Excerpts

HOMER: THE ODYSSEY
Translated by Lee Austin Thompson


Opening of The Odyssey
Book 1:1–21

Speak, Muse, tell me of that brilliant man,
who wandered—lost—after he sacked holy Troy!
He saw the towns of many men, learned their thoughts,
and his heart suffered much on the barren seas
struggling to stay alive, see his men safely home.
But those men he could not save hard though he tried:
they were destroyed through their own recklessness.
Fools! They ate the oxen of Helios the Sun.
He it was who ended their homeward journey.

Goddess, from some such point begin, tell us!

By now, all the others who had escaped hard fate
were home, safe from death in fighting or on the seas.
But he alone, longing for his return, the woman,
the nymph lady Kalypso, bright goddess,
held in her hollow caves, wanting him as mate.
But when through passing seasons the year arrived
the gods had spun for his return home
to Ithaka not even there would he elude
sore tests among his people. The gods all pitied him,
but not Poseidon: he raged relentlessly against
Odysseus until he reached his native land.


Hermes Arrives at Kalypso’s Island
Book 5:50–80

He dropped from sky to Pieria then to the sea,
darting over the wave tops like a shearwater
searching in the deadly troughs of the waves in the barren
salt sea, hunting fish, feathers wet with brine.
Hermes was like to it, riding many waves.
But when he reached the faraway island,
he stepped on shore and left the deep blue sea.
He walked until he reached a large cave. The nymph,
the fair-haired one, lived there and he found her inside.

A large fire burned on the hearth with kindled thyme
and easily-split cedar whose scents carried across
the island. Inside she was singing prettily
while weaving, plying the loom’s golden shuttle.
Trees grew thick around the cave: alder
and black poplar and sweet-scented cypress.
Birds with long wings roosted there: small horned owls
and hawks, and long-tongued cormorants, seabirds,
for all their feasting comes from the sea.
Just there, around the hollow cave, well-kept
vines were spreading, laden with clusters of grapes.
Four springs bubbled forth, flowing with clear water,
near each other but flowing in different directions.
And there were soft meadows teeming with violets
and wild parsley. Even a god coming here
on seeing it would marvel, his heart well pleased.

Standing there, the Argos-slayer beheld the view.
When he had gazed at it to his heart’s content,
he went straight into the broad cave. Nor did she fail
to know him, Kalypso, brightest of goddesses,
for the immortal gods are not unknown to one
another even if they live far away.


In the Cyclops Cave
Book 9:231–257

We built a fire, sacrificed, took some cheese
and sat and ate. Then we waited for him inside
till he returned, driving his flocks. He carried
a huge load of dry wood to burn at dinner.
He threw it down in the cave—a great din!
In terror we darted back into a far corner.
He then drove all that needed milking from the large flocks
into the cave, leaving the males beyond the door,
the rams and billy goats outside in an enclosure.
Then lifting a huge door-block on high, he set it
mightily. Not twenty-two four-wheeled wagons—
good ones—could raise that stone from the earth,
such a towering boulder he set as a door block.
Sitting, he milked the sheep and bleating goats,
and put under each a newborn lamb or kid.
When the white milk had thickened, he drew
off half into woven baskets and half
he poured into a pail within his reach
to drink and have it at his own supper.
He worked quickly and finished all these tasks,
then he kindled a fire and saw us and he asked:

‘Strangers, who are you? From which way did you sail?
Do you travel for trade? Or wander without plan
as pirates on the sea, risking your lives
to roam and harm those in foreign lands?’

Thus he spoke and my heart was shattered,
fearing the deep voice and the monster himself.


Hearing the Sirens
Book 12:166–193

Meanwhile, our well-built ship reached the island
of the Sirens, driven on by a fair wind.
The wind dropped and calm covered the sea,
the air still. Some god had made the waves sleep.
My men, standing, furled and stowed the sails
in the hollow ship. Sitting at the oarlocks
they beat the water white with oars of polished pine.
With my sharp bronze sword I cut small bits from a
great wheel of wax and kneaded it in my strong hands.
Quickly the wax softened since the Sun’s great power
compelled it, the rays of lord Hyperion’s son.
I plugged the ears of each of my men in order.
They tied my hands together and my feet and bound me
upright to the ship’s mast, securing the chain.
Sitting, their oars beat the gray salt sea.

But when we were as far as a man’s shout is heard,
though going swiftly, our fast ship did not slip by
unnoticed! We roused them! They readied their sweet song:

‘Come here, oh praised Odysseus, Akaians’ glory!
Stop your ship so you can hear our two voices!
For no one sails by in a black ship until
he’s heard the honeyed melody from our mouths.
Then he goes home happy, knowing many things.
We know all that happened in spacious Troy,
how Argives and Trojans suffered the gods’ will.
On this earth that feeds so many, we know all.’

So they spoke in their lovely voices and I
wanted to hear more. I ordered my men to free me…


The Challenge of Odysseus’ Bow
Book 21:404–434

…But then artful Odysseus
lifted the bow, examining it well,
and, as one who knows lyre and song stretches
easily a new string on the peg, attaching
the flexible sheep gut at both ends, just so
without effort Odysseus strung the bow.
With his right hand he tried the taut bowstring.
It sang out sweetly like a sparrow’s song.
The suitors felt a great pain and their faces
went pale—and Zeus thundered with a great flash.
And noble, much-enduring Odysseus rejoiced
that devious Kronos’ son had sent a sign.
At once he picked up the arrow that lay loose
by the table—the others lay in the quiver
and the Akaians were destined to know these well.
He fitted it on the bow, notch to string.
From there, sitting on the stool, taking aim,
he shot the heavy, bronze-tipped arrow straight through all
the axes, from the first hole right through to
the last one, then addressed Telemakos:

“Telemakos, the stranger sitting in the hall
did not shame you, nor did he miss the mark
and wasn’t long stringing the bow. I yet have strength
in spite of what the suitors, mocking me, have said.
But now’s the hour for the Akaians’ feasting
while it is still daylight, and then for entertainment,
let’s cap the feast with dancing and with lyre.”

Odysseus nodded at Telemakos,
his godlike son who put his sharp sword on,
and closed his hand around his spear and stood close to
his chair with his shining bronze weapons.


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