Poets Translate Poets: A Hudson Review Anthology (19 page)

Hom e r
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and to Teiresias apart would dedicate an all-black

ram, the one conspicuous in all our sheep-fl ocks.

Now when with sacrifi ces and prayers I had so entreated

the hordes of the dead, I took the sheep and cut their throats

over the pit, and the dark-clouding blood ran in, and the souls

of the perished dead gathered to the place, up out of Erebos,

brides, and young unmarried men, and long-suff ering elders,

virgins, tender and with the sorrows of young hearts upon them,

and many fi ghting men killed in battle, stabbed with brazen

spears, still carrying their bloody armor upon them.

Th

ese came swarming around my pit from every direction

with inhuman clamor, and green fear took hold of me.

Th

en I encouraged my companions and told them, taking

the sheep, that were lying by, slaughtered with the cruel bronze,

to skin these, and burn them, and pray to the divinities,

to Hades the powerful, and to revered Persephone,

while I myself, drawing from beside my thigh my sharp sword,

crouched there, and would not let the strengthless heads of the perished

dead draw nearer to the blood, until I had questioned Teiresias.

But

fi rst there came the soul of my companion, Elpenor,

for he had not yet been buried under earth of the wide ways,

since we had left his body behind in Circe’s palace,

unburied and unwept, with this other errand before us.

I broke into tears at the sight of him, and my heart pitied him,

and so I spoke aloud to him and addressed him in winged words:

‘Elpenor, how did you come here beneath the fog and the darkness?

You have come faster on foot than I could in my black ship.’

So I spoke, and he groaned aloud and spoke and answered:

‘Son of Laertes and seed of Zeus, resourceful Odysseus,

the evil will of the spirit and the wild wine bewildered me.

I lay down on the roof of Circe’s palace, and never thought,

when I went down, to go by way of the long ladder,

but blundered straight off the edge of the roof, so that my neck bone

was broken out of its sockets, and my soul went down to Hades.

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But now I pray you, by those you have yet to see, who are not here,

by your wife, and by your father, who reared you when you were little,

and by Telemachos whom you left alone in your palace;

for I know that aft er you leave this place and the house of Hades

you will put back with your well-made ship to the island, Aiaia;

there at that time, my lord, I ask that you remember me

and do not go, and leave me behind, unwept, unburied,

when you leave, for fear I might become the gods’ curse upon you,

but burn me there with all my armor that belongs to me

and heap up a grave mound beside the beach of the gray sea,

for an unhappy man, so that those to come will know of me.

Do this for me, and on top of the grave mound plant the oar

with which I rowed when I was alive and among my companions.’

So he spoke, and I in turn spoke to him in answer:

‘All this, my unhappy friend, I will do for you as you ask me.’

So we two stood there exchanging our sad words, I on

one side holding my sword over the blood, while opposite

me the phantom of my companion talked long with me.

Next there came to me the soul of my dead mother,

Antikleia, daughter of great-hearted Autolykos,

whom I had left alive when I went to sacred Ilion.

I broke into tears at the sight of her and my heart pitied her,

but even so, for all my thronging sorrow, I would not

let her draw near the blood until I had questioned Teiresias.

Now came the soul of Teiresias the Th

eban, holding

a staff of gold, and he knew who I was, and spoke to me:

‘Son of Laertes and seed of Zeus, resourceful Odysseus,

how is it then, unhappy man, you have left the sunlight

and come here, to look on dead men, and this place without pleasure?

Now draw back from the pit, and hold your sharp sword away from me,

so that I can drink of the blood and speak the truth to you.’

So he spoke, and I, holding away the sword with the silver

nails, pushed it back in the sheath, and the fl awless prophet,

aft er he had drunk of the blood began speaking to me:

Hom e r
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‘Glorious Odysseus, what you are aft er is a sweet homecoming.

But the god will make it hard for you. I think you will not

escape the shaker of the earth, who holds a grudge against you

in his heart, and because you blinded his dear son, hates you.

But even so and still you might come back, aft er much suff ering,

if you can contain your own desire, and contain your companions’,

at that time when you fi rst put in your well-made vessel

at the island Th

rinakia, escaping the sea’s blue water,

and there discover pasturing the cattle and the fat sheep

of Helios, who sees all things, and listens to all things.

Th

en, if you keep your mind on homecoming, and leave these unharmed,

you might all make your way to Ithaka, aft er much suff ering;

but if you do harm them, then I testify to the destruction

of your ship and your companions, but if you yourself get clear

you will come home in bad case, with the loss of all your companions,

in someone else’s ship, and fi nd troubles in your household,

insolent men, who will be eating away your livelihood

and courting your godlike wife and off ering gift s to win her.

You may punish the violences of these men, when you come home.

But aft er you have killed these suitors in your own palace,

either by treachery, or openly with the sharp bronze,

then you must take up your well-shaped oar and go on a journey

until you come where men are living who know nothing

of the sea, and who eat food that is not mixed with salt, who never

have known ships whose cheeks are painted purple, who never

have known well-shaped oars, which act for ships as wings do.

And I will tell you a very clear proof, and you can not miss it.

When as you walk some other wayfarer happens to meet you

and says you carry a winnowing-fan on your bright shoulder,

then you must plant your well-shaped oar in the ground, and render

ceremonious sacrifi ce to the lord Poseidon,

one ram and one bull, and a mounter of sows, a boar pig,

and make your way home again and render holy hecatombs

to the immortal gods who hold the wide heaven, all

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of them in order. Death will come to you from the sea, in

some altogether unwarlike way, and it will end you

in the ebbing time of a sleek old age. Your people

about you will be prosperous. All this is true that I tell you.’

Richmond Lattimore, 1965

Hom e r
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Sa ppho
(ca. 615–550 b.c.)

1. “Some there are who say that the fairest thing seen”

Some there are who say that the fairest thing seen

on the black earth is an array of horsemen,

some, men marching, some would say ships, but I say

she whom one loves best

is the loveliest. Light were the work to make this

plain to all. Since she who surpassed in beauty

all mortality beside, Helen, chose that

man as the noblest

who destroyed the glory of Troy entirely.

Not the thought of child, nor beloved parents,

was remembered, aft er the Queen of Cyprus

won her at fi rst sight.

Since young brides have hearts that can be persuaded

lightly, stirred and shaken by their emotions

as am I, remembering Anaktoria

who has gone from me

and whose lovely walk and the shining pallor

of her face I would rather see before my

eyes than Lydia’s chariots in all their glory

armored for battle.

2. To a Rival

You will die and be still, never shall be memory left of you

aft er this, nor regret when you are gone. You have not touched the fl owers

of the Muses, and thus shadowy still in the domain of Death

you must drift with a ghost’s fl uttering wings, one of the darkened dead.

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3. “When we lived all as one she adored you as”

When we lived all as one she adored you as

symbol of some divinity,

Arignota, delighted in your dancing.

Now she shines among Lydian women as

into dark when the sun has set

the moon pale handed at last appeareth

making dim all the rest of the stars, and light

spreads afar on the deep, salt sea,

spreading likewise across the fl owering cornfi elds;

and the dew rinses glittering from the sky;

roses spread, and the delicate

antherisk, and the lotus spreads her petals.

So she goes to and fro there, remembering

Atthis and her companion, sick

the tender mind, and the heart with grief is eaten.

4. Epitaph

Th

is is the dust of Timas, who died before she was married

and whom Persephone’s dark chamber accepted instead.

Aft er her death the maidens who were her friends, with sharp iron

cutting their lovely hair, laid it upon her tomb.

Richmond Lattimore, 1952

S a ppho
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Sophocles
(ca. 495–406 b.c.)

From
Antigone

c horus

Eros, invincible in battle,

Eros, consumer of riches,

who slumbers through the night

on a maiden’s soft cheeks,

ranges the furthest seas and visits

lonely huts on the high pastures.

No one escapes—neither immortal gods

nor men whose lives are short as those

of

mayfl ies that live for only a day—

the one you touch is driven mad.

Even just men’s thoughts you warp to crime,

stirring

confl ict between kindred—

between father and son.

But triumphant desire

that shines from the eyes

of the newly-married bride

is stronger than the greatest laws.

Unconquerable

Aphrodite

sits among the gods

and plays her games of power.

(
Antigone is brought from the Palace through the double doors by guards.
) And now I too am overcome

and carried beyond the realm of loyalty and law,

no longer able to hold back my tears

when I see Antigone being led towards

the bridal chamber where she will sleep with Death.

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a n t ig on e

Behold me, fellow citizens

of my ancestral land,

walking the last mile, the last road,

seeing the sun’s light

which I shall never see again

for the last time.

Hades, the god of death,

who puts us all to sleep,

leads me living to the banks of Acheron.

No wedding songs are sung for me

as I become his bride.

c horus

What glory and praise you deserve

as you depart for the cavern of death—

not struck by fatal disease nor

slaughtered in war, but still alive

and of your own free will—you alone

of all mortals will enter Hades.

a n t ig on e

Like that story I heard of our Phrygian guest,

the daughter of Tantalus—of how,

on the peak of Sipylus, she was enclosed

and hedged about, as ivy clings to a wall,

by a stony accretion; and how,

they say, the rain and snow that fall

on the mountaintop erode her form,

and the ceaseless tears

that pour from beneath her brows

become streams down the hills. Like her,

in a rocky cave, the gods lull me to sleep.

S opho c l e s
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c horus

But she was a goddess, born of gods

and we are mortal, of mortal stock.

Yet it is a great thing to have it said,

when you die, that your destiny

was equal to that of a god.

a n t ig on e

By the gods of my father I ask:

why do you mock me—

not even waiting until I have gone,

but still here before your eyes?