Reading Homer

What are your Homeric reading habits? I read all sorts of books, but I like to read a little Homer most days. I read in Greek. Nowadays I use the Loeb parallel translations to help me along, though when I was getting in practice I found the Perseus site incredibly helpful. I'm currently on Book 23 of the Iliad, on my second complete read. I've read the Odyssey once and am planning to alternate the Iliad and Odyssey (though I prefer the Iliad). My ambition is to be able to read without a crib.

I came across an explanation of Homeric style in Introduction to The Iliad of Homer, translated by Richmond Lattimore. It made me pause because of its kinship to Chinese.

In modern storytelling and writing, we try to steer away from the over-used, unoriginal phrase--the cliché. In Homeric stories, the author(s) of the story does not avoid repetition because the phrase, the sentence or sentences has been uttered/written in an earlier passage.

Quoting Lattimore: "All repeats are founded on the principle that a thing once said in the right way should be said again in the same way when occasion demands."

Often these phrases are repeated for their metrical unit adaptable when "sense demands, and the metre will accommodate."

The Chinese love to repeat phrases, love to quote historical figures, passing them down through the generations. These phrases are not considered cliché, but the mark of a well-read man and said in the spirit of "once said in the right way should be said again in the same way."

Later Greek poets are remote from Homeric style, but the Chinese continue this tradition of repetition.

Why are the Achaians called "glancing-eyed"? I am puzzled by this.

The Greek word which Lattimore translates "glancing-eyed" can also be translated "bright-eyed". Liddell and Scott translate it as "with rolling eyes, quick-glancing" and add "as a mark of youth and spirit".

Re: 'glancing-eyed' (cf. helix; helicopter)

I'll transliterate for the ease of the Greek-less:

helikōps, which should literally mean 'rolling-eyed' has a parallel formation, helikoblepharos, where blepharon means eyelid but can stand in for the eye.

The first element, heliko-, is a suffixed form of Proto-Indo-European *wel-2, and is thus related to a whole string of interesting words like Latin volvere ('to roll') and vulva ('womb') as well as English walk (originally meaning 'roll') and well (meaning 'spring').

It also seems to be the root of the famous Greek name Helen.

No one knows exactly what helikōps originally meant. When I read Homer as an undergraduate my professor, himself a Greek, would translate it 'helicopter-eyed,' dissatisfied with the traditional translations and content to have one as baffling as the original.

The idea of brightness, I think, would be gotten from the idea of flashing which, though it can be reached from the movement implied by the root, I suspect to have been drawn from the dictionary by analogy with its use to describe twisted hair (curls) or vines (tendrils), which gave rise to a metaphor for lightning (helikes steropēs, 'tendrils of lightning'). This is given as 'flashes of forked lightning.'

But any way you look at it, that the epithet should refer to sight seems natural and satisfying enough: the youth are naturally keen-sighted -- they see all around, or else have active eyes.

Helicopter-eyed? that is quite dreadful. It seems obvious to me that darting-eyed would be the best approximation, not a translation but only a fool translates idioms.

2500 years in the future the idiom in this post will be translated as spear-jabbing-eyed.

>5 thecardiffgiant: could "glancing eyes" or "rolling eyes" have been a pejorative like shifty-eyed or covetous? If eyes dart, it's a sign that the heart is not centered? Since Homer is championing the Greeks, I imagine your answer would be no, (but people who sack and pillage are certainly shifty in my mind).

"sparkling" might be a good translation

The reason why it's problematic is that the root means turning, twisting, rolling. It doesn't flashing, bright, or sparkling.

My old professor's joke, 'helicopter-eyed,' captures the fact that no one really knows exactly what the original audience took the epithet to mean. What is to be 'twisting-eyed?' That sounds like a seizure.

If it really meant sparkling or bright then why not something along the lines of chrysōpos or charopos?

I tried to explain above the possible ways of reading the epithet based on etymology and usage and to illustrate why it's a problematic word.

There's another avenue to go with this, which is that the original epithet, before codified in literature, had a specific meaning lost to us. We look for an answer based on traditional translations which always focus on a description of eye movement. But there are other possibilities.

I'll invent one now that, though I've just made it up, seems more plausible to me based on the roots than 'sparkilng-eyed' does.

Why couldn't helikōps originally have meant 'ringlet-faced' describing the ubiquitous curls that frame the faces of Greeks in their own art? The second root here means not just 'eye' but also 'face.'

('Gray-eyed' Athena has doubtless influenced the traditional rendering of this epithet, as 'gray-eyed' is taken also to mean 'bright-eyed,' But gray isn't bright, and another possibility is rather 'owl-faced,' where Athena may have once had the head of an owl.)

The point is still that we don't know, and it's disingenuous to suggest good translations or best approximations that all ultimately rest upon uncritical dictionary entries and translator's best guesses.

I'd always assumed 'glancing-eyes' was idiom for a lively face / countenance: i.e. vital and (therefore) 'sparkling' with life. Idiom is difficult to capture in modern languages, let alone 'dead' ones.

From my own (painful and slow) reading of the Odyssey in Greek, I saw repetition as an aide memoire: if one has to recount great swathes from memory - as those who recited Homer did - stock-phrases are useful 'chunks' of a text which preserve the flow and meter of the story's poetry without burdening the 'sayer' with different metaphors and similies for stock happenings. The most repeated epithets: 'rosy-fingered Dawn', 'resourceful / wily / much-enduring Odysseus' and 'grey-eyed Athene' are monotonous to the modern reader, but within the poetry and flow they become 'tags' for characters. As soon as I think of Athene, I immediately think 'grey-eyed' or 'of the flashing eyes', in the same way I think of Odysseus as 'polumetis' or 'cunning'. In the same way the continual 'so he / she said' serves as a reminder to the teller exactly where they are in the story: the Odyssey is a series of stories within stories recounted by various speakers, which must have put a severe strain on the memory of those reciting the text.

Hence repetition, which modern writers strive to eradicate, was I believe a vital tool in the oral tradition. You can see this in the very basic and repetitive nature of Grimm's tales and folk ballads, also meant to be spoken rather than read.

I haven't started the Iliad in Greek yet, though I've read the opening so many times it's almost by heart.

>5 thecardiffgiant: I was thinking about the "helicopter-eyed" last night and I came to the conclusion given by Thecardiffgiant in #9.

I applied ancient Chinese:

In the 6th Century B.C. usuage, the character 說 is the equivalent of the modern day 樂. Two vastly different meanings. The ancients used the character to mean "happy" while the modern Chinese use it to mean "to talk, speak." We only understand this in context.

I was happy to read this morning:
"The point is still that we don't know, and it's disingenuous to suggest good translations or best approximations that all ultimately rest upon uncritical dictionary entries and translator's best guesses."

>5 thecardiffgiant: Hera, that's interesting.

I came across an explanation of Homeric style in Introduction to The Iliad of Homer, translated by Richmond Lattimore. It made me pause because of its kinship to Chinese.

In modern storytelling and writing, we try to steer away from the over-used, unoriginal phrase--the cliché. In Homeric stories, the author does not avoid repetition because the phrase, the sentence or sentences has been uttered/written in an earlier passage.

Quoting Lattimore: "All repeats are founded on the principle that a thing once said in the right way should be said again in the same way when occasion demands."

Lattimore also said: "Often these phrases are repeated for their metrical unit adaptable when "sense demands, and the metre will accommodate."

The Chinese love to repeat phrases, love to quote historical figures, passing them down through the generations. These phrases are not considered cliché, but the mark of a well-read man and said in the spirit of--quoting Lattimore--"once said in the right way should be said again in the same way."

As pointed out by Lattimore later Greek poets, like Pindar, are remote from Homeric style.

Also the notion of "originality" came along much later. I'm not saying that the idea of someone or someone's work as original did not exist in ancient times, but it was not until the 18th Century with the advent of Romanticism that this idea of "genius" and "originality" became the criteria for great art.

The 18th Century poet Edward Young proclaimed that the only three truly great originals were Shakespeare, Homer and Milton. But Shakespeare, by today's standards, was a plagarist, and so was Homer (whoever he was or they were).

I am currently re-rearding The Iliad in the Lattimore verse translation (I previously read the Butler prose version) along with A Companion to The Iliad by Malcolm M. Willcock as my nightstand book(s). Taking my time. Relishing it!

i just bumped into this series of messages and i would like to pick up on the "helikops" issue again

my query started as i noticed that a lot of the pompei portraits of women are affected by a strabism of some sort

then i happened to read the satyricon. in petrone 68, 4, the master (one of trimalchio's friends) has a small boy for a pet slave = "nam quod strabonus est, non curo: sicut venus spectat. Ideo nihil tacet, vix oculo mortuo unquam" = for i do not mind his being cross-eyed; venus looks (at things) the same way - from there comes the fact that he never shuts up, his eye hardly ever stops moving around

so, the first question is = is there a link between the strabism of the roman portraits and the "sicut venus spectat" ? (the idea could be that in order to portray e.g. a loving wife, the painter depicted "wandering eyes" such as Venus has)

from there i tried to trace the "look of Aphrodite" in greek texts. the most promising lead i've found is "helikops" and "helikoblepharos"

from there, i've worked my way up to the texts using the LSJ and p.chantraine "Dictionnaire étymologique du grec"

here are some of the findings:

* the meaning of helikops is not clear (as stated in the above messages)

* "rolling eyes" would seem the most natural translation, but it could well have meant something totally different originally (some etymologists even believe it could be a synonym to "black eyes") -- if there is a connection with petrone and the roman portraits, it would be more along the "rolling eyes" version (question = how would a painter depict "rolling eyes", if not with some sort of strabism? -- besides, you would not want the portrait to become grotesque either)

* incidentally, whatever the original meaning, it obviously got lost through the centuries (for hesychius, it simply means "beautiful eyes", which is rather vague, i think)

* a lot of the occurences refer to Aphrodite indeed, starting with hesiod (theogony), in a passage that lists the gods with their main attributes -- also as an epithet in pindar and in hellinistic (?) philostratus the elder's "imagines"

* in the iliad, chryseis is given as "helikopis" in 1,98 - the only other occurence given by the LSJ in the iliad is 1,389, where it refers to the acheans (actually, though this is not critical, i'm wondering whether the text should not read "helikopid'" instead, thus refering to chryseis (also mentioned in that passage) - indeed, why would the acheans be "helikopides" all of a sudden, whereas chryseis has already been described as such in 1,98 - my conjecture seems to satisfy the meter at any rate) -- anyway, the girl who made agamemnon crazy with her charms is helikopis

* indeed all other occurences i've traced (there is one in orphic hymn 6 i haven't been able to get access to) refer to young women that have the power to seduce men or gods

* so my conclusion at this point would run something like =

helikops and helikoblepharos (or helikoglepharos in pindar) are originally epithets of Aphrodite that describe her ability to induce love

that epithet extended to young girls (whose seductive power was supposed, i guess, to relate to Aphrodite)

it is not clear what sort of look it originally was, but hellenistic greeks and later authors or artists understood it as meaning some sort of "rolling eyes" look -- hence its depiction in texts, paintings and statues

any textual references that would make the "file" thicker, would be most welcome (in greek, but especially in latin, since petrone is my only reference so far, and i'm sure there has to be others to be found in ovid, virgil, martial, horace, etc.), as well as any reference to ancient statues or portraits (with pictures where available)

Go look at the scene in the Cacoyannis film "The Trojan Women" where Helen first appears (Irene Papas), only her eyes visible glancing about between two boards of the hut in which she is confined. Helikops.
-----
(starts about 1.5 min into the clip)

i'm sorry, but it wasn't ONLY her eyes which caught my attention in that scene (a very seductive scene, to be sure).

Ms. Papas has many talents, in addition to helicopter eyes!

Reading Iliad Book 24 now. I also like to read a little Homer everyday-but I only make about 50 lines a week. Still, gradually, I'm picking up speed.

Are you still out there?
Are you still reading Homer?

I'm glad you are still reading Homer. Stick with it. I stopped in the middle of Iliad 5 for fourteen years, but started again and have had enormous pleasure ever since. Have you come across the quote about Schiller:"Schiller once said in a melancholy mood: 'If one had only lived in order to read the twenty-third book of the Iliad, then one could not complain about one's existence'". I read that on p.164 of vol. 6 of the Cambridge Iliad commentary.

I am working on my own translation of the Iliad and am now on Book 9.

What will you do when you've finished the Iliad?

I read Iliad in Butler prose translation & Lattimore lyric -- and now I want to read the brand new translation:

http://pages.simonandschuster.com/iliad/about-this-translation

oh great, another one to save up for! hopefully i can wait for a used copy at my locally owned bookstore.

Thanks for this useful link. I've been comparing the excerpts with my own translation. Another new translation is by Anthony Verity (a more literal translation than Mitchell's), but done in the same lines as the Greek text, which is always useful. I have also come across a poem called Memorial bu Alice Oswald, which is based on some of the Iliad.

Ah, I will have to look for the Verity version too

>20 Garp83: Thanks for the heads-up on the Mitchell version - having browsed the text, I'd hesitate to call it a translation. To paraphrase Bentley, "It's a pretty poem, Mr. Mitchell, but you must not call it Homer." Except it isn't poetry, and he's no classicist. As with his Gilgamesh, it seems that his aim is to improve on existing translations by making them more "accessible".

It will be interesting to see how it compares with the Lombardo translation. Also, it looks as if he's followed Martin West in dropping book 10 (the Doloneia) as being an interpolation, which seems a bit picky given that it's not exactly a new scholarly recension.

Well Evil, I must say I was pretty ambivalent when I picked it up at Barnes & Noble and brought it to the table with my Grande mug of hi-test bold and actually read some chunks of it. My first reaction (especially having just recently read Lattimore) was OMFG . . . but, I must say, when I sat still long enough (despite the caffeine) to read more, I think I "got" what he was doing with this version (and I would grant him "translation") and eventually had to admit I kind of liked it. So far, anyway. My first Iliad ever was the Samuel Butler prose version -- and I loved it. Lattimore was a completely different universe -- and I loved that too. So, as Michael Madsen says to David Carradine in Kill Bill Part II: "We'll have to just see then, won't we?'

>25 Garp83: Yes, we will - it's currently on its way (I nearly said "winging its way") from Amazon. I did enjoy his version of Gilgamesh, and I'm a sucker for a new rendition.

While searching for reviews of the Mitchell and Verity translations, I came across this piece in the Economist: http://www.economist.com/node/21532253 - it discusses the Lattimore, Mitchell and Verity translations, and also Alice Oswald's 'Memorial', which ginnyday mentioned (>22 ginnyday:). 'Memorial' is available on audio CD too (read by the author), so I've ordered both versions of it, on the basis of her excellent 'Dart'. Also, Oliver Taplin praised it during a recent discussion on BBC Radio 3, in which Stephen Mitchell took part: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3LicGj6gLY

I think I'll give the Verity a miss - it seems a bit dry.

I already knew about the impending re-issue of the Lattimore, and I'm looking forward to replacing my tatty old paperback with a spiffy new hardcover. The first translation of the Iliad I remember reading for pleasure was by E.V. Rieu, in the late 60s (I don't count the archaic Loeb version which we used at school alongside the original). But I soon discovered Lattimore, and I keep coming back to his version in spite of the more obviously "poetic" translations by the likes of Fitzgerald and Fagles, excellent though they are. Pope is another favourite, and Chapman has his charms.

Interestingly, in the R3 discussion I mentioned, Mitchell was put on the spot when he was asked whose translation he considered the best (apart from his own, of course). He replied, "Alexander Pope's". What impeccable taste!