ARGOS RECOGNIZES ODYSSEUS

[image: Odysseus as a beggar in Ithaca]   

           . . .  and so the swineherd

Led his master, looking like

An old, broken-down beggar, leaning

On a staff and dressed in miserable rags.

. . .

           While [Odysseus] spoke

an old hound, lying near, pricked up his ears

and lifted up his muzzle. This was Argos,

trained as a puppy by Odysseus,

but never taken on a hunt before

his master sailed for Troy. The young men, afterward,

hunted wild goats with him, and hare, and deer,

but he had grown old in his master’s absence.

Treated as rubbish now, he lay at last

upon a mass of dung before the gates –

manure of mules and cows, piled there until

fieldhands could spread it on the king’s estate.

Abandoned there, and half destroyed with flies,

old Argos lay.

But when he knew he heard

Odysseus’ voice nearby, he did his best

to wag his tail, nose down, with flattened ears,

having no strength to move nearer his master.

And man looked away,

wiping a salt tear from his cheek: but he

hid this from Eumaios, and said to him,

“Eumaios, this is amazing, this dog that lies on the dunghill.

The shape of him is splendid, yet I cannot be certain

whether he had the running speed to go with this beauty.”

[Eumaios speaks, describing Argos]

“If this old hound could show

the form he had when Lord Odysseus left him,

going to Troy, you’d see him swift and strong.

He never shrank from any savage thing

he’d brought to bay in the deep woods; on the scent

no other dog kept up with him. Now misery

has him in leash. His owner died abroad,

and here the women slaves will take no care of him.

You know how servants are: without a master

they have no will to labor, or excel.

For Zeus who views the wide world takes away

half the manhood of a man, that day

he goes into captivity and slavery.”

Eumaios crossed the court and went straight forward

into the [Great Hall] among the suitors;

but death and darkness in that instant closed

the eyes of Argos, who had seen his master,

Odysseus, after twenty years.

~ Homer, The Odyssey, Book 17, translated by Robert Fitzgerald; except for the first four lines here, translated by Stanley Lombardo, and the three lines spoken by Odysseus to Eumaios, translated by Richmond Lattimore.

**

In her sequence, “Re-reading the Odyssey in Middle Age,” (The Imperfect Paradise), Linda Pastan has a poem in the persona of Argos.

ARGOS

Shaggy and incontinent,

I have become the very legend

of fidelity. I am

more famous than the dog star

or those hounds of Charon’s

who nip at a man’s ankles

on is way to the underworld.

Even Penelope wanted

proof, and Eurykleia

had to see a scar.

But I knew what I knew –

what else are noses for?

Men are such needy creatures,

Zeus himself comes to them

as an animal. I’ll take

my place gladly

among the bones and fleas

of this fragrant dung heap

and doze my doggy way

through history.

            ~ Linda Pastan

**

This is perhaps the least successful poem in the whole sequence, and no, it’s not fair to present this weak poem after quoting a moving passage in The Odyssey – but I am glad Pastan reminds the readers of this touching scene of recognition, the first one in the Odyssey.

For the Western reader, the dung heap calls to mind Job, in his poverty and sickness, sitting on a dunghill, scratching his boils with a broken potsherd. It is also interesting to ponder the parallel between Odysseus, returning to his palace in a beggar’s rags, and the wretched circumstances of his old dog, once the best hunter. Argos on the dung heap is almost a symbol of Odysseus, who gets rough treatment as a beggar, except from the swineherd Eumaios, who believes strangers and beggars come from the gods.

We know that Odysseus is not a beggar; the rags are only a temporary disguise. Later, the “divine Odysseus,” the “godlike survivor,” will be restored to his glory. And Argos too is momentarily restored to his former glory, in the account of Eumaios.

Note that the recognition is mutual; Odysseus tears up at the sight of the dying Argos, who wags his tails and flattens his ears, trying to greet him, but has no strength to approach him.

John Guzlowski commented about Pastan’s “Argos”: “It feels like a betrayal of the original poem, something that is good and true.”

Since the sequence is titled "Re-reading the Odyssey in Middle Age," we must assume that Pastan had Homer's version still vivid in her memory. The dog's thinking, Oh, I'm so famous, I'm the most famous dog in history, feels utterly false. Anyone who has ever experienced the warmth of a dog's affection when the animal greets you knows a simple, all-forgiving love that's beyond human capacity, except for saints and little children.

And this is in fact a heart-rending scene, both Odysseus and the dog "in rags." It reminds me of another touching scene, when the blinded Cyclops speaks to his favorite ram. Is it the affection and empathy that can exist between humans and animals? Is it the richness of detail? Both scenes have a soulfulness that resists intellectual theorizing; in a mysterious way, they let me know that the poet has known the depths of suffering. 

I hasten to say that Linda Pastan has written many excellent poems, including "Circe" in the Odyssey sequence. And, to reiterate, I am grateful even for "Argos," because it made me re-read Homer.

As for the death of Argos, I can’t help thinking of yet another biblical parallel: the “nunc dimittis” scene of old Simeon being able to die now that he has seen the promised savior (Luke 2: 29-32).

The name Argos means “bright” or “shining.” How simple great poetry can be! The wagging of that tail, the flattening of those ears – immortal now, shining. 


**

As an aside, I want to draw the reader’s attention to this passage in Homer:

You know how servants are: without a master

they have no will to labor, or excel.

For Zeus who views the wide world takes away

half the manhood of a man, that day

he goes into captivity and slavery.

**

The ancient Greeks highly admired areté, or excellence (sometimes translated as “virtue” or “manhood”). The word is related to aristos, “best” – the root of “aristocrat.” It seems obvious that a slave would not be motivated to excel, since he labors under duress, for the benefit of someone else. I found the passage very striking because it always puzzled me why some people had the will to excel, while others, generally the majority, did not. I observed this not only as a teacher, but also at any job I ever held, or, in the realm of leisure, in any exercise class I ever took. There were those who worked hard and aspired to excellence, and those who tried to get away with doing the least.

What Homer illuminated for me is how freedom enters into this “will to excel” or its absence. Slaves have no will to excel; they will not work a minute more than required; they try to minimize effort, and no one can blame them. But why do so many people behave as though they were slaves? They do not see themselves as free agents. Striving for excellence presupposes freedom. I feel the most free when I work the hardest – given that no one is forcing me to work with dedication, to “walk the extra mile.” There is a pleasure in doing something at the level of excellence. But perhaps the underlying and more basic pleasure is in knowing yourself to be free. 

                                [ Arete in Ephesus: Arete personified as a goddess ]