The <I>Odyssey</I>
Page 37
and glared with a steady fierceness as though he would shoot now.
The sword-belt he wore around his chest was a scary,
gold-chased baldric. Alarming things were designed there:
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savage bears and boars, the glaring of lions,
battles and deaths in brawls, the dying of strong men.
If only the one who designed that baldric had never
cause to craft it and never would fashion another!
Dragging Doom Out
“The phantom knew when he saw me now with his own eyes.
He wailed and spoke, the words with a feathery swiftness,
‘Son of Laertes, nourished by Zeus, wily Odysseus!
You sorry man: are you too dragging a wretched
doom out as I did once in the rays of the Sun-God?
I was the son of Zeus, the grandson of Kronos,
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yet I suffered endlessly. A man very beneath me
became my lord and laid his hard labors upon me.
He even sent me here to haul out the death-hound—
he planned no other test harder than that one—
I brought up the beast myself from the household of Aides.
Hermes had sent me down and glow-eyed Athene.’
Greenish Fear
“He stopped and went back off to the household of Aides.
I stayed there staunchly myself, hoping that other
war-chiefs would come, all those lost in a past time.
I might have spotted more, the men I had longed for
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like Theseus, Peirithoos, far-famed children of great Gods.
But far more families of dead came crowding before that,
making unearthly cries. I was clutched by a green fear.
♦ Would high-born Persephoneia send me the Gorgo,
that dreaded monster’s head, from the household of Aides?
Running from the Land of the Dead
“I hurried back to the ship and ordered my men there
to go aboard themselves and loosen the stern-lines.
They boarded at once and took their seats at the oar-locks.
A rising wave carried us down the river-like Ocean.
The men first rowed but later we welcomed a good wind.”
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BOOK 12 Evil Song, a Deadly Strait, and Forbidden Herds
Back to Aiaie
“Now that our ship had left behind Okeanos
River, we came on the salt waves of the broad sea
back to Aiaie where Dawn, the early-born Goddess,
has places for dancing and Helios, places for rising.
We put in promptly, we drove our ship onto beach-sand
and disembarked ourselves on the shore of the salt sea.
We fell asleep right there, expecting a bright Dawn.
Death-Rites Again
“When newborn Dawn came on with her rose-fingered daylight,
I sent a few of my men to the household of Kirke
to carry back a body: Elpenor had died there.
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We hurried and chopped up wood. Where headland pushed out
farthest to sea we mourned and buried him, shedding our big tears.
After the dead man’s weapons and body were all burned,
♦ we raised a barrow, dragged a stele to stand there
and placed his well-turned oar on top of the death-mound.
Dying Twice
“We went through every rite. Kirke had known well
how we came from Aides. Quickly she dressed up
finely and came together with handmaids who brought us
bread and big portions of meat—and wine with its red glow.
Bright as a Goddess, she stood in our center and told us,
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‘Hardened men, you went alive to the household of Aides!
Other men die just once; you will have died twice.
Come on now, drink some wine, relish the food here
all day long. Tomorrow, together with bright Dawn,
you’ll set sail. I’ll mark each point on your way home
in order to stop you from suffering pain from a foolish
plan again, whether on land or the broad sea.’
“She spoke that way, our hearts were proud but we said yes.
All day long we ate and drank until sundown,
feasting on honey-sweet wine and plenty of good meat.
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Fatal Voices
“Soon as the sun went down and night had arrived there
my crewmen slept by the ship, close to the stern-lines.
Kirke took my hand and led me away from my own crew.
I sat and she lay beside me to ask about each thing.
I told the Goddess all my tale in good order.
Then my queenly Kirke answered by saying,
‘So all those things have passed. Now you will listen
to what I unfold. Later a God will remind you.
♦ ‘First you’ll approach the Seirenes, those who can spellbind
every seaman who sails too close to their singing.
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Whoever goes there and mindlessly hears the Seirenes’
voices, his wife and little children will never
stand beside him to welcome him back home.
All the Seirenes’ clear-toned singing will charm him.
They sit in a meadow with massive bone-heaps around them
of rotting men, the skin shrunk on their bodies.
Drive on past them! Soften some honey-sweet beeswax
and stop your men’s ears: none of the others
must listen. But you, if you long to hear the Seirenes,
men must lash you hand and foot on the fast ship.
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Stand by your mast-box, the lines tight to the masthead.
Then you may hear and enjoy the songs of Seirenes.
Yet if you plead or command your men to untie you,
let them lash you with still more line to secure you.
In time your crewmen will row you past the Seirenes.
A Hard Course to Steer
‘I won’t minutely describe what’s there any further,
the way your course could lie. Ponder and plan it
yourself in your heart. I’ll tell you something of two ways.
‘Hanging rocks are on one side. Roaring against them
♦ are giant waves of blue-eyed Amphitrite.
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Blissful Gods have called them Plangktai, the “Clashers.”
Birds can’t pass that way, not even the fretful
doves who carry ambrosia to Zeus our Father:
the smooth cliff-side always blocks them and kills one,
though the Father sends another to make up their number.
No ship of a man has ever escaped if it went there,
all the planks of ships and the bodies of dead men
jumbled by waves—fire-storms too can be deadly.
The only seagoing ship that managed to sail through,
the Argo, known to the world, had sailed from Aietes.
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Surf would have swiftly thrown her too at the great rocks
had not Here sent her through—she cherished Ieson.
The Cave Monster
‘On the other side are two crags. One of them reaches
the broad sky with its pointed crest and clouds are around it
darkly: they never break up, there’s never a clear sky
around that point, not in summer or autumn.
No man could ever climb it and stand on the high peak,
not if his hands and feet were twenty in number.
The rock’s too smooth, you’d think some Power had shined it.
‘That crag has a cave in its middle, hazy and wet gray.
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♦ It looks toward dusk and Erebos. There you can sail by
guidin
g your hollow ship, my glowing Odysseus.
Not even the strongest man, nocking an arrow,
could shoot from his hollow ship to that cave in the cliff-side.
♦ The frightful Skulla lives and yelps in the cavern.
Her voice resembles the sound of a newborn
whelp but she’s huge and fierce. No one would ever
look at her gladly, not even Gods who could face her.
All of her twelve long legs and feet will be flailing.
Her six long necks reach out—a head is on each one,
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shocking and frightful—her teeth are crowded in three tight
rows and it’s black inside, full of her black death.
She stays in hiding below the waist in her hollow
cave but keeps her heads out over the frightening chasm
to fish below. She hungrily searches the cliff-base
for seals or dolphins—and larger prey she might take there,
some beast of the thousands fed by moaning Amphitrite.
No sailor yet has claimed his vessel could slip by
unscathed: every head of her snatches a crewman
and carries him high over the ship with its dark prow.
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The Whirlpool Monster
‘You’ll see the other crag is lower, Odysseus,
but close to the first: well shot, an arrow could cross them.
An outsize fig-tree is there, swelling with big leaves,
♦ and under it, God-size Kharubdis swallows the dark sea.
Three times a day she retches, she swallows it three times,
it’s fearsome to watch. Don’t be there when she swallows—
no one could save you from harm, not even Poseidon.
Instead stay close to Skulla’s cliff-side and row by
fast in your ship. It’s far better to mourn six
men gone from your ship than all the crewmen together.’
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Can’t I Fight with a Monster?
“But after she spoke that way I answered by asking,
‘Goddess, come on now, tell me the truth about one thing:
can I escape somehow from deadly Kharubdis
and fight off Skulla too when she preys on my war-friends?’
“I stopped and the shining Goddess answered me swiftly,
‘Reckless man, with all your care about battle
and struggle again! Won’t you bow to the deathless
Gods? Skulla cannot die, her evil is deathless,
savage and hard, a terror. She’s not to be fought with,
you can’t be on guard, running away is your best course.
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In fact if you stall and arm yourself by the cliff-side,
I fear she’ll dash out again from her cave and attack you—
her heads will snatch off six more men from your warship.
Row on strongly past her. Call on Krataiin,
Skulla’s mother—she bore that curse on you people—
she’ll stop her daughter from lunging again from the cavern.
Tempting Beef of the Sun-God
‘Now you’ll approach the large herds on Thrinakie Island,
where Helios’s cattle graze with fattening sheep-flocks,
fifty in each of the Sun-God’s herds—seven of cattle
and seven of beautiful sheep. None of them gives birth;
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none of them ever dies. Goddesses tend them,
♦ lovely braided Nymphs: Lampetie helps Phaethousa,
born to the Sun-God, Huperion, by godlike Neaira.
Their queenly mother, having borne them and raised them,
sent them to live on far-off Thrinakie Island,
to guard the sheep and tight-horned bulls of their father.
If only you leave them unharmed, minding your way home,
you might reach Ithaka yet, though suffering setbacks.
But if you harm them I foresee death for your war-friends,
your ship destroyed and you, though you may not die,
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will get home late and poor, with all of your men lost.’
Leaving the Island Again
“She stopped and right off Dawn arrived on her gold throne.
My shining Goddess left me then for up island.
I went to the ship myself and stirred up the crew there
to get aboard in a hurry and loosen the stern-lines.
They boarded at once and took their seats at the oar-locks,
each in his place. They rowed, splashing the gray sea.
Now a good friend came, moving the dark-prowed
ship from astern, a fair wind swelling the white sail
and sent by Kirke, a feared Goddess who spoke like a human
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in lovely braids. Securing all our tackle aboard ship
we sat down, helmsman and wind holding our course well.
Bad News for the Men
“But soon I spoke with a sad heart to my crewmen.
‘My friends, if only one or two of us know what
shining and godlike Kirke foretold, it is not right.
I’ll tell you myself. Once you know, we may either