Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
Resourceful Odysseus answered him and said:
“Lord Alcinous, most admired of all your people, it is truly a fine thing to listen to a singer such as this one, whose voice matches the gods themselves. For I say there is no more delightful thing than when good cheer holds a whole people, and the feasters sit in rows through the halls listening to the singer, and the tables beside them are heaped with bread and meat, and the wine-steward draws wine from the mixing bowl and pours it into the cups and carries it round. This, to my mind, is the finest thing there is.
But your heart has turned to asking about my sorrows, so that I grieve and groan the more in the telling. What then shall I tell first, what shall I save for last? For the gods of heaven have given me griefs enough. Let me first give you my name, so that you too may know it, and so that afterward, if I escape this pitiless day, I may be your guest-friend, though my home lies far away. I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, known among all men for my cunning, and my fame reaches the sky.
I make my home on clear-seen Ithaca, where Mount Neriton stands, its leaves trembling in the wind, a peak that towers above all else. Around it lie many islands close to one another — Dulichium, Same, and wooded Zacynthus. Ithaca itself lies low, furthest out to sea toward the west, while the others lie apart toward the dawn and the sun. It is a rugged land, but it raises strong sons, and for my part I know nothing sweeter to look on than a man's own country.
Calypso, shining among goddesses, held me back there in her hollow caves, longing to have me as her husband, and in the same way Circe of Aeaea, the enchantress, kept me in her halls, longing to have me as her husband — but neither one ever won over the heart in my chest. So true is it that nothing is sweeter than a man's own country and his parents, even when he lives far off in some rich house in a foreign land, away from those who bore him.
But come, let me tell you of my voyage home, full of hardship as it was, the voyage Zeus laid upon me as I sailed from Troy.
“The wind carried me from Ilion and brought me to the Cicones at Ismarus. There I sacked the city and killed the men.
We took their wives and much treasure out of the city and divided it, so that no man of mine might go short of his fair share. Then I urged that we flee from there with running feet, but they were fools and would not listen to me. There was much wine drunk, and many sheep were slaughtered on the shore, and shambling, curving-horned cattle too.
Meanwhile the Cicones who had escaped called out to other Cicones, their neighbors further inland, who were more numerous and better fighters, skilled at battling men from chariots and, where it was needed, on foot as well.
They came at dawn, as many as the leaves and flowers that spring brings forth, and then it was that the cruel doom of Zeus came down upon us, doomed men that we were, to suffer many pains. They took their stand and fought beside the swift ships, hurling bronze-tipped spears at one another. As long as it was morning and the sacred daylight grew, we held our ground and beat them back, though they outnumbered us. But when the sun turned toward the hour of unyoking the oxen, then the Cicones broke the Achaeans and overcame them. Six of my well-greaved comrades were lost from each ship;
the rest of us escaped death and fate. From there we sailed on, our hearts heavy with grief, glad to have escaped death, though we had lost our dear companions. But I would not let the curved ships sail on until we had called out three times to each of our poor comrades who had died there on the plain, cut down by the Cicones. Then Zeus, gatherer of clouds, roused the North Wind against our ships in a monstrous storm, and covered land and sea alike with clouds; night rushed down from the sky. The ships were driven sideways, and their sails
were torn into three and four pieces by the force of the wind. We lowered them into the ships, fearing for our lives, and rowed hard for the mainland. There for two nights and two days we lay without stopping, eating our hearts out with weariness and grief. But when fair-haired Dawn brought on the third day, we set up the masts, hoisted the white sails, and sat while the wind and the helmsmen steered us straight. And now I would have come home unharmed to my own country, but the current, rounding Cape Malea, and the North Wind together drove me off course and swept me past Cythera.
“From there I was carried nine days by the ruinous winds over the fish-filled sea, but on the tenth day we set foot on the land of the Lotus-eaters, who eat a flowering food. There we went ashore and drew water, and my men soon took their meal beside the swift ships. Then, when we had had our fill of food and drink, I sent men ahead to find out what sort of people lived there who ate bread, choosing two men and sending a third along as herald.
They went at once and mingled with the Lotus-eaters, who had no thought of killing my comrades, but instead gave them the lotus to taste. Whoever among them ate the honey-sweet fruit of the lotus no longer wished to bring back word or return home, but wanted to stay there among the Lotus-eaters, feeding on the lotus, forgetting all thought of home. I dragged these men back to the ships by force, weeping as they were, and bound them fast under the rowing benches in the hollow ships. Then I ordered the rest of my loyal crew
to hurry aboard the swift ships, for fear that anyone else might eat the lotus and forget his homecoming. They went aboard at once, took their places at the oarlocks, and sitting in rows they struck the grey sea with their oars.
“From there we sailed on, our hearts heavy with grief, and came to the land of the Cyclopes, an arrogant and lawless people, who trust so completely in the immortal gods that they neither plant anything with their hands nor plow, but everything grows for them unsown and unplowed — wheat, barley, and vines that bear
rich clusters of grapes, which the rain of Zeus makes swell. They have no assemblies for counsel and no established laws, but each of them lays down the law for his own wife and children, and they care nothing for one another.
“Now there is a wooded island stretching along outside the harbor, neither close to the land of the Cyclopes nor far from it, thick with trees. Countless wild goats live there, for no path of men keeps them away, and no hunters visit it, men who suffer hardship
pursuing the mountain peaks. It is not held by flocks or plowed fields, but lies unsown and unplowed all its days, empty of men, and feeds only the bleating goats. For the Cyclopes have no ships painted red at the bow, nor any shipbuilders among them who could make well-benched vessels able to carry out all such errands as men undertake, sailing to one another's cities across the sea in ships — men who could have made that island a fine settlement for them as well.
For it is not a poor place at all; it would bear every crop in season. There are meadows near the shore of the grey sea, well-watered and soft, where the vines would never fail. There is level land for plowing, and they could reap a deep harvest each season, since the soil beneath is very rich. There is a safe harbor too, where there is no need of a mooring line, no need to cast anchor stones or make fast the stern cables — sailors need only run ashore and wait until their hearts urge them onward and the winds begin to blow. And at the head of the harbor runs bright water,
a spring beneath a cave, and poplars grow around it. There we sailed in, and some god must have been guiding us through the murky night, for nothing could be seen; a thick mist lay about the ships, and there was no moon shining down from the sky, for it was hidden behind clouds. So no one caught sight of the island with his eyes, nor did we see the long waves rolling toward the shore, until our well-benched ships had run aground. When the ships had grounded we took down all the sails,
and went ashore ourselves onto the beach, and there we fell asleep and waited for the bright light of dawn.
“When the early-born, rose-fingered Dawn appeared, we marveled at the island and wandered over it, and the nymphs, daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, roused the wild mountain goats so that my crew might have something to eat. At once we took our curved bows and our long-socketed hunting spears from the ships and, dividing into three bands, we let fly, and the god soon granted us a satisfying hunt. Twelve ships followed me, and to each ship nine goats fell by lot, while for myself alone they set aside ten.
“So then, all that day until the sun went down, we sat feasting on meat beyond measure and sweet wine, for the wine had not yet run out aboard the ships — plenty remained, since each crew had drawn off great jars of it when we took the sacred citadel of the Cicones. And we could see the land of the Cyclopes close by, the smoke rising from it, and hear the voices of the men and their sheep and goats. When the sun set and darkness came on,
we lay down to sleep there on the shore. And when the early-born, rose-fingered Dawn appeared again,
then I called my men together and spoke among them all: “‘The rest of you stay here, my loyal comrades, while I, with my own ship and my own crew, go and find out what sort of men these are — whether they are violent and wild with no sense of justice, or hospitable to strangers, with a god-fearing mind.’
“So saying, I boarded my ship and told my men to come aboard too and cast off the stern cables. They went aboard at once, took their places at the oarlocks, and sitting in rows they struck the grey sea with their oars.
“When we reached that place nearby, we saw a cave at the edge of the shore, close to the sea, high-roofed and overgrown with laurel. There many flocks, sheep and goats, used to sleep, and around it a high courtyard was built of stones sunk deep in the earth, with tall pines and oaks reaching to the sky. There a monstrous man made his home, who tended his flocks
alone, far off, and did not mix with others but lived apart, his mind set on lawlessness. And indeed he had been made a monstrous wonder, not at all like
a man who lives on bread, but like some wooded peak of the high mountains, which stands out alone above the rest.
“Then I told the rest of my loyal crew to stay there by the ship and guard it, while I chose the twelve best men among my comrades and went ahead. I carried with me a goatskin of dark, sweet wine, which Maron, son of Euanthes, had given me, the priest of Apollo who watched over Ismarus, because we had protected him and his child and his wife out of reverence — for he lived in the wooded grove
of Phoebus Apollo. He gave me splendid gifts: seven talents of well-wrought gold, and a mixing bowl of pure silver, and besides these, wine — twelve full jars of it, sweet and unmixed, a drink fit for gods. None of his household servants or serving women knew of it, only he himself, his dear wife, and one housekeeper. Whenever they drank that honey-sweet red wine, he would fill one cup and pour it into twenty measures of water,
and even then a wonderful sweetness rose from the mixing bowl — no one could easily hold back from drinking it once he smelled it. I filled a great skin with this wine and carried it, and I also took food in a leather pouch, for my proud heart guessed at once that I would meet a man of monstrous strength, wild, knowing neither justice nor law.
“We soon came to the cave, but we did not find him inside; he was off pasturing his flocks on the rich grass. So we went into the cave and looked closely at everything within. Racks were heavy with cheeses, and the pens were crowded
with lambs and kids, each penned apart — the firstborn kept in one place, the middle lambs in another, and the newborn in a third. All his containers, the pails and bowls he used for milking, were brimming with whey. At this my men begged me, pleading with me first of all, to take some of the cheeses and go back to the ship, and then afterward to drive the kids and lambs quickly out of the pens down to the swift ship and put out on the salt water. But I would not listen — though it would have been far better if I had —
for I wanted to see the man himself, and to see whether he would give me the gifts due a guest. But as it turned out, his appearance was to bring my men no joy at all.
“There we lit a fire and made an offering, and helped ourselves to the cheeses and ate, and sat waiting inside until he came in from pasture. He carried a huge load of dry wood to burn for his supper, and he threw it down inside the cave with a crash so loud that we fled in terror to the back of the cave. Then he drove his fat flocks into the wide cave, all those he milked, but left the males, the rams and he-goats, outside in the deep courtyard. Then he lifted up a huge doorstone and set it in place,
a massive stone — twenty-two strong four-wheeled wagons could not have lifted it from the ground — so huge was the towering rock he set against the doorway. Then he sat down and milked his ewes and bleating goats, all in order, and put a young one under each mother. At once he curdled half of the white milk, gathered it, and set it away in wicker baskets,
and the other half he left standing in pails, so that he could take it to drink and have it for his supper. When he had finished this work in haste,
then he lit the fire, and caught sight of us, and asked: “‘Strangers, who are you? Where have you sailed from, over the watery ways? Are you on some business, or do you wander at random over the sea, like pirates, who roam risking their lives and bringing harm to people of other lands?’
“So he spoke, and our hearts broke within us in terror at his booming voice and his monstrous size. But even so I answered him and said: “‘We are Achaeans, driven off course from Troy
by every kind of wind across the great gulf of the sea,
heading for home, but we came another way, by other paths — so, it seems, Zeus willed it. We are proud to be the men of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, whose fame is now the greatest under heaven, for he sacked so great a city and destroyed so many people. As for us, we have come to your knees, hoping you might grant us some gift of hospitality, or give us some present, as is the custom due to strangers. Respect the gods, mighty one — we are your suppliants, and Zeus is the avenger of suppliants and strangers,
the god of guests, who walks beside strangers deserving respect.’
“So I spoke, and at once he answered me with a pitiless heart: “‘You are a fool, stranger, or else you have come from very far away, to tell me to fear or avoid the gods. The Cyclopes care nothing for aegis-bearing Zeus, nor for the blessed gods, since we are far stronger than they are. I would not spare you or your comrades to escape the hatred of Zeus, unless my own heart told me to. But tell me — where did you leave your well-built ship when you came here? Was it far off, or nearby? I want to know.’
“So he spoke, testing me, but he did not deceive me, for I know a great many things, and I answered him in turn with cunning words: “‘Poseidon, shaker of the earth, wrecked my ship, driving it against the rocks at the edge of your land, hurling it against a headland; the wind carried it in from the open sea. But I and these men here escaped sheer destruction.’
“So I spoke, but he answered me nothing, his heart pitiless. Instead he sprang up and laid his hands on my comrades, seized two of them, and dashed them against the ground like puppies, and their brains ran out onto the earth and soaked the ground.
He cut them limb from limb and prepared his meal. He ate them as a mountain-bred lion eats, leaving nothing behind, neither entrails nor flesh nor marrow-filled bones. We wept and raised our hands to Zeus, watching this monstrous act, and helplessness gripped our hearts. But when the Cyclops had filled his huge belly, eating human flesh and drinking unmixed milk, he lay down inside the cave, stretched out among his flocks. Then, turning it over in my proud heart, I made my plan: to go up close to him, draw the sharp sword from beside my thigh,
I struck at his chest, where the midriff holds the liver, groping for the spot with my hand — but another thought held me back. Right there we too would have died a sheer death, for we had no strength in our hands to push back from the tall doorway the huge stone he had set against it. So groaning we waited there for the shining Dawn.
When Dawn appeared, young and rose-fingered, the Cyclops lit his fire and milked his fine flocks, all in their order, and set a suckling under each ewe. Then, when he had hurried through his chores, he seized two more of my men and made his meal. When he had eaten he drove his fat flocks out of the cave, easily lifting away the huge boulder from the door, then set it back in place, as a man might fit a lid onto a quiver. With much whistling the Cyclops turned his fat flocks toward the mountain, and I was left behind, brooding on evil, hoping I might somehow take revenge and that Athena would grant me glory.
This was the plan that seemed best to my mind. There in the Cyclops's fold lay a great club of olive wood, still green, which he had cut to carry once it dried. Looking at it we judged it to be the size of the mast of a black ship of twenty oars, a broad cargo vessel that crosses the great gulf of the sea — so long it was, so thick to look at. I went up and cut off a length from it about a fathom long, and handed it to my men and told them to shave it smooth. They made it even, and I stood by and sharpened the point, then took it and hardened it in the blazing fire. Then I hid it carefully, burying it under the dung that lay piled deep through the cave. And I told the rest to cast lots, to see which of them would dare to help me raise the stake and grind it into his eye when sweet sleep came over him. The lot fell on the four I myself would have chosen, and I made myself the fifth among them.
In the evening he came back, driving in his flocks with their fine fleece. At once he drove all the fat sheep into the wide cave, leaving none outside in the deep yard — either because he suspected something, or because a god so commanded him. Then he lifted the great doorstone into place, sat down, and milked his ewes and bleating goats, all in order, setting a young one under each. When he had hurried through his chores, he seized two more of my men and made his supper.
Then I came close and spoke to the Cyclops, holding in my hands an ivy-wood bowl of dark wine.
"Cyclops, here — drink this wine, now that you have eaten human flesh, so you may know what kind of drink our ship carried. I brought it as an offering for you, hoping you would pity me and send me home. But your rage is past all bearing now. Cruel one, how do you expect any man on earth ever to visit you again, after treating your guests so lawlessly?"
So I spoke, and he took the cup and drank it down, and was terribly pleased with the sweet drink, and asked for more.
"Give me another, freely, and tell me your name now, at once, so I may give you a guest-gift that will please you. Among the Cyclopes too the grain-giving earth bears strong wine, and the rain of Zeus makes it grow — but this is a stream of ambrosia and nectar."
So he said, and again I brought him the sparkling wine. Three times I brought it and gave it to him, and three times he drank it down in his folly. Then, when the wine had gone thoroughly to the Cyclops's wits, I spoke to him again with gentle words.
"Cyclops, you ask my famous name — I will tell it to you, and you shall give me the guest-gift you promised. Nobody is my name. Nobody is what my mother and father and all my companions call me."
So I spoke, and at once he answered me with a pitiless heart.
"Then Nobody I will eat last, after his companions, and the others before him — that shall be your guest-gift."
With that he toppled backward and fell, lying there with his thick neck twisted to one side, and sleep that conquers all took him. Wine and scraps of human flesh spilled from his throat as he belched, heavy with drink. Then I thrust the stake down into the deep ashes to heat it, and spoke encouraging words to all my men, so that none would hang back through fear. But when the olive stake, green as it was, was just about to catch fire in the blaze and glowed terribly hot, then I drew it out of the fire and my men gathered close around me, and some god breathed great courage into us. They took the sharpened olive stake and drove it into his eye, while I leaned my weight on it from above and spun it round, as a man bores ship-timber with a drill, and those below keep it spinning with a strap they pull from either side, and it runs on steadily. So we took the fire-sharpened stake and spun it in his eye, and the blood ran hot around it as it turned. The blast from the burning eyeball singed all his eyelids and brows, and the roots of the eye crackled with fire.
As when a smith dips a great axe or an adze into cold water, making it hiss loudly, tempering the metal — for that is what gives iron its strength — so his eye sizzled around the olive stake. He gave a horrible, great cry, and the rock rang with it, and we shrank back in terror as he wrenched the stake from his eye, soaked with a great deal of blood. Then he flung it away from him with frantic hands, and shouted loudly for the other Cyclopes who lived around him in caves along the windy heights.
They heard his cry and came from every side, and stood around the cave asking what troubled him.
"Why, Polyphemus, do you cry out so terribly through the immortal night and keep us from sleep? Surely no man is driving off your flocks against your will? Surely no one is killing you by trick or by force?"
Mighty Polyphemus answered them from within the cave.
"Friends, Nobody is killing me by trick, not by force."
And they answered him with winged words.
"If nobody is using force on you, alone as you are, then there is no way to escape a sickness that comes from great Zeus. You had better pray to your father, lord Poseidon."
So they said as they went away, and my heart laughed within me, that my name and my clever scheme had deceived him so well. But the Cyclops, groaning and racked with pain, groped with his hands and took the stone from the door, and sat down in the doorway himself, stretching out his arms, hoping to catch anyone who tried to slip out among the sheep — so foolish did he think me in his mind.
But I was working out how everything might turn out best, if I could find some way of escape from death, both for my men and for myself. I wove every kind of trick and scheme, as a man does when his life is at stake, for a great evil was close at hand. This was the plan that seemed best to my mind.
There were rams, well fed, thick-fleeced, handsome and large, with wool the color of violet. These I bound quietly together in threes with twisted willow branches, from the bed on which the monstrous Cyclops slept in his lawlessness. The middle one of each three would carry a man, with the two on either side walking along to shield him. So three sheep carried each man. But as for me — there was a ram, by far the best of all the flock — I took hold of his back, curled up beneath his shaggy belly, and lay there; and gripping the wondrous fleece with my hands I held on firmly, my heart enduring all. So groaning we waited there for the shining Dawn.
When Dawn appeared, young and rose-fingered, the male sheep rushed out to pasture, while the females bleated unmilked around the pens, for their udders were bursting full. Their master, worn out with terrible pain, felt along the backs of all the sheep as they stood up straight, but in his foolishness he never noticed that my men were bound beneath the breasts of the woolly sheep. Last of all the flock came the ram, out toward the doorway, burdened by his own fleece and by me, a man full of cunning thoughts. Mighty Polyphemus felt him over and spoke to him.
"Dear ram, why do you go out of the cave last of the flock like this? Never before have you lagged behind the sheep, but always you are first by far to graze on the tender bloom of the grass, striding out boldly, first to reach the streams of the rivers, and first to be eager to return to the fold in the evening. But now you are last of all. Surely you grieve for your master's eye, which an evil man blinded, along with his wretched companions, after he had overpowered my wits with wine — Nobody, who I say has not yet escaped his doom. If only you could feel as I do, and had voice to tell me where he is hiding from my fury! Then his brains would be dashed against the floor and scattered here and there through the cave, struck again and again, and my heart would find relief from the miseries that worthless Nobody has brought upon me."
So saying he sent the ram away from him, out through the doorway. When we had gone a little way from the cave and the yard, I loosed myself first from under the ram, and then set my men free. Quickly we drove off the long-legged sheep, rich with fat, turning often to look behind us, until we reached the ship. Our dear companions were glad to see us, we who had escaped death, though they wept and groaned for the others. But I would not let them weep, nodding my brows at each man to stop them, and I ordered them instead to throw the many fine-fleeced sheep quickly aboard and put out onto the salt water. They climbed in at once and sat down at the oarlocks, and sitting in order they struck the gray sea with their oars.
But when I had gone as far as a man's shout can carry, I called out to the Cyclops in mockery.
"Cyclops, it seems the man whose companions you devoured with brute force in your hollow cave was no coward after all. And your evil deeds were bound to catch up with you, cruel one, since you did not shrink from eating your guests in your own house — so Zeus and the other gods have punished you."
So I spoke, and his anger grew even greater. He broke off the peak of a great mountain and hurled it, and it fell just in front of our dark-prowed ship, missing the tip of the steering oar by a little. The sea heaved up where the rock came down, and the backwash carried the ship swiftly toward the shore, a great swell rushing in from the deep that forced us toward the land. But I seized a long pole in my hands and pushed us off, and urged my men on, nodding with my head, telling them to bend to the oars and escape our danger — and they leaned forward and rowed hard.
But when we had gotten twice as far out over the sea, I made to call out to the Cyclops again, though my men on every side tried to hold me back with gentle words.
"Reckless man, why do you want to provoke this savage further? He has just now thrown a rock into the sea that drove our ship back to shore, and we thought we would die there. If he had heard any of us make a sound, he would have crushed our heads and our ship's timbers with another jagged boulder — he throws that far."
So they said, but they could not persuade my proud heart, and I answered him again, still in my fury.
"Cyclops, if any mortal man ever asks you about the shameful blinding of your eye, tell him that Odysseus, sacker of cities, put it out — the son of Laertes, whose home is in Ithaca."
So I spoke, and he groaned and answered me.
"Ah, now the old prophecies have truly come upon me. There was a prophet here once, a fine, great man, Telemus son of Eurymus, who excelled in prophecy and grew old among the Cyclopes practicing his art. He told me all this would come to pass in time to come — that I would lose my sight at the hands of Odysseus. But I always expected some tall and handsome man to come here, clothed in great strength. Instead, one who is small and weak and worthless has blinded my eye, after conquering me with wine. But come here, Odysseus, so I may give you guest-gifts and urge the famous Earthshaker to grant you safe passage — for I am his son, and he claims to be my father. He himself will heal me, if he is willing, and no one else can, neither of the blessed gods nor of mortal men."
So he spoke, and I answered him.
"If only I could rob you of life and breath as surely as I could, and send you down to the house of Hades — not even the Earthshaker himself could heal your eye!"
So I spoke, and then he prayed to lord Poseidon, stretching out his hands toward the starry heaven.
"Hear me, Poseidon, dark-haired holder of the earth — if I truly am your son and you claim to be my father, grant that Odysseus, sacker of cities, the son of Laertes whose home is in Ithaca, never reaches home. But if it is his fate to see his own people and reach his well-built house and his native land, let him come there late, in misery, having lost all his companions, in a ship that is not his own, and let him find trouble in his household."
So he prayed, and the dark-haired god heard him. Then Polyphemus lifted a rock far bigger than before, whirled it, and hurled it with immense force. It fell just behind our dark-prowed ship, missing the end of the steering oar by a little. The sea heaved up where the rock came down, and the wave carried the ship forward, driving us toward the land.
So we reached the island where the rest of our well-benched ships lay waiting together, and our companions sat around them grieving, always watching for our return. There we ran our ship ashore on the sand, and we ourselves stepped out onto the breaking surf. We took the Cyclops's sheep from the hollow ship and divided them, so that no one would go without a fair share. But my companions, the well-greaved men, gave me the ram alone as a special prize when the sheep were divided, and on the shore I sacrificed him to Zeus, son of Cronus, lord of the dark clouds, who rules over all, and burned the thigh pieces. But he paid no heed to my offering — instead he was already planning how all my well-benched ships and my loyal companions should be destroyed.
So all that day, until the sun went down, we sat feasting on abundant meat and sweet wine. And when the sun set and darkness came on, we lay down to sleep on the seashore. When Dawn appeared, young and rose-fingered, I roused my men and told them to board the ships and loose the stern cables. They climbed aboard at once and sat down at the oarlocks, and sitting in order they struck the gray sea with their oars.
From there we sailed onward, our hearts heavy with grief, glad to have escaped death, though we had lost our dear companions.