A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald (27 page)

281
and word to her from Zeus …:
Recall that Kalypso had claimed to Odysseus (V.170) that it was the latter of the two possibilities he now mentions. We see that Odysseus, master of mental reservation (see VII.277) and ever suspicious of others’ motivations, has thought of another explanation (“word … from Zeus”), and from our privileged perspective as Homer’s audience, we know how well founded his suspicions are, and how right his guess is.

294ff
. Odysseus intentionally neglects to mention the appearance of Leukothea (V.344ff.) and her magic kerchief.

305
sacred night:
Homeric scholars debate the sense of this phrase, but the implication is probably that the night, being sacred (a time dedicated to the gods and other spirits), is potentially dangerous for mortals. It is formulaic, and the particular sense of the epithet need not apply specifically to each situation where it occurs (see I.92, above).

314–16
and her good sense was perfect
…: Even as Odysseus praises her daughter (he does not let on that she told him her name, even if she did so indirectly), he is careful to present himself as looking at her from the perspective of the older generation.

317–18
gave me … / a river bath:
Odysseus means that she ordered her servants to give him a bath, and he knows the king and queen will understand it in this sense.

325–29
An out-and-out lie on Odysseus’ part, but one of discretion and diplomacy. Even to have explained that it was a sense of propriety that made Nausikaa have him enter the town center after her would not have done; it would have raised the topic of marriage and suggested that it was on the princess’ mind. In line 329 we see only a trace of the sarcastic and gossiping workers of whom she had painted an imaginative picture for Odysseus; now, however, the specifics are transformed into a general and intentionally banal observation.

333–39
Seemingly without prompting, Alkínoös speaks of the possibility of marriage, reading with his wonted sensitivity between the lines of Odysseus’ account of his encounter with Nausikaa, or out of instinctive (but somewhat rash) generosity.

345–46
That the Phaiákians regard the island of Euboia, which lies just east of the Greek mainland, as “most remote” is one way Homer can suggest that they inhabit a world far from Greece, since for Greeks, nothing was less remote than Euboria.

367–71
How welcome the word “bed” …:
All is well, and Odysseus is tucked into a real bed after three weeks (seventeen
nights on the raft, three in the water, one in the leaves). But the story is of course far from over. Mention of Alkínoös’ “dear consort” (371), with whom he retires into “his inner chamber” (370), reminds us that Odysseus still must regain his house, his wife, and, as we will see, the right to join her in their bed.

24–25
mastering every trial:
These lines announce that there will be “contests” or “games” [
aethlous
, 22]. Homer’s audience would, upon hearing this word, have looked forward to enjoying the poet’s particular treatment of what was a standard feature of both Greek life and Greek epics.

30
nameless to me still:
It is a mark of Alkínoös and Arêtê’s exquisite hospitality that they did not press their guest for his identity. Odysseus, like Homer, knows that certain things, postponed until the right moment, will have the greater impact.

41
tholepins:
See II.444, above.

48
Demódokos’
name is the rough equivalent of “esteemed by the people.” The role of narrative poetry in heroic society and of the bard in the halls of the wealthier and more powerful members of that society was so well established that, in presenting Demódokos or other bards in his poetry, Homer is not indulging in professional narcissism. This said, there is a great deal of interest in his presentation of the singer, ranging from his repertory
to his interaction with his patron and other members of the society. It would not be wrong to look closely into these scenes for a picture of Homer’s own vision of his role as poet and his expectations of his audience, always remembering that in creating this picture we should weigh the factors of tradition and idealization, for each of Homer’s singers and audiences is different.

65
tuskers:
Much more likely domesticized pigs than boars.

70
For she … made him blind:
The bard Demódokos, like the seer Teirêsias (see X.547), is blind; in both cases, it is suggested that a greater and more powerful inner vision replaces their eyesight. The legend of Homer’s own blindness, quite ancient, is almost certainly based on his description of Demódokos, although, as commentators have pointed out, there are numerous examples of blind poets and singers (think of John Milton, Ray Charles, and Stevie Wonder).

The poet of
The Odyssey
is noted for the wordplay he.weaves into his poem. For the most sophisticated instance, see IX.394, below, but note also characteristic etymologizing (see I.299, I.439, VI.261, VII.57, above, IX.104, XIV.144, and XIX.478–81, below) and clever compound nonce words (see XVIII.87, XIX.693, and XXIII.20–21 and 110–11, below). Forthat reason I venture to suggest as a remote possibility a secondary link between the Homeric bard and blindness, one we could only impute to an inveterate punster like our author. The word for “bard” is
aoidos
, the parallel verb being “to sing”
aeidô
or
aweidô
, if the digamma is pronounced (on the digamma, see I.448, above, and XIX.478–81, below). My suggestion is to entertain the re-etymologization of
aoidos
as
a + (w)oidos
, “unseeing” if, that is, one treats
(w)oidos
as a compoundable element deriving from
(w)eidô
, “I see” (cognate with Latin
uideo
), the perfect of which is
oida
(it is common and means “I know [because I have seen]”).

Granted, the other alpha-privative (“un”-prefix) compounds involve the verb’s root, w
id-(aidêlos, Aïdês
), rather than a conjugated
perfect form. That would only mean that this is not a standard linguistic development, but a (linguistically) uninformed and
ad hoc
coinage—not even a coinage, merely an etymological reinterpretation. If there is anything to this suggestion (which seems daring even to me), we would want to activate it also for the
aoidos anêr
[III.267; Fitzgerald’s “minstrel,” 288], who was assigned to watch over Klytaimnéstra in Agamémnon’s absence and who was “an unseeing man” in another, figurative sense (see III.285–90, above). Finally, twisting
a + wid-
forms further and still more unconventionally, we might note that
aïdêlos
applies to Ares not only in the sense “too terrible to be seen,” hence “devastating” (VIII.327 [309]), but also in that particular context as “unseeing” in that he failed to spy Hephaistos’ invisible netting before hopping into bed with Aphroditê one more time.

Whether or not “not seeing” is related in some deeper and essential sense to “singing”—in other words, something that stands in for “seeing” in sight’s absence—will have to await further exploration elsewhere.

73
harp:
For a description of the
phormigx
[67], see I.189, above.

79–80
Andrew Ford translates these lines [73–74] “the Muse then stirred up the singer to sing the fames of men [
klea andrôn
] / from that path [
oimê
] whose fame at that time reached broad heaven,” explicating the keyword
oimê
, “path” as the way Homer and his fellow bards conceived of “individual themes”: “The stability and continuity of individual stories are metaphorically expressed as paths, and the tradition is figured as the great tract in which these stories may be joined end to end” (
Homer: The Poetry of the Past
[Ithaca, 1992], 41).

79
The “Muse” knows that it is better to inspire her singer after the audience has satisfied its hunger and thirst. (On the Muse, see I.1, above.)

81ff
. It is obviously a carefully calculated stroke on Homer’s part to have Demódokos sing of Odysseus in the presence of the unrevealed hero. Certainly the singer’s muse knew, and perhaps the
singer himself sensed, the identity of the stranger. That Homer has Demódokos choose to sing of “the clash between Odysseus and Akhilleus” (81) is noteworthy, for it represents a clash between the hero of this epic and the hero of the other great epic poem (whether it was the earlier work of the same poet or that of another). This incident is not found in the extant
Iliad
, and, in fact, the author of
The Odyssey
never recounts any incident from the Trojan War also related in
The Iliad
. To a number of scholars it has seemed as if he studiously avoided doing so, which some take as proof that the author of
The Odyssey
knew
The Iliad
in the form in which we have it today. Not a few argue on this basis that the authors of the two poems were the same person, although it might with as much certainty be used to support the contrary.

84–85
joy … / for such had been foretold:
There is no certainty, but the oracle Agamémnon recalls probably ran something along the lines “Troy will not be taken before there is a quarrel among the leading Akhaians.” There was also a tradition that the quarrel revolved around the question of whether Troy would be taken by force or by guile. It is clear that Akhilleus, greatest of warriors, would argue for the former, the wily Odysseus for the latter. And indeed, Homer refers elsewhere in
The Odyssey
(IV.291–312) to that famous product of Odysseus’ cunning, the Trojan horse, by which Troy was ultimately taken. However, in the present situation, Agamémnon is, as so often, mistaken. From the perspective of the post-Iliadic
Odyssey
, it is clear that the quarrel to which the oracle referred as preceding the fall of Troy did not involve Akhilleus and Odysseus. Rather, the significant quarrel is the one which breaks out between Agamémnon and Akhilleus at the beginning of
The Iliad
. Agamémnon’s “inward joy” is unfounded.

What is significant here is the way the poet plays with variant traditions, and in particular the ironies that emerge if we privilege the Iliadic account.

90ff
. Odysseus’ tears are likely to give him away and lead to the
recognition scene we are all awaiting, but Homer manages to put it off, even after Alkínoös sees and hears Odysseus weeping (101). The king, of course, is polite, and, seeing also his guest’s desire to cover his tears, skillfully changes the subject, quite clearly to put an end to Odysseus’ distress, whatever its cause (104ff.). Note, too, that Odysseus’ quarrel with Akhilleus looks forward to the altercation between Seareach and the hero, 166ff.

113–14
That Demódokos is brought along to the games is probably more than simple kindness. He might be called on to sing at an appropriate break in the contests (and he is, 280ff., although his harp must first be fetched, 268f). He might also have been brought to create a song commemorating some part of the games. Homer’s Demódokos sings of Greek gods and heroes, but bards were also the recorders and repositories of each people’s history. A great athletic victory might well be worth remembering (on Pindar’s victory odes, see VIII. 155–59, below).

117ff
. Homer’s list of Phaiákian athletes is a tour de force of onomastic fantasy. All the names are invented—or were invented at some time in the telling of this segment of Odysseus’ story—and the point is that the poet has composed for the Phaiákians names he imagines a sea-loving people would have. Fitzgerald has quite properly translated the constituent parts into English, so that the names appear as obvious and as fantastic to us as Homer’s Greek names did to his original audience. (However, there is nothing in the Greek which corresponds to the phrase “with seaside names” in 118, by means of which Fitzgerald wanted to make sure we understood what he and Homer have done.)

131–33
mule team … oxen:
Homer must have applied this logically unimpeachable but outrageously unsuitable simile to his sprinters (see
Iliad
X.351–2) with no little sense of ironic amusement. It has the further advantage of putting the race into virtual “slow motion,” long before film and television gave sportscasters this option.

134–38
Homer devotes two lines (134–35) to the first of the subsequent four events, and one line each to the rest. This is a good point at which to observe Homer’s economic structure, quickly setting up a norm for the succession of events, then describing a rather important departure from that norm. First, the list, almost a procession of athletes (118ff.), capped by the three princes (125–26); then one event (the footrace) described briefly (127–33); next, four events for which he gives the winners’ names only (134–38). Then there is a pause while Prince Laódamas suggests the young Phaiákians try to involve Odysseus in the games (139–50). Laódamas invites him politely but does not win Odysseus’ assent (151–65). “Seareach” [
Euryalos
] puts the challenge in the rudest of terms (166ff.), and Odysseus rebukes the offense. He then decides to compete, not by entering any organized competition but by hurling the discus farther than it had been cast before (195–209), winning the event in an extraordinary heat. He is prepared to enter other contests (214ff.), but Alkínoös prefers (248ff.) to have Demódokos cool tempers with a song.