Odyssey Worksheet
Activity
Step into the Shoes
1.Step into the shoes of a character from the story – it could be Odysseus himself or one of
his crew, it could be a made up character who is watching the other characters in the story.
It could be that your character is a monster, a ghost from the land of the dead or Odysseus’s
son growing up without his father. Look at the poets’ letters to get some inspiration.
2.Think about where your character is now. Is he/she in the boat, or on an island? What
is the weather like? Is the sea calm or is there a storm brewing? Is there anyone with your
character? Or is he/she alone?
3.Decide how you character feels: sad, happy, lonely, angry, tired, homesick, or excited.
4.Note down all the things you know about you characters: their dreams, fears, who their
friends and family might be.
5.Write a poem in the voice of your character. You might be the Cyclops. How did he feel
when Odysseus and his men had left his island and he was all alone, blinded and angry?
(note for teachers - this activity could be done in pairs or alone)
© 2005 Barbican Education
Calypso’s song
By Malika Booker
Penelope,
I am writing this letter to you, because
you are like an echo in my head. I have
never met you, but you haunt me. I wonder
about you. What type of woman you are?
What do you look like? Are you kind,
loving, young and vibrant or old, nasty and
cantankerous? We have never breathed
the same air, stood in the same room, lived
in the same land. I do not know you. Yet I
want to know you. All I know is your name.
Penelope this letter is the story of a nymph
called Calypso, whose heart cracked. A
beautiful creature, whose smile bewitched
gods and mortals alike, yet she smiles no
more. Who no longer sings in the rain,
dances in the sunshine, plucking hibiscus
flowers to tuck behind her hair, skipping
with the butterflies to the sound of the bees,
buzzing on the roses. A sad woman who
sits and gazes over the sea searching for a
man’s return knowing it is useless. He will
not come back. I am that woman who can
no longer bear to say the man’s name. I
am the nymph Calypso ruled by her human
heart.
I pulled him from the sea, one morning
when the sun kissed my eyelashes making
the sea sparkle. It was the morning after
a dense, moonless night, when the sea
stormed in anger. I found him lying on the
shores of my paradise, curled up, waves
gently lapping his bruised body. He lay so
© Malika Booker 2004 Commissioned by Barbican Education for Can I Have a Word
continued...
still, barely breathing, that I thought he was
dead. He arrived a nobody, a wasteland,
barren, dejected, a man tormented, haunted
in his dreams. Each night he would scream
in his sleep until hoarse. Such awful
screams, then the savage whisper Pen, Pen,
Pen over and over, tears on his face.
He arrived here with no soul, no pride. The
more I nursed him, the more I wanted to
save him and in trying to save him I pitied
him and that pity turned to love. I offered
him immortal life and my love but he threw
it all back at me for you Penelope. You
were his beacon. You kept him alive, Pen
his only treasure. He called your name in
his tortured sleep. Now after seven years he
has sneaked out in the middle of the night
and left my island. There was no good bye.
I know he is trying to find you.
Since he left, I have refused to let his
name pass my lips or his memory slip into
my mind. Penelope, I sit and write you
letters each night. Letters I will not send,
wondering what made him stand by the
water gazing out to sea looking for you,
longing pulling at his face. Wondering what
power you possess that a man would turn
down the offer of immortal life, the chance
to live forever for a mere woman named
Penelope. Wondering what could I do to
compete. Knowing you won even before I
ever met him.
So I write to you each night and keep these
letters locked away in this wooden box.
© Malika Booker 2004 Commissioned by Barbican Education for Can I Have a Word
A Letter From Nobody
(Found in a sack among the wreck of the great ship)
By Margot Henderson
I don’t know who will read this. I was never
a man of letters but even the most simple
man has his story to tell and this is mine. I
am no great hero, favoured by the Gods,
like Odysseus. I am a simple sailor and a
foolish one at that. You do not know me.
I am a nobody. I did not have to go like
Odysseus to the centre of the island where
no one had ever seen an oar or the sea to
become a nobody. Not me. I was born one.
That is why I wanted to open the treasure
bag from King Aeolus in the first place. I
was not brave or clever like Odysseus. I
never did anything that would bring me
notice. Not till now anyway. I just had an
idea (I don’t have many). I thought it might
make me more popular among the crew. I
thought they might like me. It seemed like
a clever thing to do. To take the King’s
treasure and share it around like a grand
man. Odysseus said it was greater than the
treasure that he won from Troy. How was I
to know that such a treasure has the power
to aid or to destroy? I am not used to poetry
or clever things. How was I to know this
treasure was the awesome power of the
winds?
I remember when I opened it, I was
expecting gold and silver, pearls and
precious gems. I was imagining how I
would win the love of the ladies and earn
the respect of friends. I can’t tell you the
power and the terror I unleashed, the
sickening swirling whirling of the winds
released. Writhing and gyring like a sea
of snakes. I still have nightmares about it.
Sometimes it takes a shock like that to help
you wake up and realise what it is in life
that really matters. (That and being turned
into a pig by the Goddess Circe, but that’s
another story.)
Looking back after all these adventures,
losing friends to the elements and having to
live with what I did and the consequences,
I can see now how the power of nature is a
kind of treasure. The wind is a gift that fills
your sails and helps you go forward into life
or else it tears your life in shreds and tatters.
This is my story for what it is worth. Like
me it may be lost at sea but I feel better for
having told it to whoever will listen, and
though this was not my odyssey, I too have
learned a lesson in humility.
© Margot Henderson 2004 Commissioned by Barbican Education for Can I Have a Word
Homer, Sweet Homer
By Jared Louche
My Son I am uncomfortable with letters. Until now,
great stories have only ever been spoken,
never written. Through all these years,
I’ve woven myriad tales and dreamed of
unravelling them before you late into the
night by the fire. But I am so far away that
I must carve another path to reach you, or
you may never know my days or my words
at all. From this prison isle of Calypso, even
my loudest voice cannot catch your ears.
I fear I may die here and never see you
again.
My world has been very different to yours,
and there is so much I hunger to tell you,
but writing has never before hoped to paint
so many strange and shocking pictures.
A letter has never before unfolded Circe’s
Island in all its colours of fear. A man would
need three eyes to see the things I have
seen, two brains, ten ears, but scrolls?
Stories are born in the telling, and in
re-telling they remain as alive as fish in the
sea. Secrets whispered become as powerful
as Poseidon tossing blue wave blankets.
Stories are as dangerous as the hungry
Cyclops. Now I must wrestle each of them
onto these blank sheets of white. I must
ask parchment to be my voice, ink to be
my tongue and my imagination to be your
shepherd.
continued...
© Jared Louche 2004 Commissioned by Barbican Education for Can I Have a Word
Siren voices colour the air with both hope
and horror, luring sailors onto violent rocks.
I alone outsmarted them, and lived to tell of
it. If I die now, here on sun-baked Calypso,
with none of my travels communicated to
you, my words will erase as well, just sand
designs washed out by waves. Through the
mists of the Land of the Dead, my mother’s
ghost croaked to me. She told me about
you, how strong you have grown. But it
troubles me: when you read these feeble
scratchings, how will you hear her voice?
Will it be the same voice I heard? Can I
make the words mean the same for you as
for me?
My dear son, when I last saw you, you
were a boy barely on his feet. Now
you are nearly a man stepping into the
world. If I cannot make the ink speak my
adventures before I die, how will you ever
know whether they were worth leaving
you for? Will you ever know where your
father’s footsteps led him? Over the years,
I have bested demons and Gods, Sirens
and serpents, but even the Oracle at Delphi
never had a challenge as great as mine: to
battle this pen, this empty page, and, with
letters alone, win a boy’s heart. Perhaps I
can. So, I’ll begin.
– your Father
© Jared Louche 2004 Commissioned by Barbican Education for Can I Have a Word
The Sirens Call
By John Mole
Dear Clotis,
You remember I told you about the sirens.
Well, we’re safely past their island now but
I just can’t stop wondering what would have
happened to me if the ropes hadn’t held. It
was agony listening to those beautiful voices
which sounded so much like Penelope’s
and reminded me of home. What really
gives me nightmares, though, is that hideous
heap of bones on the shore and knowing
that mine could have joined them. I keep
seeing them there, shining in the moonlight
like the ghostly nest of some monstrous
bird. Last night I had the worst dream of
all. There I was, lying in Penelope’s arms
and she was singing softly to me. Then all
of a sudden I turned to look at her and her
gentle smile had become a terrible grin.
‘Now you will be ours forever,’ she laughed
and rose up, hovering over me. It wasn’t
my wife but some sinister bird-like creature,
and the look in her eyes chilled me to
the bone. I leapt from bed and suddenly
realised that I wasn’t home at all but on
the sirens’ island, standing naked amongst
the bleached skeletons of their victims. The
siren, I had thought was my wife, gave out
an ear-splitting shriek, and the other two
came flying towards us, their heavy wings
beating the air. You know how it is in a
nightmare when you stand helpless, rooted
to the spot. Well, that’s how it was with
me. I tried to call out but my throat was
so tight with terror that I couldn’t make a
sound. Everything seemed to get darker and
darker but, strangely, the moon was still up
there shining down and lighting three pairs
of greedy, ravenous eyes. I felt the cold
touch of a wing-tip on my shoulder, then
– thanks to the Gods – I woke, sweating
and shuddering but, mercifully, safe!
My friend, just telling you this has helped
me, but I must confess that I still dread the
dreams that may yet be to come. This has
been a fearful journey, and I so long for
the peace of mind that seeing you and my
family again may bring.
Your true comrade, Odysseus.
Clotis is a friend of Odysseus
© John Mole 2004 Commissioned by Barbican Education for Can I Have a Word
From Son to Mother
By Michael Rosen
Dear Mother,
Don’t worry about me. I’m with friends. I
can’t go on walking the roads where I’m
known. I hear what they say about my
father. When I have told you, you’ve said
that it’s lies and you know he is coming
home. So I say that to them and they
laugh.
It’s too long mother. I don’t want to be near
people who whisper things that I am afraid
are true. Don’t worry about me. I’m with
friends.
Your son
Telemachus
The Mother is Penelope, Odyssues’s wife.
The Son is Telemachus, Odysseus’s son.
© Michael Rosen 2004 Commissioned by Barbican Education for Can I Have a Word
Special Delivery
By Eva Salzman
Dear Cyclops,
Do you recall your youth, that fond nickname
I gave you here, at our summer home on the shore near Crete?
I was thinking, just back from another Mount Olympus luncheon:
like father and like son - bullied by man’s vanity and blamed
for devouring living things. Mere mortals make assumptions
borne of their two-eyed gaze – as you well know, hurt son!
No respect! God’s sake, even Polyphemus needs to eat!
"Well. While tempests rage, who loves coral reefs, and the whales'
sonar songs which ring the globe - as enchanting as any Siren's call?
Who admires my finer points during tidal waves? One upturned boat
and I’m treacherous and violent, dark. I swallow cities whole!
But am I not as well the gentle swell on which the hero floats?
We all have our bad days, don’t we, when the ill winds blow.
Let these million messages in bottles send deep sympathy
- the postal service, sadly, not being what it used to be and news: Odysseus hears not the sea’s soft breath in his conch-shell
but an angry father, and a crowd of gods who roar and yell.
Hear this! Odysseus did bluff his way past many perils
and rests on the peaceful island of Hyperion, but finally
he’ll face us united – lightning swords flung by Zeus and me
at his ship’s mast. A surge of storm-wracked waves will herald
his next chapter, and you won’t need eyes to hear his agony!
May I lastly say, as our hero’s final tide comes in:
poor Cyclops! Son! I’d never judge a man or god by outward looks
nor by what poets write of gods or monsters in their books.
Yours, Poseidon
© Eva Salzman 2004 Commissioned by Barbican Education for Can I Have a Word
A Letter With Love
By Jacob Sam la Rose
Dear Ariste
If this letter is delivered, and not by my
hand, let it speak for me. Let it say that I
loved you, and love you dearly, even in
death. If the Gods take mercy and grant
me clear memory as I walk with the dead,
may they allow me to remember you.
Remember every moment we have shared.
Our beloved home. The things I have left
behind.
Although it is every soldier’s desire to be
remembered as a hero, to be remembered
for his courage, know that I am afraid.
Fear has been our constant companion on
this voyage. May Zeus protect you, that
you may never see such things as we have
seen. This past year on Circe’s island
has been the most peaceful, and yet we
cannot forget. Some of the men cry out in
their sleep. Some of the men would rather
stay here, safe in Circe’s care, fed by her
kindness. I am among those that would
return.
I am among those that would find a way
home.
All this time I’ve been away, I wonder what
you have thought. Do you think me dead
already? Do you think that I’ve forgotten
you? That I’ve found some other place to
call home? That I have, somehow, found
happiness? Nothing could be more untrue.
Every night, by an open fire, we tell tales.
Every night, it is the same. We start with
soldiers’ stories, battles and bravery. And
every night, as the fire burns down, we turn
to tales of the lives we’ve left behind. Last
night, one of us told a simple story of his
son’s first steps. I was sat closest to him,
and by the dying light of the fire, I swear I
saw his cheeks glisten as he spoke, his face
wet with tears.
And so we strike for home. Tomorrow, we
sail again. There are rumours of the trials
we face ahead. A toll of life that must be
paid. A sacrifice. Perhaps fortune will
show me a kindness – perhaps I will be
spared long enough to follow Odysseus
home. To step onto the beach of our
homeland. To walk the mile from the shore
to our home. To see you, again.
Know this. It is not death I fear. Every
mortal must taste death’s sting. In truth, I
fear that death might take me before I see
you once more. Know that I do everything
in my power to return to you, as far as the
gods allow. Until such time as we see each
other again.
Yours Nikolaos.
© Jacob Sam La Rose 2004 Commissioned by Barbican Education for Can I Have a Word
The Odyssey
Transcript
As Re-told by Daniel Morden
TROY
Long, long ago, three thousand years ago, there was a terrible war. A war between the
people of Greece and the people of the city of Troy. The war lasted ten years. For ten long
years the Greeks tried to break into the city, but the walls were too strong. For ten years the
Greeks were far away from their families. One king, Odysseus, his wife had had a baby on
the day he’d had to sail away. He had not had the chance to see his son grow up. Every
day Odysseus would wonder if his son was walking, talking, laughing…
So Odysseus came up with a plan. The Greeks sneaked into the city inside a great wooden
horse. Odysseus had ended the war at last.
I won’t say he won it, because nobody wins a war. Both sides lose. Both sides have to suffer
sadness and sorrow.
As soon as he could Odysseus set off for home.
One day, on a little island in the glittering blue sea, a stranger was washed up on the
shore. His skin was studded with scars and bruises. The people who found him were afraid.
By the look of him this man had fought in many battles. He was taken to the king of the
island. The king said
“What is your name?”
The stranger replied
“My name is Odysseus. I fought at Troy, and ever since the war ended I’ve tried to get
home.”
“Odysseus,“ said the king, “it has been years since Troy fell. Where have you been? Tell us
of your adventures.”
And so Odysseus told his story.
CYCLOPS
For many weeks we sailed from Troy until we saw an island that seemed to be a paradise. It
was so green! We saw fat sheep and goats grazing.
We landed, hoping we would find people with whom we could swap Trojan treasures for
food. I took a goatskin of the strongest wine I’d ever drunk.
© 2005 Barbican Education
We found a cave. Outside it there was boulder. We went in. It was a home. There were
lambs and little goats, buckets of cheese and milk, and a fire. But whose home was it?
Soon, we heard animals approaching. We hid and watched the entrance. In came a flock
of sheep and goats. Behind them was a giant, a giant with one eye. A Cyclops.
He blocked the cave entrance with the boulder. He turned and noticed us.
“What are you?”
“We are men, we’re on a journey. Will you help us?”
“I’ll help. I’ll help myself!”
He grabbed one of my crew, and ate him there and then.
“Hur! Hur!”
I couldn’t kill this monster but perhaps I could trick him…
I held up the wine.
“Here’s a gift. Will you give me something in return?”
He took the wine and drank it all in one gulp.
“What is your name?”
“My name?…my name is Nobody”
“Well then Nobody, I thank you for your gift. It tasted good. In return I’ll give you a little
more life. You will be the last one that I eat!”
He grabbed another man and bit off his head. He chewed it noisily. As he chewed his eye
closed and he stumbled. He was drunk. He lay on the floor and fell asleep.
We searched the cave and found a tree trunk. We sharpened one end. Then we put the
point into the fire until it glowed red hot. We lifted the tree trunk onto our shoulders, then we
ran at the sleeping Cyclops and pushed the point into his eye, twisting it from side to side.
He screamed. He pulled the wood from his head, but it was too late. He was blind.
His scream had been heard by his brothers in other caves in the hill. They came running.
“What is the matter? Why are you screaming?”
“I’ve been blinded!”
“Who has blinded you?”
“Nobody! Nobody has blinded me”
“If it was nobody you don’t need our help. Pray to our father the sea god Poseidon. He’ll
give you your sight back!”
And the other Cyclops went back to their caves and their dreams.
When the bleating of the animals told the Cyclops’ day had come, he felt his way along the
walls until he found the boulder that blocked the entrance. He pushed it out, and then stood
in the entrance. The sheep and goats walked out to graze, they had to walk under him. He
would feel them, hoping he recognise us by touch. But we were under the animals bellies.
I had tied each man under an animal. The Cyclops felt their backs and released them, not
knowing my men were beneath.
Once we were safely aboard the ship I shouted
“Cyclops! It was not Nobody who blinded you. It was Odysseus, King of rocky Ithaca!”
© 2005 Barbican Education
The Cyclops shouted back
“My father is the Sea God! He will punish you for blinding me If you reach home, it will
be alone, and unknown, and under a strange sail, and you will find danger waiting where
there should be a welcome! Father Poseidon, make a storm now!”
We looked around us, but no storm came. Had the Cyclops words been heard by the god
of the sea?
AEOLUS
The Cyclops called for his father the sea god to send a storm, but no storm came. There was
no wind at all. We had to row for weeks. When we saw an island we made for it at once.
A strange place it was. A floating island, surrounded by tall walls of bronze. We were
welcomed in by the people of that place. Their King, Aeolus, loved to hear the stories of
Troy. We stayed with him for a week and all through that time there was not a breath of a
breeze. At last I asked him if he knew the reason why there was no wind. He laughed.
“The sea god Poseidon has had an argument with father god Zeus. Zeus has stolen all the
winds of the world from him. Zeus has given them to me! I have them in a sack. I am to set
them free in a month. But what if I released just one, to fill your sail? With the help of that
wind, nothing would stop you getting home! I’ll give the sack to you, and when you’re back
in Ithaca you can release the rest!”
He took me to the sack. It writhed and bulged as though it was alive. He untied the knot
around the neck. A wriggling wisp of smoke emerged. We shivered. Our clothes billowed.
Then he tied the knot tight again and gave the sack to me. My crew were already aboard.
The people of the island had gathered to wish us farewell. I jumped into the ship and held
up the sack.
“This is the greatest of treasures! Thank you King Aeolus!”
The people cheered. My crew stared at the sack.
Sure enough, that wind we’d set free filled our sail. It pushed us across the sea. No need to
row. No need to steer! It was as though we were following a path across the restless waves.
For nine days and nights I sat on the fore deck, just behind the prow. Then I saw my
homeland. Ithaca! I recognised her at once. Soon I’d be home. I was so relieved I fell
asleep. One of my crew turned to his friend.
“Did you hear what Odysseus said? He said inside this sack is the greatest of treasures.
Everything else he’s shared with us, as he ought to, we’ve risked our lives as often as him.
But this he keeps to himself. This he keeps hidden. Let’s see what it is.”
So he untied the knot around the neck of the sack. As soon as he did so, he was blasted
from his bench. A thousand gales and gusts burst into the air. The sky darkened. The sea
god had all the weapons he needed now. The North wind threw us for the South wind to
catch. The West and the East were fighting over us.
I woke up, and my homeland was gone! Lost in the mist!
© 2005 Barbican Education
CIRCE
Poseidon’s storm raged against us. As soon as we sighted an island in any direction we
made for it. We beached the ship and dragged it up out of the reach of the storm. And
within minutes the storm ended. Surely the sea god Poseidon had sent it to punish us for
blinding his son. My men were full of despair. The sea god wanted to kill us! How would
we ever get home?
I left my men by the boat while I explored the island. I climbed a hill and saw a palace
nearby. Perhaps these people could help us. I returned to the boat to tell my men, but the
boat was deserted. I saw their footprints leading into a forest. I followed them to a
clearing, and there was the palace. I looked through the window and saw my men eating
and drinking. Then I saw a beautiful woman bring them more. I saw her draw out a wand,
and suddenly all my men were pigs! She’d transformed them into pigs! They flopped from
their chairs into the shadows.
Half of me was furious. The other half was terrified. I drew my sword, but suddenly there
was a bright light, and I saw the gods’ messenger, Hermes!
“Odysseus, this is Circe. She is too powerful for you. She’ll turn you into a pig too, unless
you use this magic herb. Moly is its name.”
I thanked Hermes and took the herb and he was gone.
I went to the door. She welcomed me in. As I sat down she drew out the wand and pointed.
But this time her spell had no effect! The magic herb had saved me! With my sword I struck
the wand out of her hand.
“Restore my crew to their human forms!”
She gasped.
“You’re here at last! One hundred years ago there was a prophecy. I was told that a man
would come who was my equal. You’re Odysseus, aren’t you? I promise I’ll give you only
what you desire.”
After that Circe was our friend. She turned the pigs back into men. She helped us mend the
sail of our ship. I asked her how we might reach our homeland again. Her answer put a
chill into my soul.
“Only the blind ghost Tiresias would know. To speak with him you must go to the Land of
the Dead.”
THE LAND OF THE DEAD
The Land of the Dead is far away across the sea. It is where your soul goes after your body
dies. The living shouldn’t go there. It’s an awful, dreadful place. But we had to. Only the
blind ghost Tiresias could tell us how to get home. We sailed so far north our breath
became a mist when it left our lips. So far north, that ice formed on the mast. Then we
passed into a thick mist. Our ship beached on a sandbank. I set off, leading two sheep. For
how long I walked I cannot say. Day and night had no meaning. There was only an awful
© 2005 Barbican Education
gloom.
I came to the edge of a river. The river of forgetfulness. On the other side, hidden by the
mist, was the Land of the Dead. I cut the throats of the sheep, so their blood poured into the
sand. Shapes formed in the mist. I heard moaning and hissing. The ghosts came, summoned
by our sacrifice.
All but one of the spirits of the dead had lost all memory of their life. They are stupid, hungry
wraiths until they can drink the blood of a mortal sacrifice. This is what they desire above all
else. They long to remember their lives. But this blood was for the only one who has kept his
mind. The blind ghost Tiresias. I swung my sword to keep the other ghosts away. Then I saw
a him! Tiresias! I knew him by his white eyes. I called to him and let him drink the blood.
“Odysseus, there is only one way that you will see your homeland again. You must learn
to be humble. As you voyage across the sea you’ll see an island where cattle graze. You’ll
want to feast on their flesh, but they belong to the sun god. If he sees you harm those cows
he’ll go to Zeus and Zeus will punish you. Zeus will ensure that the Cyclops curse will chase
you across the world until, if at last, you reached your homeland, you would be alone, and
unknown, and under a strange sail, and you would find danger waiting where there should
be a welcome.”
As the ghost spoke I saw a sight that made me run screaming back to the ship. I saw the
ghost of my own mother.
SIRENS
The smell of the dead sticks to you. Only when we had sailed out of the fog did we shake
off the horrible chill we felt. We returned to Circe’s island. I told her what I had learned
from the blind ghost.
She said “Listen to me. The island of the Sun is far away. To get to it you must travel through
great danger.”
And Circe told me of the island of the Sirens and their enchantments. She told me also of
two terrible rocks.
“The sea will carry you between them. On one side there is a mountain. Far above you,
hidden by smoke, there’s a fiery dragon, Scylla the Devourer. As you sail by she will attack
and eat six of your crew. It will be hard for you, but you must let her, because on the other
side of you there’s a flat island. One tree grows on it, dipping its branches into the ocean.
Under it in the sea there is a whirlpool. Charybdis the Swallower. If she catches hold of your
ship all of you will drown. So let the dragon take six lives instead of the whirlpool taking
all!”
What a choice!
Next morning, we said goodbye to Circe. Soon we heard a strange sound across the sea.
The Sirens.
The Sirens song is so beautiful anyone who hears it wants to hear more. But all around their
© 2005 Barbican Education
island there are sharp rocks under the sea. Many ships have wrecked there. I ordered my
men to block their ears and to tie me to the mast of the ship. These things they did, and the
shimmering song began. Only I could hear it. I ordered them to change course, but they
knew I was under the Sirens spell, and they ignored me.
On the island they saw two hills of human bones. On top of each hill there was a creature
with the body of a vulture and the head of a woman singing.
As for me I could not see. I could only hear a song so beautiful I nearly went mad.
In the song I heard so many sounds.
The hiss and drag of the sea on a beach.
The moan of the wind.
The rhythm of the seasons.
The sound of a heartbeat.
Those sounds together made the song.
SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS
When we had travelled far away enough that the song could not be heard, my men untied
me.
Very soon I saw a mountain rising above the horizon, the top hidden by smoke. Scylla the
dragon’s lair! I had to make my terrible choice. A dragon on one side and a whirlpool on
the other. Should I let Scylla eat six men, and so save the rest of my crew from Charybdis
the whirlpool?
I decided to try and fight the dragon. I took a spear in each hand and stood at the front of
the ship, peering into the smoke….
“Look!” I turned and saw in the ocean the Swallower, Charybdis. She was magnificent,
horrible, beautiful, terrible. She sucked down the ocean in a terrifying swirl, then spat it into
the sky like salty rain, like a god’s tears. As we gazed at her the dragon struck from above.
Quick as a thought she lunged from her cave. She grabbed six of my men. They screamed.
Only then did I turn and see her just for a moment: her fiery skin, the kicking legs of my
friends in her mouth... I fought in a war for ten years. I saw some horrible things, but nothing was as horrible as that. My men died screaming my name. And the sound of their
screams haunts my dreams.
CATTLE OF THE SUN
Scylla the dragon had eaten six of my friends. The ship drifted where the current took it. My
men sat and sobbed, their shoulders shaking.
“Land!”
I lifted my head and saw an island. I saw cattle grazing. I saw the sun staring down at the
© 2005 Barbican Education
cattle and I remembered what I’d learned from the blind ghost in the Land of the Dead.
“We must not stop here. This is the most dangerous place so far. If the sun god sees us eat
the cattle, he’ll go to Zeus and demand revenge!”
At this, my crew lost their temper. One of them said “I think you are not a man at all, but a
god in disguise. Because like the gods you have no pity! How can this be the most
dangerous place of all? Look at it! No dragons, no giants, no sign of human life at all! I say
we land and rest before night comes!” Around me my men nodded their heads.
“Promise me you won’t harm the cattle!”
“Why should we? The witch Circe gave us plenty of food!”
So we beached the ship, and lit a fire. We tried to eat, but all of us were thinking of our
friends, the victims of the dragon Scylla. Many of us fell asleep with tears coursing down our
cheeks.
I was woken during the night by a terrible storm. It was as if sea and sky were at war. The
storm kept raging and raging for weeks. First we ran out of meat. Then bread. Then everything else we had. We were caught in a trap! I could see my men looking longingly at the
cattle.
One day I fought my way through the rain until I’d left my men behind. I lit a fire and I
prayed to the gods to end this storm so we could sail away from this place that posed us
such a danger!
In return for my prayer I was put into a sleep. When I woke the storm was over! I clambered
over the dunes to the ship to find my men cooking two of the cattle!
“What have you done?”
“The gods aren’t angry with us! We made offerings, the best cuts of the meat we offered to
the gods, and once we had done so the storm ended! Eat!”
Even though I was starving I could not eat that meat. My men ate their fill, and so made the
gods angry with them.
We set sail, and as soon as we were away from the island a thunderbolt struck the ship
where the mast reached the deck. The whole ship bucked. A wall of a wave rose against
us, I could see the brown weed in the water, and then it broke and the ship was dashed to
pieces. Fuming breakers tore at every plank. I sank beneath the surface and all was silent.
I rose above the surface and the world was filled with sound, the rumble of thunder, Poseidon’s laughter, the crashing waves, the screams of my friends…
Then I saw the whirlpool! The swallower Charybdis! Surely nothing could save us from her!
She sucked us towards her. I kicked and fought… but then I saw something blacker than the
night sky stretched out above me… The tree! I remembered a tree grew over the whirlpool. I
reached up and grabbed a branch, and I hung there dripping, watching her swallow all of
my friends. This was their punishment for eating the cattle of the sun.
There are a few minutes between the suck and spout of the Swallower. When those
© 2005 Barbican Education
moments came I dropped into the water and swam into the open sea.
CALYPSO
All of my men were dead. Drowned in the sea. I was found more dead than alive on an
island by a nymph. Calypso was her name. She nursed me back to health. As she nursed
me, she fell in love with me. She offered me immortal life if I would stay with her, but as I
lay there, unable to move, I knew all I wanted from the rest of my life was a humble human
thing. I wanted to be with my wife Penelope. So I refused. Calypso kept me prisoner for
seven long years. Seven years I waited to escape. Seven years to think about my
adventures, all my moments of bravery and boastfulness, fury and folly.
At last the goddess Athene intervened. She ordered the nymph Calypso to set me free. And
I built a raft and sailed across the sea. Poseidon saw me and sent a storm. By chance I
reached the shore of this island. Everything I took from Troy is gone. All I have left is a
longing to see my homeland and my family.
HOME
When Odysseus had finished his story King Alcinous said
“Odysseus, you have suffered much during your journey. Though it would be an honour to
have you here as my guest, I will order my men to prepare a ship. Tomorrow morning you
will sail home.”
And the very next morning Odysseus did sail home. And so the Cyclops’ curse had come
true. He reached home alone, and unknown under a strange sail. And there WAS danger
waiting where there should have been a welcome.
What kind of danger?
That you’ll have to find out for yourselves, in one of the best books ever written, The
Odyssey.
© 2005 Barbican Education