The <I>Odyssey</I>
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to take it. Nearby he set out a basket, a beautiful table
with wine in a goblet—the man could drink when his heart wished.
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So hands went out to the good things lying before them.
Music That Draws Tears
After the craving for food and drink was behind them,
the Muse prompted her poet to sing about great men,
a story so well known that it passed broadly through heaven:
Akhilleus, Peleus’s son, had clashed with Odysseus
♦ once at a lavish feast for the Gods. They had quarreled
fiercely with each word. The lord of men, Agamemnon,
was glad inside: the best Akhaians were wrangling
after Phoibos Apollo had said it would happen.
The king had asked for a sign, crossing the threshold
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of stone at sacred Putho. That’s when misery started
to fall on Danaans and Trojans alike, willed by the great Zeus.
The well-known poet sang that song but Odysseus,
taking a broad and violet cloak in his strong hands,
covered his face by drawing it over his forehead,
ashamed of tears from his eyes before the Phaiakians.
Every time the godlike bard paused in his music,
Odysseus wiped off tears and, taking the cloak off,
poured out wine for the Gods from a two-handled goblet.
But soon as the singer went on—the tale was encouraged
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by all of the best Phaiakians, loving his word-song—
Odysseus covered his face again with a low moan.
Time for the Athletes
He kept his crying away from all of the others
but not the king. Only Alkinoos marked him:
he sat alongside and heard him heavily moaning.
He said to the oar-loving Phaiakians quickly,
“Listen, Phaiakian counselors, lords of the people!
Now that our hearts are filled with dining and hearing
the lyre—how well that singing goes with a great feast!—
let’s go outside for some games, a few of our many
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contests. Later our guest can say to his loved ones
back at home that we’re far better than others
in wrestling and boxing, the best in sprinting and leaping.”
He spoke that way, he led them all and they followed.
The herald hung the clear-toned lyre from its own peg,
took Demodokos’s hand and guided him out of the great hall.
He led him along the same path which the others,
Phaiakia’s best, had walked to be dazzled by athletes.
They came to a gathering place and joined an immense crowd—
thousands. Plenty of good young men were standing:
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♦ Akroneus rose, Okuolos too and Elatreus,
Nauteus, Prumneus, Ankhialos too and Eretmeus,
Ponteus also, Proreus, Thoon, Anabesineos;
Amphialos, Poluneos’s son and the grandson of Tekton.
Eurualos too, a match for the man-slaughtering Ares:
Naubolos’s son, he was better than all the Phaiakians
in height and form outside of handsome Laodamas.
Three young sons of handsome Alkinoos stood up:
Laodamas, Halios and Klutoneos, godlike in bearing.
The Sprinters
A number of men would be tested first in a footrace.
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A course was drawn from its mark. All of them flew off
swiftly together, kicking up dust on the racetrack.
The fastest sprinter by far was handsome Klutoneos,
leading as long as a mule-plowed furrow in farmland
and placing first for the crowd, the others behind him.
Wrestling, Leaping, the Discus, and Boxing
Some men tried the hard labor of wrestling.
In time Eurualos came out best of the whole group.
Then Amphialos leaped out farthest of all there.
The best of all by far with a discus: Elatreus.
In boxing Laodamas won, Alkinoos’s good son.
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A Greater Name
After they’d all enjoyed themselves in the matches,
Alkinoos’s son Laodamas said to the others,
“Come on, my friends. Let’s ask our guest if he’s knowing
and skilled in a game. In size and shape he is not bad:
those calves and thighs, two good arms and above them
a rugged neck—he’s strong. Youth has not left him,
although the man looks broken by plenty of hardship.
I’d say myself nothing is worse than the salt sea
for breaking a man, whatever strength he may put on.”
Now his friend Eurualos faced him and told him,
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“Laodamas, every word you spoke was the right one.
Go and face him yourself and say what you told us.”
Soon as the good young man of Alkinoos heard that,
he walked to the center, stood there and said to Odysseus,
“You too, fatherly stranger: come on and be tested
if you have skill. It’s likely you know about athletes.
♦ So long as a man is alive his name will be greater
for all that his own hands and feet can accomplish.
Come on then, try us. Scatter cares from your spirit!
Your homeward way is close: already a black ship’s
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been taken down to the sea and crewmen are ready.”
Mounting Anger
An answer came from Odysseus, full of the best plans:
“Laodamas, why do you rouse and bother me this way?
What’s on my mind more than your games are my troubles:
I’ve gone through pain before this, plenty of hardship.
Now I sit in your gathering place, asking for only
help to go home from your king and all of your people.”
But now Eurualos answered tauntingly, saying,
“No, stranger, you don’t strike me as skillful,
a man for the many matches engaged in by good men.
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More like a ship-bound man with plenty of oarsmen,
a roving captain maybe whose crewmen are traders:
you mind your freight and brood over your cargo
for greed and gain. You don’t look like an athlete.”
Odysseus, full of designs, glowered and told him,
“Stranger, you don’t speak well, like a man who is reckless.
Clearly the Gods don’t lavish favors on every
man alike: good shape, clear thought or the best speech.
Maybe a man will turn out poorer in good looks
but Gods will crown his language with grace and his people
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will gaze and enjoy his words, strong and unswerving
but lowly and mild. When people gather he stands out:
they see the man as a God when he walks through the city.
Or maybe a man’s like the deathless Gods in his beauty
but lacks the crown of language, his talk is not graceful.
You’re so striking to look at—a God would not make you
otherwise—yet your mind and words are quite empty.
“You’ve roused my spirits, though, the heart in my own chest,
by speaking out of order. I’m hardly unpracticed
in sports as you say. I know I stayed with the winners
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when young as long as I trusted my youth and my own hands.
But now I’m owned by hardship and pain. I suffered a great deal
slashing through wars with men and working through high seas.
Yet I will try your games, for all of my bad times.
Your words cut my heart. You
’ve riled and provoked me.”
An Outstanding Discus Throw
He jumped up wearing his cloak and grabbing a discus,
a strong and dense one, larger and not by a trifle
than those Phaiakians threw in games with each other.
He whirled it around in his brawny hand and he let go:
the stone hummed and Phaiakians—men of the long oar,
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known for their ships—crouched on the ground as the discus
sped overhead. His hand had thrown it with great speed:
it went past everyone’s mark. Using a man’s voice
now was Athene, placing the mark and telling them loudly,
“Even a blind man, stranger, groping around here,
would find your mark, for it’s not in a crowd with the others—
it’s first by far. You must take heart from this effort.
No Phaiakian stone will reach you or pass you.”
Remembering Battlefields of Troy
Her words made long-suffering, godlike Odysseus
glad. He saw a likable friend on the game-field.
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Now with a lighter heart he told the Phaiakians,
“Approach that mark, you men! I’ll throw out another
right after, I think, and just as far if not farther.
You others, however your hearts and spirits have led you,
come on and try me—you’ve made me overly angry—
whether in boxing, wrestling or racing. Any Phaiakian
now can face me, I won’t say no, except for Laodamas:
the man is my host and no man fights with his welcome.
Surely a man is a fool, worthless or mindless,
to challenge a host to a game or fight with him outright
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on foreign soil: all of his own hopes could be cut short.
“The rest of you, though, I won’t say no or denounce you.
I’ll want to watch you, face to face, and to test you.
I’m not so poor in all the games that a man plays.
♦ I know a lot about polished bows and their handling.
Shooting at packs of enemies, I was the first one
to strike my man, whatever crowd of my war-friends
stood close by, aiming and shooting at targets.
Philoktetes alone was better with arrows
during the time we Akhaians aimed at the Trojans.
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But I was better by far, I’d say, than all of the other
men now living on earth, eaters of good bread.
“I’d never have looked for a fight with men of the old days:
not with Herakles, not with Oikhalian Eurutos,
those who challenged the deathless Gods with a long bow.
So great Eurutos died soon—aging never
arrived in his hall—Apollo was angry and killed him
because the man provoked the God as a bowman.
“I also can throw a spear—and farther than anyone’s arrow!
In racing alone I think a Phaiakian likely
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would pass me. Far too many waves overwhelmed me
cruelly and help on a raft won’t last forever.
So all my arms and legs are loosened and trembling.”
Dining, Dancing, and Good Song
He spoke that way and all the people were quiet.
Only the king, Alkinoos, gave him an answer.
“My guest, you say all this without being graceless.
You’d like to show the manliness you are endowed with.
You’re angry because a man right here on the game-field
taunted you. No one would fault your manliness truly,
not if he knew in his heart the right way of speaking.
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Well then, mark my words: tell them to other
war-chiefs after the journey back to your great hall.
Dining close to your honored wife and children,
remember our own manliness: action that great Zeus
caused to be ours in a steady line from our fathers.
Although we’re not so faultless in boxing and wrestling,
we do go fast on our feet. Aboard ship we’re outstanding.
Always we love our dining, dancing and lyre-work,
changes of clothes, a warm bath and a good bed!
“Come on now: all of you best Phaiakian dancers,
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step out. In time our guest can enlighten his loved ones
after he’s gone back home: we’re better than others
at sailing ships, in running, singing and dancing.
One of you go and fetch the clear-toned lyre in a hurry
now for Demodokos—somewhere it lies in our household.”
The Lyre Returns
Godlike Alkinoos spoke that way and a herald
stood up to fetch the hollow lyre from the palace.
Meanwhile nine judges chosen from all of the country
rose—they usually managed all of the games there.