Translating Loss with The Odyssey, Book XIII

by Shiyang Su

Will Turner

When Odysseus woke from an ancient dream and didn’t recognize Ithaca, he limped along the loud, ashen sea, sobbing. In another translation, it was a whispering surf-line that he sealed his cries in. Odysseus, oblivious now to the lexicon of his homeland, grieved in the rhythm of the sea. The low wails lapping the shore, the tearing of rocks near the dark estuary —  Desire fluctuated between harpaleon (gentle) and argaleon (hard) by night and day. Even the gods rushing past were stunned by this wild song. When I close the book, the man and the wave are one. As usual I am lost down here. You would have seen me again crossing out what seemed promising, leaving the verses clouded with meanings. This handful of ash I took to be the beginning — You

gone now. I prowled hard

marine food at the mouth

of the shore. I’d ship and eat

it until the thirst overtook me.

And the first weep, strangely crispy,

peels off from my body.

“Gods rushing past” is a quote from Michael Bazzett.

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Shiyang Su is a Chinese poet, translator, and an undergrad at UChicago. Her poems can be found or are forthcoming in Frontier Poetry, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Rattle, Passages North, Diode Poetry Journal, THRUSH, Chestnut Review, Puerto del Sol, Verse Daily, and elsewhere. She is the winner of the Verdant Poetry Prize 2024 (selected by Joseph Fasano). She was nominated for Best of the Net and Best New Poets. She lives in Chengdu.