Book IX · Ῥαψωδία ι

Then Odysseus, the strategist locked in as ever, came back at him with this:

"King Alcinous, you absolute standout among all your people,

ngl this right here is a whole vibe, getting to sit and soak up a bard

this good, the kind whose voice low-key goes god-tier on you.

Because honestly, on god, there's no sweeter payoff anywhere

the guests posted up through the halls just locked in on the bard,

sitting in a neat row, while right beside them the tables are stacked

with bread and meat for daysss, and the wine-pourer keeps ladling the drink

straight out the bowl and topping every single cup to the brim:

But your heart's gone and set itself on hearing my heavy sorrows,

which just means I'll end up sobbing and aching even harder than before.

Where do I even start, bestie, and where am I supposed to wrap it?

Because the gods up in the sky handed me griefs for daysss.

clock it too, and so even after I dodge the pitiless day,

I stay your guest, even out here living that far off across the map.

I'm Odysseus, son of Laertes, the one every human alive's

got rattling round their head for my schemes, and my fame straight up touches the sky.

Neriton, leaves shivering in the wind, an absolute main-character peak: and ringed all around it, islands,

loads of them, packed in close, every one of them neighbours,

Dulichium and Same and forest-covered Zakynthos.

Ithaca itself sits low, the very last one out in the sea,

rough terrain, but it raises strong kids: and ngl I cannot

clock a single thing sweeter to lay eyes on than my own land.

For real, Calypso had me on lock out there, that goddess among goddesses,

in her cosy hollow cave, fully delulu about being my wife:

the tricky one off Aiaia, fully delulu about being my wife:

but never once did either of them rizz the heart inside my chest.

That's the truth: nothing sweeter than your own homeland and your folks

ever pulls up, not even if you're posted in a stacked house

But ok, come on, let me lay out my comeback for you, the grim one,

the journey Zeus dropped on me as I dipped out from Troy.

The wind hauled me off from Ilium and dumped me right on the Cicones,

at Ismarus: and there I demolished the city and finished off the men.

and split it clean, so nobody walked off cheated of a fair cut.

And right there I was telling my crew we needed to leg it,

to dip on quick feet, but those smooth-brained clowns just would not lock in.

So instead they're out here chugging mountains of wine and slaughtering

Meanwhile the Cicones who'd bolted went and called up more Cicones,

their neighbours, who happened to roll deeper and hit harder,

inlanders, the type who know how to body a man down off horseback,

and also how to throw down on foot whenever it's needed.

that many: and right then Zeus's bad luck pulled up

on us doomed boys, lining up a whole world of pain for us.

They squared up and threw down in a brawl right beside the fast ships,

and we kept pelting each other with the bronze-tipped spears.

we held the line and fought them off, even though they had the numbers:

but the second the sun shifted over to the cattle-unyoking hour,

that's when the Cicones broke us and dragged the Achaeans down.

Six well-greaved homies off every single ship

From there we sailed onward, hearts absolutely gutted,

buzzing to be alive out of death, but we'd fumbled beloved mates.

And honestly my curvy ships would not budge an inch forward

till we'd called out, three times each, for every poor mate

Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer chucked the north wind at our ships

with a monster squall, and he buried under the clouds

the land and the sea both at once: and night came rearing up out of the sky.

The ships got carried sideways, slammed broadside, and the sails

So we hauled them down into the ships, properly shook about getting wrecked,

and we rowed the ships themselves, frantic, toward the mainland.

There two whole nights and two whole days, back to back, no break,

we lay flat, eating our own hearts out with exhaustion and pain.

we hoisted the masts up bolt upright and dragged the white sails high

and parked ourselves back: and the wind plus the helmsmen kept us dead straight.

And by then I'd have touched my homeland without a single scratch,

but the wave and the current and the north wind, just as I was rounding

From there for nine days I got swept along by absolutely killer winds

over the fish-packed sea: but on the tenth we stepped onto

the land of the Lotus-Eaters, the ones out here eating that flowery food.

There we stepped onto the mainland and drew ourselves some water,

But once we'd absolutely demolished the food and drink and the craving backed off,

right then I sent some of the crew off to go suss it out,

who the men were that ate bread on this earth,

picking out two guys, and tossing in a herald as the third.

and the Lotus-Eaters weren't even plotting any ruin

for our crew, nah, they just handed them lotus to taste.

And whoever of them ate that honey-sweet lotus fruit

no longer wanted to bring back word or even come home,

munching lotus, and fully ghost the whole comeback.

Those guys I dragged back to the ships crying, by force,

and down in the hollow ships I lashed them under the benches:

then I told the rest of my ride-or-die crew

so nobody else ate the lotus and forgot the comeback.

They boarded straight away and dropped onto the rowing benches,

and sitting in their rows they smacked the grey sea with the oars.

From there we sailed onward, hearts absolutely gutted.

who low-key trust the deathless gods to handle every last thing,

so they never plant a single thing with their hands, never plough,

nah, it all just sprouts up for them unsown and untilled,

wheat and barley and the vines that drop

No assemblies to talk things through, no laws, nothing on lock:

they just post up on the peaks of the high mountains,

each one camped in his own hollow cave, laying down the law

for his own kids and wives, and zero thoughts spared for the next guy.

not right up on the Cyclopes' land but not way off either,

all forested: and it's got wild goats breeding nonstop on it,

because no human footstep ever pulls up to spook them,

and no hunters ever tramp through, the type who

And no flocks ever graze it down, no ploughs ever touch it,

nah, that island goes unsown and untilled, every single day,

zero men on it, just feeding bleating goats and vibing.

See, the Cyclopes don't have red-prowed ships parked anywhere,

solid-decked ships, the kind that get every job done,

pulling up to people's cities, the way that men

are forever crossing the sea to link with each other in ships:

those are the guys who'd have built that island up properly.

there's meadows posted down along the shores of the grey salt sea,

soft and well-watered: you could have vines that straight up never die out:

and the ploughland's smooth: you'd reap every season,

a deep heavy harvest, since the soil down under is seriously rich.

no chucking anchor stones, no tying off your stern lines,

nah, you just beach it and chill however long

the crew's hearts feel like it, till the breezes start blowing.

And right at the head of the harbour, bright water's running,

That's where we sailed in, and some god was hyping the way

through the pitch-black night, nothing showing up to see:

because the mist sat thick around the ships, and no moon

was out from the sky, it was locked behind the clouds.

and we never even spotted the long waves rolling

in toward the shore, before our solid-decked ships beached up.

With the ships beached up, we dropped every last sail,

and we ourselves stepped off onto the breaking surf:

The second rosy-fingered Dawn pulled up, doing her early-bird thing,

we roamed all over the island, just lowkey marvelling at it.

And the Nymphs, daughters of Zeus who carries the storm-shield,

flushed out the mountain goats, so the crew could eat.

javelins out the ships, split ourselves into three squads,

and started letting fly: and quick the god served us a feast-worthy hunt.

Twelve ships were rolling with me, and to each one

nine goats fell by the count: for me alone they set aside ten.

we sat there feasting on endless meat and sweet wine, fully parked.

Because the red wine on the ships wasn't even gone yet,

nah, there was still a stash: each crew had drawn a load of it

in jars when we demolished the Cicones' sacred town.

the smoke off it, plus their voices and the sheep and goats.

But once the sun clocked out and the dusk came rolling on,

right then we crashed out on the breaking surf of the sea.

The second rosy-fingered Dawn pulled up, doing her early-bird thing,

'The rest of you stay put for now, my ride-or-die crew:

but me, with my own ship and my own crew,

I'm gonna go suss out these men, see who they even are,

whether they're the arrogant savage type with zero sense of right,

Saying this I climbed up onto the ship, and I told my crew

to climb aboard themselves and untie the stern lines.

They boarded straight away and dropped onto the rowing benches,

and sitting in their rows they smacked the grey sea with the oars.

right there at the very edge we clocked a cave near the sea,

high up, roofed over thick with laurel: and tons of flocks,

sheep and goats, used to crash in there: and ringing it, a courtyard,

a tall one, walled up out of stones sunk deep in the ground

And in there slept a giant of a man, the one who

shepherded those flocks solo, way off by himself: he didn't

roll with the others, nah, kept his distance and knew nothing of law.

And honestly the thing was built like a monstrous freak, he didn't

on the high mountains, the kind that looms alone, set apart from the rest.

So right then I told the rest of my ride-or-die crew

to hang back by the ship and keep the ship on guard duty:

but me, I picked out the twelve best of the crew

the sweet stuff, that Maron, son of Euanthes, had slid me,

the priest of Apollo, the one who watched over Ismarus,

because we'd shielded him plus his kid and his wife

out of respect: since he was posted in a thick wooded grove

he gave me seven talents of well-worked gold,

and he gave me a mixing-bowl, solid silver, and on top of that

wine in jars, twelve of them in all that he drew off for me,

sweet, straight-no-chaser, a drink fit for the gods: and not one

nah, just himself and his dear wife and the one housekeeper.

And whenever they fancied sipping that honey-sweet red wine,

he'd fill one cup of it and pour in twenty measures

of water, and a sweet smell would come wafting off the bowl,

A big skin of this I brought along filled to the brim, plus provisions

in a satchel: because right away my proud heart had a feeling

that a man was about to roll up on me, draped in massive strength,

a savage, with no real grasp of justice or laws.

inside, nah, he was out grazing his fat flocks across the pasture.

So we headed into the cave and clocked every last thing in there:

the racks were groaning under cheeses for daysss, the pens jammed tight

with lambs and kids: and each batch was penned off on its own,

and the fresh newborns split off again: and every vessel was swimming with whey,

the pails and the bowls, all well-made, the ones he milked into.

There first thing my crew were begging me with their words

to grab a load of the cheeses and bounce, and then after that

down to the fast ship, and sail off over the salt water:

but I wasn't having it, which honestly would've been the way bigger w,

so I could clock the guy myself and see if he'd hand me guest-gifts.

But once he showed his face, he wasn't gonna be any delight to my crew.

grabbed some of the cheeses and ate, and we waited him out inside,

sitting tight, till he came back grazing. And he was hauling a brutal load

of dry firewood, so he'd have it for his dinner.

He chucked it down inside the cave with a crash that set our ears ringing:

Then he drove his fat flocks into the wide cave,

all of them, every one he milked, but he left the males outside,

the rams and the billy-goats, out there in the deep courtyard.

After that he heaved up a huge boulder and plugged it in place,

four-wheelers, could've levered that thing off the ground:

that's how towering a rock he slotted into the doorway.

Then sitting down he milked the ewes and the bleating goats,

all in order, and slid a newborn under each one.

and scooped it into woven baskets and set it aside,

and the other half he stood up in vessels, so he'd have it

to grab and drink, and so he'd have it for his dinner.

But once he'd hustled through and wrapped all his chores,

'Strangers, who even are you? Where'd you sail from over the wet ways?

You out here on some business, or just drifting aimless

like raiders over the sea, the kind who wander around

risking their own necks, hauling trouble to foreigners?'

properly shook at his booming voice and the monster himself.

But even so I came back at him with my words:

'We're Achaeans, knocked clean off course on the way home from Troy

by all kinds of winds over the great gulf of the sea,

is how we ended up here: somehow that's how Zeus wanted to scheme it.

And we're proud to be the crew of Agamemnon, Atreus's son,

whose fame right now is the biggest there is under heaven:

because he demolished such a huge city and finished off so many

in case you'd hand us a guest-gift or otherwise

slide us a present, the kind that's the proper due of guests.

Come on, respect the gods, my good man: we're your suppliants.

And Zeus is the one who's got the backs of suppliants and guests,

That's what I said, and right off he came back at me with a pitiless heart:

'You're an absolute clown, stranger, or you've rolled in from way off,

the way you're telling me to fear the gods or dodge them.

Because the Cyclopes don't care one bit about Zeus with his storm-shield

and I wouldn't spare you just to dodge Zeus's hate, not you

and not your crew, unless my own heart told me to.

But tell me this, where'd you park your well-built ship when you pulled in,

out at the edge somewhere or close by, so I know.'

so I hit him right back with crafty words:

'Poseidon, the earth-shaker, smashed my ship to bits for me,

slamming it on the rocks right at the edge of your land, ngl,

shoving it up onto the headland: the wind off the sea fully did us dirty.

That's the spiel I gave him, and he gave me nothing back, stone-cold in his chest, no flicker,

nah, he just sprang up and threw his hands straight at my crew,

grabbed two of them like they were puppies and smacked them off the ground,

and their brains spilled out all over the floor and soaked into the dirt, grim.

chowing down like some mountain-raised lion, not leaving a single scrap,

guts, flesh, the bones with the marrow still in them, the entire lot, gone.

And us? We just stood there bawling, hands flung up to Zeus,

clocking this brutal mess go down up close: and there was deadass nothing we could do.

feasting on human meat and chasing it with milk straight no chaser,

he stretched himself out flat inside the cave, sprawled out among his flocks.

And in my big brave chest I was lowkey cooking up a plan on him,

to slide in close, draw the sharp blade off my thigh nice and quiet,

feeling for the spot with my hand: but another thought yanked me back.

Because we'd have been cooked too, the whole steep-death thing right there on the spot:

no way our bare hands were shoving that absolute monster of a boulder off

the high doorway, the slab he'd parked across the only way out.

And the second rosy-fingered Dawn pulled up, doing her early-bird thing,

he lit the fire back up and got busy milking his gorgeous flocks,

all of it in proper order, and slotted a little one under every mum.

And once he'd hustled through all his chores and got them fully knocked out,

After he'd demolished them he drove his fat flocks out of the cave,

casually flicking that huge stone door aside like it weighed nothing: and then

he popped it right back, like someone capping the lid back on a quiver, easy.

Then with this big loud whistle the Cyclops turned his fat flocks toward the hills,

hoping I'd find a way to make him pay, if Athena would just hand me the w.

And this was the plan that lowkey hit the hardest deep in my gut:

beside the pen the Cyclops had this absolute unit of a club lying there,

green olive wood, freshly cut, that he meant to lug around once it dried out.

as the mast of a black twenty-oared ship, no exaggeration,

a wide cargo hauler, the kind that crosses the big deep open water:

that's how long it was, that's how thick it looked just sitting there.

I stepped right up and lopped off a chunk about a fathom long,

and they got it dead even, while I stood there working the tip

to a point, then grabbed it and fire-hardened it in the blazing flames.

After that I tucked it away real nice, hiding it under the dung,

the stuff that was spread all across the cave, piled up high for daysss.

for whoever'd lock in and be brave enough to hoist the stake with me

and grind it into his eye the second sweet sleep took him under.

And the four who drew it were exactly the ones I'd have picked myself,

and counting me in with them, that made five of us properly locked in.

and this time he drove the whole fat lot straight into the cave,

every single one, not leaving a thing out in the deep yard,

either because he had a hunch, or some god told him to do it.

Then he hoisted that huge stone door up and set it back across the entrance,

all of it in proper order, and slotted a little one under every mum.

And once he'd hustled through all his chores and got them fully knocked out,

again he snatched two of my lads and made them his dinner, no remorse.

And right then I stepped up close and hit the Cyclops with this,

"Cyclops, here, get this wine down you, since you've been eating human meat,

so you can clock exactly what kind of drink our ship was hiding below.

I was bringing you a pour as an offering, hoping you'd take pity

and send me home: but nah, you're raging way past anything anyone can stand.

on this earth ever gonna roll through here? Because you played this completely foul."

That's the spiel I gave, and he took it and downed it: and he was obsessed,

loving that sweet drink so much he hit me up for a second round straight away:

"Hand me more, be a real one about it, and tell me your name

Yeah, the grain-giving soil grows wine for us Cyclopes too, you know,

big-cluster grapes, and the rain straight from Zeus makes them swell up fat:

but this here? This is straight up a drip of pure ambrosia and nectar."

That's what he said: so I poured the man the gleaming wine again, no hesitation.

And once the wine had crept its way clean around the Cyclops's brain,

that's when I hit him with these honey-smooth little words, real soft:

"Cyclops, you're asking after my famous name? Bet, say less, I'll

spill it: but you hand me that guest-gift, exactly like you promised me.

my mum, my dad, and every single last one of my crew."

That's the spiel I gave, and he came right back at me, cold in his chest:

"Nobody I'll eat dead last, after all his little friends go first,

the others before him: that right there is your guest-gift, you're welcome."

he lay there with his thick neck lolling off to one side, and sleep,

the thing that bodies absolutely everyone, grabbed him: and out his throat came

wine and chunks of human flesh, the man burping it all up dead drunk.

And right then I shoved the stake down deep under the big heap of embers,

hyped right up, so nobody'd get spooked and chicken out on me last second.

But when that olive stake was just about to catch fire in there,

green as it was, and starting to glow something seriously fierce,

that's when I hauled it close out of the flames, and my crew

They got a death-grip on that olive stake, sharp at the very tip,

and drove it deep into his eye: and me, slamming my full weight down from above,

I kept it spinning, the way a man bores a ship's beam with a drill

while the others down below keep it whirling on a leather strap,

that's exactly how we gripped that fire-tipped stake right in his eye

and spun it, while the blood came welling up round it, scalding hot.

The blast off the burning eyeball singed every lash and the whole brow clean off,

and deep in the socket the roots of it spat and crackled in the flame.

into cold water, and the metal screams its whole head off

as he tempers it, since that's the whole secret of iron's strength:

that's deadass how his eye hissed and screamed round that olive stake.

And he let rip a hideous howl, the rock screamed it right back at us,

straight out of his eye, slick and clotted with all that blood.

Then he flung it off himself with both hands, fully out of his mind,

and started bellowing for the other Cyclopes, the ones posted up

all around him in their caves up on the windy clifftops.

and stood round his cave asking what was bothering him so bad:

"What's got you screaming bloody murder like this, Polyphemus, totally wrecked,

all through the holy night, ruining everybody's sleep out here?

Some mortal isn't driving off your flocks against your will, is he?

And from deep inside the cave mighty Polyphemus boomed right back:

"My guys, Nobody is killing me by trickery, not by any force."

And they fired back at him with these words straight off the tongue:

"Look, if literally nobody's roughing you up while you're alone in there,

so you'd honestly better just pray it up to your dad, Lord Poseidon."

That's what they said and off they dipped: and my own heart cracked up laughing inside,

the way my name and my flawless big-brain scheme had played him completely.

Meanwhile the Cyclops, groaning and writhing in absolute agony,

then plonked himself down in the gap with both arms thrown wide open,

hoping to snatch anyone trying to sneak out among the sheep:

because deep down he genuinely reckoned I was that smooth-brained, I guess.

But me? I was busy plotting how to make this land the absolute best way,

and I wove together every trick and every scheme in my whole arsenal,

like it was life or death, because the danger was right on top of us, breathing down our necks.

And this was the plan that lowkey hit the hardest deep in my gut:

there were these rams, well-fed and thick with shaggy wool,

Without a sound I bound them together with twisted willow withies,

the same ones that monster Cyclops slept on, that lawless freak,

roping them up in threes: the middle one of each carrying a man,

while the two on either side just strolled along keeping my boys covered.

there was this one ram, easily the absolute prize of the whole flock,

and I grabbed him by the back and curled up tight under his shaggy belly,

and just hung there, hands twisted deep into that unreal wool,

clinging on, holding the line, gritting it out with a patient heart.

And the second rosy-fingered Dawn pulled up, doing her early-bird thing,

right then the male sheep went charging out to graze,

while the unmilked ewes were bleating like crazy round the pens,

because their udders were straight up bursting. And their master, worn down

as they stood there bolt upright: but the clown never clocked it,

how my men were strapped underneath the woolly chests of his sheep.

Last of the whole flock, the ram came stepping toward the door,

weighed down by his fleece and by me with my head fully full of plans.

"Soft ram, why are you the last one out through the cave today,

trailing the flock? You're never the one getting left behind the rest,

nah, you're way out front, striding off to graze the tender flower-buds,

taking those big strides, first to reach the running rivers every time,

evening: but now look at you, dead last. You're not lowkey grieving

your master's eye, are you? A wicked man blinded it,

him and his sorry crew, after he wrecked my head with wine,

Nobody, who I'm telling you straight has not dodged his death yet.

to tell me where that guy's hiding from my fury:

then his brains would get knocked all over the cave,

splattered every which way across the floor, and my heart would finally catch a break

from all the misery this good-for-nothing Nobody dumped on me."

And once we'd got a little clear of the cave and the yard,

first I unhooked myself from under the ram, then cut my crew loose.

And quick as anything, those long-legged sheep, all fat and glossy,

we kept rounding up and driving along, till at last we made it

the ones who'd dodged death: but they kept mourning and wailing for the rest.

But I wasn't having it, and I shot each one a sharp nod with my brows,

no crying: I told them to chuck the gorgeous-fleeced sheep

on board fast and get us pushing off across the salt water.

and lined up in order they smacked the grey sea with their oars.

But once we were as far off as a man's shout could carry,

that's when I started taunting the Cyclops, straight up clowning him:

"Cyclops, so it turns out the crew you were eating up in there

Yeah, your own foul deeds were always gonna catch up with you,

you absolute menace, since you had the audacity to eat your own guests

right in your house: that's why Zeus and the other gods bodied you."

That's the spiel I gave, and it made him even more heated in his chest:

and it crashed down just in front of our dark-prowed ship,

barely missing the very tip of the steering oar by a hair.

And the sea heaved right up where the rock came crashing down,

and the backwash, the swell rolling in off the deep,

But I grabbed this seriously long pole in both my hands

and shoved us off, and I hyped up my crew with the order

to throw their backs into the oars, so we'd dodge this disaster,

nodding my head hard at them: and they leaned in and rowed for their lives.

that's when I went to call out at the Cyclops again: and all around me my crew

were trying to talk me down with soft words, one after another:

"You menace, why are you out here trying to provoke a savage like that?

The guy just chucked a rock into the sea and dragged the ship

If he'd caught even one of us make a sound or say a single word,

he'd have smashed our heads in along with the ship's timbers

with one jagged boulder: that's how absurdly far he throws."

That's what they said, but they couldn't talk down my big proud heart,

"Cyclops, if anybody, any mortal walking this earth,

ever asks you about the ugly blinding of your eye,

tell them Odysseus the city-sacker is the one who blinded you,

son of Laertes, the guy whose home is in Ithaca."

"Oh no, the ancient prophecies are finally landing on me, every last one.

There used to be a seer round here, a fine and towering man,

Telemus, son of Eurymus, who was the goat at prophecy

and grew old doing his whole prophet thing among the Cyclopes:

that I'd lose my sight at the hands of Odysseus himself.

But I was always expecting some big, good-looking guy

to pull up here, wrapped in massive strength and main-character energy:

and now this little, good-for-nothing, washed weakling

But come over here, Odysseus, so I can hand you a guest-gift

and get the famous earth-shaker to send you off proper:

because I'm his son, and he says he's my dad, no cap.

And he'll heal me himself if he feels like it, nobody else,

That's what he said, and I answered the man right back with this:

"Yeah, I wish I could be just as sure of stripping you

of your life and your breath and shipping you down into Hades

as I am that not even the earth-shaker is ever fixing that eye."

reaching his hand out toward the starry sky:

"Hear me out, Poseidon, earth-holder with the dark hair:

if I'm really yours, if you actually claim you're my father,

grant that Odysseus the city-sacker never once makes it home,

But if it's written as his fate to see his people again and reach

his well-built house and his own native land,

let him get there late and broken, every last one of his crew gone,

on somebody else's ship, and let him find pure disaster waiting at home."

Then he heaved up an even bigger boulder this time round,

swung it round and let it fly, putting unreal force behind it:

and it came crashing down just behind our dark-prowed ship,

barely missing the very tip of the steering oar by a hair.

and the wave shoved us forward and nearly beached us on land.

But once we finally reached that island, the spot where the rest

of our well-benched ships were waiting all together, and our crew

were sitting around mourning, scanning the horizon for us nonstop,

and we ourselves stepped out onto the breaking surf.

Then we hauled the Cyclops's flocks out of the hollow ship

and split them up fair, so nobody'd walk off cheated of an equal share.

And the ram? The boys with the good shin-guards handed him to me

I made an offering to Zeus, dark-clouded son of Kronos, who runs the whole show,

burning the thigh bones: but he wasn't feeling the sacrifice one bit,

nah, he was already turning over how to wreck every last one

of my well-benched ships and my ride-or-die crew.

we sat there feasting on heaps of meat and sweet wine,

and when the sun finally set and the darkness came rolling in,

that's when we crashed out to sleep right on the breaking surf.

And the second rosy-fingered Dawn pulled up, doing her early-bird thing,

to climb aboard the ship themselves and cast off the stern lines.

So they boarded straight away and dropped into their seats,

and lined up in order they smacked the grey sea with their oars.

And from there we sailed on further, gutted to the heart,