by Homer
three sheep for every man. I would be riding
a ram myself, by far the best of the whole flock.
Clutching his back and bunched under his wooly
belly, I’d stay there tightly clasping his wondrous
fleece and twisting my hands in. My spirits would bear up.
So we sighed and moaned there, waiting for bright Dawn.
One Dear Ram
“When newborn Dawn came on with her rose-fingered daylight,
shortly the males of the flock were trotting to pasture.
The noisy females with swollen udders were not yet
milked in the pens—their master was tired and wounded.
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In pain he felt along the backs of the whole flock
standing before him, foolishly failing to guess that
a man was tied beneath each ram at the breast-fleece.
My ram, the last of the flock, now moved to the outdoors
loaded with fleece, my weight, and all of my wild thoughts.
Burly Poluphemos asked him, checking his backside,
♦ ‘My dear ram: why are you leaving the cavern
last? The herd has never left you behind here:
you’re always the first by far to be cropping the tender
grasses and first to arrive at the stream with your long strides,
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first to show your desire to return to the sheepfold
at dusk. Now you’re last of all. I think you are mourning
your master’s eye. An evil man with his wretched
war-friends blinded me. He’d quelled my brain with a strong wine.
No-one! He’s not yet fled, I think, from his death here.
If only my ram could feel and speak like a Kuklops—
say where the man scurried away from my anger—
then I could spatter his brains out this way and that way,
beating the ground through the cave, bringing my own heart
rest from the hurt that no-good No-one has brought me.’
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Safe and Free
“He said so much, then sent the ram through the entrance.
Having gone from the cave and the stockyard a short ways,
I first got loose from the ram then loosened my war-friends.
Quickly we drove off sheep, fat ones with thin legs,
often turning around, till we came to the hollow
ship. What a welcome sight to our friends—we had safely
run from death! But they cried and moaned for the others.
I stopped their crying. Nodding my brow in the right way,
I told each man to toss up a number of fine-wooled
sheep on deck, then head out to sea in a hurry.
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They clambered swiftly aboard, they sat at the benches
in order and pulled at the oars, splashing the gray sea.
Taunting the Giant
“But far away as a man’s bellow will carry,
I shouted back at the Kuklops, taunting him loudly.
‘Kuklops! The man whose crew you wanted to gulp down
brutally there in your hollow cave was no weakling.
Surely your evil acts would soon overtake you,
ruthless beast, for devouring guests in your own house.
Zeus and the rest of the Gods are making you pay now.’
A Great Splash Close Astern
“I spoke that way and his heart swelled with more anger.
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He broke off the top of a bulging hill and he threw it,
splashing astern as we backed out the dark-prowed
ship and almost grazing the end of our steer-oar.
That mass unleashed an undersea force when it went down,
a rising swell of water that carried us backward
fast to the shore and drove us right on the beach there!
I took our longest pole in hand and I punted
the ship away, rousing and telling my war-friends
while nodding my head, ‘Get out from under disaster,
pull on those oars!’ They rowed, moving us forward.
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Worse Taunting
“But having fared out twice as far on the water,
I called to the Kuklops again. Crewmen around me
scolded gently, this one or that one upbraiding,
‘Ruthless man: why make a wild one so angry?’
‘Just now he hurled a crag to the sea and it drove us
back to the beach in our ship.’ ‘We thought we would die there!’
‘If anyone spoke or made one sound he could hear well,
he might have thrown a jagged boulder and smashed us,
crumbling our decks and heads.’ ‘His throwing is that strong.’
“Their words could scarcely check my great-hearted spirit.
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♦ Again I answered the Kuklops, angrily shouting,
‘Kuklops! If anyone bound for the death-world should come by,
asking about the shameful loss of your eyesight,
tell them Odysseus blinded you, looter of cities,
the son of Laertes, his home on Ithaka Island.’
A Prophecy Fulfilled
“I spoke that way and the Kuklops moaned as he answered,
‘Look at this—how a long-past prophecy finds me.
A soothsayer lived here once, a good and a great man,
♦ Telemos, Eurumos’s son, ranked first as a prophet.
Growing old and foreseeing things for the Kuklops,
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he told me all this pain would fall on me one day:
I’d surely lose my sight at the hands of Odysseus.
So every day I looked for a handsome and big man
approaching our shore, plainly vested in great strength.
Now it’s a no-good runt. A man with no power
put out my eye when he dulled my brain with a strong wine.
A Son of Poseidon
‘Come here, Odysseus! Let me offer you house-guest
presents and urge the well-known Earth-Shaker to help you
home. For I am his son, he claims to be Father:
he’ll mend me himself if he likes. No one beside him
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can do it, no death-bound man or God in his high bliss.’
“He spoke that way but now I answered by saying,
‘If only I could make you the loser of life too,
send your soul down to the household of Aides!
Not even the Earth-Shaker will cure you of blindness.’
The Curse
“Soon as I’d spoken he called on lordly Poseidon,
both hands reaching for heaven, far as the stars are:
‘Dark-haired Earth-Upholder, hear me, Poseidon!
If I am truly your son—you claim to be Father—
make Odysseus, looter of cities, the son of Laertes
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and ruler of Ithaka Island, fail to arrive home.
Yet if his lot is to go there, gaze on his loved ones
and walk in a well-built house in the land of his fathers,
let him be late and poor, losing all of his war-friends,
shipped by strangers and finding harm in his own house.’
A Still Greater Splash
“He prayed that way and the dark-haired God understood him.
Again he raised a rock-mass far outweighing the last one,
he whirled and threw it, leaning forward with great strength.
It crashed in the water behind our ship with its dark prow
too close—it almost grazed the end of our steer-oar.
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That mass freed up undersea force when it went down,
waves carried us forward and drove us to dry land:
we came to the island again where all of our well-built
ships were gathered and waiting. Around them our war-friends
sat in mourning, waiting and steadily weeping.
The Death of the Best Ram
“Arriving there, beaching our ship on the dry sand,
we walked from the vessel ourselves to the shore of the salt sea.
We took the Kuklops’ livestock out of the hollow
ship and shared them: no one lacked what was due him.
War-friends, strong-greaved men, gave me the best ram
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after we shared the flock. Right there on the beach-sand
I killed it, burning the thighs for Zeus, Ruler of all men,
the cloud-dark son of Kronos. But victims would hardly
touch that God. He’d make plots for all of my well-planked
ships to be wrecked, along with the men I relied on.
“For now we ate and drank all day until sundown,
feasting on honey-sweet wine and plenty of mutton.
Then as the sun went down and night was arriving,
we lay and slept right there on the shore of the salt sea.
A Mournful Departure
“When newborn Dawn came on with her rose-fingered daylight,
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I rallied all of the men myself and I told them
to hurry aboard themselves and loosen the stern-lines.
They promptly clambered aboard, sat at the benches
in order and pulled at the oars, splashing the gray sea.
“We sailed on farther now, our hearts in mourning,
glad to be saved from death but losing our own men.”
BOOK 10 Mad Winds, Laistrugonians, and an Enchantress
A Floating Island
“We came to Aiolia Island next. Aiolos lived there,
Hippotes’s son: the deathless Gods are his good friends.
The island’s floating, walls are entirely around it,
unbreakable bronze, and the smooth-faced cliff is a high one.
Twelve children were born to the king of that great hall:
six are sons in their prime, six of them daughters.
♦ In time he gave the daughters as wives to his own sons.
They dine each day with their much-loved father and caring
mother as countless foods lie there before them.
Their home has a savor of meat and an echoing courtyard
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all day long; at night the husbands rest by their honored
wives on corded beds covered with blankets.
A Present of Winds
“We came to that city now and their beautiful household.
Regaled for a whole month, I was asked about each thing—
Troy and the Argive ships and the long way home for Akhaians.
I told him all that story myself in good order.
“Then when I asked to be sent back home on the right course,
the man did not say no: he arranged for a send-off.
He gave me a sack, the flayed bull had been nine years
old—and he lashed moaning storm-winds inside there!
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The son of Kronos had made him master of every
wind to rouse or calm the way that he liked it.
Lashing them tight in my hollow ship with a glowing
silver cord, he stopped the smallest breath from escaping.
Then he sent me an airy blowing of Westwind
to carry our ships and crews away. It would not take
place as he planned. Our own folly would doom us.
A View of Home
“We sailed for nine whole days, nighttime and daytime.
Our Fathers’ fields came into view on the tenth day—
we came so close we could spot men at the watch-fires!
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But now I was tired. A honeyed drowsiness came on
after I worked the mainsheet for hours. I’d handed it over
to none of my crewmen, the faster to sail to our homeland.
“Then my war-friends traded words with each other,
saying I hauled back home the silver and golden
presents from Aiolos, Hippotes’s son with the great heart.
A man might glance at his neighbor, putting it this way:
‘Look at this—how he’s loved and honored by every
man whatever country or city he goes to!
He’s hauling plenty of handsome treasure as booty
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from Troy but the rest of us, ending the same course,
travel homeward carrying hands full of nothing.
Now he’s awarded friendly and gracious presents
from Aiolos. No, let’s quickly see what’s inside here,
how much gold and silver are stored in the big sack.’
Driven Back to Aiolia
“They spoke that way, the wrong plans of some crewmen
swayed them, they loosened the sack and all of the freed winds
rushed out. A fast-building storm seized and carried them seaward
wailing and far from home. I had been blameless
but now, wide awake, I heartily wondered
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♦ whether to leap from the ship and die in the salt sea
or dumbly bear it all and stay with the living.
