Zeus Responds to Thetis (1.517-536)

τὴν δὲ μέγ' ὀχθήσας προσέφη νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς:
ἦ δὴ λοίγια ἔργ' ὅ τέ μ' ἐχθοδοπῆσαι ἐφήσεις
Ἥρῃ ὅτ' ἄν μ' ἐρέθῃσιν ὀνειδείοις ἐπέεσσιν:
ἣ δὲ καὶ αὔτως μ' αἰεὶ ἐν ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι [520]
νεικεῖ, καί τέ μέ φησι μάχῃ Τρώεσσιν ἀρήγειν.
ἀλλὰ σὺ μὲν νῦν αὖτις ἀπόστιχε μή τι νοήσῃ
Ἥρη: ἐμοὶ δέ κε ταῦτα μελήσεται ὄφρα τελέσσω:
εἰ δ' ἄγε τοι κεφαλῇ κατανεύσομαι ὄφρα πεποίθῃς:
τοῦτο γὰρ ἐξ ἐμέθεν γε μετ' ἀθανάτοισι μέγιστον [525]
τέκμωρ: οὐ γὰρ ἐμὸν παλινάγρετον οὐδ' ἀπατηλὸν
οὐδ' ἀτελεύτητον ὅ τί κεν κεφαλῇ κατανεύσω.

ἦ καὶ κυανέῃσιν ἐπ' ὀφρύσι νεῦσε Κρονίων:
ἀμβρόσιαι δ' ἄρα χαῖται ἐπερρώσαντο ἄνακτος
κρατὸς ἀπ' ἀθανάτοιο: μέγαν δ' ἐλέλιξεν Ὄλυμπον. [530]
τώ γ' ὣς βουλεύσαντε διέτμαγεν: ἣ μὲν ἔπειτα
εἰς ἅλα ἆλτο βαθεῖαν ἀπ' αἰγλήεντος Ὀλύμπου,
Ζεὺς δὲ ἑὸν πρὸς δῶμα: θεοὶ δ' ἅμα πάντες ἀνέσταν
ἐξ ἑδέων σφοῦ πατρὸς ἐναντίον: οὐδέ τις ἔτλη
μεῖναι ἐπερχόμενον, ἀλλ' ἀντίοι ἔσταν ἅπαντες. [535]
ὣς ὃ μὲν ἔνθα καθέζετ' ἐπὶ θρόνου:

My Translation:
Annoyed at her, Zeus the cloudgatherer said,

Now damn it all! You’ll make me quarrel with
Hera—she’ll plague me with obnoxious words—
for even now among the deathless gods
she always rebukes me and claims that I
find ways to help the Trojans in their war.
But get you gone right now, before she learns
of this. These things are my concern—I will
accomplish them. In fact, I’ll nod my head
for you so you’ll believe me. That’s the best
of all the signs I give the deathless gods—
it cannot be rescinded, left undone,
or swerved around, whatever’s thus affirmed.

With that, the son of Kronus gave his nod
beneath his brows, and then ambrosial locks
came flowing down the god’s immortal head,
and all Olympus quaked. The plan in place,
the two immortals went their separate ways:
she dove into the depths of the salt sea,
far from shining, bright Olympus, and Zeus
went to his home. There, all the gods rose up
and left their seats to greet their father, Zeus
(for no one dared to sit when Zeus approached),
and then they took their seats again.

Alexander Pope's Translation:
She said; and, sighing, thus the god replies,
Who rolls the thunder o’er the vaulted skies:
“What hast thou ask’d? ah, why should Jove engage
In foreign contests and domestic rage,
The gods’ complaints, and Juno’s fierce alarms,
While I, too partial, aid the Trojan arms?
Go, lest the haughty partner of my sway
With jealous eyes thy close access survey;
But part in peace, secure thy prayer is sped:
Witness the sacred honours of our head,
The nod that ratifies the will divine,
The faithful, fix’d, irrevocable sign;
This seals thy suit, and this fulfils thy vows—”
He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,
Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,
The stamp of fate and sanction of the god:
High heaven with trembling the dread signal took,
And all Olympus to the centre shook.
Swift to the seas profound the goddess flies,
Jove to his starry mansions in the skies.
The shining synod of the immortals wait
The coming god, and from their thrones of state
Arising silent, wrapp’d in holy fear,
Before the majesty of heaven appear.
Trembling they stand, while Jove assumes the throne . . .

Comments
In perhaps 3 more postings I will have completed book 1. What I plan to do after completing each book in this serial manner is go back through the entire book, editing it for greater coherence and consistency. In the case of book 1, I will have to recast most of it into blank verse since I didn't begin to experiment with that form until recently. I'll then post a link to the newly polished book.

Today I came across a remark by Colm Toibin that helped me understand why I am increasingly convinced that Homer must be translated into some kind of verse form. Writing of the poetry of Hart Crane, Toibin remarks that poetic rhythm is "the hidden nervous system in the words and between the words" (The New York Review of Books, April 17, 2008, p. 36). This is no great revelation, but it is put so well that it forces one actually to feel its truth rather than skim over it. To translate the Iliad into prose or into a verse form that is so loose as to be all but prose is to falsify something absolutely essential to it--its nervous system. The words must have a more than syntactic and semantic relation to each other; they must also be held together by their insertion into some underlying form.