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The Iliad by Homer.,
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The Iliad (edition 1990)

by Homer.,

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27,96828159 (4.04)9 / 1330
Member:Speaks
Title:The Iliad
Authors:Homer.,
Info:New York, N.Y., U.S.A. : Viking, 1990.
Collections:Poetry & Drama, Your library (inactive)
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The Iliad by Homer

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    Waldstein: Very free interpretation (not adaptation) that in many ways improves on the original. No childish gods, no rambling digressions. Visually spectacular. The dialogue is a bit cringeworthy now and then, but it does have flashes of brilliance. Only for the most broad-minded admirers of Homer - or those who find the Greek bard unsatisfactory. PS Caveat: the Director's Cut is gratuitously gory!… (more)
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I have read this numerous times, but Fagles' amazing translation really made it seem new and exciting all over again. ( )
  histprof | Oct 17, 2018 |
Mandatory reading for ENG150Y1, The Literary Tradition. Well, there's a bit of a difficulty: we're only assigned roughly half the book to read, and gloss over 'unimportant bits' with summary. However, I feel that the advanced study of certain parts of the book takes precedence to not actually reading some of the book (well, books 2-5, 7-11, 13-15, and 17). Plus, Homer is rather redundantly worded.

Anyway, the Iliad. How about that? Not as good as the Odyssey, but my version of the Odyssey was the Fagles translation, so that might've affected my understanding. This work seems less adventurous and more concerned with the names of the men Achilleus kills that we never see again.

I mean, there's a bromance going on with Patroklos that's interesting. There is the whole parallel of Achilleus and Hektor and how Hektor was forced into fighting, so who are we really rooting for? It plays both sides as the protagonists, and so seems to just try and live out those weeks of the war to give you a glimpse of the people. You could even argue that the ending, the whole burial of Hektor, makes the Trojans the good guys.

Anyway, I could start talking about our lectures on the Iliad, but I respect it - as it's rather thorough for an event that happened hundreds of years before it was told, which is rather amazing. ( )
  matildepark | Aug 27, 2018 |
First a disclaimer: I don’t have ancient Greek (or any other kind), so please correct or chastise me if I misunderstand any passages for that reason. Equally, my analysis involves some assumptions about what was common, idiomatic English in Pope’s day: if I’ve got it wrong, please set me right!

I think the overarching drama played out between the vigorous, up-and-coming Greeks and the more cultured, slightly decadent Trojans is one that we profoundly recognise. In western societies, we are of course at the Trojan stage, but most western societies can look back at an earlier, less sophisticated, more vigorous founding generation or generations. And even where the parallels are not nearly exact, I think there’s a sense of recognition. In fact, I think most readers have a sneaking regard for the simple, thuggish side of the Achaeans. This is maybe reinforced by the fact that we know that these Greeks eventually produced the Classical Greece society and invented democracy. In a sense, we are the Achaeans and the Trojans at the same time. I’ll leave the question to one side as to whether Homer and the Greeks stamped this archetype on our minds or whether it is a universal of human nature (or to stay in this corner of the Med, a Platonic ideal). This drama is also played out at the family level, and people still love stories of rough, determined self-made people who carved out a successful living and founded a dynasty. We don’t expect these founders to be morally impeccable or culturally sophisticated: they allow subsequent generations to be that.

Why is “The Iliad” modern?

a) It’s modern because it’s been pretty much an uninterrupted influence. Homer was a big influence in his way on Classical Greece (reading Plato, it’s remarkable how conversant all the “characters” are with Homer’s poetry). And at least from the Renaissance on, Classical Greece has been a model for all European and American nations, especially those with aspirations of empire. In other words, Homer doesn’t feel alien to us because he made our minds what they are. An interesting thought experiment here would be to imagine that The Iliad had been lost before Classical Greek times and then suddenly a manuscript of the text was discovered last year. Without all the influence exerted by the book over the intervening period, how alien would we find the story then?

b) The Iliad feels psychologically modern because of the plot arc. A lot of the archaic weirdness is front-loaded and eventually we end up at Priam’s tent and we understand, it seems, every nuance of what is said and every corner of the characters’ hearts;

c) Homer (i.e. Homer-the-author-of-The-Iliad), like Shakespeare, was a unique genius who speaks to our inner selves.

My perspective here has been that of an European. Beyond a certain universal core, people from different cultures and traditions will of course feel different levels of proximity to the book. Incidentally, the only long narrative I’ve read from a similar time as the "Iliad” that feels as psychologically familiar to me is the stories (or at least much of them) spanning the Books of Samuel and the Books of Kings in the OT (NB: The NT feels psychologically familiar too – for many different reasons of course, one being that the places where Jesus lived were to some degree culturally Greco-Roman then & the NT was written in Greek etc.) I have no textual analysis to back this up, but the author of “The Odyssey” feels very different to me to the author of the "Iliad”. To me “The Odyssey” smacks a little of multiple sources spliced together, but I strongly feel that the material of the "Iliad” was drawn together by and filtered through a single consciousness (whether orally first or not is a different question).

And I don’t feel close to that person, even allowing for the cultural differences of 3,000 years. Why is that?

Let’s delve into this some more; I think of any other ancient epic you like (“The Odyssey” comes to mind). Jumping forward in time to Virgil, I have to say that the “Aeneid” is perhaps even stranger and more confusing (and maddening) to my imagination than the “Iliad”. Or if we take any European work with roots in pre-historic tales or the Early Middle Ages, I feel that it is much more alien to me than the “Iliad”. There is much in Beowulf, the Arthurian legends and the earliest Robin Hood ballads that makes no psychological sense to me. In part this is because the versions that were written down were not shaped by a single (supremely talented) imagination. (And because sometimes different tales were cobbled together without much editing, that accounts for some psychological inconsistency.) But I don’t think it’s the full reason: I think the people who told and consumed these stories were very different to me. Put bluntly, psychologically I feel I have more in common with Achilles than I do with King Arthur or Lancelot. By the time we get to Chaucer and Dante, I think we know pretty much exactly where we are (psychologically speaking).

Some further thoughts on rhyme and Pope’s translation of the “Iliad” (analysing translations is a lengthy business, so apologies in advance for what will be a long comment):

First of all, a rhymed version hasn’t (as far as I know) been attempted in a very long time, and the reasons are obvious:

a) ancient and classical poetry isn’t rhymed, so a rhyming version is anachronistic;
b) observing a metre (e.g. blank verse), conveying a range of poetic effects and delivering the content of the original is plenty to be getting on with;
c) for some reason rhyme is capable of carrying the most serious subject-matter when used in lyric poetry, but can seem inappropriately bouncy for ancient epic poetry.

One of my favourite scenes in all of literature is in Goethe’s Faust (Part 2). To explain for those who haven’t read it: most of Part 2 involves extended fantasy sequences where Faust flits between various eras and settings and mingles with legendary characters of the past. After a long scene in front of Menelaus’s palace which uses exclusively classical metres (and no rhyme), Faust and Helen of Troy wind up at a medieval castle. There a character makes a speech in rhyme, and Helen is amazed. She says:

“But teach me why that man spoke aloud
With curious speech, familiar but strange.
Each sound seeming to give way to the next,
And when a word gave pleasure to the ear,
Another came, as if to caress the first.”

In a translation into German by A.S. Kline we get:

“Doch wünscht ich Unterricht, warum die Rede
Des Manns mir seltsam klang, seltsam und freundlich.
Ein Ton scheint sich dem anderen zu bequemen,
Und hat ein Wort zum Ohre sich gesellt,
Ein anderes kommt, dem ersten liebzukosen.”

Faust explains a little and then induces Helen to begin rhyming by leaving his thoughts incomplete for her to supply the missing rhyme. In other words, he tees up little rhymes for her. This all symbolises their coming closer (and also of course it symbolises a union between ancient Greek and medieval German). It’s such a delightful scene, and its whole impact is dependent on understanding that rhyme was hardly ever used in ancient or classical verse and is something that emerged with force in medieval Europe. In this context, Alexander Pope’s decision to translate the “Iliad” into heroic couplets can appear philologically dubious and generally wrongheaded. In the period between Pope and Goethe, as I understand it, a lot of classical research was undertaken and there was a general resurgence of interest in the classical world (the era preceding Romanticism isn’t called Classical for nothing). So it’s easy to see Pope and his rhymed version as forever stranded, although of course his Iliad also had its critics in his day and shortly afterwards – including Cowper.) A few years back, I expressed some scepticism about Pope’s heroic couplets for the reasons above and some others as well. But I promised that I would read some of the Pope with an open mind. So I’ve dipped into the Pope translation, especially the sections in Book I and Book VI that were excerpted from the new Caroline Alexander translation. That’s allowed me to compare Fagles and Pope. The other translations I’ve just used as comparisons: my focus has been on Pope.

I made the point earlier about inappropriate jollity or bounciness. Well, Pope as good as owns up to this at the end of the second line:

“Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring
Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing!”

That exclamation mark is justified in one sense by the imperative, but surely it is also an acknowledgement of Pope’s audacity/brass neck. In fact, exclamation marks pepper the translation, including sometimes – rather incredibly – at a caesura. Presumably these exclamation marks have nothing to do with Homer’s text or ancient Greek punctuation (at least they’re absent from Caroline Alexander’s and Fagles’s translations). Of course, coming up with a rhyme every two lines is a kind of performance in itself, and I think it’s not too much of a stretch to see or hear an implied exclamation mark every time a verse comes home (i.e., every two lines). So I think these implied exclamation marks build up their pressure and eventually force Pope to use real ones when the rhymes are particularly extravagant. Already we see that the use of rhyme is forcing Pope to drift away from Homer’s text into a kind of parallel one. (Of course, all translation is a parallel text in some sense; I just mean that Pope is pushed further off course than modern translators) ...

Before reading (some of) the Pope translation, I assumed that heroic couplets (with their double strictures of rhyme and iambic pentameters) would inevitably result in rum word choices and unnatural word order. Over a long translation, I think this is simply inevitable. And indeed you don’t have to look far to find them:

“Her bosom laboured with a boding sigh,
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye.”

The big tear? Prosody experts can correct me if I’m wrong, but I suspect that the only reason it’s “the” big tear and not “a” big tear is because “a” would count as a weak stress, and that would mess up the iambs. (Of course, it’s a kind of suspension of disbelief anyway to imagine that “the” would be pronounced with a stronger stress than “big” but it’s necessary for iambics to be viable; otherwise you couldn’t have a single-syllable adjective precede a single-syllable noun.)

“That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy,
Where yon wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy”

One suspects that the position of the word “most” and the use of the word “annoy” are only there to serve metre and rhyme and have little to do with idiomatic – or even poetic – (early 18th Century) English.

“Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given,
Or led by hopes, or dictated from heaven.
Let others in the field their arms employ,
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.”

Or if we move back to the very start of the poem, we have this rhyme:

“Since great Achilles and Atrides strove,
Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove!”
And then around 20 lines later:
“If mercy fail, yet let my presents move,
And dread avenging Phoebus, son of Jove.”

So how is the word “Jove” pronounced then? (Or have the pronunciations of “move” and “strove” changed since Pope’s time?) ...

.. And yet, and yet … I have to say that Pope’s translation does many things very well. There’s a tidiness to his verses – partly imposed no doubt by the couplets but also I think by his general poetic mastery. For example:

“The nurse stood near, in whose embraces press'd,
His only hope hung smiling at her breast,
Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn,
Fair as the new-born star that gilds the morn.
To this loved infant Hector gave the name
Scamandrius, from Scamander's honour'd stream;
Astyanax the Trojans call'd the boy,
From his great father, the defence of Troy.”

To me, that’s all beautifully clear and efficient. It doesn’t read like a translation. I think Pope outdoes Fagles here.

This is Fagles:

“She joined him now, and following in her steps
a servant holding the boy against her breast,
in the first flush of life, only a baby,
Hector's son, the darling of his eyes
and radiant as a star . . .
Hector would always call the boy Scamandrius,
townsmen called him Astyanax, Lord of the City,
since Hector was the lone defense of Troy.”

To me, the inversions lend Andromache’s speech a perfectly apposite rhetorical nobility. And as two lines of euphonic verse, they are just lovely on their own terms. And often Pope is winningly ruthless when it comes to leaving out unnecessary details. For example:

“Yet while my Hector still survives, I see
My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee:
Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all
Once more will perish, if my Hector fall,
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share:
Oh, prove a husband's and a father's care!”

Again, we see Pope’s tidiness of mind and impressive economy. He’s left out some details of the Greek (or at least I infer that he has from the fact that Fagles included them).

Here’s Fagles again:

“You, Hector—you are my father now, my noble mother,
a brother too, and you are my husband, young and warm and strong!
Pity me, please! Take your stand on the rampart here,
before you orphan your son and make your wife a widow.”

I presume that Fagles is more faithful to the Greek text (readers of Greek can correct me if I’m wrong), and I suspect that the Greek word/inflection for “noble” or “honoured” fits nicely into the grammar and metre of Homer’s verse. But (to me at least) it feels awkward in English to give the mother an adjectival attribute in the middle of the list and not the father or the brother on either side. So I suspect that Pope, by jettisoning “noble”/”honoured”, has exercised good judgement as far as the demands of good English verse is concerned. Equally, I guess Andromache calls Hector strong and young in the original Greek – and it could be argued that it adds to the pathos to have her say these words – but we know Hector is young and strong, and I don’t mind not having that information here if it makes for a better verse. Certainly modern translators are held to higher standards of fidelity than 18th Century ones, so my praise of Pope here should not be understood as implicit criticism of Fagles. In general, I don’t want to get into the fidelity vs demands of target language debate, but I do want to praise Pope for keeping a concerned eye on his readers.

Other verses of Pope that I wish to offer up for simple admiration are:

“The chief replied: "That post shall be my care,
Not that alone, but all the works of war.
How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd,
And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground
Attaint the lustre of my former name,
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame?
My early youth was bred to martial pains,
My soul impels me to the embattled plains!
Let me be foremost to defend the throne,
And guard my father's glories, and my own.”

I really feel that the last line in particular is pure poetic brilliance.

Or to prove that Pope’s rhymes are capable of capturing the humanity of the characters, there’s this one for example:

“Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy
Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.
The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast,
Scared at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest.”

Having said all that, I could only recommend Pope to someone who was going to read a modern translation as well. I loved the Fagles version and am looking forward to reading the Pope once again after 10 years. But my closer reading of the Pope back in the day, has made me appreciate that his translation is more than just a slightly misguided artefact. I’m now inclined to think it’s a towering and still relevant achievement. In any case, it has made me want to read his whole “Iliad” translation … which all goes to prove that there is no set of preconceptions that won’t be overturned or deepened by a proper encounter with something, especially when the thing is the work of a great poet.

Why don’t I like the “Iliad” the same way I do with the “Odyssey”? No modern author would choose a vain, sulky brat (Achilles) as their hero (even if they tried, the character would be interpreted as an anti-hero). No modern author would make another of the main heroes as devious and underhand as Homer portrays Odysseus (a modern author would have to make Odysseus’s cunning more ingenious than sneaky if the character was to have any hold on our sympathies). Another way in which the "Iliad" is psychologically alien is the nature and role of the gods. Clearly Homer (and by implication his audience) had a very different conception of human autonomy. Having the gods intervene in the action to pursue petty vendettas really does feel alien to us. There are no doubt other ways too in which the book is alien. However, my overall feeling when I read the "Iliad" for the first time was of psychological involvement/engagement with the characters right through to the end (i.e. the opposite of alienation from them). This was very different from my experience of reading “The Odyssey” (which I’d read first). I found Odysseus tiresome, maddening and strange, and many of the individual episodes were also estranging experiences (in other words, weird stuff happened that I couldn’t really psychologically comprehend), but the overall story arc of the Odyssey is very engaging and it ends very satisfyingly. Achilles, on the other hand, is not a hero in the modern sense of the word. He is individualistic. He broods in his tent while his brothers-in-arms are hacked to pieces. The near-victory of the Trojans seems to leave him indifferent. Achilles is in it for personal glory. He sulks when his honour is publicly diminished, and only takes up arms in a vengeful rage. Any notion of communal glory or fighting for the advancement of his people seems to be absent. His instruction to Patroclus not to ‘make my glory that much less’ (by attacking the city) strikes me as the kind of thing Messi might say to a teammate before a match if he thought he could get away with it.

Having said that, none of the “Iliad” made sense to me until I understood the centrality of honour. I found the scrambling for armour in battle, with the adversary already dead and his comrades closing in, particularly baffling. But of course, if your main objective in battle is to prove your valour, then the best way to do that is to grab a trophy from a slain enemy. It’s worth the risk if honour is valued more highly than life.

If I'm a man and not crippled or very old, I'm a hoplite, and if I'm a hoplite my shield hangs over the hearth most of the time. Every few years my wife takes it down and polishes it up and then I go off to kill a few other hoplites from out of town and someday, very likely, get killed myself. Meanwhile, between wars, these wandering storytellers come around and entertain us for a modest price. One thing I know: it will have to be one hell of a story to top the stories I could tell you myself. You think your last commander was a piece of work? Let me tell you about Agamemnon. You had some tough guys in your army? Let me tell you about Achilles. When he was on your side, you always won. Always. Nobody could stop him. But what an amazing jerk he could be! Get this, there was the time...I think all this is psychologically real to us because it's every war story you can think of - and every story in the form of a war story - we've ever had. But it's not conforming to us, it's we who are conforming to it whenever we revert to war story mode. In every other way the world of the “Iliad” is impossibly foreign to us. Nobody thinks about anything in the “Iliad”: some god jumps straight into their head and tells them what's what. Always, all the way through. And yet it doesn't feel nearly as strange to us as it ought to - because when we're in war story mode, we don't do a whole lot of thinking ourselves, either. We only think we do. I can certainly see the old veteran describing (in painstaking detail!) the ships he saw and itemising the legions and their commanders. That could be the veteran of almost any major war. (Whether Homer himself saw action is a different question). And much of the middle of the “Iliad” is like the first 20 minutes of “Saving Private Ryan” in many respects. The heat of battle remains the heat of battle. In addition, the sympathy we feel for the Trojans is probably not all down to Homer's skill but because we understand what defeat means. It has not fundamentally changed.Yet, when we think of all the myths and stories about the Trojan War that were available to Homer, wasn't it a stroke of complete storytelling genius to begin late in the siege with the squabble in the Greek camp and to essentially tie the whole drama of the war to Achilles's internal struggle? And the basic structure of internal squabbling, then battle with the enemy, then poignant aftermath at Priam's tent: I don't think any of that is self-evident as a structure: it needed a genius. Think of what a muddle could have been made with the same material. In other words, I don't think Homer just got there first in describing a war and did a decent job and had his influence for that reason. To give an example I mentioned above: Robin Hood has become a kind of archetypal hero (a good-hearted outlaw in an unjust society), but if you read “A Gest of Robyn Hode”, you can see what a strange mess (from a modern perspective) can be made out of such material. (In the case of that ballad, this is of course partly due to it being written by different sources). And the “Gest of Robyn Hode” is much, much more recent.

Coming back to the "Iliad", I might say: Nobody thinks about anything in the “Iliad”: some God jumps straight into their head and tells them what's what. Always, all the way through. I agree 100%: that's how the poem develops, line by line. And yet the Achilles that talks to Priam at the end is (internally, psychologically) a very different person/demigod to the sulking youth of the start. And importantly, it's not that he has learned a pat lesson: he has actually become more complex as a result of the war. We are not shown the train of thoughts (like the brilliant scene at Pemberley in “Pride and Prejudice” where we eavesdrop on Elizabeth Bennet's thoughts and listen to her arrive step by step at the truth about her feelings and Mr. Darcy), but nonetheless we must infer that they have occurred. Anyway, this has turned into a long riff on just two words, so apologies! ( )
  antao | Aug 22, 2018 |
Better than the movie! Once you get the rhythm it sucks you in like a time machine. Amazing. ( )
1 vote drardavis | Jul 7, 2018 |
Para a Ilíada 5 estrelas, mas como a tradução do Odorico Mendes me dá nos nervos, 4 estrelas para essa edição. ( )
  Adriana_Scarpin | Jun 12, 2018 |
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» Add other authors (525 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Homerprimary authorall editionsconfirmed
Pope, AlexanderTranslatormain authorsome editionsconfirmed
Alberich i Mariné, JoanTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Alexander, CarolineTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Ģiezens, AugustsTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Baskin, LeonardIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Bendz, GerhardTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Björkeson, IngvarTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Bond, William HenryEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Boysen, RolfNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Broome, WilliamContributorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Brower, Reuben ArthurEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Bruijn, J.C.Editorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Buckley, Theodore AloisEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Butler, SamuelTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Chase, Alston HurdTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Ciani, Maria GraziaTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Cullen, PatrickNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Damsté, OnnoEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Devecseri, GáborTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Due, Otto SteenTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Earl of Derby, Edward George Geoffrey Smith Stanley,Translatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Erni, HansIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Fagles, RobertTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Fitzgerald, RobertTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Flaxman, JohnIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Fridrihsons, KurtsIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Graves, RobertTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Hammond, MartinIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Holland, TomAfterwordsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Jacobi, DerekNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Kelfkens, C.J.Cover designersecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Knox, BernardIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Koolschijn, GerardTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Lagerlöf, ErlandTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Lateur, PatrickTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Lattimore, RichmondTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Leaf, WalterTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Linkomies, EdwinForewordsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Lombardo, StanleyTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Luis Segala & Estalellasecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Manninen, OttoTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Mitchell, StephenTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Monti, VincenzoTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Muller, Herbert J.Contributorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Myers, ErnestTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Orléans de La Motte, Louis François Gabriel d'Translatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Parnell, ThomasContributorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Perry, William G. Jr.Translatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Pope, AlexanderTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Rees, EnnisTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Rhodes, Charles ElbertEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Rieu, Emile VictorTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Rouse, William H. D.Translatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Savage, SteeleIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Schadewaldt, WolfgangTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Schrott, RaoulTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Segalà i Estalella, LluísTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Shankman, StevenEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Shorey, PaulEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Stawell, F. MelianIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Stolpe, JanEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Svenbro, JesperForewordsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Timmerman, Aegidius W.Translatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Vosmaer, C.Translatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Voss, Johann HeinrichTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Wakefield, GilbertEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Wills, GarryPrefacesecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed

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Sing, o goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achæans.
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(Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)
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Haiku summary
Too many heroes
Too much blood, sex, fighting, war
Gods and goddesses
(pickupsticks)
Mannered, ironic,
Pope is scarcely Homeric.
How is it this works?
(bertilak)
Helen of Sparta
Elopes with Paris. Name change
To Helen of Troy
(pickupsticks)
All work and no gifts,
I refuse to fight for you
until my friend dies.
(LeBoeuf)

Amazon.com Amazon.com Review (ISBN 0140275363, Paperback)

This groundbreaking English version by Robert Fagles is the most important recent translation of Homer's great epic poem. The verse translation has been hailed by scholars as the new standard, providing an Iliad that delights modern sensibility and aesthetic without sacrificing the grandeur and particular genius of Homer's own style and language. The Iliad is one of the two great epics of Homer, and is typically described as one of the greatest war stories of all time, but to say the Iliad is a war story does not begin to describe the emotional sweep of its action and characters: Achilles, Helen, Hector, and other heroes of Greek myth and history in the tenth and final year of the Greek siege of Troy.

(retrieved from Amazon Thu, 12 Mar 2015 18:22:07 -0400)

(see all 14 descriptions)

The centuries old epic about the wrath of Achilles is rendered into modern English verse by a renowned translator and accompanied by an introduction that reassesses the identity of Homer. In Robert Fagles' beautifully rendered text, the Iliad overwhelms us afresh. The huge themes godlike, yet utterly human of savagery and calculation, of destiny defied, of triumph and grief compel our own humanity. Time after time, one pauses and re-reads before continuing. Fagles' voice is always that of a poet and scholar of our own age as he conveys the power of Homer. Robert Fagles and Bernard Knox are to be congratulated and praised on this admirable work.… (more)

(summary from another edition)

» see all 55 descriptions

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Penguin Australia

5 editions of this book were published by Penguin Australia.

Editions: 0140275363, 0140445927, 0140447946, 0140444440, 0451530691

HighBridge Audio

An edition of this book was published by HighBridge Audio.

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HighBridge

An edition of this book was published by HighBridge.

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Tantor Media

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