A call to the goddess

The world of the wounded Cajal´s butterflies of the soul

A call to the goddess

In the first book of The Iliad, Homer calls for a muse to help him recount the story of Achilles, the epic Greek hero of the Trojan War. The poet begins his account nine years after the start of Trojan war, with the capture of two maidens, Chryseis by Agamemnon, the commander of the Achaean Army, and Briseis by the hero Achilles. We present a brief extract of the opening below, interspersed with audio recordings of it in Greek and English. Our poet here is classicist and author of a new free verse translation of the Iliad, Barry B. Powell.

The rage sing, O goddess, of Achilles, the son of Peleus,

the destructive anger that brought ten-thousand pains to the

Achaeans and sent many brave souls of fighting men to the house

of Hades and made their bodies a feast for dogs

and all kinds of birds. For such was the will of Zeus.

Sing the story from the time when Agamemnon, the son

of Atreus, and godlike Achilles first stood apart in contention.

Which god was it who set them to quarrel? Apollo, the son

of Leto and Zeus. Enraged at the king, Apollo sent an

evil plague through the camp, and the people died.

For the son of Atreus had not respected Chryses, a praying

man. Chryses had come to the swift ships of the Achaeans

to free his daughter. He brought boundless ransom, holding

in his hands wreaths of Apollo, who shoots from afar,

on a golden staff. He begged all the Achaeans, but above all

he begged the two sons of Atreus, the marshals of the people:

“O you sons of Atreus, and all the other Achaeans,

whose shins are protected in bronze, may the gods who

have houses on Olympos let you sack the city of Priam!

May you also come again safely to your homes. But set free

my beloved daughter. Accept this ransom. Respect

the far-shooting son of Zeus, Apollo.”

The First 100 lines of The Iliad in Greek:

All the Achaeans

shouted out that, yes, they should respect the priest

and take the shining ransom. But the proposal was not

to the liking of Agamemnon, the son of Atreus.

Brusquely he sent the man away with a powerful word:

“Let me not find you near the hollow ships, either

hanging around or coming back later. Then your scepter

and wreath of the god will do you no good! I shall not

let her go! Old age will come upon her first in my

house in Argos, far from her homeland. She shall

scurry back and forth before my loom and she will

come every night to my bed. So don’t rub me

the wrong way, if you hope to survive!”

So he spoke.

The old man was afraid and he obeyed Agamemnon’s

command. He walked in silence along the resounding

sea. Going apart, the old man prayed to his lord

Apollo, whom Leto, whose hair is beautiful, bore:

“Hear me, you of the silver bow, who hover over

Chrysê and holy Killa, who rule with power

the island of Tenedos—lord of plague! If I ever

roofed a house of yours so that you were pleased

or burned the fat thigh bones of bulls and goats,

then fulfill for me this desire: May the Danaänsº pay

for my tears with your arrows!”

So he spoke in prayer.

Phoibos Apollo heard him, and he came from the top

of Olympos with anger in his heart. He had on his back a bow

and a closed quiver. The arrows clanged on his shoulder

as he sped along in his anger. He went like the night.

He sat then apart from the ships. He let fly an

arrow. Terrible was the twang of the silver bow. At first

he attacked the mules and the fleet hounds. Then he

let his swift arrows fall on the men, striking them

with piercing shafts. Ever burned thickly the pyres

of the dead.

For nine days he strafed the camp with his

arrows, but on the tenth Achilles called the people to assembly.

The goddess with white arms, Hera, had put the thought

in his mind, because she pitied the Danaäns, when she saw

them dying.

When they were all together and assembled,

Achilles, the fast runner, stood up and spoke: “Sons of Atreus,

I think we are going back home, beaten again, if we

escape death at all and war and disease do not together

destroy the Achaeans. So let us ask some seer or

holy man, a dream-explainer—dreams are from Zeus!—

who can tell us why Phoibos Apollo is angry.

Is it for some vow, or sacrifice? Maybe the god

can accept the scent of lambs, of goats that we kill,

perhaps he will come out to ward off this plague.” So speaking

he took his seat.

The First 218 lines of The Iliad in English (from Barry B. Powell’s new free verse translation):

Kalchas arose, the son of

Thestor, by far the best of the bird-seers, who knows

what’s what, what will happen, what has happened.

He had led the ships of the Achaeans to Ilion by his seership,

which Phoibos Apollo had given him. He spoke to the troops,

wishing them well: “Achilles, you urge me, you whom Zeus

loves, to speak of the anger of Apollo, the king who strikes

from afar. Well, then I will tell you. But first you must

consider carefully. You must swear to me that you will

defend me in the assembly and with might of hand. For I’m

afraid of enraging the Argive who has the power here, whom

all the Achaeans obey. For a chief has more power against

someone who causes him anger, a man of lower rank.

Maybe he swallows his anger for a day, but ever

after he nourishes resentment in his heart, until he

brings it to fulfillment. Swear then, Achilles, that you will

protect me.”

The fast runner Achilles answered him:

“Have courage! Tell your prophecy, whatever you know.

By Apollo, dear to Zeus, to whom you yourself

pray when you reveal prophecies to the Danaäns—not so

long as I am alive, and look upon this earth, shall anyone

of all the Danaäns lay heavy hands upon you

beside the hollow ships, not even if you mean

Agamemnon, who claims to be best of the Achaeans.”

The seeing-man, who had no fault, was encouraged,

and he spoke: “The god is not angry for a vow, or sacrifice,

but because of the priest whom Agamemnon dishonored

when he would not release the man’s daughter. He would not take

the ransom. For this reason the far-shooter has caused these pains,

and he will go on doing so. He won’t withdraw the hateful disease

from the Danaäns until Agamemnon gives up the girl with

the flashing eyes, without pay, without ransom, and until he leads

a holy sacrifice to Chrysê. Only then might we succeed in

persuading the god to stop.”

Barry B. Powell is Halls-Bascom Professor of Classics Emeritus at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. He is the author of a new free verse translation of The Iliad by Homer.

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