Which Translation: The Odyssey

Ian Johnston

2006 · Hexameter verse

Features

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89
Holdings
1
Reviews

Biography

Ian C. Johnston (b. 1938) is a retired Canadian educator born in Chile, who taught English, Classics, and Liberal Studies at Vancouver Island University in Nanaimo, British Columbia, from 1975 to 2004.

Johnston’s verse translation uses hexameter for narrative, and pentameter speeches. He aimed for clear, accessible English, suitable for first-time readers of Homer. He tried to balance the alien elements of the original, with a fluent modern idiom suitable for contemporary readers.

First posted online in 2002 before being published in book form in 2006, Johnston’s translation has become increasingly popular in high schools and universities. Barbara Clayton praised his clarity and accuracy, while describing his poetry as ‘basic and relatively uninspired, with flashes of the exceptional’. It is now freely downloadable and in the public domain.

Ian Johnston on Wikipedia ↗

Publication History

  • 2002 — self-published, The Odyssey (online publication) ★
  • 2006 — Richer Resources Publications, The Odyssey

Reviews

The proem

1.1–11
Muse, speak to me now of that resourceful man
who wandered far and wide after ravaging
the sacred citadel of Troy. He came to see
many people’s cities, where he learned their customs,
while on the sea his spirit suffered many torments,
as he fought to save his life and lead his comrades home.
But though he wanted to, he could not rescue them—
they all died from their own stupidity, the fools.
They feasted on the cattle of Hyperion,
god of the sun—and so he snatched away their chance
of getting home someday. So now, daughter of Zeus,
tell us his story, starting anywhere you wish.

Penelope's weaving trick

2.96–111
‘Young men, those of you who are my suitors,
since Odysseus is dead, you must wait,
although you are all keen for me to marry,
till I complete this cloak—for if I don’t,
my weaving would be wasted and in vain.
It is a shroud for warrior Laertes,
for the day a lethal fate will strike him.
Then none of the Achaean women here
will be annoyed with me because a man
who acquired so many rich possessions
would lie without a shroud.’
That’s what she said.
And our proud hearts agreed. And so each day
she wove at her great loom, but every night
she set up torches and pulled the work apart.
Three years she fooled Achaeans with this trick.
They trusted her. But as the seasons passed,
the fourth year came. Then one of her women
who knew all the details spoke about them,
and we caught her undoing her lovely work.
So then we forced her to complete the cloak
against her will.

Calypso's double standard

5.118–131
“The gods are cruel and far too jealous—
more so than others. They are unhappy
if goddesses make mortal men their partners,
taking them to bed for sex. That’s how it was
when rose-fingered Dawn wanted Orion—
you gods that live at ease were jealous of her,
until golden-throned sacred Artemis
came to Ortygia and murdered him
with her gentle arrows. In the same way,
when fair-haired Demeter was overcome
with passion and had sex with Iasion
in a thrice-ploughed fallow field, soon enough
Zeus heard of it and utterly destroyed him
by throwing down his dazzling lightning bolt.
Now once again you gods are envious,
because a mortal man lives here with me.
I saved him when he was all by himself,
riding his ship’s keel

Weeping on Calypso's shore

5.151–159
She met him on the shore,
sitting by the sea, his eyes always full of tears,
because he was squandering his sweet life, mourning
for his return. The nymph no longer gave him joy.
At night he slept beside her in the hollow cave,
as he was forced to do—not of his own free will,
though she was keen enough. But in the daylight hours
he’d sit down on the rocks along the beach, his heart
straining with tears and groans and sorrow, as he gazed,
through his tears, over the restless sea.

Nausicaa finds Odysseus

6.127–141
With these words, Odysseus crept out from the thicket.
In his strong hands, he snapped off from the bushes
a leafy branch to hold across him and conceal
his naked groin. Then he emerged, moving just like
a mountain lion which relies on its own strength—
though hammered by the rain and wind, it creeps ahead,
its two eyes burning, coming in among the herd
of sheep or cattle, or else stalking a wild deer—
his belly tells him to move in against the flocks,
even within a well-built farm—that’s how Odysseus
was making his way out out to face those fair-haired girls,
although he was stark naked. He was in distress,
but, caked with brine, he was a fearful sight to them,
and they ran off in fear and crouched down here and there
among the jutting dunes of sand. The only one
who did not rush away was Alcinous’s daughter.
For Athena had instilled her heart with courage
and taken from her arms and legs all sense of fear.

War-widow simile

8.521–532
Odysseus was moved to weep—underneath his eyes
his face grew wet with tears. Just as a woman cries,
when she prostrates herself on her beloved husband
who has just been killed in front of his own city
and his people, trying to defend his children
and the citizens from the day they meet their doom—
as he lies dying, she sees him gasping his last breath,
and holds him in her arms, screaming her cries of grief,
while at her back her enemies keep beating her,
spears raining down across her spine and shoulders,
then lead her away, cheeks ravaged by her sorrow,
into a life of bondage, misery, and pain—
that’s how Odysseus then let tears of pity fall
down from his eyes.

Cyclops eats the men

9.287–299
That’s what I told him. But his ruthless heart
gave me no reply. Instead, he jumped up,
seized two of my companions in his fist,
and smashed them on the ground like puppy dogs.
Their brains oozed out and soaked the ground below.
He tore their limbs apart to make a meal,
and chewed them up just like a mountain lion—
innards, flesh, and marrow—leaving nothing.
We raised our hands to Zeus and cried aloud,
to witness the horrific things he did,
our hearts unable to do anything.
Once Cyclops had stuffed his massive stomach
with human flesh and washed it down with milk,
he lay down in the cave and stretched out there
among his flocks.

The Nobody trick

9.364–371
‘Cyclops, you asked about my famous name.
I’ll tell you. Then you can offer me a gift,
as your guest here. My name is Nobody.
My father and mother, all my friends—
they call me Nobody.’
That’s what I said.
His ruthless heart replied:
‘Well, Nobody,
I’ll eat all your companions before you
and have you at the end—my gift to you,
since you’re my guest.’

Circe recognizes Odysseus

10.325–336
‘What sort of man are you?
Where are you from? Where is your native town?
Your parents? I’m amazed you drank this drug
and then were not bewitched. No other man
who’s tried it has been able to resist,
once it’s passed the barrier of his teeth.
Inside that chest of yours your mind holds out
against my spell. You must be Odysseus,
that resourceful man. The Killer of Argus,
Hermes of the Golden Wand, always said
Odysseus in his swift black ship would come
on his way back from Troy. So put that sword
back in its sheath, and let the two of us
go up into my bed. When we’ve made love,
then we can trust each other.’

Anticlea's shade

11.204–215
She finished. In my heart I thought about
how much I yearned to hold my mother’s shade.
My spirit urged me to clasp her in my arms.
Three times I moved towards her, but each time
she slipped away, like a shadow or a dream.
The pain inside my heart grew even sharper.
Then I called out to her—my words had wings:
‘Mother, why do you not linger with me?
I’d like to hold you, so that even here
in Hades, we might throw our loving arms
around each other and then have our fill
of icy lamentation. Or are you
a phantom royal Persephone has sent
to make me groan and grieve still more?’

Achilles in the underworld

11.488–501
‘Don’t try to comfort me about my death,
glorious Odysseus. I’d rather live
working as a wage-labourer for hire
by some other man, one who had no land
and not much in the way of livelihood,
than lord it over all the wasted dead.
But come, talk to me of my noble son—
whether he went off to war or not.
Did he became a leader? Talk to me
about great Peleus, if there’s something
you have heard. Is he still held in honour
among the many Myrmidons? Do men
disparage him in Hellas and in Phthia
because old age now grips his hands and feet?
I am not there, living in the sunlight,
to help him with the power I once had
in spacious Troy, when I fought their best men
and kept the Argives safe.

The Sirens' song

12.184–192
‘Odysseus,
you famous man, great glory of Achaeans,
come over here. Let your ship pause awhile,
so you can hear the songs we two will sing.
No man has ever rowed in his black ship
past here without attending to our songs,
sweet-voiced melodies sung from our own lips.
That brings him joy, and he departs from here
a wiser man, for we two understand
all the misfortunes men endured at Troy,
hardships faced by Trojans and Achaeans,
thanks to what the gods then willed, for we know
everything that happens on this fertile earth.’

Hyperion's cattle

12.341–352
For wretched human beings
all forms of death are hateful. But to die
from lack of food, to meet one’s fate like that,
is worst of all. So come, let’s drive away
the best of Helios’ cattle, and then
we’ll sacrifice to the immortal gods
who hold wide heaven. And if we get home,
make it to Ithaca, our native land,
for Helios Hyperion we’ll build
a splendid temple, and inside we’ll put
many expensive gifts. If he’s enraged
about his straight-horned cattle and desires
to wreck our ship and other gods agree,
I’d rather lose my life once and for all
by choking on a wave than starve to death
on an abandoned island.’

Argos recognizes Odysseus

17.324–328
This said, Eumaeus went inside the stately palace,
straight into the hall to join the noble suitors.
But once he’d seen Odysseus after nineteen years,
Argus died, seized by the fatal clutch of Death.

Sleepless Odysseus

20.25–34
Just as a man
eager to roast a stomach stuffed with fat and blood
turns it quickly round and round on a blazing fire,
that how lord Odysseus tossed and turned, wondering
how he might get the haughty suitors in his grip,
one man against so many. Then Athena came,
moving down from heaven, looking like a woman.
She stood above his head and spoke to him, saying:
“Why now, you most ill-fated of all men,
are you awake?

Stringing the bow

21.404–412
That is how the suitors talked. But shrewd Odysseus,
once he had raised the weapon and looked it over
from every angle, then—just as someone really skilled
at playing the lyre and singing has no trouble
when he loops a taut string around a brand-new peg,
tying the twisted sheep’s gut down at either end—
that’s how easily lord Odysseus strung that bow.
Holding it in his right hand, he tested the string.
It sang out, resonating like a swallow’s song,
beneath his touch.

Odysseus reveals himself

22.1–8
Resourceful Odysseus stripped off his rags, grabbed up
the bow and quiver full of arrows, and sprang up,
moving to the doorway. He dumped his swift arrows
beside his feet and then shouted at the suitors:
“This contest to determine who is best
is over. But there’s another target—
one no man has ever struck—I’ll find out
if I can hit it. May Apollo grant
I get the glory.”

The disloyal maids

22.465–474
He spoke, then tied the cable of a dark-prowed ship
to a large pillar, threw one end above the roundhouse,
then pulled it taut and high, so that no woman’s foot
could reach the ground. Just as doves or long-winged thrushes
charge into a snare set in a thicket, as they seek
their roosting place, only to find they have been welcomed
by a dreadful bed, that is how those women stood
all in a row, with nooses fixed around their necks,
so they might have a pitiful death. For some time,
their feet kept twitching, but that did not last long.

The olive-tree bed

23.181–190
Penelope said these words to test her husband.
But Odysseus, upset at his true-hearted wife,
replied and said:
“Woman, those words you uttered
are very painful. Who’s shifted my bed
to somewhere else? That would be difficult,
even for someone truly skilled, unless
a god came down in person—for he could,
if he so wished, set it elsewhere with ease.
But among men there is no one living,
no matter how much energy he has,
who would find it easy to shift that bed.
For built into the well-constructed bedstead
is a great symbol which I made myself
with no one else.

Shipwrecked sailor simile

23.233–241
Just as swimmers are overjoyed
to catch a glimpse of land, sailors whose sturdy ship
Poseidon has demolished out at sea, as winds
and surging waves were driving it, and a few men
have escaped the grey sea by swimming to the shore,
their bodies thickly caked with brine, and they are glad
to clamber up on land, evading a disaster,
that how Penelope rejoiced to see her husband.
She simply could not stop her white arms holding him
around his neck.