**Remember, Dialogue is in Blue

 

In the next land we found were Cyclopes,  

giants, louts, without a law to bless them.

In ignorance leaving the fruitage of the earth in mystery

to the immortal gods, they neither plow

nor sow by hand, nor till the ground, though grain—

wild wheat and barley—grows untended, and

wine-grapes, in clusters, ripen in heaven’s rain.

Cyclopes have no muster and no meeting,

no consultation or old tribal ways,

but each one dwells in his own mountain cave

dealing out rough justice to wife and child,  

indifferent to what the others do. . . .

​

As we rowed on, and nearer to the mainland,

at one end of the bay, we saw a cavern  

and many rams and goats about the place

inside a sheepfold—made from slabs of stone

earthfast between tall trunks of pine and rugged

towering oak trees.

                                                 A prodigious man

slept in this cave alone, and took his flocks

to graze afield—remote from all companions,

knowing none but savage ways, a brute

so huge, he seemed no man at all...

                                   but he seemed rather  

a shaggy mountain reared in solitude.

We beached there, and I told the crew

to stand by and keep watch over the ship;

as for myself I took my twelve best fighters

and went ahead. I had a goatskin full

of that sweet liquor that Euanthês’ son,

Maron, had given me.

                                   —twelve two-handled jars

of brandy, pure and fiery. Not a slave

in Maron’s household knew this drink; only

he, his wife and the storeroom mistress knew;

and they would put one cupful—ruby-colored,

honey-smooth—in twenty more of water,

but still the sweet scent hovered like a fume

over the winebowl. No man turned away

when cups of this came round.

 

A wineskin full 

I brought along, and victuals in a bag,

for in my bones I knew some towering brute

would be upon us soon—all outward power,

a wild man, ignorant of civility.

​

We climbed, then, briskly to the cave. But Cyclops

had gone afield, to pasture his fat sheep,

so we looked round at everything inside.

My men came pressing round me, pleading:

‘Why not

take these cheeses, get them stowed, come back,

throw open all the pens, and make a run for it?

We’ll drive the kids and lambs aboard. We say

put out again on good salt water!’

​

Ah,

how sound that was! Yet I refused. I wished

to see the caveman, what he had to offer—  

no pretty sight, it turned out, for my friends.

                                        ...The cyclops poked the fire,

heaping on brushwood. In the glare he saw us.

​

‘Strangers,’ he said, ‘who are you? And where from?

What brings you here by sea ways—a fair traffic?

Or are you wandering rogues, who cast your lives

like dice, and ravage other folk by sea?’

​

We felt a pressure on our hearts, in dread

of that deep rumble and that mighty man.  

But all the same I spoke up in reply:

‘We are from Troy, [Greeks], blown off course

by shifting gales on the Great South Sea;

homeward bound, but taking routes and ways

uncommon; so the will of Zeus would have it.

We served under Agamemnon (ah-ga-men-mnon),

the whole world knows what city [Troy]

he laid waste, what armies he destroyed.

It was our luck to come here; here we stand,

beholden for your help, or any gifts  

you give—as custom is to honor strangers.

We would entreat you, great Sir, have a care

for the gods’ courtesy; Zeus will avenge

the unoffending guest.’

​

He answered this

from his brute chest, unmoved:

‘You are a ninny,

or else you come from the other end of nowhere,

telling me, mind the gods! We Cyclopes

care not a whistle for your thundering Zeus

or all the gods in bliss; we have more force by far.

I would not let you go for fear of Zeus—  

you or your friends—unless I had a whim to.

Tell me, where was it, now, you left your ship—

around the point, or down the shore, I wonder?’

 

He thought he’d find out, but I saw through this,

and answered with a ready lie:

‘My ship?

Poseidon Lord, who sets the earth a-tremble,

broke it up on the rocks at your land’s end.

A wind from seaward served him, drove us there.

We are survivors, these good men and I.’

​

Neither reply nor pity came from him,  

but in one stride he clutched at my companions

and caught two in his hands like squirming puppies

to beat their brains out, spattering the floor.

Then he dismembered them and made his meal,

gaping and crunching like a mountain lion—

everything: innards, flesh, and marrow bones.

We cried aloud, lifting our hands to Zeus,

powerless, looking on at this, appalled;

but Cyclops went on filling up his belly

with manflesh and great gulps of whey,  

then lay down like a mast among his sheep.

My heart beat high now at the chance of action,

and drawing the sharp sword from my hip I went

along his flank to stab him where the midriff

holds the liver. I had touched the spot

when sudden fear stayed me: if I killed him

we perished there as well, for we could never

move his ponderous doorway slab aside.

So we were left to groan and wait for morning.

​

When the young Dawn with finger tips of rose  

lit up the world...

I pondered how to hurt him worst,

if but Athena granted what I prayed for.

Here are the means I thought would serve my turn:

 

a club, or staff, lay there along the fold—

an olive tree, felled green and left to season

for Cyclops’ hand. And it was like a mast

a lugger of twenty oars, broad in the beam—

a deep-sea-going craft—might carry:

so long, so big around, it seemed. Now I

chopped out a six foot section of this pole  

and set it down before my men, who scraped it;

and when they had it smooth, I hewed again

to make a stake with pointed end. I held this

in the fire’s heart and turned it, toughening it,

then hid it, well back in the cavern, under

one of the dung piles in profusion there.

Now came the time to toss for it: who ventured

along with me? whose hand could bear to thrust

and grind that spike in Cyclops’ eye, when mild

sleep had mastered him? As luck would have it,  

the men I would have chosen won the toss—

four strong men, and I made five as captain.

 

At evening came the shepherd with his flock...

He caught two more men and feasted on them.

My moment was at hand, and I went forward

holding an ivy bowl of my dark drink,

looking up, saying:

‘Cyclops, try some wine.

Here’s liquor to wash down your scraps of men.

Taste it, and see the kind of drink we carried

under our planks. I meant it for an offering

if you would help us home. But you are mad,

unbearable, a bloody monster! After this,

will any other traveler come to see you?’

 

He seized and drained the bowl, and it went down

so fiery and smooth he called for more:

‘Give me another, thank you kindly. Tell me,

how are you called? I’ll make a gift will please you.

Even Cyclopse know the wine-grapes grow

out of grassland and loam in heaven’s rain,

but here’s a bit of nectar and ambrosia!’

 

Three bowls I brought him, and he poured them down.

I saw the fuddle and flush come over him,

then I sang out in cordial tones:

‘Cyclops,  

you ask my honorable name? Remember

the gift you promised me, and I shall tell you.

My name is Nohbdy: mother, father, and friends,

everyone calls me Nohbdy.’

 

And he said:

‘Nohbdy’s my meat, then, after I eat his friends.

Others come first. There’s a noble gift, now.’

 

Even as he spoke, he reeled and tumbled backward,

his great head lolling to one side; and sleep

took him like any creature. Drunk, hiccuping,

he dribbled streams of liquor and bits of men.

 

Now, by the gods, I drove my big hand spike

deep in the embers, charring it again,

and cheered my men along with battle talk

to keep their courage up: no quitting now.

The pike of olive, green though it had been,

reddened and glowed as if about to catch [on fire].

I drew it from the coals and my four fellows

gave me a hand, lugging it near the Cyclops

as more than natural force nerved them; straight

forward they sprinted, lifted it, and rammed it  

deep in his crater eye, and I leaned on it

turning it as a shipwright turns a drill

in planking, having men below to swing

the two-handled strap that spins it in the groove.

So with our brand we bored that great eye socket

while blood ran out around the red hot bar.

Eyelid and lash were seared; the pierced ball

hissed broiling, and the roots popped.

That eyeball hissed around the spike.

​

The Cyclops bellowed and the rock roared round him,

and we fell back in fear. Clawing his face

he tugged the bloody spike out of his eye,

threw it away, and his wild hands went groping;

then he set up a howl for Cylopses

who lived in caves on windy peaks nearby.

Some heard him; and they came by divers ways

to clump around outside and call:

‘What ails you, 

Polyphemos (Polly-FEE-mos)? Why do you cry so sore

in the starry night? You will not let us sleep.

Sure no man’s driving off your flock? No man

has tricked you, ruined you?’

 

Out of the cave

the mammoth Polyphemos roared in answer:

‘Nohbdy, Nohbdy’s tricked me, Nohbdy’s ruined me!’

 

To this rough shout they made a sage reply:

‘Ah well, if nobody has played you foul

there in your lonely bed, we are no use in pain

given by great Zeus. Let it be your father,  

Poseidon Lord, to whom you pray.'

 

So saying

they trailed away. And I was filled with laughter

to see how like a charm the name deceived them.

                                 ...[but] how could we slip away?  

I drew on all my wits, and ran through tactics,

reasoning as a man will for dear life,

until a trick came—and it pleased me well.

The Cyclops’ rams were handsome, fat, with heavy

fleeces, a dark violet.

 

Three abreast

I tied them silently together, twining

cords of willow from the ogre’s bed;

then slung a man under each middle one

to ride there safely, shielded left and right.

So three sheep could convey each man...

So, breathing hard, we waited until morning.

 

When Dawn spread out her finger tips of rose

the rams began to stir, moving for pasture,

and peals of bleating echoed round the pens

where dams with udders full called for a milking.

Blinded, and sick with pain from his head wound,  

the master stroked each ram, then let it pass,

but my men riding on the pectoral fleece

the giant’s blind hands blundering never found.

 

He sent us into the open, then. Close by,

I dropped and rolled clear of the ram’s belly,

going this way and that to untie the men.

With many glances back, we rounded up

his fat, stiff-legged sheep to take aboard,

and drove them down to where the good ship lay.

                                                                 Far out,

as far off shore as shouted words would carry,

I sent a few back to the adversary:

‘O Cyclops! Would you feast on my companions?

Puny, am I, in a Caveman’s hands?  

How do you like the beating that we gave you,

you damned cannibal? Eater of guests

under your roof! Zeus and the gods have paid you!’

 

The blind thing in his doubled fury broke

a hilltop in his hands and heaved it after us.

Ahead of our black prow it struck and sank

whelmed in a spuming geyser, a giant wave

that washed the ship stern foremost back to shore.

I got the longest boathook out and stood

fending us off, with furious nods to all  

to put their backs into a racing stroke—

row, row, or perish. So the long oars bent

kicking the foam sternward, making head

until we drew away, and twice as far.

Now when I cupped my hands I heard the crew

in low voices protesting:

​

‘Godsake, Captain!

Why bait the beast again? Let him alone!’

 

‘That tidal wave he made on the first throw

all but beached us.’

 

‘All but stove us in!’

 

‘Give him our bearing with your trumpeting,  

he’ll get the range and lob a boulder.’

 

‘Aye

He’ll smash our timbers and our heads together!’

 

I would not heed them in my glorying spirit,

but let my anger flare and yelled:

‘Cyclops,

if ever mortal man inquire

how you were put to shame and blinded, tell him

Odysseus, raider of cities, took your eye:

Laërtês’ son, whose home’s on Ithaka!’

​

At this he stretched his hands out in his darkness  

toward the sky of stars, and prayed Poseidon:

‘O hear me, lord, blue girdler of the islands,

if I am thine indeed, and thou art father:

grant that Odysseus, raider of cities, never

see his home: Laertes’ son, I mean,

who kept his hall on Ithaka. Should destiny

intend that he shall see his roof again

among his family in his father land,

far be that day, and dark the years between.

Let him lose all companions, and return  

under strange sail to bitter days at home.’

 

In these words he prayed, and the god heard him.

​

[Back on the ship, I slew [one of the Cyclops' rams]

by the sea side and burnt his long thighbones

to Zeus beyond the stormcloud, Cronos’ son,

who rules the world. But Zeus disdained my offering;  

destruction for my ships he had in store

and death for those who sailed them, my companions.

Now all day long until the sun went down

we made our feast on mutton and sweet wine,

till after sunset in the gathering dark

we went to sleep above the wash of ripples.

 

When the young Dawn with finger tips of rose

touched the world, I roused the men, gave orders

to man the ships, cast off the mooring lines;

and filing in to sit beside the rowlocks  

oarsmen in line dipped oars in the grey sea.

So we moved out, sad in the vast offing,

having our precious lives, but not our friends.