
He trusses the great carcass
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τῷ δʼ ἐγὼ ἐμβαίνων δόρυ χάλκεον ἐξ ὠτειλῆς εἰρυσάμην· τὸ μὲν αὖθι κατακλίνας ἐπὶ γαίῃ εἴασʼ· αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ σπασάμην ῥῶπάς τε λύγους τε, πεῖσμα δʼ, ὅσον τʼ ὄργυιαν, ἐυστρεφὲς ἀμφοτέρωθεν πλεξάμενος συνέδησα πόδας δεινοῖο πελώρου,
Setting my foot on it, I drew the bronze spear from the wound; that I laid down there on the ground and left it; but I myself plucked brushwood and withies, and a rope, about a fathom long, well-twisted at both ends, this I plaited, and bound together the feet of the terrible monster.
The stag lies dead in the dust. Odysseus must get its huge body back to the ship, and needs a way to carry it.
Practical hands. Odysseus braces his foot on the carcass, works the spear free of the wound, and sets it aside; then he tears off supple twigs and withies and plaits them into a rope a fathom long, twisted firm at both ends, and lashes the great animal’s legs for carrying.
The passage is a small manual of competence, and that is the point. This is the man of many devices doing the humble version of what he always does — improvising a tool from what the woods provide. The stag is called peloron, a ‘monster,’ the same word the poem uses for the Cyclops: here the monstrous thing is only its size, and it has already been mastered.
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Odyssey 10.164 — The Great Library Project interlinear edition · greatlibraryproject.com/book/odyssey/10.164/