gods who hold wide heaven, [150]
then I think you most resemble Artemis,
daughter of great Zeus, in your loveliness,
your stature, and your shape. If you’re human,
one of those mortals living on the earth,
your father and noble mother are thrice-blest,
and thrice-blest your brothers, too. In their hearts 120
they must glow with pleasure for you always,
when they see a child like you moving up
into the dance. But the happiest heart,
more so than all the rest, belongs to him
who with his wedding gifts will lead you home.
But great distress has overtaken me.
Yesterday, my twentieth day afloat,
I escaped the wine-dark sea. Before that,
waves and swift-driving storm winds carried me
from Ogygia island. And now a god 130
has tossed me on shore here, so that somehow
I’ll suffer trouble in this place as well.
For I don’t think my problems will end now.
Before that day, there are still many more
the gods will bring about. But, divine queen,
have pity. You’re the first one I’ve approached,
after going through so much grief. I don’t know
any other people, none of those who hold
the city and its land. Show me the town.
Give me some rag to throw around myself, 140
perhaps some wrapping you had for the clothes.”

White-armed Nausicaa then answered him and said:

“Stranger, you don’t seem to be a wicked man,
or foolish. Olympian Zeus himself
gives happiness to bad and worthy men,
each one receiving just what Zeus desires.
But now you’ve reached our land and city,
you’ll not lack clothes or any other thing
we owe a hard-pressed suppliant we meet.
I’ll show the town to you, and I’ll tell you 150
what our country’s called—the Phaeacians
own this city and this land. As for me,
I am the daughter of brave Alcinous—
Phaeacian power and strength depend on him.”

Nausicaa finished speaking. Then she called out
to her fair-haired attendants:

“Stand up, you girls,
Have you run off because you’ve seen a man?
Surely you don’t think he’s an enemy? [200]
So, my girls, give this stranger food and drink.
Then bathe him in the river, in a place 160
where there’s some shelter from the wind.” [210]

Nausicaa finished. They stood up and called out
to one another. Then they took Odysseus aside,
to a sheltered spot, following what Nausicaa,
daughter of great-hearted Alcinous, had ordered.
They set out clothing for him, a cloak and tunic,
and gave him the gold flask full of smooth olive oil.
They told him to bathe there in the flowing river.

When he’d washed himself all over and rubbed on oil, 170
he put on clothes the unmarried girl had given him.
Then Odysseus went to sit some distance off,
beside the shore, glowing with charm and beauty.
Nausicaa gazed at him in admiration. They set out
food and drink before resourceful lord Odysseus.
He ate and drank voraciously—many days had passed [250]
since he’d last tasted food. Then white-armed Nausicaa
thought of something else. She folded up the clothes,
put them in the handsome wagon, harnessed up
the strong-hooved mules, and climbed up by herself. 180
She called out to Odysseus, then spoke to him:

“Get up now, stranger, and go to the city.
I’ll take you to my wise father’s house,
where, I tell you, you will get to meet
all the finest of Phaeacians. You seem
to me to have good sense, so act as follows—
while we are moving through the countryside
past men’s farms, walk fast with my attendants [260]
behind the mules and wagon. I’ll lead the way.
You’ll come across a fine grove to Athena— 190
it’s near the road, a clump of poplar trees.
There’s a fountain, with meadows all around.
My father has a fertile vineyard there,
some land, as well, within shouting distance
of the town. Sit down there, and wait a while,
until we move into the city and reach
my father’s house. When you think we’ve had time
to reach my home, then go in the city
of the Phaeacians and inquire about
my father’s house, great-hearted Alcinous. 200
Once inside the house and in the courtyard,
move through the great hall quickly till you reach
my mother seated at the hearth, in the firelight,
against a pillar, spinning purple yarn—
a marvellous sight. Servants sit behind her.
If her heart and mind are well-disposed to you,
then there is hope you’ll see your friends and reach
your well-built house and your own native land.”

Saying this, Nausicaa cracked the shining whip
and struck the mules. They quickly left the flowing river, 210
moving briskly forward at a rapid pace.
Using her judgment with the whip, she drove on [320]
so Odysseus and her servants could keep up on foot.
Just at sunset, they reached the celebrated grove,
sacred to Athena. Lord Odysseus sat down there
and made a quick prayer to great Zeus’ daughter.

Book Seven
Odysseus at the Court of Alcinous in Phaeacia

So lord Odysseus, who had endured so much, prayed there,
while two strong mules took the girl into the city.
Then Odysseus got up and set off for the palace.
The Phaeacians, so celebrated for their ships,
did not see him as he moved across the city
in their midst. Athena, fair-haired fearful goddess, [40]
would not permit that. Her heart cared about him,
so she cast around him an amazing mist.
Odysseus moved towards Alcinous’s splendid home.
Above the high-vaulted home of brave Alcinous 10
there was a radiance, as if from sun or moon.
Bronze walls extended out beyond the threshold
in various directions to the inner rooms,
which had a blue enamel cornice. Golden doors
blocked the way into the well-constructed palace.
The bronze threshold had silver doorposts set inside
and a silver lintel. The handles were of gold. [90]
On both sides of the door stood gold and silver dogs,
immortal creatures who would never age,
created by Hephaestus’ matchless artistry, 20
to guard the palace of great-hearted Alcinous.*

Hephaestus, one of the Olympian gods, son of Zeus and Hera, is the craftsman-creator god of the forge. [Back to Text]

Lord Odysseus, who had endured so much, stood there
and gazed around. When his heart had marvelled at it all,
he moved fast across the threshold into the house.
Long-suffering lord Odysseus, still enclosed in mist,
the thick covering poured around him by Athena, [140]
went through the hall until he came to Arete
and Alcinous, the king. With his arms Odysseus
embraced the knees of Arete, and at that moment
the miraculous mist dissolved away from him. 30
The people in the palace were all silent,
as they gazed upon the man, struck with wonder
at the sight. Odysseus then made this entreaty:

“Arete, daughter of godlike Rhexenor,
I’ve come to you and to your husband here,
to your knees, in supplication to you—
a man who’s experienced so much distress—
and to those feasting here. May gods grant them
happiness in life, and may they each pass on
riches in their homes to all their children, 40 [150]
and noble honours given by the people.
Please rouse yourself to help me return home,
to get back quickly to my native land.
I’ve been suffering trouble for a long time
so far away from friends.”

When he heard these words,
brave and kingly Alcinous stretched out his hand,
reached for Odysseus, that wise and crafty man,
raised him from the hearth, and invited him to sit.
Then royal Alcinous spoke to his herald:

“Pontonous, prepare wine in the mixing bowl, 50
then serve it to all people in the hall,
so we may pour libations out to Zeus, [180]
who loves lightning, for he accompanies
all pious suppliants.”

Once Alcinous said this,
Pontonous prepared the honeyed wine, and then poured
the first drops for libation into every cup.
When they’d made their offering and drunk their fill of wine,
Alcinous then addressed the gathering and said:

“You Phaeacians counsellors and leaders,
pay attention to me so I can say 60
what the heart here in my chest commands.
Now that you have all finished eating,
return back to your homes and get some rest.
In the morning we’ll summon an assembly
with more elders, entertain this stranger [190]
here in our home, and also sacrifice
choice offerings to the gods. Then after that,
we’ll think about how we can send him off,
so that this stranger, with us escorting him
and without further pain or effort, may reach 70
his native land, no matter how far distant.
Meanwhile he’ll not suffer harm or trouble,
not before he sets foot on his own land.
After that he’ll undergo all those things
Destiny and the dreaded spinning Fates
spun in the thread for him when he was born,
when his mother gave him birth.* However,
if he’s a deathless one come down from heaven,
then gods are planning something different.” [200]

The three Fates, who are sisters, are called Atropos, Lachesis, and Clotho. At a person’s birth they allot his or her share of pain and suffering and good. According to some accounts, Clotho sets the wool around the spindle, Lachesis spins the yarn, and Atropos cuts the thread when death comes. The Olympian gods cannot or will not alter the decisions of the Fates. [Back to Text]

Resourceful Odysseus then answered Alcinous: 80

“Alcinous, you should not concern yourself
about what you’ve just said—for I’m not like
the immortal gods who hold wide heaven,
not in my form or shape. I’m like mortal men. [210]
Indeed, I could recount a longer story—
all those hardships I have had to suffer
from the gods. But let me eat my dinner,
though I’m in great distress. For there’s nothing
more shameless than a wretched stomach,
which commands a man to think about its needs, 90
even if he’s really sad or troubles
weigh down his heart, just the way my spirit
is now full of sorrow, yet my belly
is always telling me to eat and drink, [220]
forgetting everything I’ve had to bear,
and ordering me to stuff myself with food.
But when Dawn appears, you should stir yourselves
so you can set me in my misery
back on my native soil, for all I’ve suffered.
If I can see my goods again, my slaves, 100
my large and high-roofed home, then let life end.”

Once Odysseus finished, they all approved his words,
and, because he’d spoken well and to the point,
they ordered that their guest should be sent on his way.

[Odysseus tells Alcinous and Arete the story of his voyage from Calypso’s island to Phaeacia and of his treatment by Nausicaa. Then they all retire to bed for the night.]

Book Eight
Odysseus is Entertained in Phaeacia

The next day king Alcinous addressed them all
and said to the Phaeacians:

“Listen to me,
you Phaeacian counsellors and leaders.
I’ll tell you what the heart in my chest says.
This stranger here, a man I do not know,
a wanderer, has travelled to my house.
He’s asking to be sent away back home [30]
and has requested confirmation from us.
So let us act as we have done before
and assist him with his journey. No man 10
arriving at my palace stays there long
grieving because he cannot get back home.”

Alcinous spoke and led them off. The sceptred kings
came after him, while a herald went to find
the godlike singer. Fifty-two hand-picked young men
went off, as Alcinous had ordered, to the shore
beside the restless sea. Once they reached the boat, [50]
they dragged the black ship into deeper water,
set the mast and sails in place inside the vessel,
lashed the rowing oars onto their leather pivots, 20
then hoisted the white sail. Next, they moored the ship
well out to sea and then returned to the great home
of their wise king. Halls, corridors, and courtyards
were full of people gathering—a massive crowd,
young and old. On their behalf Alcinous slaughtered
eight white-tusked boars, two shambling oxen, and twelve sheep. [60]
These carcasses they skinned and dressed and then prepared
a splendid banquet. Meanwhile the herald was returning
with the loyal singer, a man the Muse so loved
above all others. She’d given him both bad and good, 30
for she’d destroyed his eyes, but had bestowed on him
the gift of pleasing song. The herald, Pontonous,
then brought up a silver-studded chair for him.
Once they’d enjoyed their heart’s fill of food and drink,
the minstrel was inspired by the Muse to sing
a song about the glorious deeds of warriors,
that tale, whose fame had climbed to spacious heaven,
about Odysseus and Achilles, son of Peleus,
when, at a lavish feast in honour of the gods,
they’d fought each other in ferocious argument.* 40
This was the song the celebrated minstrel sang.

These lines refer to an argument between Odysseus and Achilles about the best tactics to use against the Trojans. That Demodocus sings about the Trojan War reinforces the traditional claim that this image of the blind minstrel is a self-portrait of Homer. [Back to Text]

Alcinous then asked Laodamas and Halius [370]
to dance alone. No man could match their dancing skill.
The two men picked up a lovely purple ball,
Then, leaning back, one of them would throw it high,
towards the shadowy clouds, and then the other,
before his feet touched ground, would catch it easily.
Once they had shown their skill in tossing it straight up,
they threw it back and forth, as they kept dancing
on the life-sustaining earth, while more young men 50
stood at the edge of the arena, beating time.
The dancing rhythms made a powerful sound. [380]
Then lord Odysseus spoke:

“Mighty Alcinous,
most renowned among all men, you claimed
your dancers were the best, and now, indeed,
what you said is true. When I gaze at them,
I’m lost in wonder.”

At Odysseus’ words,
powerful king Alcinous felt a great delight,
and spoke at once to his Phaeacians, master sailors.

“Leaders and counsellors of the Phaeacians, 60
listen—this stranger seems to me a man
with an uncommon wisdom. So come now,
let’s give him gifts of friendship, as is right.
Twelve distinguished kings are rulers here [390]
and govern in this land, and I myself
am the thirteenth king. Let each of you
bring a fresh cloak and tunic, newly washed,
and a talent of pure gold. All of this
we should put together very quickly,
so this stranger has his gifts in hand 70
and goes to dinner with a joyful heart.”

Alcinous spoke. All those present agreed with him
and said it should be done. Then every one of them
sent an attendant out to bring back presents.
As the sun went down, splendid presents were brought in,
carried to Alcinous’ home by worthy heralds.
The sons of noble Alcinous took the lovely gifts [420]
and set them down before their honoured mother.
Nausicaa, whose beauty was a gift from god,
standing by the doorway of that well-built hall, 80
looked at Odysseus and was filled with wonder.
She spoke winged words to him: [460]

“Farewell, stranger.
When you are back in your own land,
I hope you will remember me sometimes,
since you owe your life to me.”

Then Odysseus,
that resourceful man, replied to her and said:

“Nausicaa, daughter of great Alcinous,
may Hera’s loud-thundering husband, Zeus,
grant that I see the day of my return
when I get home. There I will pray to you 90
all my days, as to a god. For you, girl,
you gave me my life.”

Odysseus finished speaking.
Then he sat down on a chair beside king Alcinous.
who spoke out at once, addressing his Phaeacians,
lovers of the sea.

“Listen to me,
you Phaeacians counsellors and leaders.
To any man with some intelligence,
a stranger coming as a suppliant
brings the same delight a brother does.
And you, our guest, should no longer hide 100
behind those cunning thoughts of yours and skirt
the things I ask you. It’s better to be frank.
Tell me your name, what they call you at home— [550]
your mother and your father and the others,
those in the town and in the countryside.
Tell me your country and your people,
your city, too, so ships can take you there,
using what they know to chart their passage.”

Book Nine
Ismarus, the Lotus Eaters, and the Cyclops

Resourceful Odysseus then replied to Alcinous:

“Lord Alcinous, most renowned of men,
there’s nothing gives one more delight
than when joy grips entire groups of men
who sit in proper order in a hall
feasting and listening to a singer,
with tables standing there beside them
laden with bread and meat, as the steward
draws wine out of the mixing bowl, moves round, [10]
and fills the cups. To my mind this seems 10
the finest thing there is. But your heart
wants to ask about my grievous sorrows,
so I can weep and groan more than before.
What shall I tell you first? Where do I stop?
For the heavenly gods have given me
so much distress. Well, I will make a start
by telling you my name. Once you know that,
if I escape the painful day of death,
then later I can welcome you as guests,
though I live in a palace far away. 20
I am Odysseus, son of Laertes,
well known to all for my deceptive skills—
my fame extends all the way to heaven. [20]
I live in Ithaca, a land of sunshine.
From far away one sees a mountain there,
thick with whispering trees, Mount Neriton,
and many islands lying around it
close together. It’s a rugged island,
but nurtures fine young men. Come, I’ll tell you
of the miserable journey back which Zeus 30
arranged for me when I returned from Troy.

“I was carried by the wind from Troy
to Ismarus, land of the Cicones.
I destroyed the city there, killed the men, [40]
seized their wives, and captured lots of treasure
which we divided up. I took great pains
to see that all men got equal shares.
Then I gave orders we should leave on foot—
and with all speed. But the men were fools.
They didn’t listen. They drank too much wine 40
and on the shoreline slaughtered many sheep,
as well as shambling cows with twisted horns.
Meanwhile the Cicones set off and gathered up
their neighbours, tribesmen living further inland.
They reached us in the morning, thick as leaves
or flowers growing in season. Then Zeus
brought us disaster—he made that our fate,
so we would suffer many casualties.
They set their ranks and fought by our swift ships.
We threw our bronze-tipped spears at one another. 50
While morning lasted and that sacred day
gained strength, we held our ground and beat them back,
for all their greater numbers. But as the sun
moved to the hour when oxen are unyoked,
the Cicones broke through, overpowering
Achaeans. Of my well-armed companions, [60]
six from every ship were killed. The rest of us
made our escape, avoiding Death and Fate.

“We sailed away from there, hearts full of grief
at losing loyal companions, though happy 60
we’d eluded death ourselves. Cloud-gatherer Zeus
then stirred North Wind to rage against our ships—
a violent storm concealing land and sea,
Nine days fierce winds drove me away from there,
across the fish-filled seas, and on the tenth
we landed where the Lotus-eaters live,
people who feed upon its flowering fruit.*

The land of the Lotus Eaters is commonly placed in North Africa. [Back to Text]

We went ashore and carried water back.
Then my companions quickly had a meal
by our swift ships. We had our food and drink, 70
and then I sent some of my comrades out
to learn about the men who ate the food
the land grew there. I chose two of my men [90]
and with them sent a third as messenger.
They left at once and met the Lotus-eaters,
who had no thought of killing my companions,
but gave them lotus plants to eat, whose fruit,
sweet as honey, made any man who tried it
lose his desire ever to journey home
or bring back word to us—they wished to stay, 80
to remain among the Lotus-eaters,
feeding on the plant, eager to forget
about their homeward voyage. I forced them,
eyes full of tears, into our hollow ships,
dragged them underneath the rowing benches,
and tied them up. Then I issued orders [100]
for my other trusty comrades to embark
and sail away with speed in our fast ships,
in case another man might eat a lotus
and lose all thoughts about his journey back. 90

“We sailed away from there with heavy hearts
and reached the country of the Cyclopes,
a crude and lawless people.* They don’t grow

The Cyclopes (singular Cyclops) are hairy monsters, rather than people, with only one eye in the middle of their foreheads. They originated from the primal gods, Ouranos and Gaia, and had been imprisoned in Tartarus. But they helped Zeus in his fight against his father, Cronos, and Zeus freed them. Odysseus, one assumes, either doesn’t know about the Cyclopes before this adventure or is not aware he is about to meet one, since he assumes he is moving into a place where the laws of hospitality apply. Most geographical interpretations place the incident with the cyclops in Sicily. We learn later that the cyclops Odysseus meets has a name (Polyphemus) and is, along with his neighbours, a son of Poseidon. [Back to Text]

any plants by hand or plough the earth,
but put their trust in the immortal gods,
and though they never sow or work the land,
every kind of crop springs up for them—
wheat and barley and rich grape-bearing vines, [110]
and Zeus provides the rain to make them grow.
They live without a council or assembly 100
or any rule of law, in hollow caves
among the mountain tops. Each one of them
makes laws for his own wives and children,
and they shun all dealings with each other.

“Now, near the country of the Cyclopes,
outside the harbour, there’s a fertile island,
covered in trees, some distance from the shore,
but not too far away. Wild goats live there
in countless numbers. They have no need
to stay away from any human trails. 110
At the harbour head there is a water spring— [140]
a bright stream flows out underneath a cave.
Around it poplars grow. We sailed in there.
Some god led us in through the murky night—
we couldn’t see a thing, and all our ships
were swallowed up in fog. Clouds hid the moon,
so there was no light coming from the sky.
Our eyes could not catch any glimpse of land
or of the long waves rolling in onshore,
until our well-decked ships had reached the beach. 120
We hauled up our ships, took down all the sails,
went up along the shore, and fell asleep, [150]
remaining there until the light of Dawn.

“As soon as rose-fingered early Dawn appeared, [170]
I called a meeting and spoke to all the men:

‘My loyal comrades, stay here where you are.
I’ll take my ship and my own company
and try to find out who those people are,
whether they are rough and violent,
with no sense of law, or kind to strangers, 130
with hearts that fear the gods.’

“I said these words,
then went down to my ship and told my crew
to loose the cables lashed onto the stern
and come onboard. They embarked with speed,
and, seated at the oarlocks in their rows,
struck the grey sea with their oars. And then, [180]
when we’d made the short trip round the island,
on the coast there, right beside the sea,
we saw a high cave, overhung with laurel.
There were many flocks, sheep as well as goats, 140
penned in there at night. All around the cave
there was a high front courtyard made of stones
set deep into the ground, with tall pine trees
and towering oaks. At night a giant slept there,
one that grazed his flocks all by himself,
somewhere far off. He avoided others
and lived alone, away from all the rest,
a law unto himself, a monster, made [190]
to be a thing of wonder, not like man
who lives by eating bread, no, more like 150
a lofty wooded mountain crag, standing there
to view in isolation from the rest.

“I told the rest of my trustworthy crew
to stay there by the ship and guard it,
while I selected twelve of my best men
and went off to explore. I took with me
a goatskin full of dark sweet wine. Maron,
Euanthes’ son, one of Apollo’s priests,
the god who kept guard over Ismarus,
gave it to me because, to show respect, 160
we had protected him, his wife, and child.
Each time they drank that honey-sweet red wine,
he’d fill one cup with it and pour that out
in twenty cups of water, and the smell
arising from the mixing bowl was sweet, [210]
astonishingly so—to tell the truth,
no one’s heart could then refuse to drink it.

“We soon reached his cave but didn’t find him.
He was pasturing his rich flocks in the fields.
We went inside the cave and looked around. 170
It was astonishing—crates full of cheese,
pens crammed with livestock—lambs and kids
sorted into separate groups, with yearlings, [220]
older lambs, and newborns each in different pens.
All the sturdy buckets, pails, and milking bowls
were awash with whey. At first, my comrades
urged me to grab some cheeses and return,
then drive the lambs and kids out of their pens
back to our swift ship and cross the water.
But I did not agree, though if I had, 180
things would have been much better. I was keen
to see the man in person and find out
if he would show me hospitality.”

“We lit a fire and offered sacrifice.
Then we helped ourselves to cheese and ate it.
We stayed inside the cave and waited there,
until he led his flocks back home. He came,
bearing an enormous pile of dried-out wood
to cook his dinner. He hurled his load
inside the cave with a huge crash. In our fear, 190
we moved back to the far end of the cave,
into the deepest corner. He then drove
his fat flock right inside the spacious cavern,
just the ones he milked. Rams and billy goats
he left outside, in the open courtyard.
Then he raised up high a massive boulder [240]
and fixed it in position as a door.
It was huge—twenty-two four-wheeled wagons,
good ones, too, could not have shifted it
along the ground—that’s how immense it was, 200
the rock he planted right in his doorway.
He sat down with his bleating goats and ewes
and milked them all, each in turn, setting
beside each one its young. Next, he curdled
half the white milk and set aside the whey
in wicker baskets, then put the other half
in bowls for him to drink up with his dinner.
Once he’d finished working at these tasks, [250]
he lit a fire. Then he spied us and said:

‘Strangers,
who are you? What sea route brought you here? 210
Are you trading men, or wandering the sea
at random, like pirates sailing anywhere,
risking their lives to injure other men.’

“As he spoke, our hearts collapsed, terrified
by his deep voice and monstrous size. But still,
I answered him by saying:

‘We are Achaeans
coming back from Troy and blown off course
by various winds across vast tracts of sea. [260]
So, good sir, respect the gods. We’re here
as suppliants to you, and Zeus protects 220 [270]
all suppliants and strangers—as god of guests,
he cares for all respected visitors.’

“I finished speaking. He answered me at once—
his heart was pitiless:

‘What fools you are,
you strangers, or else you come from far away—
telling me to fear the gods and shun their rage.
The Cyclopes care nothing about Zeus,
who bears the aegis, or the blessed gods.
We are much more powerful than them.
I wouldn’t spare you or your comrades 230
to escape the wrath of Zeus, not unless
my own heart prompted me to do it.
But now, tell me this—when you landed here,
where did you moor your ship, a spot close by
or further off? I’d like to know that.’ [280]

“He said this to throw me off, but his deceit
could never fool me. I was too clever.
And so I gave him a cunning answer:

‘Earthshaker Poseidon broke my ship apart—
driving it against the border of your island, 240
on the rocks there. He brought us close to land,
hard by the headland, then winds pushed us
inshore from the sea. But we escaped—
me and these men here. We weren’t destroyed.’

“That’s what I said. But his ruthless heart
gave me no reply. Instead, he jumped up,
seized two of my companions in his fist,
and smashed them on the ground like puppy dogs.
Their brains oozed out and soaked the ground below. [290]
He tore their limbs apart to make a meal, 250
and chewed them up just like a mountain lion—
innards, flesh, and marrow—leaving nothing.
We raised our hands to Zeus and cried aloud,
to witness the horrific things he did,
our hearts unable to do anything.
Once Cyclops had stuffed his massive stomach
with human flesh and washed it down with milk,
he lay down in the cave, stretched out there
among his flocks. Then, in my courageous heart
I formed a plan to move up close beside him, 260
draw the sharp sword I carried on my thigh, [300]
and run my hand along his chest, to find
exactly where his midriff held his liver,
then stick him there. But I had second thoughts.
We, too, would have been utterly destroyed,
there in the cave—we didn’t have the strength
with our own hands to roll from the high door
the massive rock he’d set there. So we groaned,
and stayed there waiting for bright Dawn.

“As soon as rose-fingered early Dawn appeared, 270
he lit a fire and milked his flock, one by one,
with a new-born placed beside each mother.
When this work was over, he once again [310]
snatched two of my men and gorged himself.
After his meal, he easily rolled back
the huge rock door, drove his rich flock outside,
and set the stone in place, as one might put
a cap back on a quiver. Then Cyclops,
whistling loudly, drove his fat flocks away
towards the mountain. He left me there, 280
plotting a nasty scheme deep in my heart,
some way of gaining my revenge against him,
if Athena would grant me that glory.
My heart came up with what appeared to me
the best thing I could do. An enormous club
belonging to Cyclops was lying there
beside a stall, a section of green olive wood [320]
he’d cut to carry with him once it dried.
To human eyes it seemed just like the mast
on a black merchant ship with twenty oars, 290
a broad-beamed vessel which can move across
the mighty ocean—that’s how long and wide
that huge club looked. Moving over to it,
I chopped off a piece, six feet in length,
gave it to my companions, telling them
to smooth the wood. They straightened it, while I,
standing at one end, chipped and tapered it
to a sharp point. Then I picked up the stake
and set it in the blazing fire to harden.
That done, I placed it carefully to one side, 300
concealing it beneath some of the dung
which lay throughout the cave in massive piles. [330]
Then I told my comrades to draw lots
to see which men would risk their lives with me—
when sweet sleep came upon the Cyclops,
we’d lift that stake and twist it in his eye.
The crew drew lots and picked the very men
I would have chosen for myself, four of them,
with me included as fifth man in the group.
In the evening he came back, leading on 310
his fine-skinned animals and bringing them
inside the spacious cave, every sheep and goat
in his rich flock—not leaving even one
out in the open courtyard. Perhaps he had
a sense of something wrong, or else a god
had given him an order. He picked up [340]
and put his huge rock door in place, then sat
to milk each ewe and bleating goat,
one by one, setting beside each mother
one of her young. When this task was over, 320
he quickly seized two men and wolfed them down.
Then I moved up and stood at Cyclops’ side,
holding in my hands a bowl of ivy wood
full of my dark wine. I said:

‘Cyclops,
take this wine and drink it, now you’ve had
your meal of human flesh, so you may know
the kind of wine we had on board our ship,
a gift of drink I was carrying for you,
in hope you’d pity me and send me off
on my journey home. But your savagery 330 [350]
is something I can’t bear. You cruel man,
how will any of the countless other men
ever visit you in future? How you act
is so against all human law.’

“I spoke.
He grabbed the cup and gulped down the sweet wine.
Once he’d swallowed, he felt such great delight,
he asked me for some more, a second taste.

‘Be kind and give me some of that again.
And now, without delay tell me your name,
so, as my guest, I can offer you a gift, 340
something you’ll like. Among the Cyclopes,
grain-bearing earth grows clusters of rich grapes,
which Zeus’ rain increases, but this drink—
it’s a stream of nectar and ambrosia.’

“He spoke. So I handed him more fiery wine. [360]
Three times I poured some out and gave it to him,
and, like a fool, he swilled it down. So then,
once the wine had addled Cyclops’ wits,
I spoke these reassuring words to him:

‘Cyclops, you asked about my famous name. 350
I’ll tell you. Then you can offer me a gift,
as your guest. My name is Nobody.
My father and mother, all my other friends—
they call me Nobody.’

“That’s what I said.
His pitiless heart replied:

‘Well, Nobody,
I’ll eat all your companions before you
and have you at the end—my gift to you, [370]
since you’re my guest.’

“As he said this,
he collapsed and toppled over on his back,
lying with his thick neck twisted to one side. 360
All-conquering sleep then overpowered him.
In his drunken state he kept on vomiting,
his gullet drooling wine and human flesh.
So then I pushed the stake deep in the ashes,
to make it hot, and spoke to all my men,
urging them on, so no one, in his fear,
would hesitate. When that stake of olive wood,
though green, was glowing hot, its sharp point
ready to catch fire, I walked across to it [380]
and with my comrades standing round me 370
pulled it from the fire. And then some god
breathed powerful courage into all of us.
They lifted up that stake of olive wood
and jammed its sharpened end down in his eye,
while I, placing my weight at the upper end,
twisted it around—just as a shipwright
bores a timber with a drill, while those below
make it rotate by pulling on a strap
at either end, so the drill keeps moving—
that’s how we held the red-hot pointed stake 380
and twisted it inside the socket of his eye.
Blood poured out through the heat—around his eye,
lids and brows were singed, as his eyeball burned— [390]
its roots were crackling in fire. When a blacksmith
plunges a great axe or adze in frigid water
with a loud hissing sound, to temper it
and make the iron strong—that’s how his eye
sizzled around the stake of olive wood.
His horrific screams echoed through the rock.
We drew back, terrified. He yanked the stake 390
out of his eye—it was all smeared with blood—
hurled it away from him, and waved his arms.
He started yelling out to near-by Cyclopes,
who lived in caves up on the windy heights, [400]
his neighbours. They heard him shouting out
and came crowding round from all directions.
Standing at the cave mouth, they questioned him,
asking what was wrong:

‘Polyphemus,
what’s so bad with you that you keep shouting
through the immortal night and wake us up? 400
Is some mortal human driving off your flocks
or killing you by treachery or force?’

“From the cave mighty Polyphemus roared:

‘Nobody is killing me, my friends,
by treachery, not using any force.’

“They answered him—their words had wings:

‘Well, then,
if nobody is hurting you and you’re alone, [410]
it must be sickness given by great Zeus,
one you can’t escape. So say your prayers
to our father, lord Poseidon.’

“With these words, 410
they went away, and my heart was laughing—
my cunning name had pulled off such a trick.
But Cyclops groaned, writhing in agony.
Groping with his hands he picked up the stone,
removed it from the door, and sat down there,
in the opening. He stretched out his arms,
attempting to catch anyone who tried
to get out with the sheep. In his heart,
he took me for a fool. But I was thinking
the best thing I could do would be to find 420
if somehow my crewmen and myself [420]
could escape being killed. I wove many schemes,
all sorts of tricks, the way a man will do
when his own life’s at stake—and we were faced
with a murderous peril right beside us.
To my heart the best plan was as follows:
in Cyclops’ flocks the rams were really fat—
fine, large creatures, with thick fleecy coats
of deep black wool. I picked three at a time
and, keeping quiet, tied them up together, 430
with twisted willow shoots, part of the mat
on which the lawless monster Polyphemus
used to sleep. The middle ram carried a man.
The two on either side were for protection. [430]
So for every man there were three sheep.
I, too, had my own ram, the finest one
in the whole flock by far. I grabbed its back
then swung myself under its fleecy gut,
and lay there, face upwards, with my fingers
clutching its amazing fleece. My heart was firm. 440
We waited there like that until bright Dawn.

“As soon as rose-fingered early Dawn appeared,
males in the flock trotted off to pasture,
while the females, who had not been milked
and thus whose udders were about to burst,
bleated in their pens. Their master, in great pain, [440]
ran his hands across the backs of all his sheep
as they moved past him, but was such a fool,
he didn’t notice how my men were tied
to their bellies underneath. Of that flock 450
my ram was the last to move out through the door,
weighed down by its thick fleece and my sly thoughts.
Mighty Polyphemus, as he stroked its back,
spoke to the animal:

‘My lovely ram,
why are you the last one in the flock
to come out of the cave? Not once before
have you ever lagged behind the sheep.
No. You’ve always been well out in front,
striding off to graze on tender shoots of grass
and be the first to reach the river’s stream. 460 [450]
You’re the one who longs to get back home,
once evening comes, before the others.
But now you’re last of all. You must be sad,
grieving for your master’s eye, now blinded
by that evil fellow with his hateful crew.
That Nobody destroyed my wits with wine.
But, I tell you, he’s not yet escaped being killed.
If only you could feel and speak like me—
you’d tell me where he’s hiding from my rage.
I’d smash his brains out on the ground in here, 470
sprinkle them in every corner of this cave,
and then my heart would ease the agonies
this worthless Nobody has brought on me.’ [460]

“With these words, he pushed the ram away from him,
out through the door. After the ram had moved
a short distance from the cave and courtyard,
first I got out from underneath its gut
and then untied by comrades. We rushed away,
driving off those rich, fat, long-legged sheep,
often turning round to look behind us, 480
until we reached our ship—a welcome sight
to fellow crewmen—we’d escaped being killed,
although they groaned and wept for those who’d died.
But I would not allow them to lament—
with a scowl I told everyone to stop.
I ordered them quickly to fling on board
the many fine-fleeced sheep and then set sail [470]
across the salty sea. They climbed aboard
at once, took their places on the rowing bench,
and, sitting in good order in their rows, 490
struck the grey sea with their oars. But then,
when I was as far from land as a man’s voice
can carry when he shouts, I yelled out
and mocked the Cyclops:

‘Cyclops,
it seems he was no weakling, after all,
the man whose comrades you so wished to eat,
using brute force in that hollow cave of yours.
Your evil acts were bound to catch you out,
you wretch—you didn’t even hesitate
to gorge yourself on guests in your own home. 500
Now Zeus and other gods have paid you back.’

“That’s what I said. It made his heart more angry. [480]
He snapped off a huge chunk of mountain rock
and hurled it. The stone landed up ahead of us,
just by our ship’s dark prow. As the stone sank,
the sea surged under it, waves pushed us back
towards the land, and, like a tidal flood,
drove us on shore. I grabbed a long boat hook
and pushed us off, encouraging the crew,
and, with a nod of my head, ordering them 510
to ply their oars and save us from disaster.
They put their backs into it then and rowed. [490]
But when we’d got some distance out to sea,
about twice as far, I started shouting,
calling the Cyclops, although around me
my comrades cautioned me from every side,
trying to calm me down:

‘That’s reckless.
Why are you trying to irritate that savage?
Just now he threw a boulder in the sea
and pushed us back on shore. We really thought 520
he’d destroyed us there. If he’d heard us speak
or uttering a sound, he’d have hurled down
another jagged rock and crushed our skulls,
the timbers on this ship, as well. He’s strong,
powerful enough to throw this far.’

“That’s what they said. [500]
But my warrior spirit didn’t listen.
So, anger in my heart, I yelled again:

‘Cyclops, if any mortal human being
asks about the injury that blinded you,
tell them Odysseus destroyed your eye, 530
a sacker of cities, Laertes’ son,
a man from Ithaca.’

“After I’d said this,
he stretched out his hands to starry heaven
and offered this prayer to lord Poseidon:

‘Hear me, Poseidon, Enfolder of the Earth,
dark-haired god, if I truly am your son
and if you claim to be my father,
grant that Odysseus, sacker of cities, [530]
a man from Ithaca, Laertes’ son,
never gets back home. If it’s his destiny 540
to see his friends and reach his native land
and well-built house, may he get back late
and in distress, after all his comrades
have been killed, and in someone else’s ship.
May he find troubles in his house, as well.’

“That’s what he prayed. The dark-haired god heard him.
Then Cyclops once again picked up a rock,
a much larger stone, swung it round, and threw it,
using all his unimaginable force.
It landed right behind the dark-prowed ship 550
and almost hit the steering oar. Its fall [540]
convulsed the sea, and waves then pushed us on,
carrying our ship up to the further shore.

“We reached the island where our well-decked ships
were grouped together. Our comrades sat around them,
in great sorrow, always watching for us.
We rowed in, drove our ship up on the sand,
then climbed out through the surf. From the ship’s hold
we unloaded Cyclops’ flock and shared it out.
I took great care to see that all men there 560
received an equal part. But when the flock
was being divided up, my well-armed comrades [550]
awarded me the ram, my special gift,
one just for me. I sacrificed that ram,
there on the shore, to Zeus, Cronos’ son,
lord of the dark cloud, ruler of all,
offering him burnt pieces of the thigh.
But he did not care for my sacrifice.
Instead he started planning to destroy
all my well-decked ships and loyal comrades. 570

“As soon as rose-fingered early Dawn appeared, [560]
I roused my shipmates, ordered them aboard.
They untied cables fastened to the sterns
and got in at once, moved to the rowing bench,
and sitting in good order in their rows,
they struck the grey sea with their oar blades.
So we sailed away from there, sad at heart,
happy to have avoided being destroyed,
although some dear companions had been killed.”

Book Ten
Aeolus, the Laestrygonians, and Circe

“Next we reached Aeolia, a floating island,
where Aeolus lived, son of Hippotas,
whom immortal gods hold dear.* Around it,
runs an impenetrable wall of bronze,

This next stop on Odysseus’ journey is apparently a small island to the north of Sicily. [Back to Text]

and cliffs rise up in a sheer face of rock.
His twelve children live there in the palace,
six daughters as well as six full-grown sons.
He gave the daughters to the sons in marriage,
and they are always at a banquet feasting,
beside their dear father and good mother, 10
with an infinite supply of tasty food.
We reached the splendid palace in the city,
and for one whole month he entertained me,
always asking questions about everything—
Troy, Argive ships, how Achaeans made it home—
and I told him all from start to finish.
When, for my part, I asked to take my leave
and told him he should send me on my way,
he denied me nothing and helped me go.
He gave me a bag made out of ox-hide, 20
flayed from a creature nine years old,
and tied up in it all the winds that blow [20]
from every quarter, for Cronos’ son
has made Aeolus keeper of the winds,
and he could calm or rouse them, as he wished.
With a shining silver cord he lashed that bag
inside my hollow ship, so as to stop
even the smallest breath from getting out.
He also got a West Wind breeze to blow
to carry ships and men on their way home. 30

“For nine whole days and nights we held our course,
and on the tenth we glimpsed our native land.
We came in so close we could see the men [30]
who tend the beacon fires. But then sweet Sleep
came over me—I was too worn out.
All that time my hands had gripped the sail rope—
I’d not let go of it or passed it on
to any shipmate, so that we’d get home
more quickly. But as I slept, my comrades
started talking to each other, claiming 40
I was taking gold and silver back with me,
gifts of Aeolus, brave son of Hippotas.
Glancing at the man who sat beside him,
one of them would say something like this:

‘It’s not fair. Everyone adores this man
and honours him, no matter where he goes,
to any city, any land. From Troy
he’s taking a huge stash of glorious loot— [40]
but those of us who’ve been on the same trip
are coming home with empty hands. And now, 50
Aeolus, because he’s a friend of his,
has freely given him these presents.
Come on, let’s see how much gold and silver
he has in his bag.’

“As they talked like this,
my companions’ greedy thoughts prevailed.
They untied the bag. All the winds rushed out—
storm winds seized them, swept them out to sea,
in tears, away from their own native land.
At that point I woke up. Deep in my heart [50]
I was of two minds—I could jump overboard 60
and drown at sea or just keep going in silence,
remain among the living. I stayed there
and suffered on. Covering up my head,
I lay down on the deck, while our ships,
loaded with my whimpering companions,
were driven by those wicked blasts of wind
all the way back to Aeolus’ island.

“I set off for Aeolus’ splendid palace.
I found him feasting with his wife and children. [60]
So we went into the house and sat down 70
on the threshold, right beside the door posts.
In their hearts they were amazed. They asked me:

‘Odysseus, how is it you’ve come back here?
We took great care to send you on your way
so you’d get home, back to your native land.”

“That’s what they asked. With a heavy heart,
I answered them:

‘My foolish comrades,
aided by malicious Sleep, have injured me.
But, my friends, you can repair all this—
that’s in your power.’

“I said these words 80 [70]
to reassure them. But they stayed silent.
Then their father gave me this reply:

‘Of all living men, you are the worst—
so you must leave this island with all speed.
It would violate all sense of what is right
if I assisted or escorted on his way
a man the blessed gods must hate. So leave.
You’re here because deathless gods despise you.’

“Once he’d said this, he sent me from his house,
for all my heavy groans. Then, sick at heart, 90
we sailed on further, my crewmen’s spirits
worn down by the weary work of rowing.
Because we’d been such fools, there was no breeze
to help us on our way. We went on like this
for six whole days and nights. On the seventh [80]
we came to Telepylus, great citadel
of Lamus, king of Laestrygonians,
into a lovely harbour, with a sheer cliff
around it on both sides. Jutting headlands
facing one another extended out 100
beyond the harbour mouth, a narrow entrance. [90]
All my shipmates brought their curved ships up
and moored them inside the hollow harbour
in a tightly clustered group—in that spot
there were never any waves, large or small.
Everything was calm and bright around them.
But I moored my black ship all by itself
outside the harbour, right against the land,
tying it to the rock. I clambered up the cliff
and stood there, on a rugged outcrop, 110
looking round. I could see no evidence
of human work or ploughing, only smoke
rising from the land. I sent some comrades out [100]
to learn what the inhabitants were like.
They left the ships and came to a smooth road,
which wagons used to haul wood to the town
from high mountain slopes. Outside the city
they met a young girl collecting water,
the noble daughter of Antiphates,
a Laestrygonian. They asked the girl 120
who ruled the people here and who they were. [110]
She quickly pointed out her father’s lofty home.
They reached the splendid house and found his wife,
a gigantic woman, like a mountain peak.
They were appalled. She summoned her husband,
strong Antiphates, out of a meeting,
and he arranged a dreadful death for them—
he seized one of my shipmates and prepared
to make a meal of him. The other two
jumped up, ran off, and rushed back to the ships. 130
Antiphates then raised a hue and cry
throughout the city. Once they heard his call,
the powerful Laestrygonians poured out,
thronging in countless numbers from all sides—
not like men at all, but Giants. From cliffs [120]
they hurled rocks down on us, the largest stones
a man can lift. The clamour rising from the ships
was dreadful—men were being destroyed,
ships were smashing into one another,
with those monsters spearing men like fish, 140
and taking them to eat a gruesome meal.
While they were slaughtering the sailors there,
trapped in the deep harbour, I grabbed my sword,
pulled it from my thigh, and cut the cables
on my dark-prowed ship, shouting at my crew,
ordering them to put their oars to work,
so we could get away from this disaster.
They all churned the water with their oar-blades, [130]
terrified of being killed. We were relieved,
as my ship left the beetling cliffs behind, 150
moving out to sea. But all the other ships,
moored together in the harbour, were destroyed.

“We sailed on from there with heavy hearts,
until we reached the island of Aeaea,
where fair-haired Circe lived, fearful goddess.
Here, in silence, we brought our ship to land [140]
inside a harbour with fine anchorage.
Some god was guiding us. Then we disembarked
and laid up in that spot two days and nights,
our hearts consumed with weariness and pain. 160

“As soon as rose-fingered early Dawn appeared,
I called a meeting and addressed them all:

‘Shipmates, let’s quickly put our heads together
to see if we have any options left.
I don’t think we do. I climbed a rocky crag,
and from that vantage point spied out the land.
It’s an island with deep water round it,
low-lying and flat. I saw with my own eyes
smoke rising in the middle of the island,
through dense brush and trees.’

“That’s what I said. 170
But their spirits fell, as they remembered
what Laestrygonian Antiphates had done
and the violence of great Polyphemus, [200]
that man-eating cyclops. They wept aloud,
shedding frequent tears. But their laments
were not much help to us. So I split up
my well-armed comrades in two separate groups,
each with its own leader. I commanded one,
and godlike Eurylochus led the other.
We shook our tokens in a bronze helmet. 180
When brave Eurylochus’ lot fell out,
he set off with twenty-two companions,
all in tears, leaving us behind to grieve.
In a forest clearing they found Circe’s house— [210]
built of polished stone, with views in all directions.
There were mountain wolves and lions round it,
all bewitched by Circe’s wicked potions.
But these beasts made no attack against my men.
Instead they stood on their hind legs and fawned,
wagging their long tails. Just as dogs will beg 190
around their master when he comes from dinner—
since he keeps bringing scraps to please their hearts—
that’s how the wolves and sharp-clawed lions there
kept fawning round those men, who were afraid
just looking at those fearful animals.
They stood in fair-haired Circe’s gateway [220]
and heard her sweet voice singing in the house,
as she went back and forth before her loom,
weaving a huge, immortal tapestry,
the sort of work which goddesses create, 200
finely woven, luminous, and beautiful.
They all started shouting, calling her.
She came out at once, opened the bright doors,
and asked them in. In their foolishness,
they all accompanied her. Eurylochus [230]
was the only one who stayed outside—
he thought it could be something of a trick.
She led the others in and sat them down
on stools and chairs, then made them a drink
of cheese and barley meal and yellow honey 210
stirred into Pramnian wine. But with the food
she mixed a vicious drug, so they would lose
all memories of home. Once they drank down
the drink she gave them, she took her wand,
struck each man, then penned them in her pigsties.
They had bristles, heads, and voices just like pigs—
their bodies looked like swine—but their minds [240]
were as before, unchanged. In their pens they wept.
In front of them Circe threw down feed,
acorns, beech nuts, cornel fruit, the stuff 220
pigs eat when they are wallowing in mud.
Eurylochus came back immediately
to our swift black ship, bringing a report
of his comrades’ bitter fate, eyes full of tears.
I slung my large bronze silver-studded sword
across my shoulder, grabbed my bow, and left.
But while I was moving through the sacred groves
on my way to Circe’s home, a goddess
skilled in many magic potions, I met
Hermes of the Golden Wand. I was going 230
toward the house. He looked like a young man
when the first growth of hair is on his lip,
the age when youthful charm is at its height.
He gripped my hand, spoke to me, and said: [280]

‘Your comrades, over there in Circe’s house,
are penned up like swine in narrow stalls.
Are you intending now to set them free?
I don’t think you’ll make it back yourself—
you’ll stay there with the rest of them. But come,
I’ll keep you free from harm and save you. 240
Here, take a remedial potion with you.
Go in Circe’s house. It’s a protection
and will clear your head of any dangers
this day brings. She won’t have power
to cast a spell on you. This fine potion,
which I’ll provide you, will not allow it.

“After saying this, the Killer of Argus
pulled a herb out of the ground, gave it to me,
and explained its features. Its roots were black,
the flower milk-white. Moly the gods call it. 250
Then Hermes left, through the wooded island,
bound for high Olympus. I continued on
to Circe’s home. As I kept going, my heart
was turning over many gloomy thoughts.
Once I’d made it over to the gateway [310]
of fair-haired Circe’s house, I just stood there
and called out. The goddess heard my voice.
She came out at once, opened her bright doors,
and asked me in. So I went in with her,
heart full of misgivings. She led me in 260
and sat me on a silver-studded chair,
a lovely object, beautifully made,
with a stool underneath to rest my feet.
She mixed her potion in a golden cup
for me to drink. In it she placed the drug,
her heart still bent on mischief. She offered it,
and, when I’d drunk it, without being bewitched,
she struck me with her wand and said these words:

‘Off now to your sty, and lie in there [320]
with the rest of your companions.’ 270

“She spoke. But I pulled out the sharp sword on my thigh
and charged at Circe, as if I meant to kill her.
She gave a piercing scream, ducked, then ran up
and clasped my knees. Through her tears she spoke—
her words had wings:

‘What sort of man are you?
Where are you from? Where is your city?
Your parents? I’m amazed you drank this drug
And were not bewitched. No other man
who’s swallowed it has been able to resist,
once it’s passed the barrier of his teeth. 280
In that chest of yours your mind holds out
against my spell. You must be Odysseus, [330]
that resourceful man. The Killer of Argus,
Hermes of the Golden Wand, always told me
Odysseus in his swift black ship would come
on his way back from Troy. Come, put that sword
back in its sheath, and let the two of us
go up into my bed. When we’ve made love,
then we can trust each other.’

“Once she said this,
I answered her and said:

‘O Circe, 290
how can you ask me to be kind to you?
In your own home you’ve changed my crew to pigs
and keep me here. You’re plotting mischief now,
inviting me to go up to your room, [340]
into your bed, so when I have no clothes,
you can do me harm, destroy my manhood.
But I won’t agree to climb into your bed,
unless, goddess, you’ll agree to swear
a solemn oath that you’ll make no more plans
to injure me with some new mischief.’ 300

“When I’d said this, she made the oath at once,
as I had asked, that she’d not harm me.
Once she had sworn and finished with the oath,
I went up with Circe to her splendid bed.

“Meanwhile four women serving in her home
were busy in the hall, children of springs, [350]
groves, and sacred rivers flowing to the sea.
One of them threw lovely purple coverlets
across the chairs and spread linen underneath.
Another pulled silver tables over to each chair 310
and then placed silver baskets on them.
The third one mixed deliciously sweet wine
inside a silver bowl, then served it out
in cups of gold. The fourth brought water in,
lit a large fire under a huge cauldron,
and warmed the water up until it boiled
inside the shining bronze. She sat me in a tub, [360]
then, diluting water from that cauldron
so it was right for me, gave me a bath,
pouring water on my head and shoulders, 320
until the weariness that sapped my spirit
had left my limbs. After bathing me,
she rubbed me with rich oil, then dressed me
in a fine cloak and tunic and led me
to a handsome chair embossed with silver,
finely crafted, with a footstool underneath.
A servant brought a lovely golden jug,
poured water out into a silver basin,
so I could wash, and set a polished table [370]
at my side. Then the worthy steward 330
brought in bread and set it there before me,
placing with it large quantities of food,
given freely from her stores. She bid me eat.
But in my heart I had no appetite.
So I sat there, thinking of other things,
my spirit sensing something ominous.
When Circe noticed me just sitting there,
not reaching for the food, weighed down with grief,
she came up close and spoke winged words to me:

‘Odysseus, why are you sitting here like this, 340
like someone who can’t speak, eating out your heart,
never touching food or drink? Do you think
this is another trick? You don’t need to fear— [380]
I’ve already made a solemn promise
I won’t injure you.’

“When she said this,
I answered her and said:

‘O Circe,
What man with any self-respect would start
to eat and drink before he had released
his shipmates and could see them face to face?
If you are being sincere in asking me 350
to eat and drink, then set my comrades free,
so my own eyes can see my trusty crew.’

“When I’d said this, Circe went through the hall,
her wand clutched in her hand, and opened up
the pig-sty doors. She drove the herd out.
They looked like full-grown pigs, nine years old, [390]
standing in front of her. She went through them,
smearing on each one another potion.
Those bristles brought on by that nasty drug
which they’d received from Circe earlier 360
fell from their limbs, and they were men again,
more youthful and much taller than before,
more handsome to the eye. Now they knew me.
Each man grabbed my hand, and all of them
were overcome with passionate weeping,
so the house around them echoed strangely.
Circe herself was moved to pity then—
standing close to me, the lovely goddess said: [400]

‘Son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus,
born from Zeus, go now to the sea shore, 370
back to your swift ship, drag it up on land,
and stash your goods and all equipment
in the caves. Then come back here in person,
and bring your loyal companions with you.’*

The phrase “born from Zeus,” like the very similar phrase “Zeus’ child,” are signs of respect for Odysseus. They are not to be taken literally. Odysseus is not a child of a god. [Back to Text]

“Her words persuaded my proud heart. I left,
going back to our swift ship beside the sea.
I found my trusty comrades at the ship
lamenting miserably, shedding many tears.
Just as on a farm calves frisk around the herd [410]
when cows, having had their fill of grazing, 380
return back to the yard—they skip ahead,
and pens no longer hold them, as they run,
mooing in a crowd around their mothers,
that’s how my shipmates, once they saw me,
thronged around, weeping—in their hearts it felt
as if they they’d got back to their native land,
the rugged town of Ithaca itself.”

“Meanwhile, Circe had been acting kindly
to the rest of my companions in her home.
She’d given them baths, rubbed them with rich oil, 390 [450]
and dressed them in warm cloaks and tunics.
We found them all quite cheerful, eating
in the hall. When my men saw each other
and recognized their shipmates face to face,
their crying and moaning echoed through the house.
The lovely goddess came to me and said:

‘Resourceful Odysseus, Laertes’ son,
come now, eat my food, and drink my wine, [460]
until you’ve got back that spirit in your chest
you had when you first left your native land 400
of rugged Ithaca. You’re exhausted now—
you have no spirit when you’re always brooding
on your painful wanderings. There’s no joy
inside your heart—you’ve been through so much.’

“Our proud hearts were persuaded by her words.
We stayed there, day by day, for one whole year,
feasting on sweet wine and large supplies of meat.
But as the months and seasons came and went,
long spring days returned. A year had passed. [470]
My trusty comrades summoned me and said: 410

‘You god-driven man, now the time has come
to think about your native land once more,
if you are fated to be saved and reach
your high-roofed home and your own country.’

“My proud heart was persuaded by their words.
So all day long until the sun went down,
we sat there, feasting on huge amounts of meat
and on sweet wine. Once the sun had set
and darkness came, they lay down to sleep
in the shadowy hall. I went to Circe, 420 [480]
in her splendid bed, and clasped her knees.
The goddess listened to me as I begged,
speaking these winged words to her:

‘Circe, grant me the promise which you made
to send me home. My spirit’s keen to leave,
as are the hearts in my companions, too,
who, as they grieve around me, drain my heart,
whenever you are not there among us.’

“I spoke. The lovely goddess answered me at once.

‘Resourceful Odysseus, Laertes’ son 430
and Zeus’ child, if it’s against your will,
you should not now remain here in my house.
But first you must complete another journey— [490]
to the home of Hades and dread Persephone.
Consult the shade of that Theban prophet,
blind Teiresias. His mind is unimpaired.
Even though he’s dead, Persephone
has granted him the power to understand—
the others flit about, mere shadows.’

“As Circe finished, my spirit was breaking. 440
I sat weeping on her bed, for my heart
no longer wished to live or glimpse the daylight.
But when I’d had enough of shedding tears
and rolling in distress, I answered her: [500]

‘Circe, who’ll be the guide on such a journey?
No one ever sailed a black ship down to Hades.’

“The lovely goddess gave me a quick answer:

‘Resourceful Odysseus, Laertes’ son
and Zeus’ child, don’t concern yourself
about a pilot for your ship. Raise the mast, 450
spread your white sail, and just take your seat.
Then the breath of North Wind Boreas
will take you on your way. But once your ship
crosses flowing Oceanus, drag it ashore
at Persephone’s groves, on the level beach
where tall poplars grow, willows shed their fruit, [510]
right beside deep swirling Oceanus.*

Oceanus or Ocean is a river which in Homeric geography surrounds the lands and the sea—it is, as it were, the outer rim of the world (which is flat). [Back to Text]

Then you must go to Hades’ murky home.
There Periphlegethon and Cocytus,
a stream which branches off the river Styx, 460
flow into Acheron. There’s a boulder
where these two foaming rivers meet. Go there,
heroic man, and follow my instructions—
move close and dig a hole there two feet square.*
Pour libations to the dead around it,

The Greek reads “as great as the length of a pugon [the distance from the elbow to the first finger joints] here and there,” about two feet. [Back to Text]

first with milk and honey, next sweet wine,
and then a third with water. And shake out [520]
white barley meal. Then pray there in earnest
to many powerless heads of those who’ve died,
with a vow that, when you reach Ithaca, 470
at home, you’ll sacrifice a barren heifer,
the best you have, and will cram the altar
with fine gifts, and that you’ll make an offering
to Teiresias, a black ram just for him,
the finest creature in your flocks. And then,
when you’ve offered prayers of supplication
to celebrated nations of the dead,
you must sacrifice a ram and a black ewe,
twisting their heads down towards Erebus,
while you turn to face the flowing rivers, 480
looking backwards.* At that point many spirits

Erebus is the deepest pit of Hades. [Back to Text]

will emerge—they’re the shadows of the dead. [530]
Then call your crew. Tell them to flay and burn
the sheep lying there, killed by pitiless bronze.
Pray to the gods, to powerful Hades
and dread Persephone. Then from your thigh,
you must yourself draw out that sharp sword,
and, sitting there, prevent the powerless heads
of those who’ve died from coming near the blood,
until you’ve listened to Teiresias.’ 490 [540]

“Circe finished. Dawn soon came on her golden throne.
The nymph then dressed me in a cloak and tunic
and clothed her body in a long white robe,
a lovely, finely woven garment, and tied
a splendid golden belt around her waist.
On her head she placed a veil. Then I went
through her house, rousing my companions,
going up to each man and reassuring him:

‘No more sleeping now, no sweet slumbering.
Let’s go. Queen Circe’s told me what to do.’ 500

“That’s what I said. And their proud hearts agreed.” [550]

Book Eleven
Odysseus Meets the Shades of the Dead

“When we reached our boat down on the beach,
we dragged it out into the glittering sea,
set up the mast and sail in our black ship,
led on the sheep, and then embarked ourselves.
All day long, the sail stayed full, and we sped on
across the sea, until the sun went down
and all sea routes grew dark. Our ship then reached
the boundaries of deep-flowing Oceanus,
a region always wrapped in mist and cloud.
We sailed in there, dragged our ship on land, 10 [20]
and walked along the stream of Oceanus,
until we reached the place Circe described.

“Perimedes and Eurylochus held the sheep,
our sacrificial victims, while I unsheathed
the sharp sword on my thigh and dug a hole,
two feet each way. I poured out libations
to all the dead—first with milk and honey,
then sweet wine, and then a third with water.
Around the pit I sprinkled barley meal.
Then to the powerless heads of the departed 20
I offered many prayers, with promises
I’d sacrifice, once I returned to Ithaca,
a barren heifer in my home. With prayers and vows
I called upon the families of the dead.
Next I held the sheep above the hole
and slit their throats. Dark blood flowed down.

“Then out of Erebus came swarming up
shades of the dead—brides, young unmarried men,
old ones worn out with toil, young tender girls,
with hearts still new to sorrow, and many men 30
wounded by bronze spears, who’d died in war, [40]
still in their blood-stained armour. Crowds of them
came thronging in from all sides of the pit,
with amazing cries. Pale fear took hold of me.
Then I called my comrades, ordering them
to flay and burn the sheep still lying there,
slain by cruel bronze, and pray to the gods,
to mighty Hades and dread Persephone.
And then I drew the sharp sword on my thigh
and sat there, stopping the powerless heads 40
of all the dead from getting near the blood,
until I’d asked Teiresias my questions. [50]

“Then appeared the ghost of my dead mother,
Anticleia, brave Autolycus’ daughter.
I’d left her still alive when I set off
for sacred Troy. Once I caught sight of her,
I wept, and I felt pity in my heart.
But still, in spite of all my sorrow,
I could not let her get too near the blood,
until I’d asked Teiresias my questions. 50

“Then came the shade of Teiresias from Thebes, [90]
holding a golden staff. He knew who I was
and started speaking:

‘Resourceful Odysseus,
Laertes’ son and Zeus’ child, what now,
you unlucky man? Why leave the sunlight,
come to this joyless place, and see the dead?
Move from the pit and pull away your sword,
so I may drink the blood and speak the truth.’

“Teiresias finished talking. I drew back
and thrust my silver-studded sword inside its sheath. 60
When the blameless prophet had drunk dark blood,
he said these words to me:

‘Glorious Odysseus, [100]
you ask about your honey-sweet return.
But a god will make your journey bitter.
As soon as you’ve escaped the dark blue sea
and reached the island of Thrinacia
in your sturdy ship, you’ll find grazing there
the cattle and rich flocks of Helios,
who hears and watches over everything.
If you leave them unharmed and keep your mind 70 [110]
on your return, you may reach Ithaca,
though you’ll have trouble. But if you touch them,
then I foresee destruction for your crew,
for you, and for your ship. And even if
you yourself escape, you’ll get home again
in distress and late, in someone else’s ship,
after losing every one of your companions.
There’ll be trouble in your home—arrogant men
eating up your livelihood and wooing
your godlike wife by giving courtship gifts. 80
But when you come, you’ll surely take revenge
for all their violence. Once you have killed
the suitors in your house with your sharp sword, [120]
by cunning or in public, then take up
a well-made oar and go, until you reach
a people who know nothing of the sea,
who don’t put salt on any food they eat,
and have no knowledge of ships painted red
or well-made oars that serve those ships as wings.
I’ll tell you a sure sign you won’t forget— 90
when someone else runs into you and says
you’ve got a shovel used for winnowing
on your broad shoulders. Then fix that fine oar
in the ground there, and make rich sacrifice [130]
to lord Poseidon with a ram, a bull,
and a boar that breeds with sows. Then leave.*

These remarks seem to suggest that Odysseus must finally propitiate Poseidon by going somewhere far inland, where people have never heard of that god and, in effect, make him known with the oar planted in the ground and a sacrifice. The winnowing shovel is a device for separating grain from chaff. [Back to Text]

Go home, and there make sacred offerings
to the immortal gods, who hold wide heaven,
to all of them in order. Your death will come
far from the sea, such a gentle passing, 100
when you are bowed down with a ripe old age,
and your people prospering around you.
In all these things I’m telling you the truth.’*

This prophecy of the death of Odysseus has prompted much comment, especially the phrase “far from the sea,” which some interpreters wish to emend to “from the sea” (i.e., someone will arrive by boat and bring about Odysseus’ death). It is difficult to reconcile the idea of Odysseus being far from the sea with the mention of his people (i.e., those in Ithaca) living well all around him, unless, as some legends have it, he leaves Ithaca and becomes a ruler somewhere else. [Back to Text]

“He finished speaking. Then I replied and said:

‘Teiresias, no doubt the gods themselves
have spun the threads of this. But come, tell me— [140]
and speak the truth—I can see there the shade
of my dead mother, sitting near the blood,
in silence. She does not dare confront
the face of her own son or speak to him. 110
Tell me, my lord, how she may understand
just who I am.’

“When I’d finished speaking,
Teiresias quickly gave me his reply:

‘I’ll tell you so your mind will comprehend.
It’s easy. Whichever shadow of the dead
you let approach the blood will speak to you
and tell the truth, but those you keep away
will once again withdraw.’

“After saying this, [150]
the shade of lord Teiresias returned
to Hades’ home, having made his prophecy. 120
But I stayed there undaunted, till my mother
came and drank dark blood. Then she knew me.
Full of sorrow, she spoke out—her words had wings:

‘My son, how have you come while still alive
down to this sad darkness? For living men
it’s difficult to come and see these things—
huge rivers, fearful waters, stand between us,
first and foremost Oceanus, which no man
can cross on foot. He needs a sturdy ship.
Have you only now come here from Troy, 130 [160]
after a long time wandering with your ship
and your companions? Have you not reached
Ithaca, nor seen your wife in your own home?’

“Once she’d finished, I answered her:

‘Mother,
I had to come down here to Hades’ home,
meet the shade of Teiresias of Thebes,
and hear his prophecy. I have not yet
come near Achaea’s shores or disembarked
in our own land. I’ve been wandering round
in constant misery, ever since I left 140
with noble Agamemnon, bound for Troy,
to fight against the Trojans. But come now,
tell me—and make sure you speak the truth— [170]
what grievous form of death destroyed you?
A lingering disease, or did archer Artemis
attack and kill you with her gentle arrows?
And tell me of my father and my son,
whom I left behind. Tell me of the wife
I married. What are her thoughts and plans?
Is she still there with her son, keeping watch 150
on everything? Or has she been married
to the finest of Achaeans?’

“When I’d said this, [180]
my honoured mother answered me at once:

‘You can be sure she’s waiting in your home,
her heart still faithful. But her nights and days
all end in sorrow, with her shedding tears.
As for your father, he stays on his farm
and never travels down into the town.
There he lies in sorrow, nursing in his heart
enormous grief, longing for your return. 160
A harsh old age has overtaken him.
That’s how I met my fate and died, as well.
I was not attacked and killed in my own home
by gentle arrows of the keen-eyed archer,
nor did I die of some disease which takes [200]
the spirit from our limbs, as we waste away
in pain. No. It was my longing for you,
glorious Odysseus, for your loving care,
that robbed me of my life, so honey sweet.’

“She finished. I considered how in my heart 170
I wished to hold the shade of my dead mother.
Three times my spirit prompted me to grasp her,
and I jumped ahead. But each time she slipped
out of my arms, like a shadow or a dream.
The pain inside my heart grew even sharper.
Then I spoke to her—my words had wings:

‘Mother, why do you not wait for me? [210]
I’d like to hold you, so that even here,
in Hades’ home, we might throw loving arms
around each other and then have our fill 180
of icy lamentation. Or are you
just a phantom royal Persephone has sent
to make me groan and grieve still more?’

“I spoke. My honoured mother quickly said:

‘My child, of all men most unfortunate,
no, Persephone, daughter of Zeus,
is not deceiving you. Once mortals die,
this is what’s set for them. Their sinews
no longer hold the flesh and bone together.
The mighty power of blazing fire 190 [220]
destroys them, once our spirit flies from us,
from our white bones. And then it slips away,
and, like a dream, flutters to and fro.
But hurry to the light as quickly as you can.
Remember all these things, so later on
you can describe the details to your wife.’”

[The shade of Odysseus’s mother, Anticleia, leaves. Odysseus then describes at length how he saw a large number of shades of famous women from olden times.]

Odysseus paused. All Phaeacians sat in silence,
saying not a word, spellbound in the shadowy hall.
The first to speak was white-armed Arete, who said:

“Phaeacians, how does this man seem to you 200
for beauty, stature, and within himself,
a fair, well-balanced mind? He is my guest,
though each of you shares in this honour, too.
So don’t be quick to send him on his way,
and don’t hold back your gifts to one in need.” [340]

Then old warrior Echeneus addressed them all—
one of the Phaeacian elders there among them:

“Friends, what our wise queen has just said to us,
as we’d expect, is not wide of the mark.
You must attend to her. But the last word 210
and the decision rest with Alcinous.”

Once Echeneus finished, Alcinous spoke out:

“The queen indeed will have the final word,
as surely as I live and am the king
of the Phaeacians, men who love the oar.
But though our guest is longing to return, [350]
let him try to stay until tomorrow.
By then I’ll have completed all our gifts.
His leaving here is everyone’s concern,
especially mine, since I control this land.” 220

Resourceful Odysseus then replied to him and said:

“Lord Alcinous, of all men most renowned,
if you asked me to stay for one whole year,
to organize my escort and give splendid gifts,
then I would still agree. It’s far better
to get back to one’s own dear native land
with more wealth in hand. I’ll win more respect, [360]
more love from anyone who looks at me,
whenever I return to Ithaca.”

Alcinous then answered him and said:

“Odysseus, 230
when we look at you, we do not perceive
that you’re in any way a lying fraud,
like many men the black earth nourishes
and scatters everywhere, who make up lies
from things no man has seen. You speak so well,
and you have such a noble heart inside.
You’ve told your story with a minstrel’s skill, [370]
the painful agonies of all the Argives
and your own, as well. Come then, tell me this—
and speak the truth—did you see any comrades, 240
those godlike men who went with you to Troy
and met their fate there? This night before us
will be lengthy, astonishingly so.
It’s not yet time to sleep here in the halls,
so tell me of these marvellous events.”

Resourceful Odysseus then answered him
and said these words:

“Lord Alcinous,
If you are eager to hear even more, [380]
I will not hesitate to speak to you
of other things more pitiful than these. 250
I mean the troubles of those friends of mine
who perished later, who managed to escape
the Trojans frightening battle cries, but died
when they returned, thanks to the deviousness
of a malicious woman.

“Once sacred Persephone
dispersed those female shadows here and there,
then the grieving shade of Agamemnon,
son of Atreus, appeared. Around him
other shades had gathered, all those who died
and met their fate alongside Agamemnon 260
in Aegisthus’ house. He knew me at once. [390]
When he’d drunk some blood, he wept aloud,
shedding many tears, stretching out his hands,
keen to reach me. But he no longer had
any inner power or strength, not like
the force his supple limbs possessed before.
I looked at him and wept. Pity filled my heart.
Then I spoke to him—my words had wings:

‘Lord Agamemnon, son of Atreus,
king of men, what fatal net of grievous death 270
destroyed you? Did Poseidon stir the winds [400]
into a furious storm and strike your ships?
Or were you killed by enemies on land,
while you were cutting out their cattle
or rich flocks of sheep? Or were you fighting
to seize their city and their women?’

“I paused, and he at once gave me his answer:

‘Resourceful Odysseus, Laertes’ son,
and Zeus’ child, Poseidon didn’t kill me
in my ships by rousing savage winds 280
into a vicious storm. Nor was I killed
by enemies on land. No. Aegisthus
brought on my fatal end. He murdered me,
and he was helped by my accursed wife, [410]
after he’d invited me into his home
and prepared a feast for me, like an ox
one butchers in its stall. And so I died
the most pitiful of deaths. Around me
they kept killing the rest of my companions,
like white-tusked pigs. The saddest thing I heard 290
was Cassandra, Priam’s daughter, screaming.
That traitor Clytaemnestra slaughtered her
right there beside me. Though I was dying,
I raised my arms to strike her with my sword,
but that dog-faced bitch turned her back on me.
Even though I was on my way to Hades,
she made no attempt to use her fingers
to close my eyelids or to shut my mouth.’*

These actions were made out of respect for the dead on their way to the under-world. The refusal to carry them out shows the greatest disrespect. Cassandra, a princess of Troy, was a prize of war awarded by the army to Agamemnon. [Back to Text]

“Agamemnon finished. I answered him at once:

‘That’s horrible. Surely wide-thundering Zeus 300
for many years has shown a dreadful hate
towards the family of Atreus,
thanks to the conniving of some woman.
Many died for Helen’s sake, and then
Clytaemnestra organized a trap for you,
while you were somewhere far away.’*

Helen was married to Menelaus, brother of Agamemnon. Hence, the war caused by her elopement with Paris brought trouble on the House of Atreus. [Back to Text]

“As we two stood there in sad conversation,
full of sorrow and shedding many tears,
Achilles’ shade came up, son of Peleus,
with those of splendid Antilochus 310
and Patroclus, too, as well as Ajax,
who in his looks and body was the best
of all Danaans, after Achilles, [470]
who had no equal. Then the shadow
of the swift-footed son of Aeacus
knew who I was, and with a cry of grief,
he spoke to me—his words had wings:*

This is a reference to Achilles. Aeacus was a son of Zeus and the father of Peleus, hence Achilles’ grandfather. [Back to Text]

‘Resourceful Odysseus, Laertes’ son
and Zeus’ child, what a bold man you are!
What exploit will your heart ever dream up 320
to top this one? How can you dare to come
down into Hades’ home, the dwelling place
for the mindless dead, shades of worn-out men?’

“Achilles spoke. I answered him at once:

‘Achilles, son of Peleus, mightiest
by far of the Achaeans, I came here
because I had to see Teiresias.
He might tell me a plan for my return [480]
to rugged Ithaca. I’ve not yet come near
Achaean land. I’ve still not disembarked 330
in my own country. I’m in constant trouble.
But as for you, Achilles, there’s no man
in earlier days who was more blest than you,
and none will come in future. Before now,
while you were still alive, we Argives
honoured you as we did the gods. And now,
since you’ve come here, you rule with power
among those who have died. So Achilles,
you have no cause to grieve because you’re dead.’

“I paused, and he immediately replied: 340

‘Don’t try to comfort me about my death,
glorious Odysseus. I’d rather live
working as a wage-labourer for hire
by some other man, one who had no land
and not much in the way of livelihood, [490]
than lord it over all the wasted dead.’

[Odysseus then gives Achilles news about the outstanding qualities of Achilles’ son, Neoptolemus.]

“With these words the shade of swift Achilles
moved off with massive strides through meadows
filled with asphodel, rejoicing that I’d said
his son was such a celebrated man. 350 [540]

“The other shadows of the dead and gone
stood there in sorrow, all asking questions
about the ones they loved. The only one
who stood apart was the shade of Ajax,
son of Telamon, still full of anger
for my victory, when I’d bested him
beside our ships, in that competition
for Achilles’ arms. His honoured mother
had offered them as prizes. The judges
were sons of Troy and Pallas Athena.* 360

When Achilles died there was a contest for his famous weapons. The two main claimants were Odysseus and the Greater Ajax. When Odysseus was awarded the weapons by the judges, Ajax went berserk and later killed himself. [Back to Text]

How I wish I’d never won that contest!
Those weapons were the cause earth swallowed up
the life of Ajax, such a splendid man,
who, in his looks and actions, was the best [550]
of all Danaans after the noble son
of Peleus. I called to him—my words
were meant to reassure him:

‘Ajax,
worthy son of Telamon, can’t you forget,
even when you’re dead, your anger at me
over those destructive weapons? The gods 370
made them a curse against the Argives,
when they lost you, such a tower of strength.
Now you’ve been killed, Achaeans mourn your death
unceasingly, just as they do Achilles,
son of Peleus. No one is to blame
but Zeus, who in his terrifying rage [560]
against the army of Danaan spearmen
brought on your death. Come over here, my lord,
so you can hear me as I talk to you.
Let your proud heart and anger now relent.’ 380

“I finished. He did not reply, but left,
moving off toward Erebus, to join
the other shadows of the dead and gone.
For all his anger, he would have talked to me,
or I to him, but in my chest and heart
I wished to see more shades of those who’d died.

“And I saw Tityus, son of glorious Earth,
lying on the ground. His body covered
nine acres and more. Two vultures sat there,
one on either side, ripping his liver, 390
their beaks jabbing deep inside his guts.*

Tityus was a giant son of Zeus (or of Uranus). Hera persuaded Tityus to attack Leto, whose children, Apollo and Artemis, came to her help and killed him. The measurement describing his size is unclear. [Back to Text]

His hands could not fend them off his body.
He’d assaulted Leto, Zeus’ lovely wife [580]
as she was passing through Panopeus,
with its fine dancing grounds, towards Pytho.

“Then I saw Tantalus in agony,
standing in a pool of water so deep
it almost reached his chin. He looked as if
he had a thirst but couldn’t take a drink.
Whenever that old man bent down, so keen 400
to drink, the water there was swallowed up
and vanished. You could see black earth appear
around his feet. A god dried up the place.
Some high and leafy trees above his head
were in full bloom—pears and pomegranates,
apple trees, all with gleaming fruit, sweet figs, [590]
and luscious olives. Each time the old man
stretched out his arms to reach for them,
a wind would raise them to the shadowy clouds.*

Tantalus was a son of Zeus. His punishment is the result of some action he committed against the gods (stealing the gods’ food or murdering his son Pelops and serving him to the gods for dinner). [Back to Text]

“And then, in his painful torment, I saw 410
Sisyphus striving with both hands to raise
a massive rock.* He’d brace his arms and feet,

Sisyphus gave away the secrets of the gods and once tricked the god of death, so that the dead could not reach the underworld. [Back to Text]

then strain to push it uphill to the top.
But just as he was going to get that stone
across the crest, its overpowering weight
would make it change direction. The cruel rock
would roll back down again onto the plain.
Then he’d strain once more to push it up the slope.
His limbs dripped sweat, and dust rose from his head. [600]

“And then I noticed mighty Hercules, 420
or at least his image, for he himself
was with immortal gods, enjoying their feasts.*

Hercules, a mortal, had the rare distinction of being admitted to heaven after his death. Hence, Odysseus meets an “image” of Hercules. His later mention of serving an inferior man is a reference to the Labours of Hercules, work he had to carry out for king Eurystheus over a twelve-year period. [Back to Text]

Hebe with the lovely ankles is his wife,
daughter of great Zeus and Hera, goddess
of the golden sandals. Around him there
the dead were making noises, just like birds
fluttering to and fro quite terrified.
And like dark night, he was glaring round him,
his unsheathed bow in hand, with an arrow
on the string, as if prepared to shoot. 430
The strap across his chest was frightening,
a golden belt inlaid with images— [610]
amazing things—bears, wild boars, and lions
with glittering eyes, battles, fights, and murders,
men being killed. I hope whoever made it,
the one whose skill conceived that belt’s design,
never made or ever makes another.
His eyes saw me and knew just who I was.
With a mournful tone he spoke to me—
his words had wings:

‘Resourceful Odysseus, 440
son of Laertes and a child of Zeus,
are you now bearing an unhappy fate
below the sunlight, as I, too, did once?
I was a son of Zeus, child of Cronos,
and yet I had to bear countless troubles, [620]
forced to carry out labours for a man
vastly inferior to me, someone
who kept assigning me the harshest tasks.
Once he sent me here to bring away
Hades’ hound. There was no other challenge 450
he could dream up more difficult for me
than that one. But I carried the dog off
and brought him back from Hades with my guides,
Hermes and gleaming-eyed Athena.’

“With these words he returned to Hades’ home.
But I stayed at that place a while, in case
one of those heroic men who perished
in days gone by might come. I might have seen
still more men from former times, the ones [630]
I wished to see—Theseus and Perithous, 460
great children of the gods. Before I could,
a thousand tribes of those who’d died appeared,
with an astounding noise. Pale fear gripped me—
holy Persephone might send at me
a horrific monster, the Gorgon’s head.*

The Gorgons were three terrifying sisters (the most famous being Medusa, the only one who was not immortal, whose head, even when cut off, could turn men to stone). [Back to Text]

I quickly made my way back to the ship,
ordered my crew to get themselves on board,
and loosen off the cables at the stern.
They went aboard at once and took their seats
along each rowing bench. A rising swell 470
carried our ship down Oceanus’ stream.
We rowed at first, but then a fair wind blew.” [640]

Book Twelve
The Sirens, Scylla and Charybdis, the Cattle of the Sun

“Our ship sailed on, away from Ocean’s stream,
across the great wide sea, and reached Aeaea,
the island home and dancing grounds of Dawn.*

This return to Aeaea, Circe’s island, is puzzling, because the description of it here seems to place in a very different location than earlier (in the east rather than in the north west). [Back to Text]

We sailed in, hauled our ship up on the beach,
then walked along the shore beside the sea.
There, waiting for bright Dawn, we fell asleep.

“Circe was well aware of our return
from Hades’ home. Dressed in her finery,
she quickly came to us. With her she brought
servants carrying bread, plenty of meat, 10
and bright red wine. Then the lovely goddess
stood in our midst and spoke to us: [20]

‘You reckless men,
you’ve gone to Hades’ home while still alive,
to meet death twice, when other men die once.
But come, eat this food and drink this wine.
Take all day. As soon as Dawn arrives,
you’ll sail. I’ll show you your course and tell you
each sign to look for, so you’ll not suffer,
or, thanks to vicious plans of sea and land,
endure great pain.’

“Circe finished speaking. 20
And our proud hearts agreed with what she’d said.
So all that day until the sun went down
we sat there eating rich supplies of meat [30]
and drinking down sweet wine. The sun then set,
and darkness came. So we lay down and slept
beside stern cables of our ship. But Circe
took me by the hand and led me off,
some distance from the crew. She made me sit,
while she lay there on the ground beside me.
I told her every detail of our trip, 30
describing all of it from start to finish.
Then queen Circe spoke to me and said:

‘All these things have thus come to an end.
But you must listen now to what I say—
a god himself will be reminding you.
First of all, you’ll run into the Sirens.
They seduce all men who come across them [40]
Whoever unwittingly goes past them
and hears the Sirens’ call never gets back.
His wife and infant children in his home 40
will never stand beside him full of joy.
No. Instead, the Sirens’ clear-toned song
will captivate his heart. They’ll be sitting
in a meadow, surrounded by a pile,
a massive heap, of rotting human bones
encased in shrivelled skin. Row on past them.
Roll some sweet wax in your hand and stuff it
in your companions’ ears, so none of them
can listen. But if you’re keen to hear them,
make your crew tie you up to your swift ship. 50 [50]
When your crew has rowed on past the Sirens,
I cannot tell you which alternative
to follow on your route—for you yourself
will have to trust your heart. But I’ll tell you
the options. One has overhanging rocks,
on which dark-eyed Amphitrite’s great waves [60]
smash with a roar. These cliffs the blessed gods
have called the Planctae. No birds pass through there.
No human ship has ever reached this place
and got away. Instead, waves from the sea 60
and destructive blasts of fire carry off
a whirling mass of timbers from the boat
and human bodies. Only one ocean ship,
most famous of them all, has made it through,
the Argo, sailing on her way from Aeetes, [70]
and waves would soon have smashed that vessel, too,
against the massive rocks, had not Hera
sent her through. For Jason was her friend.*

The Argo is the ship which carried Jason and his companions to Colchis on their trip to capture the Golden Fleece and back again. Aeetes was king of Colchis. [Back to Text]

On the other route there are two cliffs.
One has a sharp peak jutting all the way 70
up to wide heaven. Around that mountain
a dark cloud sits, which never melts away.
No human being could climb up that rock
and stand on top. Half way up the rock face [80]
there’s a shadowy cave. It faces west,
towards Erebus. You’ll steer your ship at it,
In there lives Scylla. She has a dreadful yelp.
It’s true her voice sounds like a new-born pup,
but she’s a vicious monster. Nobody
would feel good seeing her, nor would a god 80
who crossed her path. She has a dozen feet,
all deformed, six enormously long necks, [90]
with a horrific head on each of them,
and three rows of teeth packed close together,
full of murky death. Her lower body
she keeps out of sight in her hollow cave,
but sticks her heads outside the fearful hole,
and fishes there, scouring around the rock
for dolphins, swordfish, or some bigger prey,
whatever she can seize of all those beasts 90
moaning Amphitrite keeps nourishing
in numbers past all counting. No sailors
can yet boast they and their ship sailed past her
without getting hurt. Each of Scylla’s heads
carries off a man, snatching him away [100]
right off the dark-prowed ship. Then, Odysseus,
you’ll see the other cliff. It’s not so high.
There’s a huge fig tree there with leaves in bloom.
Just below that tree divine Charybdis
sucks black water down. She spews it out 100
three times a day, and then three times a day
she gulps it down—a terrifying sight.
May you never meet her when she swallows!
Nothing can save you from destruction then,
not even Poseidon, Shaker of the Earth.
Make sure your ship stays close to Scylla’s rock.
Row past there quickly. It’s much better
to mourn for six companions in your ship [110]
than to have them all wiped out together.’

“Next you’ll reach the island of Thrinacia, 110
where Helios’ many cattle graze,
his rich flocks, too—seven herds of cattle
and just as many lovely flocks of sheep,
with fifty in each group. They bear no young [130]
and never die. Their herders are divine.
Now, if you leave these animals unharmed
and focus on your journey home, I think
you may get back to Ithaca, although
you’ll bear misfortunes. But if you harm them,
then I foresee destruction for your ship 120
and crew. Even if you yourself escape, [140]
you’ll get back home in great distress and late,
after all your comrades have been killed.’

“Circe finished speaking. When Dawn came up
on her golden throne, the lovely goddess
left to go up island. So I returned
back to the ship and urged my comrades
to get on board and loosen off the stern ropes.
They quickly climbed into the ship, sat down
in proper order at each rowing bench, 130
and struck the grey sea with their oars. Fair winds
began to blow behind our dark-prowed ship.
Then the wind died down. Everything was calm,
without a breeze. Some god had stilled the waves.
My comrades stood up, furled the sail, stowed it [170]
in the hollow ship, and then sat at their oars,
churning the water white with polished blades
carved out of pine. With my sharp sword I cut
a large round chunk of wax into small bits,
then kneaded them in my strong fingers. 140
Once I’d plugged my comrades’ ears with wax,
they tied me hand and foot onto the ship,
so I stood upright hard against the mast.
They lashed the rope ends to the mast as well,
then sat and struck the grey sea with their oars. [180]
But when we were about as far away
as a man can shout, moving forward quickly,
our swift ship did not get past the Sirens,
once it came in close, without being noticed.
So they began their clear-toned cry:

‘Odysseus, 150
you famous man, great glory of Achaeans,
come over here. Let your ship pause awhile,
so you can hear the songs we two will sing.
No man has ever rowed in his black ship
past this island and not listened to us,
sweet-voiced melodies sung from our lips.
That brings him joy, and he departs from here
a wiser man, for we two understand
all the things that went on there in Troy,
all Trojan and Achaean suffering, 160 [190]
thanks to what the gods then willed, for we know
all things that happen on this fertile earth.’

“They paused. The voice that reached me was so fine
my heart longed to listen. I told my crew
to set me free, sending them clear signals
with my eyebrows. But they fell to the oars
and rowed ahead. Then two of them got up,
Perimedes and Eurylochus, bound me
with more rope and lashed me even tighter.
Once they’d rowed on well beyond the Sirens, 170
my loyal crewmates quickly pulled out wax
I’d stuffed in each man’s ears and loosed my ropes. [200]

“But once we’d left the island far behind,
I saw giant waves and smoke. Then I heard
a crashing roar. The men were terrified.
I went through the ship, cheering up the crew,
standing beside each man and speaking words
of reassurance:

‘Friends, up to this point,
we’ve not been strangers to misfortunes.
Surely the bad things now are nothing worse 180
than when the cyclops with his savage force [210]
kept us his prisoners in his hollow cave.
But even there, thanks to my excellence,
intelligence, and planning, we escaped.
I think someday we’ll be remembering
these dangers, too. But come now, all of us
should follow what I say. Stay by your oars,
and keep striking them against the surging sea.
Zeus may somehow let us escape from here.’

“I spoke. They quickly followed what I’d said. 190
I didn’t speak a word of Scylla—she was
a threat for which there was no remedy—
in case my comrades, overcome with fear,
might stop rowing and huddle together
inside the boat. We kept sailing on,
up the narrow strait, groaning as we moved.
On one side lay Scylla. On the other one
divine Charybdis terrified us all,
by swallowing salt water from the sea.
When she spewed it out, she seethed and bubbled 200
uncontrollably, just like a cauldron
on a massive fire, while high above our heads
spray was falling on top of both the cliffs.
When she sucked the salt sea water down, [240]
everything in there looked totally confused,
a dreadful roar arose around the rocks,
and underneath the dark and sandy ground
was visible. Pale fear gripped my crewmen.
When we saw Charybdis, we were afraid
we’d be destroyed. Then Scylla snatched away 210
six of my companions, right from the ship,
the strongest and the bravest men I had.
When I turned to watch the swift ship and crew,
already I could see their hands and feet,
as Scylla carried them high overhead.
They cried out and screamed, calling me by name
one final time, their hearts in agony. [250]
Then, in the entrance to her cave, Scylla
devoured the men, who still kept screaming,
stretching out their arms in my direction, 220
as they met their painful deaths. Of all things
my eyes have witnessed in my journeying
on pathways of the sea, the sight of them
was the most piteous I’ve ever seen.

“Once we’d made it past those rocks and fled, [260]
escaping Scylla and dread Charybdis,
we reached the lovely island of the god,
home of those splendid broad-faced cattle
and numerous rich flocks belonging to
Helios Hyperion, god of the sun. 230
While I was still at sea in my black ship,
I heard the lowing cattle being penned
and bleating sheep. There fell into my heart
the speeches of Teiresias of Thebes,
the sightless prophet—Circe’s words, as well,
on Aeaea. They had both strictly charged
that I should at all costs miss this island,
the property of Helios, who brings
such joy to men.

[Odysseus’ men complain about having to avoid the island and keep sailing through the night, challenging his decision. Odysseus reluctantly decides to land there.]

So with a heavy heart [270]
I spoke to my companions:

‘Comrades, 240
let all of you now swear this solemn oath—
if by chance we find a herd of cattle
or a large flock of sheep, not one of you [300]
will be so overcome with foolishness
that you’ll kill a cow or sheep. No. Instead,
you’ll be content to eat the food supplies
which goddess Circe gave.’

“Once I’d said this,
they swore, as I had asked, they’d never kill
those animals. When they had made the oath
and finished promising, we moved our ship 250
inside a hollow harbour, by a spring
whose water tasted sweet. Then my crewmen
disembarked and made a skillful dinner.
When everyone had eaten food and drunk
to his heart’s ease, they wept as they recalled
those dear companions Scylla snatched away
out of the hollow ship and then devoured. [310]
As they cried there, sweet sleep came over them.

“But when three-quarters of the night had passed
and the stars had shifted their positions, 260
cloud-gatherer Zeus stirred up a nasty wind
and an amazing storm, which hid in clouds
both land and sea alike. And from heaven
dark Night rushed down. Once rose-fingered Dawn arrived,
we dragged up our ship and made it secure
inside a hollow cave, a place nymphs used
as a fine dancing and assembly ground.
Then I called a meeting of the men and said:

‘My friends, in our ship we have meat and drink, [320]
so let’s not touch those cattle, just in case 270
that causes trouble for us. For these cows
and lovely sheep belong to Helios,
a fearful god, who spies out all there is
and listens in on everything as well.’

“These words of mine won over their proud hearts.
But then South Wind kept blowing one whole month.
It never stopped. No other wind sprang up,
except those times when East or South Wind blew.
As long as the men had red wine and bread,
they didn’t touch the cattle. They were keen 280
to stay alive. But once what we had stored
inside our ship was gone, they had to roam,
scouring around for game and fish and birds, [330]
whatever came to hand. They used bent hooks
to fish, while hunger gnawed their stomachs.
At that point I went inland, up island,
to pray to the gods, hoping one of them
would show me a way home. Once I’d moved
across the island, far from my comrades,
I washed my hands in a protected spot, 290
a shelter from the wind, and said my prayers
to all the gods who hold Mount Olympus.
Then they poured sweet sleep across my eyelids.
Meanwhile Eurylochus began to give
disastrous advice to my companions:

‘Shipmates, although you’re suffering distress, [340]
hear me out. For wretched human beings
all forms of death are hateful. But to die
from lack of food, to meet one’s fate that way,
is worst of all. So come, let’s drive away 300
the best of Helios’ cattle, and then
we’ll sacrifice to the immortal gods
who hold wide heaven. And if we get home,
make it to Ithaca, our native land,
for Helios Hyperion we’ll build
a splendid temple, and inside we’ll put
many wealthy offerings. If he’s enraged
about his straight-horned cattle and desires
to wreck our ship and other gods agree,
I’d rather lose my life once and for all 310 [350]
choking on a wave than starving to death
on an abandoned island.’

“Eurylochus spoke.
My other comrades agreed with what he’d said.
They quickly rounded up the finest beasts
from Helios’ herd, which was close by,
sleek, broad-faced animals with curving horns
grazing near the dark-prowed ship. My comrades
stood around them, praying to the gods.
They broke off tender leaves from a high oak,
for there was no white barley on the ship.* 320

The traditional sacrifice requires white barley. But since the sailors are out of food, they have to substitute the leaves for the barley. [Back to Text]

After their prayers, they cut the creature’s throats,
flayed them, and cut out portions of the thighs.
These they covered in a double layer of fat