Homeric Hymns: A Translation, with Introduction and Notes (Joan Palevsky Imprint in Classical Literature) - Softcover

Rayor, Diane J.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0520282116 ISBN 13: 9780520282117

Publisher: University of California Press, 2014

Synopsis

The Homeric Hymns have survived for two and a half millennia because of their captivating stories, beautiful language, and religious significance. Well before the advent of writing in Greece, they were performed by traveling bards at religious events, competitions, banquets, and festivals. These thirty-four poems invoking and celebrating the gods of ancient Greece raise questions that humanity still struggles with-questions about our place among others and in the world.

Known as "Homeric" because they were composed in the same meter, dialect, and style as Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, these hymns were created to be sung aloud. In this superb translation by Diane J. Rayor, which deftly combines accuracy and poetry, the ancient music of the hymns comes alive for the modern reader. Here is the birth of Apollo, god of prophecy, healing, and music and founder of Delphi, the most famous oracular shrine in ancient Greece. Here is Zeus, inflicting upon Aphrodite her own mighty power to cause gods to mate with humans, and here is Demeter rescuing her daughter Persephone from the underworld and initiating the rites of the Eleusinian Mysteries.

This updated edition incorporates twenty-eight new lines in the first Hymn to Dionysos, along with expanded notes, a new preface, and an enhanced bibliography. With her introduction and notes, Rayor places the hymns in their historical and aesthetic context, providing the information needed to read, interpret, and fully appreciate these literary windows on an ancient world. As introductions to the Greek gods, entrancing stories, exquisite poetry, and early literary records of key religious rituals and sites, the Homeric Hymns should be read by any student of mythology, classical literature, ancient religion, women in antiquity, or the Greek language.

About this title

About the Author

Diane J. Rayor is Professor of Classics at Grand Valley State University, Michigan, in the department she helped found. In 2011, she received the prestigious Glenn A. Niemeyer Outstanding Faculty Award for excellence in teaching, scholarship, and service. Her translations of ancient Greek poetry and drama include Euripides' "Medea"; Sophocles' "Antigone"; Sappho's Lyre: Archaic Lyric and Women Poets of Ancient Greece; and, with Stanley Lombardo, Callimachus. She also edited, with William Batstone, Latin Lyric and Elegiac Poetry.

From the Back Cover

"Rayor's book is superb and appeals to all who are interested in classical literature, mythology, and related subjects. It displays the translator's art at its best and is highly suitable for classroom use. Those wishing to pursue the Hymns in greater depth will find the select bibliography a useful source of current scholarship on the subject. Rayor is to be congratulated for a job well done."--Classical Outlook

"This translation beautifully captures the style of the Homeric Hymns, at once pictorial and flowing. With an art that conceals art, Rayor finds the right euphonious language: accurate, vibrant without calling attention to itself, varied in tone, and natural. It is a delight to read."--Eva Stehle, author of Performance and Gender in Ancient Greece

From the Inside Flap

Rayor s book is superb and appeals to all who are interested in classical literature, mythology, and related subjects. It displays the translator s art at its best and is highly suitable for classroom use. Those wishing to pursue the Hymns in greater depth will find the select bibliography a useful source of current scholarship on the subject. Rayor is to be congratulated for a job well done. Classical Outlook

"This translation beautifully captures the style of the Homeric Hymns, at once pictorial and flowing. With an art that conceals art, Rayor finds the right euphonious language: accurate, vibrant without calling attention to itself, varied in tone, and natural. It is a delight to read." Eva Stehle, author of Performance and Gender in Ancient Greece

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Homeric Hymns

A Translation, with Introduction and Notes

By Diane J. Rayor

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS

Copyright © 2014 The Regents of the University of California
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-520-28211-7

Contents

Preface, 
Acknowledgment, 
Map, 
Introduction, 
1. Dionysos, 
2. Demeter, 
3. Apollo, 
4. Hermes, 
5. Aphrodite, 
6. Aphrodite, 
7. Dionysos, 
8. Ares, 
9. Artemis, 
10. Aphrodite, 
11. Athena, 
12. Hera, 
13. Demeter, 
14. Mother of the Gods, 
15. Herakles, 
16. Asklepios, 
17. Dioskouroi, 
18. Hermes, 
19. Pan, 
20. Hephaistos, 
21. Apollo, 
22. Poseidon, 
23. Zeus, 
24. Hestia, 
25. The Muses, Apollo, and Zeus, 
26. Dionysos, 
27. Artemis, 
28. Athena, 
29. Hestia and Hermes, 
30. Gaia, 
31. Helios, 
32. Selene, 
33. Dioskouroi, 
34. Xenoi, 
Notes, 
Select Bibliography, 
Glossary, 

CHAPTER 1

HYMN TO DIONYSOS

Some say in Drakanos, others in windy Ikaros, still others say in Naxos, O Bullgod son of Zeus, or there by the deep-eddying river Alpheos, pregnant Semele bore you to thunder-loving Zeus.

Others say you were born in Thebes, Lord, but all of them lie: the father of men and gods gave birth to you far from people, hidden from white-armed Hera.

Nysa is the place, a mighty peak blooming with woods, far from Phoenicia, near the river Nile. None of the human race sails there, with no harbor for their curved ships, for a high, steep cliff encircles it. Yet it grows many lovely delicacies ... [missing lines] [Vines] lush with their clusters of dark grapes ... [missing lines] [Zeus to Hera:] "... you wish. How could you suffer more shamefully? I too acted foolishly.... Hephaistos left on his own.... as they assume forever ... He tricked you, binding you in chains from Tartaros.

Who, my dear, can free you? A painful belt wraps around your body, while Hephaistos pays no mind to command or plea, but devises firm resolve in his heart. Sister, you bore a cruel son.... crafty though lame.... before his feet ... good.... he rages.... angry ... Let us see if he will soften his iron heart at all.

Two smart sons of mine are handy30to help in your troubles—Ares is one, who wields a sharp spear, a tough fighter ... And there is Dionysos ... But Hephaistos better not start a contest with me or he will stagger away struck by my lightning.... sweet.... this boy of mine ... [missing lines] People will raise many statues in his temples. Since there are three ..., every third year humans will always sacrifice a hundred perfect bulls."

So spoke the son of Kronos nodding his dark-blue brows—the king's divine hair swirled about his immortal head, as he shook great Olympos.

With those words, wise Zeus nodded his command.

Be gracious, Bullgod, maker of maenads. We bards sing of you first and last; there is no way to forget you and still remember holy song. O Dionysos, Bullgod son of Zeus, rejoice with your mother Semele, whom some call Thyone.

CHAPTER 2

HYMN TO DEMETER

I sing of the revered goddess, rich-haired Demeter, and her slim-ankled daughter, whom Hades snatched (far-seeing, thundering Zeus gave her away) while she and Ocean's deep-breasted daughters played, far from golden blade Demeter, who bears shining fruit. She picked lush meadow flowers: roses, crocuses, lovely violets, irises, hyacinths—and a narcissus Gaia grew as a lure for the blossoming girl, following Zeus' bidding, to please Lord of the Dead.

Everyone marveled at the bewitching sight, immortal gods and mortal folk alike: from its root blossomed a hundred sweetly scented heads, and all wide heaven above, all earth, and the salty swell of the sea laughed.

Amazed, she stretched out both hands to pick the charming bloom—and a chasm opened in the Nysian plain. Out sprang Lord of the Dead, god of many names, on his immortal horses.

Snatching the unwilling girl, he carried her off in his golden chariot, as she cried and screamed aloud calling to her father, son of Kronos, highest and best.

None of the immortal gods or mortal folk heard her cry, nor the Olives shining with fruit—except the daughter of Perses, tender-hearted Hekate, veiled in light, heard from her cave and Lord Helios, Hyperion's shining son, heard the girl calling to her father, son of Kronos.

Zeus sat far away from the gods, in his temple echoing with prayers, accepting rich offerings from mortals. But her father's brother, Kronos' son of many names, Lord of the Many Dead, stole the unwilling girl away on his immortal horses, with a nod from Zeus.

While the goddess could still gaze at earth and starry heaven, strong rush of the fish-abundant sea and sun's rays, she still hoped to see her dear mother and the race of gods who live forever: hope yet charmed her strong mind though she grieved. The mountain peaks and the sea depths echoed with her eternal cry, and her goddess mother heard her. Sharp grief seized her heart; with both hands she tore the veil from her ambrosial hair, threw a black cloak across her shoulders and sped like a bird over the nourishing land and sea, searching: but none of the immortal gods or mortal folk would tell her the truth, nor did omen birds bring true messages.

Nine days Queen Deo wandered the earth, blazing torches in her hands, nor did she eat ambrosia or sip sweet nectar once while grieving, or wash her skin clean.

When shining Dawn arose on the tenth day, Hekate met her with torches in her own hands and drew close, speaking these words:

"Queen Demeter, who brings seasons, bears shining fruit, which one of the heavenly gods or mortal folk seized Persephone and grieved your spirit?

I heard her cry, but with my own eyes did not see who did it. I am telling you the whole truth." Hekate asked, but the daughter of rich-haired Rhea did not wait to reply. Quickly she rushed away, blazing torches in her hands, Hekate at her side.

They came to Helios, who watches gods and mortals, and stood before his horses. The heavenly goddess said: "Helios, respect me as a goddess, if ever before with words or deeds I cheered your heart and soul.

The girl I bore, a sweet blossom, a joy to see, I heard her screams through the barren air as if she was taken by force, but I did not see her. Yet you gaze through the bright air with your rays over the whole wide earth and sea:

Tell me truly of my dear child, if you saw who stole her away from me, against her will, and is gone, what god or mortal man?"

She asked and Hyperion's son answered back: "Queen Demeter, daughter of rich-haired Rhea, you will know: I do greatly respect you and pity your grief over your slim-ankled child. No other god arranged it but cloud-gathering Zeus, who gave her to his own brother Hades to be called his budding wife. He carried her off on his horses into the misty darkness while she screamed aloud.

But, Goddess, give up your strong grief; let go of your infinite anger. Hades is not an unsuitable son-in-law among the gods: Lord of the Many Dead, your own brother from the same seed. As for honor, he won the third share when the division was made and lives as king among those in his allotted land."

After speaking, Helios called to his horses, who at his shout bore the swift chariot quickly like long-winged birds.

But a grief more dread and more bitter came over her. Then, furious at Zeus who darkens clouds, she withdrew from the assembly of gods and high Olympos and wandered the cities and rich fields of humans, disguising her form for a long time. Nor did any man or woman recognize her when they looked, until she came to the house of thoughtful Keleos, who then was ruler of incense-offering Eleusis. She sat near the road, her heart sorrowing, by Maiden Well where townswomen drew water, an olive tree spreading shade above her; she looked like an old woman born long ago, without a child or gifts of garland-loving Aphrodite, like a nurse for the children of a righteous king or a housekeeper in a king's echoing palace.

The daughters of Keleos, son of Eleusinos, saw her as they came to draw the well water and bring it in bronze pitchers to their father's house.

Like four goddesses, they bloomed with youth: Kallidike, Kleisidike, lovely Demo, and Kallithoe, eldest of them all.

They did not know her, for mortals have trouble seeing gods. Flocking near her, their words flew out swiftly:

"Who are you and from where, old woman of elder folk?

Why do you stay far from the city and not draw near the homes? There are women in the shady halls the same age as you and those younger who would treat you well both in word and deed."

They asked her, and the queenly goddess answered:

"Dear children, whoever you are of womankind, greetings. Since you ask, I will tell you my tale; it is right to tell you the truth:

Doso is my name, given by my lady mother.

I came from Crete upon the sea's wide back, not wanting to, but forced against my will, stolen away by pirates. When they landed their swift ship at Thorikos, the women set foot on land all together, and the pirates prepared dinner beside the ship's stern cables.

But my spirit longed for no pleasant meal.

Secretly hurrying through the darkened land

I fled my arrogant leaders, so they could not sell me, an unbought slave, and enjoy my purchase price.

After wandering so, I came here, not knowing at all what land this is or who lives here.

Yet may all those in Olympian homes grant you true husbands and childbearing as your parents wish: now pity me, girls, [missing line]

dear children, tell me what man and wife's house I might go to, and so work for them gladly at whatever tasks an old woman can do: I could nurse a newborn babe in my arms quite well, guard the house and make up the master's bed within his well-built room, and guide the women in all their work."

So the goddess said. Quickly the unwed girl, Kallidike, Keleos' most beautiful daughter, replied:

"Good mother, the gods' gifts and griefs by necessity we humans must endure—gods are much more powerful. I will tell you everything clearly and name the men who have great strength of honor here; they are preeminent among the people and protect the city walls with counsels and straight judgments. They are wise Triptolemos, Diokles, Polyxeinos, excellent Eumolpos, Dolikhos, and our own heroic father— wives of them all manage the houses.

Not a one of them would scorn your bearing at first glance, or keep you from their house, no: they will welcome you—you are godlike.

Please wait while we go to our father's house so we may ask our mother Metaneira all of this straight through: she might urge you to come to our house and not seek another.

Her only son is nursed within the well-built halls, a son born late, prayed for, much cherished.

If you would rear him until he reaches a measure of youth, any woman seeing you would envy you, so high a reward would our mother give."

She urged and the goddess nodded her head.

Then they proudly carried the bright jars filled with water. Flying to their father's great house, they quickly told their mother just what they saw and heard. Right away, she bid them offer the woman a boundless wage.

Like deer or young heifers in spring's season leaping through the meadow, sated with grazing, holding up the folds of their flowing robes, they darted down the hollow wagon trail, their hair shimmering over their shoulders like crocus in bloom.

They came to the glorious goddess waiting near the road and led her to their father's house.

Demeter followed after, her heart sorrowing, her head veiled. A dark-blue robe trembled around the goddess's slender feet.

Quickly they came to the house of highborn Keleos. They walked across the porch to where their mother sat by a column that supported the strong roof, holding her child, her new sprout, to her breast. They ran to her, but the goddess set foot on the threshold, her head touching the rafter, the doorway filled with divine light.

Awe, reverence, and damp fear seized Metaneira. Rising, she offered the goddess her royal seat. But Demeter, who brings seasons, bears shining fruit, did not wish to sit upon the radiant throne— she waited silently, her lovely eyes cast down, until careful, wise Iambe set up a stool and cast over it a silvery fleece.

Then the goddess sat, holding her veil before her. For a long time, grieving silently, she sat on the stool, greeting no one with word or gesture, not laughing, not tasting food or drink.

She sat, wasting with longing for her daughter, until wise, careful Iambe jested with her.

With a slew of jokes, Iambe made the divine lady smile, laugh, and keep a gracious mood— Iambe who in later times also pleased her spirit.

Metaneira gave her a cup of honey-sweet wine, but she shook her head, saying it was not right for her to drink red wine; Demeter bid her offer a drink of barley and water mixed with tender mint. She gave the kukeon drink to the goddess as ordered: Queen Deo received it for the sake of her rite.

Metaneira, richly girded, spoke first:

"Greetings, Lady—since I expect you are not lowborn, but noble. Your eyes reflect the dignity and the grace of kings who rule with justice.

But the gods' gifts and griefs we humans by necessity must endure, for the yoke lies on our neck.

Since you have come here, what is mine will be at hand. Nurse this child for me, whom the gods bestowed late born and unexpected; he is my dearest desire.

If you would rear him until he reaches a measure of youth, any woman seeing you would envy you, so high a reward would I give you."

Demeter, richly crowned, replied to her:

"Greetings to you too, lady, and may the gods bless you. Your son I will gladly embrace as you urge me; I will rear him, and not, I expect, as a negligent nurse, nor will spells attack him or herb potions.

For I know a stronger charm than the herb cutter; I know a good safeguard from painful spells."

Speaking briefly, she gathered him to her fragrant breast with her immortal hands. And the mother rejoiced.

Then the shining son of thoughtful Keleos, Demophon, whom richly girded Metaneira bore, she nursed in the great halls. He grew like a god, not eating grain, nor sucking [mother's milk].

[By day, Demeter] anointed him with ambrosia as if god-born, breathing sweetly on him, holding him to her breast.

By night she buried him in the fire's might like a brand, in secret from his own parents. They were amazed how fast he sprouted up; he was like the gods.

She would have made him unaging and immortal had not his mother, richly girded Metaneira, foolishly kept watch all night from her fragrant room, spying. She shrieked and struck her thighs, fearing for her son, pain searing her mind.

And in her grief words flew out swiftly:

"My baby Demophon, the stranger buries you deep in the fire, leaving me with grief and bitterness."

She called out weeping and the heavenly goddess heard. Furious at her, Demeter, crowned with grace, with immortal hands snatched from the fire the dear child, born to the royal house unexpected, and set him down on the floor. Her mind raging terribly, she chided richly girded Metaneira:

"Ignorant mortals, you have no sense to foresee destiny approaching whether good or bad.

You in your foolishness have been incurably harmed.

Let the gods' oath, the Styx's cruel water, witness:

I would have made your dear child immortal and unaging forever and granted him undying honor.

Now he cannot escape death or the death spirits. But undying honor will always be his because he lay on my knees and slept in my arms.

In time, as the anniversary of this day returns, the sons of Eleusis will wage war and dread battle against one another each year on that day.

I am honored Demeter, the greatest source of aid and joy for mortals and immortals. Come, have all the people build me a great temple with an altar below the city's steep walls, on the rising hill above Kallikhoron. I myself will lay out the rites so that hereafter you may appease my spirit by acting lawfully."

As she spoke, the goddess's form and stature changed, sloughing off old age, and all around breathed beauty: a bewitching scent emanated from her fragrant robes, light from the goddess's heavenly skin shone far, her golden hair flowed over her shoulders, and lightning flashes filled the finely crafted house.

She left the great hall. Metaneira's knees buckled. Silent a long time, she did not think at all to pick up from the floor her only son. But his sisters heard his pitiful cries, and dashed from their richly spread beds. One lifted the child in her arms, cradling him to her breast, another lit the fire, while another rushed on soft feet to rouse her mother from the fragrant room.

Gathering him up, they bathed the struggling child and held him lovingly, but his spirit was not soothed: far worse nurses and caretakers held him.

All night long, quaking with fear, they prayed that the great goddess be gracious. When dawn appeared they told Keleos, whose rule stretched far, all that Demeter, crowned with grace, had commanded.

He then summoned the people from all around, ordering them to make rich-haired Demeter a splendid temple and altar on the rising hill.

They obeyed at once, heeded his words, and built the temple, which grew as the deity had decreed. When it was completed, they rested from toil and left to return home. But golden Demeter sat there, far away from all the blessed ones, waiting, wasting away with longing for her daughter.

She made that a most dreadful and bitter year for people on the land that feeds them, and the earth sprouted no seed: Demeter, richly crowned, concealed it.

Oxen dragged the curved plows in vain through fields and the white barley fell fruitless to the earth.

The cruel famine would have destroyed the whole race of speaking folk, and deprived those in Olympos of the splendid honor of gifts and sacrifices, had Zeus not noticed, and devised a plan.

First he roused golden-winged Iris to summon rich-haired Demeter—her form now in full beauty.

Zeus spoke and Iris obeyed the storm-cloud son of Kronos, darting down with flying feet.

She came to the city of incense-offering Eleusis and found Demeter darkly robed in the temple.

Iris urged her with swift words:

"Demeter, Father Zeus—who knows all—summons you to join the race of gods who live forever.

Come, do not let my words from Zeus be barren."

Iris pleaded, but Demeter's spirit was not persuaded.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Homeric Hymns by Diane J. Rayor. Copyright © 2014 The Regents of the University of California. Excerpted by permission of UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: University of California Press
• Publication date: 2014
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0520282116
• ISBN 13: 9780520282117
• Binding: Paperback
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 192