BOOK 9
1-38: Odysseus reassures Alkinoos that he takes pleasure in listening to a minstrel such as Demodokos, especially at a good feast. But Alkinoos wants to hear about his troubles. They are many. First, he says, my name: I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, from Ithake. (He describes it.) There's nothing sweeter than one's own land! True, both Kalypso and Kirke kept me by them, wanting me as their husband; but they couldn't persuade me. Nothing, I say, is better than home, and family! But now I'll tell you of the wretched homecoming to which Zeus doomed me (1-38).
39-151: First, the Kikones. We were driven to their city, Ismaros, and sacked it, divided up the treasure and women, and I recommended getting away fast, but the others wouldn't listen. They drank the wine and killed the sheep and cattle to eat. Meanwhile the Kikones called on their inland neighbors. They came, and there was a hard-fought battle. At first we held our own, though outnumbered; but after midday they beat us, with losses; we who survived got away and sailed on. Then Zeus hit us with a huge storm. We put in to shore for two days. After that we sailed again, but the current and north wind drove me off course at Cape Malea--I'd have got home fine otherwise (39-81). After nine days' sailing, we came to the land of the Lotus-Eaters. We went ashore and sent out scouts, who were fed lotus by the natives and wanted to stay there forever! We dragged them back, weeping, and hurriedly sailed. Next we came to the land of the Kyklopes, a savage people who plant nothing and have no laws or assemblies, but live in mountain caves without regard for one another (82-115). There's a fertile unoccupied island just off from their territory, with numerous goats--the Kyklopes have no ships, so don't go there--with good meadows for pasturage, rich plowland, and a harbor with safe anchorage and a flowing spring. We sailed in there at night, disembarked, and slept on the beach till morning (116-51).
152-306: Next morning we explored the island. The local nymphs sent goats our way for food, and between us--the crews of twelve ships--we killed enough goats for each ship to have nine, except for mine, which got ten. So the rest of the day we cooked and fed on goat, together with wine--there was plenty left, jars we'd filled in Ismaros. Looking across to the land of the Kyklopes, we saw smoke, heard voices, and the baaing of sheep and goats. Next morning I told the crews that I and my ship alone would sail across and explore, find out whether the Kyklopes were savage or law-abiding. The rest were to stay and guard the ships (152-76). I then boarded my ship, and we sailed across. We saw a high cave near the shore, with many penned sheep and goats, and a walled courtyard. Here lived a monstrous man, herding his flocks, on his own. He was more like a wooded mountain peak than a human being. I chose the twelve best of my crew to come with me, and left the rest to guard the ship. I took with me a large skinful of the Ismaros wine (that the priest Maro had given me, with other gifts, because I'd protected him during the sack [of Ismaros]), and a bagful of food, because I figured this man we were going to meet was strong, savage, and unacquainted with justice (177-215). We entered the cave: he was away with his flocks. It was full of penned lambs and kids, and crates of cheeses, and pails of milk and whey. My comrades wanted us to go straight back to the ship with some cheeses, and one or two lambs, whereas I wanted to stay and see the Kyklops, find out if he'd treat me as a guest, give me gifts. It would have been better if I'd listened to them (216-30). We lit a fire, ate some cheese, and waited for him. He appeared with a load of dry firewood and dropped it with a crash. He drove in all the flocks save the males, then put a huge stone in place in the doorway. He milked the ewes and goats, and put their young to the teat. He curdled half the milk, kept the rest to drink (231-50). Then he rekindled the fire and saw us in the back of the cave, and asked who we were? Mariners on business, or pirates? His monstrous presence and deep voice scared us. I told him we were Achaians, Agamemnon's men from Troy, trying to get home, driven hither and thither by Zeus. We were, I said, appealing to him for help as suppliants, asking him to reverence Zeus as god of strangers and wanderers. No way, he said. We Kyklopes pay no attention to gods, Zeus included! Nor would I spare you or your men to avoid Zeus' wrath! And tell me: where did you moor your ship? Not to be fooled, I told him Poseidon had wrecked it on the rocks, but we few had escaped. He said nothing, but seized two of my men, dashed out their brains, and ate them raw, bones and all. Then he drank milk, and lay down to sleep. I was going to stab him to death, but realized in time that we could never shift the door-stone. So we could do nothing but wait for morning (251-306).
307-413: When dawn came the Kyklops relit the fire and milked his flocks. Then he seized two more of my men and ate them. After that he drove his flocks out to pasture, removing and replacing the great door-stone as easily as the lid on a quiver. Off he went to the hills, whistling. How could I get us out of this? Now there was a staff of green olive wood he'd cut and was drying, the size of a freighter's mast. I cut off about a fathom's length, my men trimmed it smooth, and I sharpened its end to a point, then hardened it in the fire, and hid it under the dung. We cast lots for the four who'd help me grind it into the Kyklops' eye when he fell asleep. The lot chose those I'd hoped it would. Back he came at evening, and this time he drove all the flocks into the cave, males included. Did he suspect something, or was it a god that urged him? He put the door-stone in place, did his milking, and seized and ate two more of my men (307-44). Now I went up to him, holding an ivy-wood bowl full of our wine, and invited him, now he'd had a meal of human flesh, to taste this wine. It had been meant as an offering, I told him, in the hope he'd send me on my way home; but his cruelty went beyond all bounds. He just took the bowl, drained it, liked what he drank, and asked for more. And tell me your name, he said, so I can give you a stranger's gift. This is ambrosia and nectar! Three bowlfuls he demanded, and drained. When he was thoroughly fuddled, I said to him: You ask my name: it's Nobody! that's what everyone calls me: Nobody. He said: The gift is that I'll eat Nobody last of all! With that he collapsed, passed out, vomiting gobbets of flesh with wine (345-74). Then I heated the stake red-hot in the fire and we drove it into his one eye, whirling it round like a drill. The eyeball hissed, and its roots crackled. The Kyklops screamed, and we scattered. He tore the stake from his eye, and shouted to the other Kyklopes. What's the trouble? they asked him. Nobody's killing me by trickery! he responded. If no-one's killing you, then it's sickness sent by Zeus, and you must pray to your father, Poseidon. With that they left, and I laughed to myself (375-413).
414-566: The Kyklops removed the stone from the door, and sat there groaning, hoping to catch us sneaking out with the sheep and goats. I racked my brains, and came up with this scheme to escape: I took the rams and tied them together in threes with the withies on which the Kyklops slept: under each middle ram was carried a man. For myself, I clung under the shaggy belly of one big ram, the best of the flock. Like that, we waited till morning. Then the males crowded out to pasture, while the ewes bleated, unmilked. The Kyklops felt along the backs of the rams nearest him, but missed my men. Last of all came my big ram, and the Kyklops addressed it, saying, Why are you the last? You always used to be the first! You must be sorrowing for my lost eye, which Nobody put out by trickery! If only you could talk, and tell me where he is! I'd dash his brains out on the floor! With that he let the ram pass on through the doorway (414-61). A little way from the cave I freed myself from the ram and untied my comrades. We drove off the sheep, back to the ship. The crews were glad to see us, but when they started to groan for those we'd lost, I stopped them, indicated they should get the sheep on board at once, and put out to sea quickly. A little way out I called to the Kyklops that it was no weakling whose comrades he'd sought to devour! Zeus ensured he got what he deserved for abusing guests in his own house! Furious, the Kyklops broke off the peak of a mountain, and hurled it after us. It barely missed the steering oar, and the wash drove the ship back to land, but I shoved it off with a pole, and we all rowed frantically, saying nothing. But when we were twice as far out as before, again I wanted to shout to the Kyklops, though all
my comrades tried in vain to stop me. I told him my real name, and he replied that there had been a prophecy that I'd rob him of sight, but he'd been expecting a tall good-looking man, not a puny good-for-nothing who blinded him when he'd fuddled him with wine. Come back here, Odysseus, he shouted, I have a guest-gift for you! And I'm Poseidon's son: no other god or man will heal my eye, but he will (462-521). I replied that I wished I could kill him, as surely as not even Poseidon could heal his eye. He then prayed to Poseidon that if I was fated to get home, let it be late, after losing my ship and all my comrades, and with trouble at home. He then heaved another huge rock after us, but it fell just behind us and drove us on. We landed at our island, and unloaded the Kyklops' sheep, and I sacrificed to Zeus. But he was already planning my ship's and crew's destruction. So we feasted all day, slept that night, and put to sea next morning, glad to have escaped, but sad for our lost comrades (522-66).
BOOK 10
1-132: We next came to the island of Aiolia, home to Aiolos, his wife, and six sons and six daughters, whom he'd married to each other. They led an enjoyable life. I told him about our journey hitherto, and asked him for conveyance. He agreed. He gave me a leather bag with all the winds tied up tightly inside it, except for a west wind to speed us home. We sailed thus for nine days, and were in sight of Ithake. All that time I'd been tending the sheet, to be sure we reached our destination. So I was exhausted and needing sleep (1-33). Relaxed, I now slept. But my comrades, figuring I was a greedy cheapskate and the bag was full of gold and other treasure, opened it, and out rushed all the winds. I woke, but decided to wait. The winds blew us straight back to Aiolos' island. We went ashore, ate, and drew water. Then I went to Aiolos' house with a comrade and a herald. He was amazed to see us, asked what cruel god had been at us, didn't they send us off in good order? I said I'd been done for by my comrades and ill-timed sleep, and appealed to Aiolos to put things right. But Aiolos told us angrily to be gone at once, we were clearly hated by the gods. So back to the ship we went, and sailed, grieving, not hoping for any help (34-80). On the seventh day we reached the land of the Laistrygonians, where the paths of day and night are close--a man could earn a double wage by tending both cattle and sheep: one herdsman going out meets another coming back in. There was a harbor with high cliffs all round and a narrow entrance. The other ships went in, but I moored my ship outside, and looked around, but saw no signs of life, so sent two men and a herald to spy out the land and the people (81-102). They found a smooth road, and near the city met a girl who'd come to draw water, and asked her who these folk were and where could we find their king? She directed them to her father Antiphates' house. They went there and found his wife, a huge monster of a woman. She called her husband, and he ate one of my men. The other two came hurrying back to me. Antiphates raised the alarm. Laistrygonians came in from all quarters and began pelting the ships with great rocks and spearing the crews for food. I cut the stern cables and had my crew row fast to get away. They did. We escaped, but all the other crews and ships were lost (102-32).
133-202: We sailed on and came to Kirke's island. Here we put in to a harbor very quietly, disembarked, and did nothing for two days, weary and sorrowful. The third day, I went up to a lookout point, and saw smoke rising through the trees. I decided to go back, let the men have a meal, then send out some to investigate (133-55). But when almost at the ship I ran into a big stag going down to drink at the river. I speared him dead, made a rope of withies, and carried him on my back. My crew were amazed by the stag, but they skinned and quartered the carcass, roasted it, and the rest of the day we sat and feasted on it and drank our wine. When dark came we slept. Next morning I told them we were lost, had no idea where east or west was, informed them about the smoke I'd seen. They were scared, recalling the Laistrygonians and the Kyklops. But their groaning achieved nothing (156-202).
203-301: I divided my men into two groups, with Eurylochos heading the second. We shook lots for which group went exploring. Eurylochos won. They found Kirke's house in a forest clearing, with wolves and lions that she'd charmed with drugs playing round it. They didn't attack, but fawned on our men like dogs. Inside, Kirke was singing as she worked at her loom. Polites suggested calling to her (204-29). They called, and she came out, invited them in. They all innocently followed her except Eurylochos, who suspected a trap. She sat them down inside, and offered them a posset of cheese, barley, and honey, mixed with wine. But she'd also mixed in drugs to make them forget home. When they'd swallowed this, she struck them with her wand, turned them into swine, and penned them in her pigsties. But they kept their human minds. Kirke threw them acorns and other pig food (229-44). Meanwhile Eurylochos hurried to me, so distressed he couldn't explain till I questioned him. Then he said how she'd invited them in, and they vanished, though he'd waited a while. So I took my bow and sword, and told him to guide me back. He begged me not to, said I'd vanish too, said we, and my group, should get out fast, and might just escape. I said: you stay here eating and drinking if you want: I need to go there (245-72).
So I went. But when I was near Kirke's house I was met by Hermes, in the likeness of a youth just starting a beard. He said: Where are you off to, alone and ignorant of the country? You've come to free your comrades: they're shut away as swine. Take this magic herb, and go to Kirke: it'll protect you. I'll tell you all her tricks. She'll give you a drugged posset, but the herb won't let it harm you. When she strikes you with her wand, draw your sword and make as though to kill her. She'll be scared and invite you to bed her. Don't accept until she swears a great oath not to harm or trick you, especially when she's got you naked. Then he gave me the herb--moly, white flower, black root--and went back to Olympos (273-307).
308-405: Pondering much darkly, I went to Kirke's house, and called to her. She came out and let me in, sat me down, and gave me the drugged mixture in a gold cup. I drank it, but was not bewitched. Then she struck me with her wand, and told me to be off to the pigsties, and join my comrades. I then drew my sword and made as though to kill her. She screamed, clasped my knees, and cried out: Who are you, that you drank this potion and were not bewitched? No one else has done that! You must be Odysseus--Hermes told me you'd be here on your way back from Troy! Sheath your sword, and let's go to bed, make love, and get to trust each other more (308-35). But I said: You've just turned my men into swine--how can I trust you not to do the same to me when you have me naked? I'll not bed with you unless you swear a mighty oath that you're not plotting fresh mischief against me. She so swore on the spot, and we bedded together. Meanwhile her four handmaids, nymphs of springs and groves, were busy in the hall. They set chairs, laid table, mixed wine, lit a fire, and heated water in a great cauldron.
Kirke then bathed me, soothing my weariness, dressed me in a fine mantle and tunic, brought me into the hall, and sat me down. A handmaid brought hand-washing water, put a table by me. The housekeeper set out bread and various dishes, and invited me to eat. But I was worried, had no appetite (335-74). Kirke asked me what the matter was, reminded me that she'd sworn not to harm me. I said, What man could face food till he'd seen his comrades freed? Kirke took her wand, went and opened the pigsties, and out came my comrades as hogs. She rubbed each one with a new salve, the bristles fell off, and they became men again and clung to me, sobbing and homesick. Kirke now told me to go to my ship, draw it up on land, and stow its contents in the caves there. Then I was to return, bringing the rest of my comrades (375-405).
406-86: I obeyed Kirke's request. At the ship I found my comrades as glad to see me as calves their mother cows. They'd been afraid they'd never see Ithake again, but now, seeing me, were as glad as though they'd got home. They asked me about the fate of the others. I told them first to draw up the ship, unload her contents, and stow them in the caves. Then I would take them to see their comrades, eating and drinking in Kirke's hall. They listened gladly. Only Eurylochos held back, saying: Where are you going? Do you want to be changed to swine or wolves or lions, doomed to guard
her house forever? Remember our comrades who went with reckless Odysseus to the Kyklops, and what happened to them. At this I pondered beheading him, near kin by marriage though he was. But the others all pleaded with me to leave him behind as guard of the ship while the rest of us went to Kirke's house. So we went, and Eurylochos, fearing my disapproval, came along too (406-48). Meanwhile Kirke had bathed the rest of my comrades, massaged them with oil, and fitted them out with good clothes, so that we found them all eating and drinking. When the two groups recognized each other, they wept with relief. Kirke now said to me: The time for tears is over. I know how much you all suffered. Come now and eat and drink and restore your spirits! So for a whole year we feasted. But after a year, as the months went by, my comrades admonished me: Don't forget your homecoming! So we feasted by day, but at night I went to Kirke's bed and besought her to remember her promise to send us home: my comrades were getting restive (449-86).
487-574: Kirke responded: I'm not holding you here against your will; but before your homecoming there's another journey you must complete: to the realm of Hades and Persephone, to learn the prophecy of the blind seer Teiresias, whose mind remains firm even after death, thanks to Persephone; whereas the other dead flit about as mere shades. I wept at the news, and said: Who'll guide us? No man ever went to Hades in a black ship (487-502). Kirke said: Don't worry about a guide. Set sail and sit down: the north wind will carry you. When you cross the stream of Ocean, beach your ship on that level shore by the groves of Persephone, and continue by land toward the realm of Hades. When you reach the rock that's the meeting-point of two rivers of Hades, Pyriphlegethon and Kokytos, stop there. Dig a pit a cubit square. Pour three libations, of honey, wine, and water sprinkled with barley meal. Entreat the dead, promise a barren heifer, your best, and ample gifts. To Teiresias alone, promise your best black ram. After your prayer to the dead, sacrifice a ram and a black ewe, their heads facing Erebos, while you turn back and face the streams of Ocean (503-29). Then many dead will appear. Tell your comrades to skin and burn the slaughtered sheep lying there. Pray to Hades. Draw your sword and keep the ghosts of the dead from the blood until you've questioned Teiresias. He'll come to you quickly and tell you how to complete your return by sea and land. It was now dawn: Kirke put a mantle and tunic on me, and herself wore a white robe, with a girdle and veil. I went back to the hall and told my men to wake up: Kirke had told me everything. They arose now. Even here, though, my crew didn't go unscathed. There was a youth, Elpenor, not very warlike or bright, who'd gone to sleep, drunk, on the cool roof. When he woke, he forgot the long ladder, fell headlong. and broke his neck. Now I told my men: You may think you're now going home. Not so. Kirke says we must first go to Hades to consult Theban Teiresias. Their spirit was broken, they lamented, but to no avail. And while we were on our way to the ship, Kirke overtook us with the ram and the black ewe--invisible, as a god can always arrange to be (530-74).