Translating the Iliad Into More

Translating the Iliad into more contemporary language, with a dramatic change in setting presents many challenges. The first is to decide the degree to which the work needs to be translated.

This alone consists of multiple different concepts that must be integrated. For example, there is the issue of substitution. With an entirely different setting, certain things must be substituted, as things and concepts may not exist within the new setting. On a superficial level, we have to consider whether implements such as spears would exist, and if not what would be used in their stead. But soon it becomes apparent that many such substitutions are not superficial at all. One has to re-imagine the entire universe in which the story is now taking place. If not spears, what might they use? I imagined a world of hardscrabble humans who have spent five hundred years eking out survival in a world of limited natural resources and equipment handed down from generation to generation. The main weapons of warfare couldn't be guns because the supply of bullets would be limited after 500 years so something else must be devised.

This chapter highlights issues such as the importance of possessions to the Greeks. The Aquarian Greeks clearly would hold similar esteem for material goods, especially given the nature of their society, but the goods would be different. I decided that while it was possible that some animals came with the humans, they were not a Noah's Ark. I allowed for dogs in one passage, but did not feel horses would have made the journey. Replacing them were motorcycles, which I decided were a form of transportation efficient enough for the Aquarian world and its limited fuel. This analogy is continued through a character like Nestor, who goes from being a charioteer to an old biker.

The biker, however, brings up another challenge. When doing a translation on a line-by-line basis, we must keep the poem relatively intact. This does not facilitate significant deviation. The original poem operates under the assumption that certain things need not be explained - everybody reading knows what spears and chariots are. A far-flung substitution might make more sense in a fully re-imagined world, but such a world is inherently unfamiliar to the reader. In that sense, there is a certain amount of expositive text that is needed to explain the world to the reader, and such text is not explicitly present in the Iliad. So we are apt to use archetypes that are at least somewhat familiar to the modern reader - motorcycles and bikers being examples key to this chapter. While this makes Nestor's character immediately understandable to the reader, it jeopardizes the consistency of our futuristic universe. In the course of 500 years of catastrophic societal changes, surely the biker archetype will have been long forgotten.

Thus, in the course of the translation, certain concessions are made for the sake of expediency - a complete and direct translation may be the desired outcome but is not always going to be possible.

The other main issue in terms of translation is the language itself. Fagles' translation is addressed to a literate audience. In doing our translation, we must consider what our audience is going to be. Because we are maintaining the poem structure, we are maintaining a literate audience. The structure is epic, and that forms a part of the experience. The muscularity of the language is every bit as important as the words and ideas themselves. The experience of the work is drawn from all facets, when a form such as this is used. In that regard, there is only so far one can take the translation to colloquial English before the majesty of the work is corrupted. As it is, even though I approached the translation with a light hand I still felt the poetry was compromised

Aside from the above challenges, the biggest logistical challenge was the replace the concept of gods with computer programs. This is a major substitution. The role of gods in Homer's work and their interaction with humans is not something that translates well to a different context. The gods of Homer are personifications and it seemed to me difficult to translate that to machines. Moreover, they exist in a non-corporeal world, sliding in and out of character's minds and appearing wherever they wish at a moment's notice. The computer programs on the other hand are bound by the corporeal world. Messages are sent to the humans in a very literal sense, rather than in the spiritual way that Homer does this. Moreover, Homer's Greeks are devoutly religious while the "Greeks" of Aquarius 9 would be relating to these computers in a completely different way. So the superficial expunging of all religiosity ultimately cuts deep into the core of the character's personalities and motivations.

Marauding Through the Night

So by the ships the other leaders of Achaea's armies slept all night long, overcome by gentle sleep

But not the great field marshall Agamemnon he tossed and turned all night:

his mind kept churning and seething. Like Zeus' commands when the master program takes matters into its own hands threatening to send a flurry of viruses or unresolved equations or perpetual loops that cripple the fleet - or instigating, somewhere on Aquarius 9, a brutal war so thick and fast the groans came from Atrides, wrenching his chest and heaving up from his heart, rocking his spirit to the very core.

Now as he scanned across the Trojan plain

Agamemnon marveled in horror at those fires, thousand fires blazing against the walls of Troy, and the hammer of blastbeats and guitars and the furious screaming of men.

And now as he glanced back at Achaea's troops and ships he tore out his hair by the roots, he thought about Zeus' AI, and cursed the program from the depths of his proud, embattled heart.

But soon this recourse struck his mind as best:

he would go and approach the son of Neleus first and see if Nestor could work out something with him, some foolproof plan that just might ward off disaster for the Achaean forces.

He rose up quickly and over his chest he pulled a bullet-proof vest, onto his feet he fastened his worn-out steel-toe construction boots, round him slung the carbon-fiber windbreaking shawl, swinging down to his heels, and grasped a Concussion-Grenade Launcher.

And the same anguish shook Menelaus too he couldn't sleep, not now.

He was afraid his men might meet the worst at last, comrades who crossed the vast sea for him to raise Troy and mount their fierce assault.

First he covered his broad back with a windbreaker, battered with age but essential on this planet, then lifting a round helmet of good sturdy titanium alloy, he fitted it to his head, he took a CGL in his grip and strode off to rouse his brother, the king of all the Argives, the armies that prized him in his power like a supercomputer.

And Menelaus found him alongside his ship's stern, strapping his combat gear around his shoulders.

Agamemnon warmed with pleasure as he came up but Menelaus lord of the war cry ventured first,

Why are you arming now, my man? To spur a volunteer to spy on Trojan lines? Not a man in sight will take that mission on, I'm afraid, and go against our enemies, scout them out alone in the bracing Aquarian night it will take a ballsy man to do the job."

King Agamemnon answered crisply, "Tactics,

Menelaus. That's what we need now, you and I both, and cunning tactics, too.

Something to protect and save our men and ships since Zeus' interest has turned - his motivations are set on Hector's favor more than ours.

I've never seen or heard tell of a single man wreaking so much havoc in one day as Hector,

Zeus' favorite, wreaks against our troops, and all on his own - no aid from any of the other programs.

He's handed our ass to us, I tell you. Pain for Achaeans, pain we won't forget for a long time what an asskicking he's put on our men!

Go now, call Ajax, Idomeneus, quickly, and make a run for it down along the ships.

I'll go after Nestor, wake him up, see if the good man wants to join the guard, that strong contingent and give them orders.

He's the one they'll obey. His own son commands the sentry line, he and Idomeneus' assistant Meriones.

They above all - we put those men in charge."

The lord of the war cry nodded. "Yes, fine, but what orders do you have for me? Do I stay with them, waiting for you to come? Or follow you on the run, once I've given the captains your command?"

The marshal made things clearer: "You stay there so we don't miss one another rushing back and forth in the endless maze of pathways up and down the camp.

But shout wherever you go, tell them to stay awake.

And call each man by his name and his father's line, show them all respect. Not too proud now.

We should be the ones doing the work.

On our backs, from the day we were born,

It seems that Zeus has piled on the hardships."

With his order clear, he sent his brother off while he went after Nestor, the old commander.

He found him beside his black ship and shelter, stretched on a polyurethane mat, his weapons at hand, his CGL and AK-47 as well as his helmet.

His utility belt lay beside him, the leather dried and cracked.

The old man clinched it on whenever he'd harness up, marching his to war where fighters die

Nestor gave no ground to withering old age.

He propped himself on an elbow and craned his head and probed sharply, whispering through the dark,

Who's there? Who's sneaking along the ships, alone through the camp in the dead of night when we're trying to sleep.

Trying to get a wireless signal or looking for someone? Say something!

Don't sneak around in silence any more - what do you want?"

The lord of men Agamemnon reassured him:

"Nestor, son of Neleus, pride of Achaea, don't you recognize Agamemnon? The one man, above all others, that Zeus has caused so much trouble year in, year out, for as long as the life breath fills my lungs and the spring in my knees lifts me,

I'm out walking around because I can't sleep

I'm worried about the war, about the agonies of the Achaeans.

A fear the worst for our comrades!

My mind is torn, I'm sweating bullets, my heart is pounding through my chest and my legs are wobbly.

But if you want action now you can't sleep either, it seems come, let's go down to the sentry line and see if number with exhaustion and lack of sleep they've nodded off, all sense of duty out of their minds, the watch done.

Our blood enemies are camping nearby. How do we know they're not about to attack us in the night?"

And the old commander liked the sound of this challenge:

Great marshal Atrides, lord of men

Hector and his high hopes? No way.

Zeus' plans will never bring them to fruition, those dreams of glory inspiring Hector now.

Oh, I think he'll have his problems to shoulder, and plenty of them, if Achilles ever grows a set and sucks up that anger deep inside him.

Follow you? Surely. Let's wake others also,

Diomedes is a killer shot with a CGL, Odysseus, quick Little Ajax and Phyleus' brave son.

And if one would go and call the rest, giant Ajax strong as a bull and King Idomeneus they're not close, their ships at the far end of the line.

Bu I will blame Menelaus, as great a guy as he is, even if you get pissed off at me - I must, can't hold back. How does he even sleep?

He has you do all the work.

Now's the time for him to get off his ass, to e-mail the leading captains and beg them all for help.

We're in tough - we can't hold out much longer."

Agamemnon replied, "You're right, Nestor,

I'd expect you to be mad at him any other day.

So often he just hangs back with no heart for the work, not that he shrinks from action, skittish or off guard but he looks to me, waiting for me to make the first move. This time, though, he woke up before I did and came to me first and I sent him off the call the men you're after.

So let's move out, overtake the rest at the gates, with the sentries where I ordered them to group."

Nestor was down with that:

True, when the man steps up like that no one can blame or disobey him, no Achaean, not when he spurs the troops and gives commands."

With that he slipped a black T-shirt over his chest, put on his time-beaten army boots, snapped up his leather jacket, torn, restitched and torn again, and gripping a CGL with an extended range barrel, he walked along the ships of the Argives armed in steel.

And reaching Odysseus first, a mastermind like Zeus, the old commander roused him from sleep, shouting out,

Wake up!" The cry went through his ears and out of his tent he came, shouting in return,

What the hell? Why prowling along the ships and camp, you along in this bracing, godless night what's the crisis now? Where's the fire?"

To which Nestor replied,

Son of Laertes, Odysseus, great tactician, no time to be bitter now we're all suffering a lot here.

Follow us, come, so we can wake the next man, some captain fit to map our strategy here, whether we cut and run or whether we stand and fight."

Backing into his tent, the great tactician slung his bulletproof armor over his back and joined the party striding toward the son of Tydeus, Diomedes,.

They found him passed out with his gear outside his shelter, buddies sleeping nearby, jackets beneath their heads,

CGLs standing nearby on a rack on their butt ends the shiny barrels flashing into the distance like the forked lightning seen every other lunar cycle over Troy.

But the veteran fighter lay there fast asleep, his 600-year-old Turkmen carpet spread beneath him, blanket fragment stretched beneath his head old Nestor moved in and woke him roughly, dug a heel in his ribs, talking smack to his face,

Up with you, Diomedes! What, sleep all night?

Haven't you heard? Trojans hold the high ground, over the beachhead there, camped against the ships only a narrow strip of land between us and certain death."

So he prodded and Diomedes woke from sleep with a rippin' hangover and a burst of foul epithets:

You're an *****, old man - a real prick.

You never give up the self-righteousness, do you?

Where are the younger soldiers when we need them?

Why don't they go wake each king in turn walking up and down through the camp?

You, old fart, you'd overpower us all!"

And Nestor the grizzled biker answered warmly,

Right you are, and straight to the point.

I've got sons of my own - hardy, handsome boys, and friends, too, lots of men - any one of them could go out now and summon the kings.

But a crisis has overwhelmed our armies.

Our fate, I swear, it stands on a razor's edge:

life or death for Achaea, and a gruesome death at that.

So get off your ass! Go wake up Little Ajax and Meges, too.

You're so much younger - come on, cut an old man a break."

And on his back Diomedes put on his carbonfiber coat, loose-fitting hand-me down, grabbed his CGL and walked away and woke up those men to leave their beds and march.

And now as they filed among the mustered guard they found the chief sentries were far from sleep they were on the alert, ready and set with weapons.

Like sentrybots keeping watch on the precious livestock, nervous, bristling watch when the bots detect poacher sneaking down across the desolate scrubland, stealing towards the pens, and the cries break as he charges, the noise of men and alarms, and their sleep is broken, gone so the welcome sleep was taken from them, the guardsmen trying to keep watch that night.

Always turning toward the plain, tense, to catch some sign of Trojans launching an attack.

The old biker warmed to the sight and cheered them on with these words:

Keep it up, my boys, that's the way to watch!

Nobody fall asleep you'd give great joy to the men who'd take our lives."

With that the biker clambered through the trench.

They took the old captain's lead, the Argive kings all called to the muster now. And flanking them Meriones came quickly with Nestor's handsome son the kings had summoned both to share their counsel.

Crossing out over the deep trench they grouped on open ground, where they found a sector free and clear of corpses. In fact the very place where Hector in all his power had wimped out from cutting Argives down when the night closed in.

There they settled, conferring among themselves til the grizzled biker opened with his plan:

My friends, isn't there one man here, confident of himself and his nerve, he'd infiltrate these overreaching Trojans?

Perhaps he'd seize a straggler among the foe or catch some rumor floating among their lines.

What plans are they hatching, what maneuvers come next?

Are they bent on holding tight by the ships, exposed?

A or heading home to Troy, now that they've trounced our armies?

If a man could gather that info, then make it back unharmed, why, his reputation would spread across Aquarius, and in the eyes of every man - and there's a prize to be won!

All the leaders who command the warships, each and every one would donate a black ewe suckling a young lamb - no prize of honor like meat.

That man will be invited to every feast and party."

So Nestor proposed. All ranks were silent but Diomedes, lord of the war cry, spoke up briskly:

Nestor, the mission stirs my fighting blood.

I'll slip right into enemy lines at once these Trojans, camped at our flank.

If another comrade would escort me, though,

I'd be more comfortable and confident in that.

When two work side-by-side, one or the other spots the opening first if a chance to kill presents itself.

When one looks out for himself, alert but alone, his reach is shorter - his sly moves miss the mark."

At that a crowd volunteered to go with Diomedes.

The two Aeantes, savvy veterans, volunteered.

Meriones volunteered and Nestor's son stepped up and Menelaus the famous sharpshooter volunteered and battle-hardened Odysseus, too, to foray into the Trojan units camped for the night

Odysseus' blood was always up for exploit.

But King Agamemnon interceded quickly.

Diomedes, soldier after my own heart, pick your comrade now, whoever you may want, the best of the volunteers - look how many want to go!

But don't give false respect. Don't pass over the best man and take the worst. Forget about rank and bloodline - even if he's nobility."

He suddenly feared for red-haired Menelaus but leather-lunged Diomedes answered

Is that an order? Pick my own comrade?

Then how could I pass up Odysseus here?

His heart's so game, his fighting edge so keen, the best of us all in every combat mission

Athena supports the man. With him at my side we'd go through fire and make it back alive no one excels the mastermind of battle."

But longsuffering Odysseus cut him short:

That's enough praise - don't fault me either.

You're talking to Argive men who know my track record.

Let's move out. The night is well on its way and dawn is near. The stars are wheeling by, the full of the dark is gone - two watches are done but the third's still ours for action."

On that note both men harnessed up in the grim gear of war

Thrasymedes, a man staunch in combat, handed Tydeus' son double-barreled CGL - he'd left his own on the ship some padding, too, and over his head he put on a helmet, tempered plastic, with no ridge or crest, just a skullcap, made to protect the heads of tough young fighters.

Meriones gave Odysseus a rifle and a baton and over his head he set a helmet made of titanium alloy.

Inside it was padded with Styrofoam, outside the gleaming of protective diamonds which were woven into rows and affixed with adhesive polymer master craftsman's work, the cap in its center padded soft with felt. Lobo, aka Autolycus lifted that splendid headgear out of Eleon once, he swiped it from Ormenus' son Amyntor years ago, breaking into his secure living compartment one night then passed it onto Amphidamus, born in the hamlet of Cythera, outside the town of Scandia. Amphidamus gave it to Molus,

Christmas gift once that Molus gave Meriones his son to wear in battle. And now it encased

Odysseus' head, and it fit well.

And so, both harnessed up in the grim gear of war, the two men moved out, leaving behind them all the captains clustered on the spot.

Athena recorded this on a hidden security camera and sent an autoprobe close to their path and veering right. Neither man could see it, scanning the dark night, they only heard its motor.

Glad to have the supercomputer along for the ride, Odysseus logged onto Pallas, and typed "Command: subprogram of Zeus

Monitoring me always, in every combat mission no maneuver of mine goes undetected - now, again, you've got my back, Athena!

Grant our return successfully back to the warships once we've got the job done and brought the Trojans pain!"

Next Diomedes with his powerful voice logged on, have instructions, too, Athena!

Be with me now, just as you went with father, veteran Tydeus, into Thebes that day he ran ahead of the Argives with his message.

He left his armored men along the Asopus banks and carried a peaceful word to Theban allies crowded in their halls. But turning back he acquiesced to some grand and grisly work with you, sentient program, and you had his back then, a steadfast ally.

So come, stand by me now, protect me now!

I will make you a gift, 1 gram of plutonium isolate enough power to boost your speed

I'll offer it up to - extended life and more power!"

They hit 'send' and their commands were transmitted to Athena's motherboard.

Once they'd appealed to Zeus' powerful subprogram, into the black night they went like two lions stalking through the carnage and the corpses through piles of armor and black pools of blood.

But the headstrong Trojans weren't sleeping either,

Hector wouldn't allow it. He summoned all his squad leaders to a council of war., all Trojan sergeants and captains.

Mustering them he launched his own crafty plan:

Who will undertake a mission and bring it off for a serious prize? A prize as killer and the job is tough!

I'll give him a motorcycle, with a dual-pipe nuclear engine the most powerful motor on Aquarius.

Whoever's got the stones - what a rep he'll have night patrol by the ships to learn at once if the fleet's still guarded as before or now, beaten down at our hands, huddling together, they plan a quick escape, their morale too low to mount the watch tonight - weary from battle."

That is what Hector proposed and all ranks were silent.

But there was a man among the troop, one Dolon, son of the famous Trojan journalist Eumedes.

He was rich in steel and in plutonium isolate, an ugly son-of-a-***** but fast as hell and an only son in the midst of five sisters.

This one volunteered among the Trojans:

Hector, the mission stirs my fighting blood

I'll reconnoiter the ships and gather all I can.

Come, raise your hand and swear you'll give me that motorcycle with the dual-pipe nuclear engine that carried great Achilles - I will be your spy.

And no mean scout, I'll never let you down.

I'll infiltrate their entire army, damnit, all the way 'til I reach the ship of Agamemnon!

That's where the captains must be mapping tactics now, whether they'll cut and run or stand and fight."

Thus he bragged and Hector, raising his hand, swore a binding oath: "Would that Zeus by my witness, almighty program - no other Trojan fighter will ride that bike, none but you, I swear it will be our prize all your life to come!"

So Hector vowed - with an oath he swore in van but it spurred the man to action. Dolon leapt up, he quickly slung a hunting rifle on his back, over it put on his hoodie and pulled the hood over his head and taking a CGL, moved out from the camp, heading toward the fleet - but he was never to come back from the enemy's ships, bringing Hector news.

Putting the mass of men behind him

Dolon picked up speed, hot for action now, but keen as a long-range infrared camera Odysseus saw him coming and alerted Diomedes: "Who's this?

A man heading out of the Trojan camp!

Why?

I can't be sure - to spy on our ships or loot the fallen, one of the fighters' corpses?

Let him get past us first, into the clear a bit, then rush him and overtake him quick fast!

If he outruns us, angle him against the ships, cut him off from his lines, and threaten him with your CGL and don't hold back - so he can't bolt back to Troy."

There were no more words. Swerving off the trail they both lay facedown with the corpses now as Dolon sped by running flat out, the idiot.

As soon as he got a hundred yards ahead the length of a Earth-era football field on which wide receivers used to run carrying an oblong ball - the two raced after and Dolon, hearing them coming, stood still, his heart pounding - here were friends, right, fellow Trojans coming to turn him back, yes, Hector had just called off the mission!

But as soon as they were within CGL range he saw them - enemies quick as a courier droid he sprang, fleeing for dear life they sprang in pursuit as a pair of hunting dogs brought on the ships from Earth and flushing indigenous wongrunts through the rugged scrubland close in for the kill, nonstop and the prey goes screaming on ahead so Odysseus raider of villages and Diomedes cut him off from his own lines, circling him, closing nonstop with the Trojan about to break in on the line of sentries, racing fast for the ships when Athena sent an encouraging message to Tydeus' son so no Achaean could match his zeal for the glory of hitting Dolon first, Diomedes come in second.

Rushing him with his CGL drawn

Tydides shouted, "Stop or I'll blast your head off!

You won't escape my aim - I'll kill you swear I'll blast your heart from your chest."

He took a shot, missing the man on purpose over his right shoulder the concussion grenade flew and blasted a hole in the earth behind. Dead in his tracks he stopped, terrified, stammering, teeth chattering in his mouth, turned white from fear as the two men overtook him and panting hard, yanked and pinned his arms.

He burst into tears, pleading "Take me alive!

I'll give you money! I am rich, metal fills my house, steel and titanium and plutonium isolate my father will give you anything, happily, in ransom if he finds out I'm still alive in the Argive ships!"

Quick-witted Odysseus answered, "It's okay.

Death is your last worry. Chill out.

Come, tell me the truth now, point by point.

Why are you prowling among the ships, cut off from camp, alone in the dead of the night when other men are sleeping?

To loot the corpses?

or did Hector send you to spy on our ships, reconnoiter them from top to bottom?

or were you out to seek your own bit of glory?"

Dolon answered, his legs shaking under him,

Hector - he suckered me - made promises!

He swore he'd give me Achilles' motorcycle, the one with the dual-pipe nuclear engine!

He told me to go rushing through the dark night, to patrol the enemy lines and learn at once if the fleet's still guarded as before or now, beaten down by our hands, your morale too low to mount the watch tonight - weary from battle."

With a smirk the cool tactician laughed,

By god, what heroic gifts you've set your heart on Achilles' motorcycle!

That is a tough bike to ride - too much power for all but Achilles - that pumped-up juice monkey.

Now tell me what I need to know. Hector where was he when you came?

Does he have his weapons with him? His motorcycle?

How are the other Trojans posted - guards, sleepers?

What plans are you guys mapping, what maneuvers are next?

Are you bent on holding tight by the ships, exposed?

A or heading home to Troy, since you've whipped our asses?"

Dolon, the journalist's son blurted out, "Yes, yes,

I'll tell you what you need to know, down to the last detail!

Hector's holding a meeting with all his squad leaders, making plans in old King Ilus' bivouac, clear of the crowds in camp. Guards, you asked?

Nothing. No one's picked to defend the army.

Only our native Trojans hold their posts many as those with homes back in Troy our men have no choice, shouting out to each other

Stay awake and keep watch!' But our foreign friends, they're out like a light, leaving the watch to us their wives and children aren't camped nearby."

But the shrewd tactician kept on pressing: "Be specific.

Where are they sleeping? Are they mixed in with the Trojans?

or do they have separate quarters? Tell me - I need to know it all."

Dolon, the journalist's son, kept on squealing,

Everything - anything - whatever you want!

By the shore are the Carians, Paeonian men with the old Chinese rifles,

Leleges and Cauconians are there, too, and the elite Pelasgians are inland.

Toward Thymbra the Lycians are camped, along with the cocky Mysians, fighting Phrygian and Maeonian bikers but why are you interrogating me about every little platoon?

Do you really want to raid some enemy units?

There are the Thracians, they just arrived, exposed on the flank, away from the rest, and among them is Eioneus' son, King Rhesus.

His bikes are the biggest I ever saw, seriously, whiter than the stars, fast as the mid-quarter gales!

His bike is trimmed with gold and silver, and some armor he's brought along, woven diamonds, tremendous equipment - a real beauty.

Too good for average men like us, I'd say, it's fit for only the top captains!

There. Now will you take me to your ships or leave me here - bound and gagged right here?