by Homer
to wash himself. How truly welcome the sight was,
450
a tub with its warm water! No one had cared much,
not since he’d left the home of bright-haired Kalupso.
Till then, much as a God, he’d always been cared for.
The maids washed him now and anointed his body
with oil. They tossed a handsome tunic and mantle around him.
Remember the Princess
He left the bathroom, rejoined some men who were drinking
wine and Nausikaa, having a God-given beauty,
marveled standing there by a post of the well-built
hall as her eyes regarded Odysseus closely.
She spoke to him now, the words with a feathery swiftness:
460
“Be well, stranger, and go to the land of your fathers
remembering how you owed your life to me first here.”
Odysseus, full of designs, answered by praying:
“Nausikaa, great-hearted Alkinoos’s daughter,
may loud-thundering Zeus, the husband of Here,
help me to see my homecoming day and my own house.
I’ll pray each day to you there as though to a Goddess
because you saved my life when you were a young girl.”
Esteem for the Singer
He stopped and sat on a chair with King Alkinoos close by.
Already the wine was mixed and portions were laid out.
470
A herald approached, guiding the trustworthy singer,
Demodokos, loved by his people. Surrounded by diners
the poet sat down, his chair leaned on a column.
Odysseus, full of design, spoke to the herald,
♦ carving a slab from the chine—plenty of white-tusked
boar was left, the fat bulging on both sides—
“Herald, take this pork to nourish the singer,
Demodokos. Let me hail him, for all of my sorrows.
Poets have won the praise and honor of all men
living on earth because a Goddess has taught them
480
the ways of song. She loves the clan of her singers.”
He spoke that way and the herald handed the portion
to high-ranked Demodokos. Moved and delighted he took it.
So hands went out to the good things lying before them.
The Wooden Horse
After the craving for food and drink was behind them
Odysseus, full of design, said to the singer,
“Demodokos, truly I praise you higher than all men,
whether the Muse taught you, Zeus’s child, or Apollo.
You surely sang of the Akhaians’ doom in the right way—
how much they struggled and smarted, all that they suffered—
490
as though you were there somehow or heard from a good source.
“But change the song, come on now, sing of the wooden
horse made by Epeios with help from Athene.
Godlike Odysseus led, filling the fake horse
first with men, and Troy’s acropolis came down.
In fact if you tell this tale all in the right way,
I’ll soon proclaim your gift myself to the whole world,
saying the Gods freely gave you a God’s voice.”
Troy Is Doomed
He stopped and the man, roused by his God, was a singer:
he started with Argives boarding and sailing on well-decked
500
ships from Troy—they’d hurled fire on their own camps.
But those who’d joined with well-known Odysseus drew near
meanwhile to Troy’s assembly, sitting and hiding.
Trojans themselves had dragged the horse to their fortress.
It stood there, people sat and argued around it
a long time, in doubt, but favoring three plans:
either to stab the hollow wood with some heartless
bronze; haul it high and throw it on boulders;
or let it stand and please the Gods as a great gift.
That was the way, in fact, it was going to end now.
510
Their doom was to die that day as their city embraced it—
a huge horse of wood with all the best of the Argives
crouching inside, bringers of death to the Trojans.
Winning the War, Shedding the Tears
He sang how sons of Akhaians poured from that ambush,
leaving the hollow horse to ravage the city.
He sang how others elsewhere were pillaging high Troy
but Odysseus—godlike Menelaos had joined him—
♦ went for Deiphobos’s house like Ares the War-God.
He sang how there they faced the ghastliest fighting.
Odysseus won at last, helped by a great-hearted Athene.
520
The well-known poet sang that song but Odysseus
often wept. The cheeks under his eyelids
flowed like a woman’s, crying and holding the husband
she loves when he falls in front of the city and people.
He’s tried to keep a relentless day from his children
but now his breath is failing, she knows he is dying,
she wails and throws herself on the man. Poking her shoulders
and back are spears, the weapons of enemy soldiers
who’ll take her off into slavery, hard labor and heartbreak.
The woman’s cheeks will waste with the wretchedest mourning.
530
Stop the Song
So sad tears of Odysseus fell from under his eyelids.
He cried and kept the tears from all 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!
Demodokos, hold off now from the clear-toned
lyre for not everyone’s charmed by your music.
After we dined and our God-blessed singer was prompted,
our guest went on for a long time with his heartfelt
540
weeping. Some heavy sorrow surely enfolds him.
Come on then, hold off. Let everyone take joy,
stranger and guest entertainer: it’s far pleasanter that way.
We arranged all this for the sake of a guest whom we honor.
We’ll send him off with loving gifts, with our friendship,
for lowly strangers can stand as close as our brothers.
Even those with paltry feelings have known that.
Ships Who Know Their Own Way
“So my guest, don’t hide it smartly or slyly
now when I ask you. Answering surely is better.
Tell me the name they called you—your mother and father,
550
those in your town and those living around it.
For no one is wholly nameless living with good men,
whether he’s good or bad from the time of his own birth:
parents put down names for all of their children.
Tell us what land you’re from, what city and country,
that our ship can take you there with a good mind.
Phaiakian ships indeed don’t carry a helmsman
or steer-oar the way a foreigner’s vessel is fitted.
Our own ships know the minds and thoughts of our sailors!
They know each town and the rich farmland of every
560
people. They move on the spread-out sea in a hurry,
even in fog or haze. They’re never afraid there:
our ships aren’t damaged or ever destroyed on the salt sea.
One Doomed Ship
“Yet I heard my Father Nausithoos tell me
once that Poseidon, the Sea-God, often was angry
because we gave out safe
passage to all men.
He said that someday a well-worked ship with Phaiakian
crewmen heading home from an escort on hazy
seas will be wrecked by the God, and he’ll circle our city
with high mountains. My Father prophesied that way.
570
The God will end it or not, whatever his own will.
Tell Us Your Story
“Come on then, answer me, tell me the truth now:
where have you wandered? What were the places you went to?
Which men were there, what cities or people who lived well?
Tell us of both—the wilder sort, the cruel and unfair,
and those who were mindful of Gods and kindly with strangers.
War Losses
“Tell me why you weep too, heartily grieving
to hear of Troy, the deaths of Danaans and Argives.
The Gods arranged all that, Spinners of ruin
♦ for men so a song would arise for those in the future.
580
Did one good man in your bloodline die at the city
of Troy? A father- or son-in-law? Those are the dearest
persons after our own family members.
Maybe a war-friend? A worthy man you rejoiced in,
knowing him well? Surely a friend’s no less than a brother,
especially a war-friend having knowledge of what’s best.”
BOOK 9 A Battle, the Lotos, and a Savage’s Cave
The Most Beautiful Thing of All
Odysseus, full of designs, answered by saying,
“Lordly Alkinoos, praised by all of your people,
it’s clearly a beautiful thing to hear out a singer,
a man like this, resembling the Gods with his own voice.
I’d say nothing is more fulfilling and welcome
than joy like that, embracing all of the people,
when diners throughout the hall listen to good song,
seated in order, and tables beside them are loaded
with bread and meat, when wine’s drawn from the wine-bowl
and pourers make the rounds refilling the goblets.
10
All that seems the most beautiful thing in my own mind.
Odysseus, the Son of Laertes
“But now your heart is moved to ask of my troubles
and griefs—and make for still more weeping and moaning.
What should I tell you first or last in my story?
My troubles are countless, all from Gods in their heaven.
But first I’ll tell you my name so now you will know it.
In time, having escaped from pitiless doom-days,
I’ll call you my guests, however far is my homeland.
I am Odysseus, Laertes’ son, known for my wily
ways among men. My name has also gone to the heavens.
20
I live on clear-view Ithaka. Neriton Mountain
is plain there, its leaves rustling. Plenty of other
islands lie around us, close to each other:
Same, Doulikhion, densely wooded Zakunthos.
♦ My island is lower, well out to sea in the gray dusk.
The others lie apart, toward Dawn and the Sun-God.
My land is rough but it’s good for raising a young man.
I cannot gaze, myself, on anything sweeter than homeland.
Away from Your Parents
“Kalupso, a shining Goddess, kept me a long time
back in her hollow cave: she wanted me as her husband.
30
Kirke had held me back in her hall in the same way,
that charmer of Aiai: she longed for me as her husband!
Still they never won the heart in my own chest
for nothing is more delightful surely than homeland
and parents, however rich and far is the new home
a man lives in. It’s foreign land away from his parents.
Defeated by the Kikones
“So I’ll tell you my long way home with all of its troubles.
Zeus weighed me with hardship after I left Troy.
“Winds drove me from Troy to the Kikones’ coastline
♦ at Ismaros. There I killed some men and looted the city.
40
We took their wives and shared most of the city’s
wealth: no man lacked the part that was due him.
Then I ordered my men to quicken their footsteps
to leave but many were passing fools and would not go.
Drunk from too much wine right there on the beach-sand,
they killed droves of sheep and curl-horned, hoof-dragging cattle.
Kikones meanwhile ran and called to their neighbors,
nearby Kikones, far more people and warlike.
Inland dwellers, they knew about fighting from horses;
they’d fight men too, if the need were there, on their two feet.
50
They came at dawn, dense as leaves or the thronging
blossoms of spring. Zeus was ready with cruel
deaths and we all felt doomed. We suffered a great deal
when Kikones formed by the race-fast ships and we fought back,