5.228-261

The Phaeacians will be the last waystation, isolated and exotic like Calypso but human, nevertheless. Odysseus will fill in the backstory for them and for us when he tells them about his adventures between Troy and Ogygia in Books 9–12. When Calypso and Odysseus rise from bed the next morning, they apply themselves to the task of building a boat, a quintessential task of human culture. Homer signals the change in tone with a return to a measured, traditional style:

ἦμος δ᾽ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς,
αὐτίχ᾽ ὁ μὲν χλαῖνάν τε χιτῶνά τε ἕννυτ᾽ Ὀδυσσεύς,
αὐτὴ δ᾽ ἀργύφεον φᾶρος μέγα ἕννυτο νύμφη,
λεπτὸν καὶ χαρίεν, περὶ δὲ ζώνην βάλετ᾽ ἰξυῖ
καλὴν χρυσείην, κεφαλῇ δ᾽ ἐφύπερθε καλύπτρην.

Now when early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared,
Odysseus put on an outer cloak and tunic,
and the nymph wrapped herself in a long silvery robe,
filmy and beautiful, and around her waist she drew a belt,
of lovely gold, and on her head she fixed a veil.

Odyssey 5.228–32

The language here is formulaic, the nouns appearing with their familiar epithets, beginning with the common one-line formula for the coming of dawn. The sentence structure is also regular, with a high coincidence between verse structure and sentence structure and no harsh enjambment. In verses 231–32, a complete thought ending the previous verse is followed by runover adjectives that elaborate the thought but maintain the regular structure, one of the poet’s most familiar methods of composition. The overall effect of this style is to slow down the pace, with fewer verbs and more adjectives, and summon the familiar domestic world of the Homeric poems.

Characteristically for his poetic practice, the poet has created the Calypso episode, so strikingly fresh and compelling, by working with what looks like a typical scene in Homeric poetry. In Book 10, later in the poem but earlier in the chronology of the story, Odysseus tells the story of his pleasant year with the witchy nymph Circe. He has relaxed with her for a year but is now nudged into action by his crew, who are eager to press on for home. He climbs into her bed and asks her to make good on her earlier promise to help him find his way home. She is happy to oblige but delivers some bad news: the Greeks must first travel to the Underworld, where Odysseus will consult with the seer Teiresias about what lies ahead. (Her detailed instructions apparently take all night and lovemaking is replaced by mapmaking):

ὣς ἔφατ᾽, αὐτίκα δὲ χρυσόθρονος ἤλυθεν Ἠώς.
ἀμφὶ δέ με χλαῖνάν τε χιτῶνά τε εἵματα ἕσσεν·
αὐτὴ δ᾽ ἀργύφεον φᾶρος μέγα ἕννυτο νύμφη,
λεπτὸν καὶ χαρίεν, περὶ δὲ ζώνην βάλετ᾽ ἰξυῖ
καλὴν χρυσείην, κεφαλῇ δ᾽ ἐπέθηκε καλύπτρην.

So she spoke, and then Dawn of the golden throne came.
The nymph dressed me in an outer cloak and tunic,
and the wrapped herself in a long silvery robe,
filmy and beautiful, and around her waist she drew a belt,
of lovely gold, and on her head she fixed a veil.

Odyssey 10.541–45

This passage is as closely parallel as it can be to the description of Calypso and Odysseus above, given the slight change in the situation in Book 10 (Circe has just spoken, Calypso has not; Circe dresses the hero, Calypso does not.). In both cases, Odysseus has just spent the last of many nights with a powerful female deity, a “detaining woman” who has agreed to release him and help him find his way back to Ithaka. The poem’s structure—as opposed to the chronology of the story—invites us to view Circe through Calypso. Both are potential threats to the hero’s return; both attempt to use sexual conquest as a method of control. Calypso succeeds for a time, but before Odysseus encounters Circe, Hermes supplies him with the magic drug moly, which makes him immune to Circe’s power (10.281–306). When Odysseus comes looking for the crewmen Circe has turned into pigs, the witch’s welcome is elaborate:

ἔστην δ᾽ εἰνὶ θύρῃσι θεᾶς καλλιπλοκάμοιο·
ἔνθα στὰς ἐβόησα, θεὰ δέ μευ ἔκλυεν αὐδῆς.
ἡ δ᾽ αἶψ᾽ ἐξελθοῦσα θύρας ὤιξε φαεινὰς
καὶ κάλει· αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν ἑπόμην ἀκαχήμενος ἦτορ.
εἷσε δέ μ᾽ εἰσαγαγοῦσα ἐπὶ θρόνου ἀργυροήλου
καλοῦ δαιδαλέου· ὑπὸ δὲ θρῆνυς ποσὶν ἦεν·
τεῦχε δέ μοι κυκεῶ χρυσέῳ δέπᾳ, ὄφρα πίοιμι,>
ἐν δέ τε φάρμακον ἧκε, κακὰ φρονέουσ᾽ ἐνὶ θυμῷ.
αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δῶκέν τε καὶ ἔκπιον, οὐδέ μ᾽ ἔθελξε,
ῥάβδῳ πεπληγυῖα ἔπος τ᾽ ἔφατ᾽ ἔκ τ᾽ ὀνόμαζεν·
‘ἔρχεο νῦν συφεόνδε, μετ᾽ ἄλλων λέξο ἑταίρων."

I stood at the doorway of the lovely-haired goddess,
and standing there, I shouted, and the goddess heard my voice.
She came and quickly threw open the shining doors
and called, inviting me in. I followed, much disturbed in my heart.
Leading me in, she offered me a chair with silver studs,
lovely and highly wrought, with a stool for my feet.
Then she made me a potion to drink in a golden cup,
and with evil thoughts in her heart put a drug in it.
She gave it to me and I drank it, but it did not enchant me.
Striking me with her wand, she spoke and named me:
“Now go into the sty and sleep with your companions.”

Odyssey 10. 310–20

“Opening the shining doors,” (312) is a gesture with sexual overtones in early Greek hexameter poetry (cf. 10.230, 256; 6.18–19; Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 60, 236); Circe’s offer of a seat and drink mimics proper gestures of hospitality, but masks malign intent. When Odysseus draws his sword, the sexual symbolism continues:

ἡ δὲ μέγα ἰάχουσα ὑπέδραμε καὶ λάβε γούνων,
καί μ᾽ ὀλοφυρομένη ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·
"τίς πόθεν εἶς ἀνδρῶν; πόθι τοι πόλις ἠδὲ τοκῆες;
θαῦμά μ᾽ ἔχει ὡς οὔ τι πιὼν τάδε φάρμακ᾽ ἐθέλχθης·
οὐδὲ γὰρ οὐδέ τις ἄλλος ἀνὴρ τάδε φάρμακ᾽ ἀνέτλη,
ὅς κε πίῃ καὶ πρῶτον ἀμείψεται ἕρκος ὀδόντων.
σοὶ δέ τις ἐν στήθεσσιν ἀκήλητος νόος ἐστίν.
ἦ σύ γ᾽ Ὀδυσσεύς ἐσσι πολύτροπος, ὅν τέ μοι αἰεὶ
φάσκεν ἐλεύσεσθαι χρυσόρραπις ἀργεϊφόντης
ἐκ Τροίης ἀνιόντα θοῇ σὺν νηὶ μελαίνῃ.
ἀλλ᾽ ἄγε δὴ κολεῷ μὲν ἄορ θέο, νῶι δ᾽ ἔπειτα
εὐνῆς ἡμετέρης ἐπιβείομεν, ὄφρα μιγέντε
εὐνῇ καὶ φιλότητι πεποίθομεν ἀλλήλοισιν."

Crying out, she ran under the sword and grasped my knees,
and in her distress she spoke to me and uttered winged words:
“Who are you and where are you from, what city, what parents?
Wonder grips me that you drank my drugs and are not
enchanted; for no other man could resist these drugs,
once he drank them and they passed the barrier of his teeth.
The mind in you is proof against enchantment.
You must be Odysseus, man of many turns, who
the Slayer of Argos with his golden wand kept saying
would come from Troy with your dark ship.
But come now, sheathe your sword, and let us two
climb up on my bed, so we might mingle there
in lovemaking and trust each other.

Odyssey 10.323–35

This negotiation, so transparently symbolic, is a gendered power struggle. Circe plans to take away Odysseus’s human form, turning him into another pig alongside his unfortunate crewmen, an erasure of his fundamental identity that echoes his captivity on Calypso’s island. Though we have seen earlier (10.212–19) that she has all kinds of animals roaming around her land, a porcine existence seems a to reflect what lust can bring out in a man’s nature. The moly that Hermes has supplied blocks her power and she submits immediately, her posture and his phallic sword suggesting that he has neutralized her sexual power with his own self-assertion. At this point, Circe ceases to be a threat to Odysseus’s manhood and human identity, becoming instead a generous helpmeet, freeing his crew from animal form and offering him sex without strings attached. With this shift in her persona, the figure of detaining woman fades, to be replaced by other mythical paradigms and much of the energy in her relationship with Odysseus goes with it.

Later in Book 5, we will see that Odysseus encounters a second nymph and enters into another gendered power negotiation. For now, the focus shifts, as Calypso supplies the hero with the tools to convert trees into a boat to sail away in. Homer’s description highlights the civilizing force of the work. Odysseus uses the tools to limit and shape the natural growth of the trees, cutting, straightening, smoothing, until nature’s power is channeled into new forms that serve human needs. The magical, harmonious profusion of Calypso’s world is made to fit different symmetries for new purposes. The axe handle fits both the craftsman’s palms and its blade; the adze is polished smooth. After he cuts down the trees, Odysseus strips the bark and planes off the natural curves to make straight deck boards, which he fits to the uprights. He makes a rudder, so he can make the boat go straight; he covers the sides with wattles, to keep the water out. The boat itself reflects how the Greeks understood the process by which human civilization comes into being, the imposition of human intelligence on the raw power of nature. Now it will carry the hero away from the timeless realm of Calypso toward the human world created in Ithaka.

Further Reading

Nagy, G. 1979. The Best of the Achaeans, 298–300; 311. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Russo, J. 1966. “The Structural Formula in Homeric Verse.” Yale Classical Studies 20: 219–240.