Yet if he’s angry about his cattle with straight horns
and wants to destroy our ship and the rest of the Gods say
yes, I’d rather die just once gagging on water
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than waste away on a lonely island slowly.’
The Wrong Feast Begins
“Eurulokhos talked that way, my other war-friends nodded
and swiftly they rustled the finest bulls of the Sun-God
nearby, for not so far from the ships with their dark prows
the tight-horned, broad-browed, beautiful cattle were grazing.
So they stood around them, prayed to the high Gods
♦ and gathered tender greens from a high-leafing oak-tree—
the well-planked ship had no white barley aboard her.
Still praying, they cut those throats and they promptly
flayed them, carved out thighs, layered the red meat
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twice with fat, then spread raw flesh on the thigh-parts.
Lacking wine to drop on the smoldering victims
they poured on water. They roasted all of the innards.
After the thighs were burned and they tasted the entrails,
they cut and pierced with spits the rest of the pieces.
Awake from a Cruel Sleep
“Just then the balmy sleep was gone from my eyelids.
I went to the race-fast ship on the shore of the salt sea.
Soon as I came close to the ship with its up-curved
bow the cloying smell of meat-fat drifted around me.
I moaned to the deathless Gods in pain and I cried out,
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‘Fatherly Zeus and you other Gods, joyful forever,
you lulled me with cruel rest, a sleep that destroyed me.
A hateful act was planned by the men who remained here.’
Lighting Up the Dead
“A messenger swiftly rose to the God Huperion:
long-gowned Lampetie told him we’d slaughtered his cattle.
He promptly spoke to the deathless Gods in a hot rage:
‘Fatherly Zeus and the rest of you Gods, joyful forever,
avenge me now on the men of Odysseus, son of Laertes,
who brashly killed those bulls that gave me such pleasure,
both when I rose up high in the star-dotted heavens
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and came back down from the heavens to good earth.
If they don’t pay me for all those bulls in the right way,
♦ I’ll go to the house of Aides and light up the dead there.’
“Stormcloud-gathering Zeus answered by saying,
‘Helios! Do keep shining here for the deathless
Gods and for death-bound men on grain-giving farmland.
Shortly I’ll strike that race-fast ship myself on the wine-dark
sea with glowing lightning. I’ll smash it to splinters.’
“I heard all this in time from fair-haired Kalupso,
who told me she’d heard it herself from Hermes the Runner.
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Plenty of Feasting, Plenty of Omens
“Soon as I came back down to the ship and the salt sea
I railed at every man. But no one could find some
plan to escape: the bulls were slaughtered already.
Then the Gods were swift in revealing their omens.
bull-hides crawled, meat made noise on the sharp spits,
roasted and raw both with sounds like the lowing of cattle!
“For six whole days my war-friends, a crew I had trusted,
dined on Helios’s cattle, the best they could round up.
When Zeus, the son of Kronos, brought on the seventh
day and the wind and raging thunderstorm ended,
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promptly we all embarked and made for the broad sea,
standing our mast up tall and hoisting the white sail.
A Vengeful and Killing Storm
“But after we left the island, with nothing around us—
no land showing, only the sky and the salt sea—
the son of Kronos raised a darkening storm-cloud
over the hollow ship and seas were graying beneath it.
We sailed but not much farther: Westwind abruptly
came on blowing, roaring soon with a gale force.
It gusted fiercely and broke off both of the mainmast
forestays, the mast fell back and all of its rigging
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crashed in the hold. Astern, the head of our helmsman
was hit by the mast—all his skull-bones were shattered
together at once. He looked like an acrobat tumbling
down and a proud spirit was gone from the man’s bones.
Deaths and a Life
“Zeus hurled bolts and thunder both at the same time.
The whole ship trembled, struck by lightning from great Zeus,
she filled with sulphur-smoke, men were overboard, rolling—
they looked for a time like cormorants circling the black ship,
borne by the waves. A God had seized their return home.
“I paced through the ship myself till water was pulling
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the keel from her side-boards. When waves carried it naked—
the keel had also sheared from the mast—somehow a backstay
was thrown down over the keel, a working of oxhide.
I used it to lash the keel and mast closely together.
I sat on them both, borne by ravaging storm-wind.
A New Wrong Wind
“In time the Westwind and raging thunderstorm ended.
But Southwind came on fast, bringing me heart-pangs:
now I could travel the long way back to devouring Kharubdis!
Help from a Fig-Tree
“Swept along all night, I came with the sunrise
to Skulla’s cliff once more and dreaded Kharubdis,
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the monster who sucked down huge gulps of the salt sea.
The tall fig-tree was there: I lunged for it, grabbed it
and held on tight as a bat. Yet there was nowhere
now to get good footing and nowhere to climb up
since roots were far below and branches above me
hung out large and long, overarching Kharubdis.
I held on tightly until some time she might vomit
the keel and mast I longed for. Finally they came up
♦ late at dusk. When a man stands up from assembly
to dine—a judge in the many suits of the young men—
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that’s when the wood came back from the depths of Kharubdis.
My hands and feet let go. I fell from a ways up,
I seized and sat on the wood then paddled with both hands.
The Father of Gods and men kept Skulla from looking.
Without his help I’d never have run from my steep doom.
Care from a Goddess
“For nine whole days I was borne. Gods on the tenth night
brought me close to Ogugie. There was Kalupso
in lovely braids, a feared Goddess who spoke like a human.
She loved and cared for me. Why go on with that story?
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I told it only yesterday here in your own house,
to you and your heart-strong wife. To me it’s a bother
to tell a story again that’s plain when it’s told once.”
BOOK 13 A Strange Arrival Home
More Gifts for the Stranger
He spoke that way and they all were quiet a long time,
as though he’d woven a spell in the shadowy great hall.
At length however Alkinoos spoke up and told him,
“Odysseus, now that you’ve come to my bronze-floored and high-roofed
house you won’t, I think, be driven away so
far from home with all the pain you have suffered.
So I’m charging every man in the great hall,
speaking to those who’ve always relished the glowing
wine of our elders and listened well to our singer:
clothes for our guest are surely laid in the polished
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chest with carefully crafted gold and all of the other
presents our own Phaiakian counselors brought here.
♦ Come on then, every man should give him a cauldron
and large tripod as well. We’ll pass on costs to our people
in time since giving presents is taxing for one man.”
Alkinoos spoke that way and his word was their pleasure.
Then all of them went to their own homes for a night’s rest.
When newborn Dawn came on with her rose-fingered daylight,
they all went down to the ship with man-bracing presents
of bronze. Alkinoos went through the ship—his power was holy—
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and stowed the presents himself under the benches.
They’d hardly hamper the work of men hurriedly rowing.
Slow Sunset
Then they walked to Alkinoos’s home to get ready
to dine and the king slaughtered—his power was holy—
a bull for dark-cloud Zeus, the son of Kronos and ruler
of all men. They roasted thighs and splendidly dined there
gladly. The godlike singer played in their center,
honored by all—Demodokos. Ah but Odysseus
often glanced at the fiery sun, anxious to see it
set for the man was keenly longing to sail home.
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The way a man has yearned for dinner after he’s labored
all day long with wine-dark oxen plowing a new field,
then he welcomes the going down of the Sun-God
and walks at last, his thighs trembling, to dinner:
Odysseus welcomed Helios going the same way.
The Last Send-Off
He told the oar-loving Phaiakians quickly—
“Lordly Alkinoos, praised by all of your people,
send me off now, pour the wine, and the rest of you farewell!
For now they’re brought to an end, these wants of my own heart,
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a send-off and loving presents. Let Gods on Olumpos
make them blessed. May I find when I reach home
a faultless wife and all my loved ones in good health.
You who remain here, gladden the hearts of your children
and married women. May Gods reward you with every
richness. I pray no harm will come to your people.”
He spoke that way, they all were nodding and urging
the send-off now, for their guest had spoken so rightly.
Strong Alkinoos turned to his herald and told him,
“Pontonoos, mix the wine in our wine-bowl and serve it
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to all in the great hall. Soon as we honor our Father
Zeus we’ll send our guest to the land of his fathers.”
Honeyed Wine for the Gods
He stopped: Pontonoos mixed the wine with its honeyed
heart and filled each goblet. Letting the drops fall,
they honored the joyful Gods ruling broadly in heaven,
high on their thrones. Godlike Odysseus rose now.
Placing the two-handled cup in the hands of Arete,
he said good-bye and his words had a feathery swiftness,
“Farewell, my queen, and for good. Flourish till old age
comes and death: that’s still the lot of us humans.
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I go my way, and you? Feel joy in your household,
your children and people, in King Alkinoos mainly.”
Help on the Voyage
Godlike Odysseus now was crossing the threshold
after he’d spoken. Strong Alkinoos offered his herald
to guide him down to the race-fast ship at the seashore.
Arete gave him handmaids, women to join him.
One maid carried a well-washed mantle and tunic.
A second she told to help take care of the close-packed
chest and a third carried food and some red wine.
Night Travel
Soon as they came on down to the ship and the salt sea,
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quickly some high-born escorts were stowing the presents
below in the hollow ship with all the foodstuff and red wine.
They spread a blanket and linen cloth for Odysseus
right on the deck of the hollow ship, making for sound sleep
astern as the man himself boarded and lay down
quietly. All the oarsmen sat on their benches in order.
Soon as the line at the bored moor-stone was loosened
each man leaned on his oar and flung up the salt sea.
A lovely sleep came down on Odysseus’s eyelids,
a sound and sweet one—the closest thing to a death-sleep.
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Asleep on a Fast Ship
The way a four-horse team when harnessed together