A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald (31 page)

249
what he had to offer:
Literally, “if he would give me
xeinia”
[229]—all the rites and appurtenances of hospitality.

250
no pretty sight:
An ominous litotes.

252ff
. It goes without saying that in Homer all beings, even monsters, understand and speak Greek. Most popular narrative forms exploit the convention that one can do without an interpreter, and even an explanation why one isn’t needed. Later, when there is an insistence on the congruence of nationality and national language, interpreters are thematized. This in turn can become a convention: consider, in a western, the figure of the “white” captive among “Indians” who can serve as interpreter and, if female, ready-made “romantic interest” for the American cowboy or soldier (to avoid miscegenation).

One of the most illogical but goofily endearing conventions in popular American films is that foreigners speak, even among themselves, in American English with a foreign accent (and the stronger the accent, the more marked that character is in some particular foreign characteristic: evil if we are dealing with a German U-boat captain, romantic with a French or “Latin”
lover). But of course, conventions by definition defy logic. Science fiction, which partakes of both the popular and pedantic, will usually thematize the means of decoding and translation between earthlings and extraterrestrials or other intelligences.

252
took some cheese to eat:
This isn’t necessarily robbery. It is part of the ceremony of sacrifice as well as a sort of speculative hospitality, by which Odysseus and his crew act on the presumption that, as guests, they will be accorded proper hospitality upon the host’s return. This should have been construed as flattering to one’s absent host; the Kyklops thought otherwise.

281–93
In his response to Polyphêmos’ rudely suspicious questions (however well founded; see the Kikonês), Odysseus pointedly emphasizes the gods, particularly Zeus, as the motivators of his own travels and the protectors of guests—reminding the Phaiákions of it, as well. In lines 288–93 he uses the formal language of supplication [266–67, 269–70] (see also VI. 152–207). In saying that he and his men served under Agamémnon at Troy (285), he is for once telling the truth, just not the whole truth: note that he reveals neither his name nor his homeland.

299–300
The Kyklops’ apostasy goes far beyond that of an everyday disdainer of the gods (such as Aias at IV.538–40, above). In claiming superior strength (300), the Kyklopês are not unlike the giants who assaulted Olympos in an attempt to overthrow the gods.

312–22
Neither reply nor pity …:
Polyphêmos, a huge, rude, even blasphemous herdsman, suddenly becomes truly monstrous. Cannibalism is the mark of the nonhuman. (See Hesiod,
Works and Days
, 276–78. For cannibalism known to later Greeks, see Herodotus IV. 18.3.) Note that Polyphêmos drinks his milk, like his wine, neat (“whey,” 322 [297]).

327ff
. Homer has cleverly constructed the situation so that simple action will not solve the problem; all of Odysseus’ foresight and cunning will be required to escape from the lair of the Kyklops.

337
another brace of men:
Another two men. Since Odysseus had brought twelve men with him from the ship (210), there are now eight left in the cave besides Odysseus.

361–63
Odysseus is a very wise commander. He could simply have picked the four men he wanted to have as his assistants, but in a situation so desperate he probably reasoned that it was more important for morale to have the eight cast lots.

361
eye:
Singular (see 113–24, above).

366–68
That the rams come into the cave tonight, as opposed to the previous night (see 259–60), is essential to the plot. At times Homer may seem sublimely indifferent to details, but more often than not he is in complete control. To make Odysseus himself comment on the great good fortune of this unexpected development is brilliant, in part because he cannot explain why it happened. That it might be “a god’s bidding” (368) is a good reminder of Odysseus’ un-Kyklopean piety, and, in particular, of the care taken of him by Athena, to whom Odysseus had prayed (344). She is not presented here as helping openly, but, then again, we are listening to Odysseus, not the omniscient epic narrator, and some kind of epiphany would have been required for Odysseus to be aware of her assistance.

378–83
Odysseus speaks as if all is lost. Now that he knows how horrid the Kyklops is, there is no hope of escape, and, he says, no need for the wine. He consciously does not flatter Polyphêmos, which might under the present circumstances arouse suspicions that the drink was poisoned, suspicions even the less-than-clever Polyphêmos might have entertained. The calculation works, and Polyphêmos quaffs the drink.

394ff
. Odysseus, having sized up his opponent’s intelligence (low) and wanting to make a joke at least he can enjoy, claims that his name is
Outis
[366], virtually indistinguishable from
ou tis
, “no one” (as we believe ancient Greek was spoken, there would have been a difference of tone accent on the first syllable only). Likewise, Fitzgerald presents “nobody” in the slightly disguised form
“Nohbdy.” This prepares the ground for two verbal jokes, the first fairly sophomoric. The first comes when the other Kyklops understand
Outis
as
ou tis
(“Nohbdy” as “nobody,” 446), which emerges from the fact that, according to the standard substitution of
mê
for
ou
in certain grammatical contexts,
ou tis
becomes
me tis
[410]. (This joke is anticipated in the “noman” of line 440.) This syntactical replacement lays the groundwork for a more sophisticated pun: as
ou tis
is to
Outis, mê tis is to mêtis
or “cunning intelligence,” Odysseus’ defining characteristic. Lest this pun escape the notice of his audience, Homer quite pointedly has Odysseus use the word
mêtis
right away [414] (represented in the translation by “deceived,” 452), and, again, in the accusative case,
mêtin
[422] (“wits,” 460).

400
Nohbdy’s my meat:
Or “I will eat nobody last” [369]. Indeed: he will eat no one else at all.

402–19
his great head lolling to one side:
Another detail which may seem to be a merely descriptive decoration but is in fact crucial. Given Polyphêmos’ size, Odysseus and his men could hardly have put out the giant’s eye if he were on his back with his face pointing straight up (and obviously not if he were facedown). As it is, however, Polyphêmos’ position permits them to be on the ground and run straight forward with their pole (see 414–16). A number of ancient depictions survive.

This clear picture becomes a little confused in 417–19, which seems to describe a vertical orientation with Odysseus above, his men below. The simplest solution is to recall that this is a simile: the major point of comparison is simply that Odysseus and his men twirl the pike just as shipwrights and their helpers do; the absolute and relative positions of Odysseus/master craftsman, on the one hand, and comrades/helpers, on the other, need not harmonize.

438
Polyphêmos:
The name occurs for the first time in this book here (see 113–24, above). Odysseus learns it only because he hears the other Kyklops use it, although it is not clear whether or
not Polyphêmos was concealing his name from Odysseus the way Odysseus had concealed his from the giant. Likewise, Odysseus will also learn from this exchange the name of Polyphêmos’ father (448–49).

440, 446, 452
No man
, nobody,
deceived:
See 394, above.

460
wits and tactics:
dolous kai mêtin
[422] (see 394, above).

464
dark violet:
See IV. 146, above.

487–93
That Polyphêmos is aware of the abnormal behavior of the largest ram provides a moment of concern to the audience, as no doubt it did to Odysseus himself. Will the plot turn and involve further dangers and complications, requiring further deceptions? Having so often twisted his plot, Homer can achieve nearly the same effect here by merely presenting the possibility of a twist.

502
There is further wordplay in the concluding phrase of Polyphêmos’ address to his ram: in Greek, something like “that good-for-no-thing Nohbdy” [
outidanos Outis
, 460]. (Only a line away, and hardly unintended by the poet, is “the floor” (501) [in the dative case,
oudeï
, 459, like another word for “no one,”
oudeis
].

519ff
. Odysseus cannot resist letting Polyphêmos know that he has been bested. At first it seems a good lesson in piety (522–23), but having spoken at all turns out to have its risks when the Kyklops lobs huge rock masses in the direction of the ship, Odysseus’ call having revealed its location. However, despite the warning of his crew (535ff., for once much wiser than their captain), Odysseus reveals his identity (551–52). This, of course, is the means by which the poet of
The Odyssey
motivates Poseidon’s wrath (after Polyphêmos’ curse, 569–71). This show of pride ends up extending Odysseus’ wanderings and proves fatal for all his companions. Odysseus’ claim to be acting as the agent of Zeus Xenios and the other gods (523) appears not to be borne out by the plot at all (on Zeus Xenios, see III.377, above).

537–45
Fitzgerald creates five voices to do what the Greek presents as one coherent speech [494–99], which neatly demonstrates some of the differences between ancient epic and modern narrative
conventions. It is not that Fitzgerald invents something that is not there; it is simply that Homer conveys the idea more indirectly. He concludes the introduction (535–36) to the sailors’ words with a directive: “each in a different way” [
allothen alios
, 493]. This licenses Fitzgerald’s solution. Working in print, he can use quotation marks; the reader, who is familiar with this convention, understands how speakers change on the basis of punctuation alone (for other examples, see XVIII.87–90 and 140–45).

Homer tells his audience that the sailors are all pleading in different ways, then presents a speech that sums up and represents the range of arguments and sentiments in a conventional, if not strictly realistic, manner. And yet there is something more behind the differences of technique and convention: it is not epic style, and not epic thinking, to attribute speech to anonymous characters. If someone, even a lowly swineherd, is to speak, he must be presented with a name and perhaps even a patronymic. Fitzgerald and his readers share more democratic assumptions: we are prepared to attend to voices we know are simply those of “sailors.”

554
the weird:
Fate. Polyphêmos’ recollection of the oracle is a surprising turn in the narrative. (Since the oracle had foretold the loss of his eye, we might wonder why Polyphêmos didn’t assume his assailant was Odysseus as soon as he had been blinded. But then again, Polyphêmos is no rocket scientist.) That Odysseus is the subject of Polyphêmos’ oracle might have been particularly interesting for the Phaiákians, over whom the doom of another oracle hangs. Although this bothered ancient commentators, neither Homer nor Odysseus and the Phaiákians seem to be disturbed (see VIII.604–11, above).

558
for time to come:
See I.266–67, above.

573
The god of earthquake could not heal you there!:
It has been argued that the irreverance of this understatement, which verges on blasphemy, is the cause of the sea god’s enmity toward Odysseus. Certainly, the economy of the passage supports this
interpretation, for immediately following Odysseus’ words, Polyphêmos formulates his prayer/curse (the word is the same in Greek,
arê
in Homer’s Ionic, although it does not appear in this passage). Polyphêmos calls on Poseidon, and Poseidon hears him. However, it is important to note that Odysseus has already said that he wishes he could have killed Polyphêmos. The Greek behind 573 [525] is quite unambiguously an extension of his wish that Polyphêmos were in Hades and beyond help from his divine father. That once dead, Polyphêmos could not have his vision restored, much less be revived, is accepted Homeric theology (compare Athena’s testimony at III.254–56, and see III.247ff., above).

A more fundamental point is that Homeric gods do not need a crime of blasphemy to justify their enmity. Poseidon could just have well have pursued Odysseus simply for blinding his son; he had done harm to one of Poseidon’s
philoi
and thus made himself hateful to the god. No excuse was necessary to follow the standard dictum: help your friends and harm your enemies. As we will learn in
Book XI
from the shade of the seer Teirêsias, Poseidon’s anger in fact is due simply to Odysseus’ blinding of Polyphêmos (XI. 116–17); Athena will say the same thing (XIII.431).

580–85
For the sake of the whole epic, Homer has Polyphêmos pronounce a second choice: if fate guarantees Odysseus’ homecoming, then may it be late and solitary.