Title to Come

Translation borrowed (somewhat loosely) from Samuel Butler via the Perseus project.

Click on pictures for larger versions.

PART I

Chapter 1: After trying for 10 years to get home from the Trojan war, Odysseus is stuck on Calypso’s island. Total bummer. Athena asks Zeus to help.

[The goddess] Athena said [to Zeus], “Father, son of Kronos, King of kings, …[the nymph Calypso] has got hold of poor unhappy Odysseus, and keeps trying…to make him forget his home, so that he is tired of life, and thinks of nothing but how he may once more see the smoke of his own chimneys.”

Chapter 1.5: I want to help, says Zeus. Only he poked out the Cyclops’ eye and pissed off the Cyclops’ father, Poseidon.

And Zeus said, “…How can I forget Odysseus than whom there is no more capable man on earth, nor more liberal in his offerings to the immortal gods that live in heaven? Bear in mind, however, that Poseidon is still furious with Odysseus for having blinded an eye of Polyphemus king of the Cyclopes.”

Chapter 2: Odysseus’ son, Telemachos, is also bummed. All the young men in town figure Odysseus is dead and that his wife, Penelope, ought to marry one of them. They have moved into the house and are eating all the food and they WON’T LEAVE!

[At Odysseus’ house, Athena] found the lordly suitors seated on hides of the oxen which they had killed and eaten…Men-servants and pages were bustling about to wait upon them, some mixing wine with water in the mixing-bowls, … and some cutting up great quantities of meat.

[Odysseus’ son] Telemakhos saw [Athena] long before any one else did. He was sitting moodily among the suitors thinking about his brave father, and how he would send them fleeing out of the house…

Chapter 3: Athena tries to cheer up the little dude (Telemachos).

Telemakhos spoke low to Athena, with his head close to hers that no man might hear… “If these men were to see my father come back to Ithaca they would pray for longer legs rather than a longer purse…”

Athena answered him, “… [I] assure you that he will not be away much longer; for he is a man of such resource that even though he were in chains of iron he would find some means of getting home again. But tell me, and tell me true, can Odysseus really have such a fine looking young man for a son?”

Chapter 4: Telemachos tells the suitors to leave in the morning. They say they are staying because Penelope tricked them. She told them she would marry one of them once she finished her weaving.

“[The suitor Antinoos said] “Telemakhos, insolent braggart that you are, how dare you try to throw the blame upon us suitors? We are not the ones who are responsible but your mother is… [these] three years past, and close on four, she has been driving us out of our minds…we could see her working on her great web all day long, but at night she would unpick the stitches again by torchlight.”

Chapter 5: Fed up and outnumbered, Telemachos announces that he is setting sail from Ithaca to try to get word about his father. DON’T marry my mother until I get back.

“Give me, then, a ship and a crew of twenty men to take me hither and thither, and I will go to Sparta and to Pylos to inquire about…my father who has so long been missing”

Chapter 6: The suitors don’t like this idea very much. What if Telemachos comes back with help from his friends to run them out of his house? Athena helps Telemachos get away.

“…she went to the house of Odysseus, and threw the suitors into a deep slumber. She caused their drink to fuddle them, and made them drop their cups from their hands, so that instead of sitting over their wine, they went back into the town to sleep, with their eyes heavy and full of drowsiness”

Chapter 7: On his voyage, Telemachus meets the woman with the face that launched a thousand ships.

…Helen came down from her high-vaulted and perfumed room, looking as lovely as Artemis herself.

Telemachos makes a good impression everywhere he goes. Helen’s husband, Menelaos gives him a magnificent gift, a bowl forged by the god Vulcan (Hephaistos).

“I both can, and will, [give] you the finest and most precious piece of plate in all my house. It is a mixing-bowl by Hephaistos’ own hand, of pure silver, except the rim, which is inlaid with gold.”

Chapter 8: Back in Ithaca, the suitors are furious to learn that Telemachos has escaped them.

“Good heavens, this voyage of Telemakhos is a very serious matter; we had made sure that it would come to nothing, but the young man has got away in spite of us…He will be giving us trouble presently; may Zeus destroy him with violence before he is full grown.”

They set out on a voyage of their own, hoping to stop Telemachos before he can make it back home.

Meantime the suitors went on board and sailed their ways over the sea, intent on murdering Telemakhos. Now there is a rocky islet called Asteris, of no great size, in mid channel between Ithaca and Samos, and there is a harbor on either side of it where a ship can lie. Here then the Achaeans placed themselves in ambush.

Chapter 9

Back on Calypso’s island, the messenger god Hermes arrives to tell her that Zeus has ordered her to release Odysseus and send him on toward his home. She is NOT very happy to receive the news.

Calypso trembled with rage when she heard this, “You gods,” she exclaimed, “ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You are always jealous and hate seeing a goddess take a fancy to a mortal man, and live with him in open matrimony.

Chapter 10: Despite her reservations, Calypso encourages Odysseus to build a raft and provides him with food and clothing for his voyage. Unfortunately, Poseidon catches sight of him and, not having received the memo about Zeus’ decision, he brings a storm down upon the raft.

“…the force of the wind was so great that it broke the mast half way up, and both sail and yard went over into the sea. For a long time Odysseus was under water…but at last he got his head above water and spat out the bitter brine that was running down his face in streams.”

Chapter 11

Storm-tossed Odysseus, near death, floats at sea for two days and two nights, then ultimately swims up a river and finds his way to shore. He debates with himself whether he should sleep near the water, where he might freeze to death, or in the woods, where a wild animal might eat him. He decides for the woods.

“Ulysses…began to make himself a bed to lie on, for there was a great litter of dead leaves lying about—enough to make a covering for two or three men even in hard winter weather. He…laid himself down and heaped the leaves all round him….and Minerva shed a sweet sleep upon his eyes, closed his eyelids, and made him lose all memories of his sorrows.”

Chapter 12

In the morning, he comes across Nausicaa, daughter of the local king, and he pleads with her for help. She tells her maids to make sure that he gets fed.

They did as they were told, and set food before Ulysses, who ate and drank ravenously, for it was long since he had had food of any kind.

PART II

In the house of king Alcinoos, father of Nausicaa, Odysseus tells the story of his adventures over the past ten years with his men on the way home from Troy.

The Cicones

Even after sacking Troy, Odysseus and his men were still in the mood for plunder, so they sailed to the city of Ismarus, home of the Cicon people. The Greeks slaughtered the Cicon men, took the women, and divided up the booty “equally” amongst themselves, because when you pillage it’s important to pillage fairly. After that, Odysseus thought it was a good idea to amscray, but his men wouldn’t listen to him. They hung around eating and drinking until it was too late for a clean getaway.

Meanwhile the Cicons cried out for help to other Cicons who lived inland. These were more in number, and stronger, and they were more skilled in the art of war, for they could fight, either from chariots or on foot as the occasion served…they came as thick as leaves and bloom in summer…so that we were hard pressed. the Cicons got the better of us, and we lost half a dozen men from every ship we had; so we got away with those that were left.

The Lotus Eaters

Next, they were blown to the land of the drugged-out Lotus-eaters.

[The men] went about among the Lotus-eaters, who did them no harm, but gave them to eat of the lotus, which was so delicious that those who ate of it left off caring about home, and did not even want to go back and say what had happened to them, but were for staying and munching lotus with the Lotus-eaters…nevertheless, though they wept bitterly I forced them back to the ships and made them fast under the benches.

The Cyclopes

Aeolus

The Laestrogonians

Circe

The Visit to the Dead

The Sirens

Scylla and Charybdis

The Cattle of the Sun

Hard to say what’s so appealing about weaving. My skills and knowledge are nonexistent (as of yet). It takes a long time. But still…so satisfying.

When I was 9 or 10 I intuitively figured out that cloth didn’t grow on trees and weaving was something that a person ought to be able to do. I think I figured this out because someone gave me a “loopers” kit, a tiny plastic loom and some stretchy loops of fabric with which I made a potholder.

Still, I wanted to weave something on my own, without a kit. I had a pink, yellow, and purple table, and I wrapped my mother’s yellow knitting yarn around the legs. Then, awkwardly, I wove in pink and purple, probably wrapping it around three or four strands of the yellow yarn at a time. (It didn’t occur to me that I was working with the same colors as were painted on the table, but that’s how I remember it now.)

It bulged unevenly, loose threads hanging out everywhere, not quite long enough for a belt or wide enough for a wall hanging, but still it was a thing, some sort of thing that the yarn hadn’t been before I got my hands on it.

There was a crafts table at school, laden with I can’t remember what, but it all looked the way that it was supposed to look. Probably hand thrown pots, macrame, tidily executed embroideries. When I put my weavy thing on the table, the woman running the show didn’t know what it was or why I was handing to her. Once I explained that it was for exhibit, though, she put it out on the table with a little card with my name on it, and I was proud.

Writing for even a hypothetical audience is better for me than journaling privately.

Within 36 hours on my drive with my mother across the country, I took 796 photos. How is it that nature’s palette is always flawless?

For the first 20 years of my conscious life, I was someone with an irrepressible memory. I could tell you what I’d eaten every day the past year for dinner or describe a smudge on the metal plate around the down button of the elevator on the floor where I worked. I still remember a lot, but it’s packed away in cotton. I catch glimpses, but things are fuzzier…and softer. I’m not sure how to write about memorize that are less than engulfing. How do you put the reader there when you’re not there yourself.

This is work I’m doing on recollections of what it was like to be me, as a child:

I was convinced as a five year old that I could fly if I really wanted. If I jumped from the fourth step in just the right way I would rise instead of sinking.

[Just the other night, in a dream, I was sitting cross-legged in the air. I informed someone, "I can levitate." And wondered if I’d chosen exactly the right word, rather than wondering how I could possibly be so buoyant.]

One morning, having spent the evening at a relative’s house a quarter mile down the road from where we lived, informed my parents I had floated home.

The house belonged to a woman we all called “aunt” although she wasn’t my aunt. It was boring at her house, although my parents tried to teach me to regard the place with wonder. Silver necklaces in wood and glass cabinets, display shelves with unglazed ceramic horses and bulls. Squash blossom, Tang dynasty, proto-Persian I can tell you now. Thriving cactuses in pots on the slate floor of the sun room. Back then these were just plants I couldn’t touch, toys I couldn’t play with.

There was no way that I could have floated home, my parents told me, with amused, insistant smiles. They had carried me. But I was sure. In fact I still almost remember the frictionless movement and the feeling of being curled up on an invisible magic carpet. And they couldn’t really give me a good reason why it wasn’t possible. How can you believe, as a child, what adults tell you about the limitations of the natural world? How can you know, when you haven’t finished testing the laws of logic and gravity?